l^: J- .«J,i'i Travelling by night — Arrival at Boston — Baggage checks — Carriages — Bare ground — Haymarket Square by gas-light — Hunting up quarters — The Ho- tel clerk — Jerry booked — A lofty bed-room, 132 CHAPTER XL BOSTON. ^ fine pros]ject — What next ? — Oscar at sea — Break- fast — The waiters — Crowded sti'cets — Novel sights — An omnibus incident — Shipping — The ferry-boat — People JeiTy met — The wharf — No boys wanted — The outward-bound brig — An unexpected chance — Going to sea in a hurry — Jerry's thoughtlessness,. ... 147 CHAPTER XTL THE SAILOK-BOT. Going down the harbor — The ocean — Jerry's first les- son in nautical duties — Four-footed passengers — Sea- sickness — Eepentings — Bob's trick — JeiTy's tor- mentors — Going to bed — The forecastle — First night at sea — A rough moniing-call — Scrubbing decks — Breakfast — Destination of the brig — An " Irisliman's hurricane" — Mother Carey's chickens — Routine of work at sea — Iron discipline — A nap at the watch — Insolence cured — Dangerous associates, . 1 58 CHAPTER XIIL MART. Jerry missed at home — What IMaiy thought had become of him — A letter — Disappointment — Chnton's visits — The snow-image — A painful contrast — Mary's sickness — The doctor — Strange talk — Delirium — Recognition — Inquiries about Jerry — Mary's vision — Tiie last scene — The burial — Heaven, 1 74 CONT ENTS. \M CHAPTER XIV. THE FORESTS. March — CKnton's good conduct — Au excursion proposed — Preparations — The outfit — An early start — Their destination — The forests — Plenty of wood — Its scar, city in Europe — Great stumps — A variety of trees — Their uses — Virtues of birch — Incident in Mr. Daven- port's school days — The oil of birch — Curious proper- ties of the birch tree — Uncle Tim's clearing, 180 CHAPTER XV. THE CLEAKING. Uncle Tim's premises — His log house and barn — Din- ner — Uncle Tim's account of his settlement in the woods — A table turned into an arm-chair — Splints — Holes in the floor — The river — A sagacious dog — Bill and Jim — The barn — The crops — A great fire- place — Supper — A visit to the river — A talk with the boys — The settle — " I '11 try" — Uncle Tim's sto- ries — The three brothers — An alarm — A bad, but laughable predicament — Good done by a bear — Going to bed, 198 CHAPTER XVI, THE LOGGERS. The journey resumed — Dreary scenes — Camping in the woods — Welcome sounds — The loggers' quarters — Mr. Jones — Situation of the camp — Description of the cabins — Their interior — Return of the loggers from Avork — Supper — Exchange of provisions — Night in the camp — Going to work — The three gangs — Clin- ton's rambles — Private marks on the logs — Evening Btories — Log driving — Jams — How they are start- ed — A fearful scene — Narrow escape — The great boom — How the logs are got out, 215 Z C ONTENTS. CHAPTER XVn. JL TALK IN THE WOODS. Pogt Starting for home — A logger's life — Mr. Davenport's opinion of it — Hard work and small pay — Mr. Jones's history — The two boys — Contrast between their early habits — Henry Jones's fatal error — Its consequences — A moose discovered — Its appearance — Fast travelling — Antlers of the moose — A moose- yard — Hunting moose — A moose at bay — Home again, 233 CHAPTER XVin. WOEK AND PLAT. Early spring — A dull season for boys — Clinton in the shop — He makes a settle — The motto — Winter over — Work on the fann — Taking care of the gar- den — A bargain — Contest with weeds and bugs — Secrets of Clinton's success — Going to the post-oflfice — A boyish dispute — Play-ground rhymes — Their antiquity — The two letters — Curiosity excited — A letter from Jerry — Unpleasant question — Consulting the map, 24^ CHAPTER XIX. BITTEB FRUITS. Letter from Clintoft's nncle — Willie's disappointment — An interesting case — Oscar's career, after his release from jail — Joins a band of juvenile thieves — His ar- rest — Imprisonment — Denial of guilt — A dark fu- ture — Friendly messages — A wag of Bouncer's tail — A bad beginning seldom makes a good ending — Working and thinking — A newspaper — Oscar's con- viction and sentence — The Reform School — Its in- mates — The four classes — Class of " Truth and Hon- or" — Daily order of business — Employment — The probability of Oscar's reforming — Clinton's character retrieved — Conclusion, 260 CLINTON. CHAPTER L CliNTONjAND HIS HOMZ. TUrOST people on entering the little village of Brook- dale for the first time, are struck with the beauty of its location. Those who were born there, and who have always lived in sight of its green hills, and pleas- ant valleys, and frolicsome rivulets, probably do not think so much of these things as does the stranger who happens to come among them, and who has an, eye for the beauty of nature. Beautiful objects often lose their attractions when they become familiar to us. If a man were permitted to behold the splendors of a 2 14 MAP OF BROOKDALE. clear evening firmament but once in his lifetime^ he would be almost enraptured with the sight ; but give him the opportunity of gazing at the stars every cloud- less night in the year, and he will seldom notice them. A range of high hills skirt the eastern side of Brook- dale, and stretch away to the north, as far as the eye can reach. Towards the west, in a clear day, can be seen the shadowy form of a distant mountain, looking like a dim cloud on the horizon. Near the centre of the village is one of those beautiful little lakes, so com- mon in the State of Maine. Several rivulets, ^pd by THE FARM-HOUSE. 15 springs in the hills, flow tlirough the village during the greater portion of the year, and empty their sparkling waters into this lake, or pond as it is generally called. It is from this circumstance that the town is called Brookdale. It was near the foot of one of the hills in this pleas- ant little village, in a snug farm-house a story and a half high, that Clinton lived. Mr. Davenport, his father, had formerly been a carpenter in another part of the S^ate ; but having a taste for farming, he gave up his trade after he had accumulated a little property, and bt[?ught the place of which we are speaking. He brought with him, however, a great variety of car- penter's tools, and had a room fitted up for a workshop, 'where he often did little jobs for himself or some neighbor, when a rainy day kept him indoors. This room was in the rear of the house, adjoining the pan- try, so that it was not necessary to go out of the house tc reach it. Clinton spent a great many happy hours in this shop ; for though he was only thirteen years old, he had considerable mechanical skill, and could handle the plane, the saw, the bit, and most of \he other tools, in quite a workmanlike style. As he waa 16 Clinton's ingenuity. careful not to injure the tools, his father allowed him to use them whenever he wished. There were some very creditable specimens of Clin- ton's skill at carpentry about the house, which he took no little pride in showing to visitors, as well he might. For instance, there was the martin-house, on a tall pole in the garden, which was a complete miniature model of the farm-house itself, including the long " kitchen-end" in the rear. To make the resemblance as close as possible, Clinton gave this bird-house two coats of white paint, and also painted imitation win- dows in black. On the barn there was another tall, straight staff, with a vane representing a prancing horse, all the work of Clinton's own hands. The trel- lises on each side of the front door of the house which supported the climbing roses and honeysuckles, .were likewise his handiwork. Clinton did not like to have any one show him how to do a thing, if he could possibly get along without it I suppose it was for this reason that he never wanted others to know what he was at work upon, until it was completed. His father would sometimes laugh at him on this account, and repeat to him the saying of Doctor HIS SISTER. 17 Franklin, that the man who depends on teaching him- Belf will have a fool for his master. But this did not move Clinton in his resolution. It is a good plan to profit as much as we can by the experience and ad- vice of others ; but after all, there are many things to which this rule will not apply. The boy who works out a hard sum alone, and refuses to let any one show him how to do it, will derive much more benefit from the exercise than though he had been as- sisted by others. So, no doubt, Clinton owed no little of his skill in carpentry to the fact that he did not run to his father for advice and assistance every time he met with a little difficulty. Clinton had one sister, but no brothers ; her name was Annie ; and she was seven years younger than her brother. She was a beautiful child, with large, blue «yes full of confidence and love, a fat, rosy face, and hair that hung in golden curls about her white shoulders. She was all gentleness and affection, and was the pet and favorite of the household. No boy of his age ever loved a sister more than Clinton did his. Though she was so much younger than himself, he Bpent much of his time with her, joining in sports in 2* 18 Clinton's mother. whicli she could take a part, or making playthings for her amusement. It was very rarely that he allowed himself to use an unkind or impatient word toward her ; and when he did, he was sure to repent of it, for he could not bear the silent and sorrowful reproach of those eyes. Annie, for her part, was proud of her brother, and returned, with interest, all the affection he bestowed upon her. She was sure that no other little girl in Brookdale had such a brother ; and when this subject was talked about after school one day, she "was not a little offended with Susan Lovering, because she persisted in maintaining that her brother Herbert was just as good and as ingenious a boy as Clinton Davenport. Annie thought the idea absurd, and it was some time before she could forgive Susan for making such a remark. The only other inmate of the house I have de- gcribed, was Clinton's mother. Mrs. Davenport was an excellent woman, gentle and lady -like in her man- lers, and extremely fond of her children. Mr. Daven- port employed one or two hired men on his farm - portion of the year, but they did not live with tht family A DUCK SPECULATION. 19 " Father," said Clinton one day, on coming home txom the mill, and before he had alighted from the wagon, " Father, may I keep some ducks ? " " Ducks ! what do you want of them, Clinty ? " in- quired his father. " "Why, I 've just seen Jerry Preston, and he 's got some real handsome ones, and he says I may have four of them for a dollar." " Yes, but that is n't answering my question. No doubt Jerry would be glad to sell his ducks, but what do you want of them, and what will you do with them ? We must always think of these things before we buy anything. I am not so sure but that if you had the ducks you would be almost as badly off as the ihan who came into possession of an elephant, which he could not keep, sell, nor give away." " Why, father," replied Clinton, " I can build a little house to keep them in, down by the side of the brook, and Jerry says they will lay more than eggs enough to pay for their keeping. They don't need so much grain a& hens do. They look real handsome, tj»o, sail- l ig on the water." " WpII, if you ar(^ willing to pay for them out of 20 CLINTON'S POULTRY. your own money, and will provide a suitable place for them, 1 do n't know as I shall object to your keeping a few. But it seems to- me you might make a better bargain than you propose. Wont Jerry sell you some eggs?" " I don't know as he has any, yet, for he has just begun to keep ducks ; but I will ask him." " Do so," said Mr. Davenport, " and if he will sell you a dozen, at a reasonable price, you may buy them." " But of what use will the eggs be, father, without a duck to hatch them ? " inquired Clinton. " Never mind about that now," replied his father, " you get the eggs first, and then we will see what we can do with them." ' Clinton was already somewhat largely interested in the poultry line. When he was nine years old, his father gave him all the fowls belonging to the farm, on condition that he should assume the whole charge of them, and take good care of them. There were in all about twenty hens and chickens, and half a dozen young turkeys. Mr. Davenport agreed to pay Clintoo ti}r all the eggs and poultry they needed for the table, HIS STOCK IN TRADE. 2l but Clinton must purchase wftli his own money what- ever was necessary for the subsistence of the fowls. Clinton was much pleased with this arrangement; and as he knew that when men engage in business they usually keep account books, in which they record all the sums they spend or receive, he procured a few sheets of paper, with which he made a little blank book, for this purpose. His first entry was simply an enumeration of his fowls, with an estimate of their value ; or, as the merchant would call it, a schedule of his stock in trade. It was as follows : — - Commenced this account July 18th, 1847, with the following f jwls : — 1 rooster and 8 hens, (old), worth SO cts. each, $2,70 10 pullets, '* 40 " 4,00 6 turkeys, " 75 »* 4,50 Total value, $11,20 Whenever he sold any eggs, he entered the date, the number sold, and the price, on a page which he reserved for this purpose. On the opposite page, he set down the sums which he paid his father for the com and meal consumed by his fowls. At the end of the first year, he struck a balance, to use a mercantile 22 DR. AND CR. ACCOUNT. expression ; that is, he acTaed up the various sums he had received and spent, and ascertained how much he liad made by the year's operations. His account stood thus ; — Dk. Vahie of fowls on hand one year ago $1 1,20 12 bushels com, at 75 cts 9,00 6 " meal, at 80 cts 4,80 4 " barley, at 60 cts 2,40 2 " potatoes, at 40 cts 80 «Meat 92 Total cost $29,12 Cb. Now on hand, 2 roosters and 32 hens and pullets, worth 36 cents each $12,24 9 turkeys, worth 75 cts. each 6,75 150 dozen eggs sold 22,50 10 hens and chickens sold, 36 cts. each 3,60 6 turkeys sold at 83 J cts. each 5.00 2 loads manure 2,50 Total value $52,59 Kvpenses 29,12 Profit $23,47 CLTNTON'SPROFfTS. 23 Of this profit, $18,99 was in the shape of hens and turkeys, and $4,48 in ready cash, safely deposited in the old bureau drawer, in Clinton's bed-room. The second year, Clinton made a much larger profit on his poultry, his father having given him a patch of ground, where he raised with his own hand a crop of corn sufficient to carry his fowls through the year. At the end of this year, he had about $30,00 in money, which his fowls had earned for him ; and as he con- tinued every year to raise his own grain, when he was thirteen years old, he had about $75,00 in cash, which, at his request, his father had deposited in a bank in Portland, where it earned him interest. In addition to this, he had about $25,00 worth of hens and tur- keys ; so that the $11,20 worth of fowls which his father gave him, had, by his own industry and pru- dence, swelled into $100 in four years. The same afternoon on which the conversation upon ducks was held, Clinton managed to run over to Jerry's again, to see if he could procure the eggBo Jerry told him he had not now got enough for a htter, but w^ould be able to supply him in a few days. Clin- 24 OBSTINATESPECKf. ton therefore ensra^ed the first dozen he should have, for wliich he agreed to pay 25 cents. " Now, father," said Clinton a few days after, as he uncovered the box of eggs for which he had bargained, " now I am ready for you." " You don't need any assistance," replied IMr. Davenport ; " all you have got to do, now, is to give the eggs to Specky, and she will do the rest." Specky was one of Clinton's hens, and this name was given to her, on account of her speckled feathers. She had recently taken it into her head that she wanted to raise a family of little Speckles ; but as Clinton did not happen to coincide with her in this matfer, she had done nothing but make herself misera- ble for several days. Every chance she could get, she would jump into the nest, and commence setting, as though she were determined to bring a chicken out of the chalk nest-egg. "When Clinton approached to take her off the nest, she would scream and cluck with all her might, which I suppose was her way of scold- ing ; and when he put her down, she would squat upon the ground, and refuse to budge an inch. He was B A D M O T H E R S 25 obliged to shut her up alone in a little coop, to reform her bad manners ; but she had not got over her stub- bornneftS, at the time JVIr. Davenport told Clinton to let her take charge of the ducks* eggs. "But," said Clinton, on receiving this direction, ** will she set on those eggs ?** " Yes," replied his father, " she will set on any thing that looks like an egg, and be glad of the chance, too. And besides, she will make a better mother to the little ducklings than their real mother would prove. The duck is so fond of the water, that when she once gets into it, she is apt to forget all about her eggs, until they get cold, and are spoilt. And if she should not fall into this blunder, and hatches her brood success- fully, the first thing she does is to give the poor, weak things a cold bath, no matter how chilly or stormy it is. They can't stand this rough treatment very well, and for this reason it is better to let hens do the set- ting and hatching, when there are any ducks to be raised." All this was new to Clinton, as he had never had any experience in the management of the duck family. He followed his father's directions, however, and as 8 26 THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. madame Specky seemed delighted with the arrange- ment, he was satisfied. The next day, he set about building a house for the expected new comers, down in the meadow, by the side of the brook. This was something of an undertaking, for a boy of his age, but he took hold with a right good will, and by devoting to it all the time he could spare from his other duties, he had it completed, and ready for the ducks to move into, long before they had begun to show their heads. At this time Clinton was not attending school, for the very good reason that there was no school in the place. The law of the State only required that every town should support a public school three months in fehe year; and as Brookdale had but a small and scattered population, the people did not think it advis- able to continue theu' school any longer than the win- ter term, which lasted from the first of December to the first of March. During this season of the year, the lads and lasses of all ages, from six or seven years up to eighteen or twenty, turned out and attended the Bame school, and made the most qf their brief oppor- tunities for acquiring knowledge. But though there were nine months of every year STUDYING AT HOME. 27 that Clinton did not attend school, he was not allowed to neglect his studies, during these long vacations. Both of his parents had received good educations in their youth, and they knew too well the value of the benefits thus secured, to allow theu' children to grow up in ignorance. Mrs. Davenport had once been a teacher herself, and it was now but a pleasant task to give Clinton and Annie their daily lessons, and to listen to their recitations. Mr. Davenport, too, had taught a school for one or two terms, when a young man. The branches which Clinton was now studying, were reading, writing, arithmetic, and grammar. He was required to devote two hours to his studies, each day, no matter how much work he had to do, or how much he wanted to play. In the evening his mother heard him recite, and gave him such assistance as he needed. In this way, he made considerable progress in his studies, though perhaps he did not learn as fast as he could had he enjoyed school privileges all the time. During the portion of the year he attended school, he always ranked above other boys of his own age, and w^as considered one of the best scholars in town. Clinton also performed a good deal of work for his 28 C L I X T O N A T W O R K . parents, when he did not attend school. In the spring he used to drive the ploughing team, while his father or the hired man guided the plough through the soiL He likewise made himself very handy in planting season j and in mid-summer he could rake the hay or hoe the com and potatoes, almost as well as a man. He knew how to build a stone-wall^ or to make a com- post-heap, or to litter and feed the oxen, or to chop wood ; for all these things, and many others, he had been taught to do. He was not required to labor too hard, or too long at one time ; but his father wished him to learn to work while young, believing he would be happier if he had some useful employment for a portion of his leisure time. And Clinton found this to be true. He not only learned a great many rseful things, from his daily labors, but he found tha^ tiler working a few hours, he could enjoy his sportj with much more zest than if he had idled away all his time in trying to amuse himself. Besides, it was no little satisfaction to know that he could be of some service to his parents, to» whose care and affection he was so greatly indebted. It was thus between work, study and play, that Clin HIS CHARACTER. 29 ton divided his time. He was an intelligent, kind- hearted, good-natured, and well-meaning boy, but — — well, we will for the present drop the vail of charity over the unpleasant truth which belongs to the othef side of that " but.** (JHAPTER n. JERRY AND OSCAR A FFER Clinton had finished his duck-house, he no- ticed that the water was getting quite low in the brook- It was the month of August, and the season had been very hot and dry, so that the springs in the hills, which fed the brook, had almost given out. While he was thinking what his ducks would do for water if the brook should dry entirely up, it occurred to him that he might make a little pond, to be filled from the brook, which would afford a good place for his ducks to swim, and might also prolong the supply of water. Having obtained his father's consent, he set about the job at once. He was busily at work, digging out the peat or mud for this pond, one warm afternoon, when he hap- pened to look up and saw two boys by the side of him. As their eyes met, one of them exclaimed, — ^ An' faith, Patrick, what are ye after doin' now ? THEDUCKPOND. 31 Is it for goold ye are diggin', sure ? or are ye goln' to make a river of the brook ? Why do n't ye spake, ye bogtrotter, hey ? " Clinton laughed at this rough salutation, but per- haps he felt that there was a slight tinge of unkindnesd ni the joke, as he turned his eye from the neat dress of the speaker, to his own heavy boots loaded with mud, and his coarse and well-worn pantaloons, the bot- toms of which were tucked into his boots. " But you do look just like a Paddy, Clin, I '11 leave it to Jerry if you do n't," continued the speaker, who was a cousin of Jerry Preston's, and was named Oscar. Jerry agreed that it was so. " But," he continued, " what are you trying to make, Clin ? I should really like to know." " Wait a few days and you will see," replied Clinton. " The same old story," said Oscar, " ' wait and you '11 see ; ' you need n't think you can get anything more than that out of him, Jerry." " I guess he has taken a contract to dig a cellar for somebody " continued Jerry. " See him put in ! " he added, as Clinton resumed his work. "And I guess," said Oscar, "that he isn't making 32 ATALKABOUTWORK. anythiug in particular, but is only digging for amuse- ment. What capital fun it must be to dig mud this warm day ! " Clinton made no reply to their bantering, but kept on digging. After a minute's pause, Jerry resumed the conversation by saying, — " Clin, you are the queerest fellow I ever saw.** " How so ? " inquired Clinton. " Why, I never come over here but I find you hard at work about something or other. You must love to work better than I do." "Yes, and stLch work, too," chimed in Oscar; " you're making a complete clodhopper of yourself. You '11 be an old man before you are a young one, if you do n't mind. Why does n't your father make his men do this hard drudgery, instead of putting it upon you?'* " My father does n't make me do this work," replied Clinton^; with some spirit ; " I 'm doing it for myself, and of my own accord." " I suppose your father does n't make you work at all," said Oscar, with a sneer in his look and voice, which Clinton could not fail to observe. GOING I O THE T O N D 33 " Yes, he does require me to work," replied Clinton, but no more than I ought to. I have plenty of time For play, besides having a little left for study, too, which is more than some boys, that I know, caa say." " Yes/' resumed Oscar, " when you aint hard at work, digging like an Irishman, your father makes you sit down in the house, and mope over your books. I 'm glad I hav n't got such a father to stand over me ; aint you, Jerry ? " " I am so," replied Jerry. " I do n't believe in making slaves of boys. It is time enough to go to work when we get to be men. I mean to enjoy myself while I am young, if I do tft any other time. But come, Oscar, we 've stopped^ here long enough, — let 's be going." " Well, I 'm ready," said Oscar, and they began to start Clinton, seeing that they were not directing their steps homeward, inquired where they were going, " Over to the pond," replied Jerry, " to have a swim. Come, wont you go too, Clinton ?" he added. " Yes, come with us, Clin," said Oscar ; " we shall have a fii*st-rate time -, and as you say you can play aa 34 ADIFFICULTT. much as you please, there's nothing to prevent your goinf 5> Qinton did want to go with them, but his parents and Annie had gone away that afternoon, leaving the house in his charge, and he thought it would not be right to leave the premises. It was true, he was not expressly told not to go off; but Clinton knew his father expected him to remain about the house until their return, as he had left a message to be delivered to Mr. Hardy, the blacksmith, who was to call at JNlTr Davenport's that afternoon. So, after a moment's hesi- tation, Clinton answered, — " I should like to go, but I do n't see how I can to- day." " Why not ? " both Oscar and Jerry inquired, at the same instant. Clinton did not like to tell them his reason, for fear they would laugh him out of it. He could not bear to be ridiculed, and these boys knew it; for whenever they wished to persuade him to do anything he was not inclined to do, they generally resorted to this weapon to effect their object. Accordingly, they be- gan to try its virtues in the present case. Thoy asked I N T H E W A T E R . 3^ him i( he was afraid to go out of sight of the house without his father's leave, and how long he expected to be tied to his mothers apron-strings. They had pro* ceeded in this strain but a few moments, when Clin- ton's resolution began to give out. He at first warmly denied that he was afraid to go ; and a moment after- as if to convince them, that it was not fear that kept him at home, he threw down his shovel, and ex- claimed, — " I do n't care, — ■ I believe I will go, too." So, exchanging his thick boots for a light pair of shoes, he started for the pond with the other boys. It was not a very long walk, — taking the shortest path through the fields, — and they were soon tumbling and plunging about in the cool water, in high glee. Judg- ing from their shouts of laughter, and the merry splashing they made in the calm lake, you would have supposed they were a happy set of boys. But Clinton, at least, was not quite so happy as he seemed. Somo- thing in his breast told him that he had done wrong in yielding to the solicitations of his comrades. Thn louder he laughed, the more plainly did he hear th** voice w'thin, saying, " Ah ! Clinton, you have made « 3G CONSCIENCE AT WORK. false step; you have yielded to a foolish temptation; you have disobeyed your father ; you have betrayed his confidence, — and all for a few moments' gratifica- tion." He tried to drive these unpleasant thoughts from his mind, but they would not leave him. He waa careful, however, not to let his companions see any traces of his uneasiness. When they had been in the water nearly an hour, Clinton proposed returning home ; but neither Oscaj* nor Jerry seemed inclined to do so. After waiting a little longer; Clinton concluded to go home alone, and proceeded to dry and dress himself. The other boys were so absorbed in their sport, that they scarcely noticed what he was doing. Just as Clinton was about to start for home, Oscar took it into his head to have a sail on the lake. There was a sail-boat anchored a little way from the shore, near where they were bathing, which belonged to Squire Walcott. Oscar proposed to take possession of this boat, and Jerry readily fell in with his plan. The w'ater where the boat lay was so shallow they could wade out to it ; so they proceeded to dress themselves, preparatory to their excursion. Clinton knew that tha SAILINGONTHE TOND. 37 Squire was very obliging, and was always willing to lend his boat to any one who knew how to manage it ; and he was sorry that the boys were going to take it without leave. Indeed, he even remonstrated with them about it. But the only reply he got, was this from Oscar: — " Who cares for old Walcott ? Besides, he need n't know anything about it, unless you go and tell him You may go home, if you choose, but I'm bound to have a sail." Clinton got home before his parents returned ; and, fortunately for him, Mr. Hardy came along soon after, and the message was delivered, so that this burden was removed from his conscience. He did not, how- ever, feel exactly right in his mind; for though no harm had resulted from his absence, he had been guilty of something like a breach of trust, and his conscience continued to reprove him. Jerry and Oscar amused themselves on the pond, tor an hour longer ; but though both of them attempted to act the skipper, neither knew much about managing a boat, and the result was, they run themselves aground, at a place where the bottom was soft mud, and were 4 88 A BAD ENDING unable to "-et afloat again. It was half a mile from tlieir starting place, and they did not know how they should get the boat back to its anchoring ground. They got into the water, and tried to push it off, but it refused to go. At length, wearied with their exertions, aiid with their clothes wet and dirty, they concluded to wade ashore, and leave the stolen boat to take care of itself. In going home, they avoided the road, as much as possible, and skulked through the woods, lest they WHAT TIIEY THOUGHT OF IT. 39 should be seen ; but after they had reached their home, and considered themselves beyond the danger of die* covery, they began to treat the affair as a joke, and laughed to think how mad "oldWalcott" would be, when he found his boat aground, half a mile from the place where it belonged. They did not seem to realize that they had acted meanly and wickedly, in taking possession without leave, of Squire Walcott's boat, and in leaving it aground, without informing him of its where- abouts. If they could escape detection, it mattered little to them whether their conduct had been right or wrong. These two boys were unlike Clinton, in many re- spects. Jerry, — or, to give him his full name, Jere- miah Preston, — lived in the nearest farm-house to Mr. Davenport's.* There was more than half a mile's distance between the two families ; but as there were no nearer neighbors, they were on pretty intimate terms. Jerry was but a few months older than Clin- ton, and the two boys had been playmates almost from the cradle. Mr. Preston was engaged in the logging * See the map on page 14. Clinton's home is numbered I, and Jerry's 2. The building numbered 3 is the gchool-housd. 40 JEHRYANDOSCAR. find lumbering business, wliich required him to bo away from home, in the forests, a large portion of the year. As Jerry s mother did not succeed very well in governing her household, the long and frequent absen- ces of Mr. Preston from his family were unfortunate for the children, especially for Jerry, who was the eldest child, and the only son. During the few months of each year the father spent at home, he was mor<' inclined to humor his children, than to train them t( obedience. Sometimes, it is true, in a moment of pas- sion, he would punish Jerry severely, for some offence ; but at another time, he would entirely overlook a much more serious fault. Under the influence of this bad training, it is not strange that Jerry was getting to be an ungovernable and mischievous boy. Oscar Preston was a cousin to Jerry, who had re- cently come from Boston, to spend a few months in Brookdale. He was about a year older than Jerry, in age, but was several years his senior in bad habits. He had in fact become almost unmanageable at home, and it was on this account, as well as to get him away from the evil influences of the city, that his father sent him into the country. He had never been taught to INFLUENCE OFABADBOT. 41 labor, and as he now liad nothing to do, and there was no school to attend, and no one to restrain him, he did not seem to grow much better by his banishment from home. It is said that idleness is the mother of mis- chisf, and Oscar furnished daily proof of the truth of the saying. His adventure with the boat is but a specimen of the way in which he amused himself. The influence of Oscar Preston upon the other boya in the village, and especially upon Jerry, from whom he was seldom separated, soon became very percepti- ble. He had seen more of the world than they, and never wearied of telling of the wonders of the city, often exaggerating his stories, to make them the more marvellous. In addition to this, he was naturally bright and intelligent, and was more genteelly dressed than the village boys ; but the qualities that con- tributed most to his influence over his associates, were his daring spirit, and his imperious, commanding bear- ing, which seemed to mark him for a leader. But he had been permitted to have his own way so long ai home, that he had become headstrong and unmanage- able ; and his evil passions were daily growing stronger, while the voice of conscience within him waa 4* 42 DANGERSAHEAD. as rai3idlj becoming wejiker. It is sad, ind/ed, to see a youth growing up in this manner, for he is like the sailor who should go to sea in a frail bt^at, without anchor, rudder, or compass. He may be delivered from early destruction, through the mercy of Providence but he will not escape many struggles and losaus. CHAPTER m. TEMPTATION. pLINTON^S brood of 'ducks at length made their appearance, just one month after he had put the eggs to the hen. There were eight of them, four of the eggs having produced nothing. If madame Specky was a Httle astonished at the singular appearance which her children presented, she kept it all to herself, like a good, prudent mother, for she behaved toward them just the same as though they were ordinary chickens. She did not appear to think anything strange of their large bills, or their clumsy, webbed feet, or their awkward, waddling gait. If a dog or cat ventured near them, or a hawk happened to sail through the air, hen never put on bolder front than did mistress Specky. And there was need enough for all her courage, for her young family had so little 4i THE LITTLE DUCKS. coutrol over their big foet, that they never could have saved themselves by their legs, had a foe invaded the j)remises. For several days after the ducks were hatched, they continued about the poultry-yard, ignorant as yet that there was such a thing as water, except as they had made its acquaintance in the little tin pan from which they were accustomed to drink. Clinton's father had told him that it was a good plan to keep them from water for the first three or four days, as they were so tender as to be easily injured by cold and dampness. On the fifth day, CUnton concluded to introduce them to their new home ; so, gathering up the ducklings into a basket, and taking the hen under his arm, he carried them down to the brook, where he had made the duck- house and pond before-mentioned. It was now about the middle of September, and the brook was nearly I dry; but the little round pond contained plenty of water. This pond received all the water that came down in the brook ; and there was a dam, at the lower side of it, so that the water could not pass on its way, until it had filled the pond, and flowed over the dam. The pond was thus kept full, aU the time, but it could THEIll FIRST DUCKING. 43 be oasily emptied, when necessary, by opening a gate which Clinton had made in the dam. Clinton had no sooner deposited his basket of duck- lings by the side of the pond, than they all seemed possessed to get into the water. Away they ran, pell mell, and before their cautious and anxious mother could warn them of their danger, every one of them had launched away into the new element. And now they were as graceful and beautiful as they had been ungainly and ugly. They glided along over the water as naturally and elegantly as does the new ship on its first entrance upon its destined element. Annie, who had come to witness the scene, was delighted with the sight, and clapped her hands in glee, exclaiming : — " 0, is n't it beautiful, Clinty? Look ! look ! see that cunning little one duck its head into the water ! '' " Yes," said Clinton, without turning to look at the sight which so pleased Annie, " yes, and only see what a fuss the old hen is making on the bank ! Look quick! Ha, ha, ha!" and the boy, whose love of the ludicrous was as strong as his sister's love of the beau- tiful, burst into a hearty laugh. Nor did he laugh without a reason. Madame Specky, good, honest old 46 AN EXCITING SCENE. hen tliat she was, had never seen such strange doings before, and she was greatly alarmed for the safety of her brood. So she stood by the side of the pond, clucking and calling with all her might, and with her wings partially opened, as if to receive back her naughty children. Her neck was stretched out yearn- ingly towards them, and she was so excited that she could not stand still a moment, but kept dancing, like a boy whose legs are undergoing that peculiar tingling sensation produced by a smart switching with a birch rod. There was horror in her eye, and frenzy in her attitude. But the little ducks, who were the innocent authors of all this alarm, were sailing about as calmly as though nothing unusual had happened. Clinton and Annie remained with them a long time, now ad- miring the graceful movements of the ducks, and now laughing at the distraction of the old hen, as she tried in vain to call them ashore. After a while, Clinton carried them all -to the duck-house, and shut them np for the remainder of the day, that they might get used to their new home. Mr. Davenport was at this time engaged in getting a p/ece of land ready for a crop of winter wheat, and W I N T E R W n E A T . 47 he required the assistance of Clint/Dn a considerable portion of each day. The field had to be broken up and manured, and the soil finely pulverized, to prepare it for the seed, which must be sown early in the fall, and not in the spring, like most other seeds. JSIr. Davenport always did thoroughly wliatever he under- took. His motto was, " If a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well ; " and a very good motto it is. Clinton sometimes thought his fath(;r was more particular about his work than was necessary ; he cer- tainly took more pains than some of his neighbors did. But somehow or other, he always seemed to get paid back liberally for his extra care, by better and larger crops than those could show who were less particular about their work. Mr. Davenport was, especially anxious to have the ground well prepared for this crop, because it was an experiment ; he never before having attempted to raise winter wheat. Indeed, but very little of this grain had ever been raised in the State, and it was yet uncertain whether the climate was favorable to its production. He therefore de- termined to give it a fair trial, not only to satisfy hia own mind, but that others might be benefited by the 48 APROPOSITION. experiment ; for if lie and his neighbors could raise, their own flour, instead of sending several hundred miles for it, he thought it was very important that they should know it. Were it not for such men as he, who are willing to enter into patient and careful experi- ments, for the common benefit, the world would make but slow progress in improvement. » The land was at length about ready for the seed. Clinton had worked pretty hard for several days, and as the family arose from their noon meal, Mr. Daven- port said : — " Well, Clinty, I hope you wont get sick of raising wheat before we have planted it. You have had a pretty hard time, and I think you must be tired. You need not go into the field this afternoon, but you may tackle up Fanny, and drive over to Mr. Fletcher's, and get the seed-wheat that I bought of him. Get back as early as you can, as I want to have the seed cleaned to-night, and ready to put into the ground to-morrow morning." Clinton was not sorry to hear this announcement of Lis afternoon's work ; for though he was not a lazy boy, it really seemed to him, that just then a ride to the THE CROSS-ROADS. 49 Cross-Roads would be quite as pleasant as an after- noon spent at work in the field. So Fanny was soon harnessed into the wagon, and Clinton started on his errand. I^lr. Fletcher was a trader, who kept a store at the Cross-Roads, — a place where two of the main high- ways of the county cross each other at right angles, thus -j-.* Quite a thrifty little village had sprung up at this point, boasting, among other things, a school- house, a church, a post-office, and a " variety store." It was, in fact, the centre of life and business for the surrounding dozen miles. Though about five miles from Mr. Davenport's house, there was no other store or church within twice the distance. His family, conse- quently, had almost come to regard the Cross-Roads settlement as a part of their own village, though it was actually situated in another township. ' Clinton had not driven half way to his destination, when he discovered two lads in advance of him, walk- ing the same way he was going. On coming up with them, he found that they were Oscar and Jerry, who * See the Map of Brookdale, p. 14. 50 OSCARANDJERRT. were out on a gunning excursion, — Oscar having boi« rowed a fowling-piece of a young man who lived near ilr. Preston's. " Halloo, Clin, give us a ride," exclaimed Oscar, as the wagon drew up to them ; and without further cere* mony, both boys jumped into the vehicle. " "Where are you going ? " inquired Clinton, as he started the horse. " O, wherever you please, — w^e are not at all par- ticular," replied Oscar. " Jerry and I have been try- ing to pop off some birds, this afternoon, but the little fools wont stop long enough to let us shoot them." " I 'm glad of it," replied Clinton, dryly. " "Why are. you glad ? " asked Jerry. " Because it 's too bad to shoot them," replied Clin- ton. " I like to see and hear them too well, to harm them. If I could have my way. there should n't be a bird shot, unless they were crows or hawks, or some- thing of that kind." " Pooh," said Os 2ar ; " I should like to know what birds were made for, if it wasn't to be shot. You do n't know what fine sport it is to shoot them, or yon would be as fond of gunning as I am." GUNNING. Oi Oscar had |)robably shot half a dozen poor little birds in the course of his life, and severely frightened as many more. But he had got the idea that gunning was a fine, manly amusement, and he already fancied himself to be quite an accomplished sportsman. And if the disposition could have made him a successful hunter, he would have been one ; for he wanted to take the life of every bird and squirrel that he saw. He soon found, however, that it was easier to fire than to hit; and in most of his excursions, his powder-flask was emptied much faster than his game-bag was filled. The boys continued their conversation, and soon reached the Cross-Roads. Driving the wagon up to Mr. Fletcher's store, Clinton alighted, but on trying the door, he found it locked. Mr. Fletcher had evi- dently stepped out for a few minutes, and Chnton was about to hitch the horse to the post, and await his re turn, when Oscar proposed driving round to the " Falls," instead of waiting there. Clinton at first re fused ; but Jerry and Oscar both joined in the request so earnestly, that he soon began to parley and hesi- tate, and finally ended by reluctantly yielding to theii 52 A RIDE TO THE FALLS. proposition. He accordingly jumped into the wagon« and turned the face of Fanny towards the Falls. The lake, or pond, which has been before alluded to, has one outlet, — a little stream which flows away in a south-westerly direction, finally discharging into a larger river, which finds its way to the ocean. This little stream, which goes by the simple name of " The River," in Brookdale, passes near by the Cross-Roads. About a mile beyond that village, it comes to a wild, romantic, down-hill place, where the waters tumble about, and frolic among the rocks, as though they really enjoyed the sport. This place is called " The Falls," the descent of the river here being very marked. It is off from the common roads, the only way of reaching it being by a " wood-road," — a sort of path through the forest, used by the teams in hauling wood. The very seclusion of the spot, however, made it the more charming, and it was often resorted to by pleasure parties in the summer. The road through the w^oods being narrow and rough, Clinton could not drive very swiftly ; but he ftud his companions talked fast enough to make up for iheir slow progress. They had rot proceeded very THE CIGARS. 53 far in this road, when Oscar drew from his pocket a Bmall package, enveloped in a piece of paper, which he began to unroll slowlj, and with a very knowing and significant look. The contents proved to be three cigars. Holding them out in his hand, he exclaimed : — " How lucky ! just one a-piece. Now, boys, for a good smoke. Take one, Clin ; and here, Jerry, is one for you." Jerry took the cigar offered, but Clinton shook his head, saying that he did not smoke. " You do n't know what you lose, then," said Oscar. " I've smoked these two or three years, and I couldn't live without my cigar, now. You can 't imagine how much pleasure there is in it. Come, just try this, and see if it is n't nice." "No," replied Clinton, « I don't wish to. Father hates tobacco, in every shape, and he would n't Hke it if he knew I smoked." " But this is all prejudice," added Oscar. •" Smoking never hurt me, yet, and nobody can make me believe that there is any harm in it. I felt a little sickish for a few minutes, the first time, but that was nothing. Come, try it, Clin," he added, as he drew a match from 54 YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. his pocket, aud lighted his own cigar; "try it — it can't hurt you, — and besides, your father needn't know anything about it.'* " Here goes mine," said Jerry, as he touched off a match, and applied the fire to his cigar. "J^ father wont object, I know, for he smokes himself like every- thing ; and if he did object, I guess it would n't make much difference. I do n't intend to be a boy all my life-time." The two young smokers were soon puffing away in good earnest. Oscar w'as an old hand at the business, and Jerry had been practising pretty dili- gently since his city cousin came to live with him. Between each whiff, however, they renewed their as- saults upon the good resolution of their comrade ; and so skilfully and perseveringly did they conduct the at- tack, that Clinton, after a while, began to think it looked a little unsocial and obstinate to refuse to par- ticipate in their enjoyment. By the time they had reached the Falls, he had concluded to yield to their wishes. He accordingly drove Fanny into the water, and unhitched her bridle, that she might diink and cool herself. The three boys then threw themselves A NEW SENSATION. 55 down upou the grass, beneath a large tree, and pre- pared to enjoy the scene, and at the same time repose tlleir limbs. Clinton lighted his cigai*, — and now commenced his first experience in tobacco. He was pleased with the new sensation ; and as he lay upon his back, watching the delicate wreaths of smoke ascending from his cigar, and listening to Oscar,— who was spinning out one of his long yarns about a military muster he once witnessed in Boston, — the time flew by much faster than he was aware. His cigar had half disappeared, and those of his compan ions were nearly used up, when he happened to notice that the ^un was fast declining, and would soon go down behind the tops of the tall pines on the other side of the stream. Tossing his cigar into the water, he jumped up, saying : — " Come, boys, this wont do, — we must be on our war home." " What 's your hurry ? " inquired Jerry ; " it is R*t four o'clock yet." " Perhaps it is n't," replied Clinton, " but I ough'. io have been at home by this time. Come, jump in, and J will turn th§ horse round." 56 A .\ O T IJ i: R N i: AV SENSATION. o The boys got into the wagon, and were soon tlouly tlireading their way out of the woods. . In about half tin hour they reached Mr. Fletcher's, where Clinton stojjped, and got the bags of seed. He had now a pretty good load, and much of the way being up hil\ he did not get along very fast. Oscar and Jerry talked as fast as usual, but Clinton looked sober, and did not seem inclined to say much. Indeed, he hardly spoke to them, from the time they left the store until they reached the house where Oscar and Jerry lived- when he bade them good afternoon, and drove on. The fact was, Clinton was suffering the penalty of bis first cigar, but he did not like to confess ft, and this was the reason why he said nothing. Soon after be started from the Falls, he began to experience a eink- ing, nauseating feeling in his stomach, and every jolt and jerk of the wagon seemed to increase it. He con- cealed his feelings from Oscar and Jerry, as much as he could, and after they had alighted, he hurried home as fast as possible. It was past six o'clock when Clinton drove into the yard at home. His father, who had begun to feel anxious ftt his long absence, had come in from- the field, and HALF THE TRUTH. 57 Oil seeing Clinton, he called out to hiir, somewluit sliarplj, • " Where have you been all the afternoon, Clinton ? IVe been waiting for you more than two hours." " Mr. Fletcher was n't there, and I had to wait for Lim," replied Clinton. " Besides, it was so warm I thought I would n't drive very fast." Ah, Clinton, have you forgotten that it is a falsehood to tell but half the truth ? Clinton had begun to unharness the horse, when he became so faint and dizzy that he was obhged to stop ; and before he could get into the house, he began to vomit. His father, hearing the noise, ran to his aid, and led him into the house. The pale, deathlyn which were several books, w^ith pen, ink and paper. In a pleasant tone of voice, he informed Oscar of the charge brought against him, and expressed the hope that he would be able to establish his innocence. " Be- fore reading the complaint," he added, " I wish to say, that you are not obliged to criminate yourself in this HISPLEA. 75 matter. You can plead guilty, or not guilty, as you choose. But if you did have any hand in the fire, I would, as your friend, advise you to confess the whole at once. By so doing, you will not add to your guilt bj falsehood, and the law will deal more leniently with you than it would if you should be proved guilty con trary to your own assertions. Even if you set the wood on fire, you may have done it accidentally, or in sport, without thinking of the consequences. If you had any connection at all with the fire, I would advise you to state the facts, exactly as they occurred." The Squire then read the complaint, charging Oscar Preston with setting the wood on fire. When he had concluded, he added : — " What do you say to this, Oscar, — are you guilty or not guilty ? " " Not guilty," replied Oscar, faintly. The Squire now requested the complainant to pro- duce his evidence against the accused. Mr. Upham commenced with an account of the stealing of hia pears by Oscar and Jerry, and the punishment which followed that adventure. He said he had been threat- ened with vengeance for causing the boys to bo 76 THEWITN ESSES. whipped, and he had reason to beHeve that the burning of his wood was the result of this grudge against liim. The witnesses were now brought forward. The lirst was a boy, who testified that he heard Oscar say, wiili an oath, that he would yet come up with Mr. Uj-ham for the flogging he gave him. A young man, who worked on a farm, was then called up, and testified, that whenever the pear-stealing scrape was mentioned to Oscar, he would get mad, and threaten to be re- venged on Mr. Upham. The third witness was Clin- ton, who testified, that one afternoon, a short time before the fire, while he was at work mending a stone- wall on his father's land, near the scene of the confla- gration, Oscar and Jerry came along, and the former asked several questions about the location of IMr. Up- ham's wood-lot, and particularly inquired if he owned a certain lot of corded wood, which Oscar described, and which was the same lot that w^as afterwards burnt. The fourth and last witness, was a man who testified tliat he was in the upper part of the town on the after- noon of the fire, and, a short time before the alarm was e;iven, saw Oscar and Jerry, coming very fast from the direction of Mr. Upham's lot. , MR. Preston's DEFENCE. 77 The Squire wrote down the testimony as it was given. When it was concluded, he told Oscar he was at liberty to make any remarks or produce any evi- dence that he saw fit. Oscar, somewhat perplexed^ turned to his uncle, and after some conversation be- tween them, in a low tone, Mr. Preston remarked to the Squire, that he thought the evidence against Oscar was altogether too trivial to be worthy of serious no- tice. There was not, he said, the least proof that Os- car set the wood on fire. He thought Mr. Upham had magnified a foolish, boyish threat into a matter of very grave importance ; and he expressed his opinion, very decidedly, that the prisoner ought to be released forthwith. The Squire said he would defer his decision until the other prisoner had been examined. Oscar was then conducted from the room and Jerry was brought in. He appeared even more pale and excited than his cousin. The Squire addressed him in pretty much the same strain of remark as he did Oscar ; but before be commenced reading the complaint, Jerry began to sob, and with broken and choked utterance, said : — 7* 78 J E R Ti Y ' S C O X F p. S S I O N . " Yes, I was there, and saw Lira do it, but I did n't have any liand in it myself." "That is right, my son," said the Squire, in an" en- couraging tone ; " tell us all you know about it, just as it happened, and it will be better for you than though you attempted to deceive us. You say you ' saw him do it' — w^hom do you mean?" "Oscar." - <'Well, go on w^itb the story, and tell us all the par- ticulars," said the Squire. Jerry then related the history of the fire. Oscar, it seemed, had formed the plan of burning the wood, several days previous, and he regarded it as a sort of joint operation, in which Jerry and he were to share the fun, the gratification, and the risk. It appeared, however, from Jerry's story, that though he had en- tered into the plan, he did not actually apply tho match, nor assist in the immediate preparations for the fire. He was present rather as a spectator than an actor. When Jerry had finished his confession, IMr. Up' ham, after a little conversation with the Squire, con- ITS effp:ct on oscar. 79 « eluded to withdraw his complaint against Jerry. Oscar was then re-called. He entered the room with a calmer and more confident air than on the first occa- Eion; for since he had discovered how weak the test! mony against him was, he had little fear for the result. When, however, Jerry was called to take the oath of a witness, a deadly paleness came over the guilty boy, and he almost fainted. This was quickly succeeded by an expression of rage in his countenance, for Oscar was a boy of strong passions, and when they were ex- cited, he could not conceal them. It was necessary that Jerry should relate under oath, and before Oscar, the account he had already given of the fire, for every person charged with crime has a right to hear the evi- dence against him. When he had done this, the Squire asked Oscar if he had anything to say. " No,'* replied Oscar. " Then," added Squire Walcott, " I have only to say that the evidence of your guilt looks very black, and unless you can break down the testimony of Jerry, I fear your conviction will be certain. I must bind you over for trial, and shall require you to give bonds in the sum of two hundred dollars, to appear before tl^e 80 A-SADJOURNET. county court at the next term. "Mr*. Prestcn," he continued, "will you be his bondsman?" " No," replied Mr. Preston, in a decided tone ; " the boy has been trouble enough to me, already, and now he may go to jail, for all I care." A moment after noticing the distressed look of his nephew, he some what relented, in his feelings, and, in a milder tone, assured Oscar that he would write immediately to his father, who would doubtless hasten to his relief, and settle the whole affair without any further trial. The little court now broke up, and all returned to their homes, save Oscar, who was still in the custody of Mr. Merriam, the constable, in default of bail. After making a few hasty arrangements for the jour- ney, the officer and prisoner set out for the county jail, which was about fifteen miles distant. Mr. Merriam had thought of putting a pair of hand-cuffs upon Oscar, to prevent his escaping, during this long ride ; but the latter begged so hard to be spared this humili- ation that he relented, and allowed the boy to ride by his side in the open wagon, free and untrammelled. He also tried to divert his mind from his unpleasant situa tion, by conversation on other su])jects, but Oscar ARRIVAL AT JAIL 81 Beemed little inclined to talk. His liearf was full o( liard and bitter thoughts against every body, and es- pecially against ]\Ir. Uphara, Jerry, and his uncle. He scarcely thought of his own guilt, so absorbed was he in nursing his wrath against those whom he sup posed had injured him. It was towards the middle of the afternoon, when they arrived at the jail. A cold chill ran through Oscar's veins, for a moment, when he first caught sight of his prison-house. Before, he could hardly realize that he was a prisoner — it all seemed like a dream ; but here was the jail before him, with its stone walls and grated windows, and the dream was changed to a reality. Passing through a high gate, they entered that part of the building occupied by the jailer's family, and were conducted to a room called " the office." The keeper of the jail soon made his appearance, and Mr. Merriam informed him that Oscar was committed to his custody for trial, and showed him the order from S luire Walcott to that effect. The jailer asked several questions about the case, and then took down a large book, partly filled with wrifing, and made the following entry Avithin it : — 62 THE PRISONER COMMITTED. " October 25th. — Oscar Preston, of Bi'ookdale. age»j 14^ years, charged with setting fire to wood, in B"ook- dale. Examined by Justice Walcott, and committed for trial by Constable Merriam. Bail $200. Of oi dinary height for his age, slender form, light complex ion, brown hair, and blue eyes. Dress, — gray panta loons, dark blue jacket buttoned to chin, blue cloth cap Cell No. 19." The object of this brief description of the dress and personal appearance of Oscar was, that he might be he more easily identified, should he happen to escape from the jail. Mr. Merriam, bidding a kind good-bye to the young prisoner, now departed, and the jailei proceeded to examine Oscar's pockets, to see if tliere was anything^ in them not allowed in the prison. The only articles he took from them were two cigars, which he tossed into the fireplace, telling Oscar he would have no use for them there. He then conducted him through a long and dark passage-way to cell No. 19, which he had entered against his name in the registry- book, and which was to be Oscar's home for the pres- ent. It was a small, narrow room, with one window, near the top, which was guarded by iron bars. The oscar'scell. 83 rails and floor were of brick (the former had been re- ue-dy white-washed) and the door was of iron. A sort of bunk was fitted up in one corner of the cell> wliich was suj^pHed with bed-clothes. There were also a small red pine table and an old chair, a basin, bucket, tin dipper, and several other articles of furni tare. Oscar did not seem to be much pleased with the ap- pearance of his cell, and he said to the jailer : — " Can't you let me have a better room than this ? I sha n't stop here but a few days, and my father will pay you for it, when he comes, if you will let ine have a good room." The jailer told him, in reply, that this was the most comfortable vacant cell he had ; that he did not wish to put so young a prisoner in a cell witli older offen- ders, and if he was to stay but a few days, he could easily make himself contented. After informing Oscar of the principal rules and regulations of the prison, llie jailer locked the heavy door upon him, and retired. The first impulse of the young criminal, in iiis soli- tude, was to cry ; but he soon checked himself, and re- solved to make the "best of his situation. In a slio* * 84 LIFE IN JAIL. time his supper was brought to him, wliich consisted of a few slices of bread, and a dip- per of warm milk and water. Be- fore night had fully set in, Os- car threw himself upon the bunk, and though it was not so commodi- ous or so soft a bed us he was ac- customed to, he Boon fell asleep, and dreamed over again the eventful incidents of the day. The result of Oscar's trial created a groat slir in Brookdale. It was the principal topic of remaik in every family, and in every little knot of people thcit happened to collect, for several d^ys. The first mail that left Brookdale, after the trial, carried a letter from Mt: Preston to Oscar's father in BoL^ton, informing him of the sad intelligence. In viiree or four days, A PROPOSED SETTLEMENT. 85 tliL father of the unhappy boy arrived in Brookdale, to see what could be done in behalf of his son. He first sought an interview with Mr. Upham, who, after a little persuasion, agreed to withdraw the complaint, if liis loss, $100, were made up to him. But to carry out this arrangement, it was necessary to get the con- sent of the prosecuting attorney of the county, who now had charge of the case. The prosecuting attor- ney is an officer appointed to rej)resent the State at the trials of criminals. Oscar having been bound over for trial, the State became a party in the suit, in place of Mr. Ui)hara. The complaint now pending against him, was endorsed, " Commonwealth versus Oscar Preston" The prosecuting attorney, as the represen- tative of the Commonv^^ealth, can discontinue a suit, if he deems the reasons sufficient. The agreement by which this is done, is called a nolle prosequi, often ab- breviated nol. pros. Mr. Preston had to go to a neighboring town, some dozen miles distant, to see the prosecuting attorney He laid before that officer the facts in the case, who, after considering the matter, agreed to the proposition, on condition that Oscar should leave tl.3 State foj'th 8 86 OSCAR RELEASED. witli. To this Mr. Preston consented; and on hh paying over to Mr. Upbum, (who had accompanied him on this visit,) the sum agreed upon, together with all the other expenses of the suit, the prosecuting at- torney stayed further proceedings in the case, and gave Mr. Preston an order for the release of his son from jail. Just one week after Oscar's committal to the jail, his father arrived, with the order of release. The inter- view was not a very pleasant one. The father was evidently deeply mortified and displeased ; the son was equally ashamed and embarrassed. But little was baid, however, on either side. Mr. Preston returned ^43 iioston as soon as possible, taking Oscar with him. CHAPTER VI. JERRF AND CLINTON. QOON after Oscar left Brookdale, Jerry's father, who was interested in the logging business, started for the head-waters of the Penobscot river, to be ab- sent several months. Large parties or gangs of log- gers, as they are called, encamp every winter in the forests of Maine, for the purpose of cutting timber. After the trees are chopped down, the logs are hauled by oxen to the banks of some stream, where they re- main until the ice breaks up in the spring, when they arc rolled into the water, and floated down the swollen river, to the mills. Such was the business which kept Mr. Preston away from his home nearly half the jear. Jerry's conduct had never been very dutiful toward 88 THERABBITS. his mother, nor very affectionate toward his little sis- ters, during his father's long absences from home ; bu* now it was soon evident that he was going to give the family much more trouble than ever before. He obeyed his mother only when her commands happened to be perfectly agreeable to him. One day, Jerry's little sister, Mary, came running into the house, saying : — " O, mother, Jerry has got two beautiful little rab- bits, the cunningest little things you ever saw ; and he says they are his, and he 's going to make a house for them out of the old grain-chest in the barn." " No, he wont," said Mi*s. Preston ; " he sha n't keep rabbits, — his father has forbidden it over and ovei asain. Go and tell him to come here this minute ; ^ want to see him." Maiy ran out to the barn and told Jerry all that his mother had said. He took no notice, however, of her command, but kept at work upon the old chest, which lie was converting into a rabbit-house. IMrs. Preston was busy about her work, and did not go out to the barn to see what her son was about. In fact, she soon forgot about the rabbits, and did not think of them OBJECTIONS. 89 again untiJ Jerry came in to supper. Slie then asked him if he had brought some rabbits home. " Yes,' replied Jerry. " Well," said Mrs. Preston, " you had better carry tliem off again just as quick as you can, or I shall get James to kill them." James was a young man who lived on Mr.. Preston's farm. " I should like -to see Jim kill my rabbits," replied Jerry; "I guess it would n't be healthy for him to do it." " But you know," replied his mother, " that your father has always refused to let you keep rabbits They may do a great deal of mischief, and are of no use whatever. They '11 be a real trouble to you, too, and you'll soon get sick of them. Come, I would n't keep them. Send them off, and I will make it up to you in something else." " What else ? " inquired Jerry, who was al\va}'3 ready to listen, when his mother proposed to " buy him off" from doing anything she did not like. " O, I do n't know now," she replied ; " you '11 want something or other by-and-by, and if you send the rabbits off, I shall probably let you have it." Jeriy did not accept tliis rather indefmite offer, and 8* DO DEPREDATIONS. pretty soon the topic of conversation was changed. The next day he completed the quarters for his rab- bits, in spite of the threats of James, and the feeble remonstrances and coaxings of his mother. He kept them shut up several days, that they might learn to feel at home ; after which, he left their door open, giv- ing them the run of the barn and garden. The rabbits had enjoyed their liberty but three or four days, when one morning James discovered, to his astonishment, that they had completely stripped the bark, as high up as they could reach, from about thirty young apple and pear trees, which Mr. Preston had set out two or three years previous. The excite- ment which this discovery produced in the family was so great as almost to make even Jerry tremble for a while. The trees thus destroyed were choice varieties, and it would require several years' time, as well as much care and money, to make good the loss. The blame was, of course, thrown entirely upon Jerry, to whom it belonged ; and it was many days before he heard the last of the scolding and fretting in conse- quence of this mishap. As to the rabbits, he never saw them again ; and, as he made no inquiries, he L O N E S O M E N E S S . 9l never knew what fate befel tliem. James, in the heat of his wrath, had despatched them both, without jury or trial, on the morning when their depredations were first discovered. It was natural that Jerry should greatly miss Oscar, with whom he had associated continually, day and night, for several months. Indeed, he began to think seriously of running away from home, and going to Boston, that he might be with his cousin again, and participate with him in some of the marvellous scenes and adventures wdiich Oscar had so often described. In his lonesomeness, Jerry now began to seek the com- pany of Clinton more than ever. The district school soon commenced for the season, and as both boys at- tended it, they were thrown together much oftener than in the summer months. In going to and from school, Clinton had to pass Jerry's house, and they usually kept each other company by the way. For some rea- son or other, — probably a suspicion that Clinton's parents did not like him very well, — Jeny seldom went to Mr. Davenport's house. Of course, Mr. Daven- port did not know that any particular intimacy existed between his son and Jerry. lie occasionally spoke of 92 TIREDOFSCnOOL. (he latter as a boy whose end, he feared, would not be good; and more than once he expressed a wish tLut Chnton would avoid him as much as possible. But this, Clinton found it rather difficult to do. Jerry sought his company, and he could not bear to say no. He knew Jerry was a bad boy, and that he did wrong to put himself under his influence ; but he had not suf- ficient decision of character to terminate an acquaint- ance which had been so long continued. So the intimacy was kept up, to the great injury of Clinton. At school, Jerry was not only a dull scholar, but a very troublesome one. Having never been taught to obey at home, he was rude and ungovernable in the school-room, and was more frequently punished for dis- obedience and inattention to his duties than any other boy in the school. After the novelty had worn off, Jerry began to grow tired of attending, and occasion- ally played truant, always contriving, however, to es- cape detection, by representing that he was detained at home by his mother. But after a while these absences grew so frequent; that the master began to suspect all miglit not be right ; and one morning, on calling Jerry tc accoui. for his absence the preceding afternoon, JERRY IN TROUBLE. 93 h"e told him he should not excuse him unless he brought a note from his mother in the afternoon, certifying that he was kept at home. Jerry was put to his wit's end, by this new and an- expected demand. He had been off on a skating frolic the afternoon previous, while his mother supposed him to be at school, and he could not, therefore, ask her for a note of excuse. What could he do ? If he did not bring an excuse in the afternoon, he was afraid the matter would be investigated, and lead to the discovery of his other frequent truancies ; and in this case, he knew he would not escape a severe punishment. At first he thouo;ht of writing a note himself, and siornina his mother's name to it; but then he wrote such an awkward hand, and was such a poor speller, that he was afraid he could not deceive the teacher. After thinking the matter over, aU the forenoon, he at last resolved to do one of two things, — either to persuado some one to write the excuse for nim, or else never to enter the school-room again. When school was dismissed, Jerry walked home with Clinton, as usual. After they had got beyond the hearing :>f the other scholars, Jerry said : — 94 A PLAN. "Clinty, I've got into a bad scrape, and I doi/t kjio\7 how to get out of it, unless you help me." " How can I ? " inquired Clinton, who at once cora* r)rehcnded the situation of affairs. " I '11 tell you of a plan I 've thought of," conthiued Jerry ; " and if you '11 only say yes, I guess we can fix it easy enough. You see it wont do for me to ask the old woman for a note,'' — the old woman was the dis- respectful title by which he usually spoke of his mother, • — " and if I go to school without one, I 'm afraid that old Eaton will find out that I 've been playing truant all along, and he '11 give me a regular trouncing. Now if you will write the note, nobody will ever know the difference, for you can write just like a woman. I w^ould do it myself, if I could write as well as you can." " What ! " said Clinton, with some signs of astonish- ment ; " you do n't mean that you want me to write an excuse, and sign your mother's name to it, do you ? " " Yes, that 's it, exactly ; unless you can tell me of a better w^ay to get out of my trouble." " I should like to help you out of it," replied Cliu- tun ; " but I could n't do that." APPEAL TO CLINTON. 95 "Then," added Jerry, in a decided tone, "I sliall never see the inside of the old school-house again. 1 do n't know of anybody else that I can get to write the note, and I am not going there without it, to have the breath beat out of my body. I shall go to Boston, and take my chance, — I wont stay about here any longer." « Do n't talk so," said Clinton. « Why not tell your mother that yon did n't go to school yesterday after- noon, and ask her to write an excuse ? She would do it, I guess, if you made the confession, rather than have you punished." " She do it ! " exclaimed Jerry, with some bitterness ; " no, more likely she would write a note requesting old Eaton to lick me like blazes. But," he continued, " why wont you write the excuse, Clinty ? " Clinton hesitated what reply to make to this ques- tion. If he had honestly confessed his feelings, he would have said, " It would be wrong, very wrong, to do such a thing ; " for his conscience told him this, and this alone was the objection that weighed in his mind. And yet Clinton, though a well-trained and virtuous boy, had a foolish dread of confessing that he was afraid to do a wrong act. This was espe-^ially the case 96 SCRUPLES CONCEALED. in his intercourse with Jerrj, who, he knew, seldom had scruples of this kind, and whose ridicule he dreaded more than that of his other associates. So> after a brief pause, he said, " Why, there would be a great risk in doing that. li' Master Eaton should discover that I wrote the ex- cuse, it would be a bad piece of business for both of Ub. "But how can he find it out? He doesn't know my mother's hand-writing, and if you write it neat and fine, he wont suspect anything. Come, you write it I when you get home, and bring it with you this after- noon, and I '11 meet you on the road. If you do n't I sha n't go to school, that 's all." By this time they had reached Mr. Preston's house, and after a few more words of coaxing and entreaty, Jerry left his friend, with a pretty confident feeling that he would accede to his wishes. True, Clinton did not actually promise to write the note ; but Jerry knew how difficult it was for him to say no, to any pressmg suitor, and he felt almost sure that his wicked plan would be successful. AVhcn Clriton was left to his own thoughts, there INDECISION. 97 eame on a severe struggle in his mind. He could not bear the idea of lending himself to such a mean and wicked piece of deception, and yet he feared to meet Jerry with a refusal. He thought, also, what the con- sequences would be to himself, should the fraud be dis- covered. And then he thought of Jerry's threat to leave school and run away from home, if he did not write the excuse. If he could prevent this great sin on the part of Jerry, might it not atone in a measure for the lesser sin of writing the note ? This question arose in his mind, and many an older head has been led astray by a similar suggestion. No, Clinton, you must not do evil that good may come, or greater evil be prevented. You must not commit a sin, even in kind- ness to a friend. But he did not hear the voice, and when he reached his home, he was as undecided as ever what to do. Clinton's long walk to and from school, left him little more than time enough to eat his dinner. The noon meal not being quite ready, when he entered the house, he went to his father's desk, Mid began to scribble something in the form of a note of excuse. After writing several, to see how they would look, he was 9 98 TAMPERINGWITHEVIL. called to dinr er ; and hastily selecting the best looking of the notes, he put it in his pocket, for futuie conside- ration, and destroyed the others. Even now, he was no nearer a decision than he was at first. When Clinton arose from the dinner-table, it was time to start for school. He had not proceeded far before he overtook Jerry, who was loitering along, in expectation of his approach. " I '11 take that note now," said Jerry, stretching out his hand to Clinton, as the latter came up with him. " I do n't know about that," said Chnton ; " I Ve been thinking it all over, and have about come to the conclusion that I can't agree to your proposal. But have n't you thought of some other way to get out of the scrape?" " No," replied Jerry, " there is no other way ; but you have written the note, have n't you?" he added, with some appearance of alarm. *'l have written something," replied Clinton, "just to see how it would seem ; but I rather guess I sha n*t let you have it." " Let me look at it, then, wont you ?" ** I guess so ! " said Clinton, with a laugh. THE FORGED EXCUSE. 9& "But I'm in earnest," added Jerry, "just let me look at it, and I can tell in a minute whether it will an- swer. Perhaps it wont do, and then I sha n't want it, at any rate. Come, let me see it, and if you do n'l want me to keep it, I wont." Clinton took the excuse from his pocket, and allowed Jerry to look at it. It read as follows : — " Mr. Eaton will please excuse Jerry for absence from school, yesterday, as he was needed at home. Eliza Pkeston. Jan. 5th.'' After reading the note, Jerry said it would do first rate; but instead of returning it to Clinton, as he promised, he put it into his own pocket. Clinton re- minded him of his promise, and tried to get the paper back again, but in vain ; and Jerry carried on the con- test in such a good-natured, bantering spirit, that Clinton could not take offence. Thus the deed was done, so far as Clinton was concerned, without his coming to any decision about it. In such cases as this, no decision at all, is often equivalent to a wrong decision. 100 SUCCESSFUL DECEPTION. As Jerry entered the Gchool-room, that afternoon, he handed the forged note to JNlaster Eaton, who read it, and, without saying anything, tore it up. The d©« ocptioE was Buccessful. CHAPTER VIL DISCLOSURES. TV TY young friend, did you ever master a hard lesson, after a great effort ? And do you remember how you felt, after the achievement? Perhaps it was a difficult sum ; and when you began, you did not see how you could possibly work your way through it. But you persevered, and covered your slate with long columns of figures, until at length you arrived at the correct answer, and you felt something like the philoso- pher of old, who exclaimed, after solving a difficulty, Eureka, — I have found it ! And now, having con- quered this sum, you felt just like attacking a stiU harder one, the next day. You knew you could do it, because you did the other ; and you took hold of it, with a determination to work it out — and you did ivork it out, did you not ? Perhaps there was another boy in your class, who at- 9» 102 canandcan't. tempted to do the same thing. But before he had pul forth half the effort reqinred, he got tired of the sum, and gave up the attempt. The next day the teacher tried to encourage him to make another attempt, but the boy knew he could not do the sum, — he had* tried once, and it was of no use to try again. So the teacher was obliged to turn him back into simple addition and multiplication, and he will probably never get much beyund those departments of arithmetic. It is precisely the same with everything else that we attempt to do. Suppose, instead of a difficult sum, it was a fault, or temptation, that these two lads tried to master. One of them persevered until he conquered the difficulty, and the result was, his virtuous principles were strengthened, and he was prepared to resist still greater temptations, or to subdue greater faults. His motto is, " 1 canP The other boy would not make the necessary effort, and gave up the attempt after a poor feeble trial. The consequence was, he not only fell in- o bad habits, but lost his self-reliance, by degrees, un- til the notion got into his head that it was of no use for him to try to do right. " / can H " is his motto. The lesson to be drawn from this is a very important AN IMPORTANT TEUTH. lOS one, as you will see from the history of Clinton. Thai you may have a clear idea of it, let me state it thus : — Every temptation resisted, will give tod greater confidence in your ability to over come new temptations. every temptation yielded to, will impair your self-reliance, a.nd prepare the way for yet greater lAULTS. Clinton soon found that he had made a great mis- take, in aiding Jerry to escape the consequences of his truancy. True, the deception was not discovered ; but tne very success of the plan encouraged Jerry to re- peat the experiment, and Clinton now found it less easy to refuse to write an excuse than at first. His sin was, therefore, repeated again and again, until Jerry felt at perfect liberty to absent himself as often as he pleased, knowing that Clinton would furnish him with the written excuse, which the teacher now required in r11 cases of absence. To be sure, Clinton objected, and scolded, and threatened ; but Jerry cared little for this, so long as he was sure to yield to his desires in the end. If ever a more convincing argument than isual was needed, tie hard-hearted boy would secure 104 T H K EVENING PARTY. his end by hinting at an exposure of Clinton's share in his past truancies. Thus did Clinton find hitaself fast in the net of this bad associate ; and thus, through the influence of one false step, did he continue to do wrong, against his conscience, and even against his own wishes. The people of Brookdale frequently held social par- ties, at their houses, in the long winter evenings, which were usually attended by all the neighborhood. . They were not favorably situated for maintaining the lec- tures and other entertainments which are common in large towns, and these social gatherings were a sub^i- tute for them. At one of these parties, Mrs. Preston happened to meet Master Eaton, and after a few words on unimportant matters, she inquired how Jerry got along at school. Mr. Eaton could not give a very fa- vorable report either of Jerry's behavior or scholar- ship. He did not wish to pain ISIrs. Preston, at such a time, by telling her exactly how things stood ; and so lie thought he would evade a direct reply to her ques- tion, by turning her attention to a point where he sujv posed she herself was at fault. " Why," be remarked, " he is absent so often that il A DISCOVERT. 106 is bard to tell whether he really does make any pro- gress. 1 find that scholars never get along very well unless they are pretty regular in their attendance." " But what do you mean ? " inquired Mrs. Preston " I thought he attended school regularly." " O," replied Mr. Eaton, " parents are hardly eve* conscious of the bad effects of absences upon the scholar. They think it of little consequence if their children are kept at home two or three times a week, but it is just this little irregularity in attendance that often prevents their learning anything." "But you are mistaken, Mr. Eaton," said Mrs. Preston ; " I have not kept Jerry at home half a day this winter." " He always brings an excuse from you, when ab- sent," added Mr. Eaton. " An excuse from me ! " said Mrs. Preston, with aa air of astonishment ; " why, I have not written an ex- cuse for him this term, and I did not know that he had ever been absent." Master Eaton was now as much astonished as was Mrs. Preston. Both had made an unpleasant discovery. It was evident that Jerry was a worse boy than eithei 106 A MYSTERY. of them had supposed. He had played the rogue with a high liand. After some further conversation, it was agreed that Mrs. Preston should say nothing at present respecting Jerry's misconduct, but leave the teacher to investigate the affair. The next morning, on searching his desk, Master Eaton found several of Jerry's old notes of excuse, which had been accepted, and thrown aside. His first object was to find out who wrote them, for he knew that Jerry could not have done it. At first, he thought the writing was the work of a female hand; but among the girls who attended school, there was not one w^hom he could suspect of such conduct. Besides, he knew that Jerry was not very popular with the girls, who regarded him as a rude, rough boy, and shunned his company as much as possible. He then took the writing-books of the male scholars, and ex- amined each one carefully, by itself, comparing the penmanship with that of the notes. The conclusion to which he came was, that there were only three male scholars who could possibly have written the notes. Two of these were young men, nearly gi'own up, who apparently held very little intercourse with SUSPICIONS. 107 Jerry ; the other was Clinton, an intimate acquaintance of Jerry, but a boy whose conduct at school had always been unexceptionable. Surely, none of these could have had a hand in the mischief. At least, so thought Master Eaton. Several days elapsed, and the teacher made no pro gress in his investigations. At last, Jerry's seat was vacant, for one entire day, for he now seldom took less than a day at a time, when he played truant. The next morning, he appeared with a note, as usual, which the master read, and put in his desk, without making any remark. Mr. Eaton had noticed that Clinton and Jerry came to school together, that morning, and as he glanced at Clinton, after reading the note, he observed that the latter turned his eye quickly away, and di'op- ped his head, as if afraid to meet the gaze of his teacher.. This led Mr. Eaton to watch him more closely, and it was with the deepest pain that he de- tected an uneasy, anxious appearance in his manners, which he had never before observed. In the course of Ihe forenoon, he stopped a few moments at Clinton's geat, and conversed familiarly with him about hia lessons ; but there was a constraint and want of fraiik 108 GUILT BETRAYED. ness in the boj's appearance that only served to deepen the master's painful suspicion. The truth was, Clinton went to school, that morning with a vague foreboding that his guilt was about to be brought to light. By some mysterious process, which I cannot explain, a secret impression of approaching evil sometimes weighs heavily upon the mind, without any known cause. This was the case with Clinton, that morning, and the glance which his teacher cast toward him, after reading Jerry's excuse, sent the con- viction, to his heart that he was discovered. How easily does guilt betray itself! School was dismissed as usual, at noon, and again assembled in the afternoon. Tfee master had intended to detain Clinton after school in the forenoon ; but the intermission was so short, that he concluded to defer the investigation until afternoon. Just before dismiss- ing the scholars, at night, he went to Clinton's seat and in a low tone o^ voice which no one else heard, requested him to remain after school. Clinton turned red, and then pale, at this unusual request, made in so unusual a manner. After the scholars had all passed out^ and the doors were shut, Mr. Eaton called Clinton SHAME AND GRIEF. 10^ up io his desk, and taking Jerry's excuse from the drawer, held it up, and asked him if he knew anything about it. It was a terrible moment for the unhappy boy. He felt that his guilt had already betrayed itself, and ex- posure, shame, and punishment were now inevitable. His tongue refused to speak, and after vainly strug- gling with his emotions a few moments, his pent-up feelings found an outlet in an outburst of tears. His legs trembled beneath him ; and throwing himself up- on a bench near by, he buried his face in his hands and sobbed bitterly. Mr. Eaton did not repeat his question — it was al- ready answered. He saw, however, that there was penitence as well as guilt, in the youth before him, and when he spoke to him, it was in a kind and soothing tone. • " Clinton," he said, " I have kept school here three winters, and this is the first time I have ever had tc call you to account for a fault. You have al- ways behaved well ; if you have done wrong now, I think you must have been led astray by some great temptation. I accidentally discovered, a few days Bgo^ that these notes did not come from Jerry's mother, 10 110 AREQUEST and I determined to trace them to their source. 1 judge from your conduct that you wrote them. If so, I want you to make a clean confession of the affair. If you have really had a hand in this matter, you should consider yourself fortunate that you have been detected, before it went any farther. I have long known Jerry Preston to be a very bad boy, but you are so unlike him that I did not suspect he was Jead- ing you on to ruin. Come, wipe your eyes, and teU me the whole history of this matter." "Will you promise me one thing?" said Clinton, speaking with considerable difficulty amid his sobs and tears. " I cannot promise you anything until I know what it is," rephed Mr. Eaton. " What is the promise you refer to ? " "I am willing to tell you the whole story," added Clinton, " but I do n't want any body else to hear of it." " I cannot promise you that," remarked Mr. Eaton, ** for there may be good reasons why the affair should not be kept secret. I will agree, however, to keep it private, provided I think I can properly do so." CONFESSION. Ill Clinton now proceeded to relate all the circumstan- ces connected with the forged excuses, just as they occurred. He described his fears, his struggles with conscience, the threats of Jerry to run away, and the artifice by which the latter obtained possession of the first note. Nothing was kept back, and as Mr. Eaton listened to the disclosures thus frankly made, and read the sorrow and repentance of CHnton in his looks and tones, he was satisfied that a true account had been given. Clinton himself felt as though a'terrible burden had been rolled from his heart, after he had concluded his confession. He breathed freer than he had for several days previous. After Clinton had concluded his confession, Master Eaton sat in silence several moments, apparently en- gaged in deep thought. At length he spoke : — " This is sad business, Clinton, — sad business. You have been guilty of a series of forgeries, in repeatedly signing another person's name. You have also aided and encouraged a bad boy in his evil ways, and are to some extent responsible for his wickedness." Clinton commenced crying afresh. " But," continued the teacher, " there are some ex- 112 clinion's weak side. tenuating circumstances in the case, which I shall take into consideration. I cannot see as a pubhc exposure of your wrong-doing before the school would be of any benefit to yourself or to others, and I shall spare you that mortification, provided your general conduct con- tinues good. And as to the punishment that the case demands, I will consult with your father before con- eluding upon it." " O no/' exclaimed Clinton, " do n't tell him about it. Punish me in any way you please, and I '11 pro- mise never to offend again, if you wont let father kno\^ anything about it." Mr. Eaton's reply was decided, but kindly expressed. " Clinton," he said, " I have always considered you a youth of good habits, but the disclosures you have just made show that your character has a weak side. You. are too easily influenced by others. You can't "say no, when a great temptation presents itself. In my opinion, you have just had a narrow escape from ruin ; for who can tell into what evil Jerry would have soon led you, if the spell had not been acci- dentally broken ? Now your father is ignorant of all this. He has no idea, probably, of the dangers to MR. EATON*S ADVICE. 115 which you are exposed ; but he ought to know /he facts in the case, and I should not feel as though I had been faithful to my trust, were I to hush up a . matter of so great importance to his and your welfare. No.. I cannot think of doing it. The better way would be for you to go to him and confess the whole truth, yourself. If you are really sorry for what you have done, as I suppose you are, you ought to be willing to do this. What do you say to the pro- posal ? " " If you think . I ought to, I will do it," replied Clinton, somewhat reluctantly; "but I would rather he would not know it." " My advice is," said Mr. Eaton, " that you go home and confess the whole affair to your father to night. If you do so, I shall consider that my duty has been discharged, so far as you are concerned, ami shall leave the matter of punishment entirely with ^cur- father." With these words Mr. Eaton bade his pupil good- night, and both departed for their homes. On his way home, Clinton encountered Jerry, who, suspecting the cause of his detention, had loitered on the road, 10* 114 JERRY IN PERPLEXITY. waiting to learn the truth. Clinton told him they were discovered, but declined giving him ar.v information, or entering into any farther conversatF p on the sub- ject ; and he hurried home, leaving Je/^y not a little perplexed at his unusual conduct. CHAPTER Vni. CONFESSION. tT rillLE Clinton is on his way home from school^ after the discovery of his offence, let us look in a moment upon his parents. " After six o'clock, and Clinton has not made his ap- pearance yet," said Mrs. Davenj)ort, who had the smoking tea and toasted bread upon the table, in readi- ness for the evening meal. " Really, husband, I begin to feel uneasy about Clinton. He is away from home a great deal more than he used to be, and when he is here, he seems like a different boy from what he was a year or two ago. You say you do n't notice any- tliing unusual about him, but that only shows that a niother's eye is more quick to read the heart than a oian's. /see a change in his conduct. He is more re- served than he used to be ; is less affectionate in liis manners, takes less interest in his work and })ookR, 116 CLINTON *S APPEARANCE. and often seems absent-minded, as though he was thinking of something that he meant to conceal from us. I do n't like that Jerry Preston, and I 'm afraid he is doing Clinton no good." " You are only borrowing trouble when there is no need of it," replied IMr. Davenport. " I do n't see but that Clinton behaves as well now as he ever did. At any rate, I 've no fault to find with his conduct, and nobody else has yet made any complaint against him. You must not expect that he will always be precisely the same little boy he used to be. As he grows older, he will naturally change, like all the rest of us." Before Mrs. Davenport could reply, Clinton entered the room, and silently took his seat with the family at the supper-table. The conversation that had just passed, naturally led both his parents to observe him more closely than usual. Mr. Davenport thought he looked unusually sober. But the mother, with her penetrating eye, saw more than this ; she saw traces of weeping, and a peculiar expression of trouble, on the fai^e of Clinton. She noticed, also, that she could not o.atch his eye, which was restless and uneasy. He took no part in the conversation at the table, and ate THE FIRE-SID E. 117 but little. After tea, he took the lantern, and brought in from the barn the usual supply of wood and kindhng stuff for the morrow, which was a part of his regular work. This duty over, he seated himself on a cricket by tJie fire-side, and commenced whittling a piece of ,,n'nyVi!!!!*tf!;rl!5'"i'lir !_iteia^> f I /I pine which he had brought in. Annie had been put jO bed, and his father and mother were seated at the light- stand, which was drawn up in front of the blazing wood- fire. The same troubled look which Mrs. Davenport had noticed at the tea-table, was still very plainly visi- 118 WHITTLING. ble on Clinton's face. Indeed, he had seateu himself with the determination not to rise until he had madt his confession to both his parents ; and he was thinking how he should introduce the unpleasant topic, when hii father broke the silence by asking : — " Clinton, what are you making ? " " I am only whittling," he replied. "I see you are whitthng," remarked Mr. Davtfl*- port ; " I inquired what you was making." " I aint making anything," replied Clinton. " That's a bad sign, Clinty," continued his father. " I know whittling is a Yankee accomplishment, but he is a poor Yankee, who whittles away his stick to nothing. Did you never hear of the fellow who lost his sweet-heart by doing that very thing ?" Clinton shook his head, in the negative. *' Well," continued ISIr. Davenport, " after the young man had come to an understanding with the pretty lass whom he intended to make his wife, he had to go to her father to get his consent to the arrangement. The father was a shrewd old farmer, and he noticed that his daughter's suitor, during the awkward inter- view, whittled away very industriously at a stick, just A STO RT. 119 Bs you were doing a moment ago. The old man walched the movement of the knife, and at the same time continued to talk on the prospects of his would-be gon-in-law, until the stick had dwindled down to nothing. Then he said to the young man : ' Sir, you have prop- erty, and steady habits, and are good-looking ; but you can 't have my daughter. Had you made something, • — no matter what, — of the stick you have whittled away, you could have had her ; as it is, — you cannot Your property will go as the stick did, little by little, until all is gone, and your family reduced to want. I have read your true character; you have my answer.* " So," continued Mr. Davenport, " you see what a man lost by whittling his stick away to nothing. Per- haps he only did it because he had something on his mind, which he did not know how to get off; but he took a very foolish way to get over the difficulty, as he soon discovered." This last remark, whether intended so by his father or not, Clinton took as having a special meaning for hira. He thought it an evidence that his father had noticed his troubled look, and was awaiting an explana- 120 CLINTON'S CONFESSION lion. So throwiog his piece of pine into the fire, and Bummoning all his resolution, he said, as his eyes filled with tears : — ^ Father, I have got something on my mind that has made me very unhappy for a good while, and now I want to tell you all about it." At these words his mother, who was sewing, dropped her work and fixed her eyes earnestly upon Clinton His father, forgetting his conversation an hour or two previous with ISlrs. Davenport, said : — " I thought something ailed you, Clinton, and I am glad you have concluded to tell us about it. Tou have no better friends than your father and mother, and you ought never to conceal your troubles from them. Go on with your story." Clinton then made a full and frank confession of his misdoing, as it has been already related. He also gave an account of the manner in which he had been de- tected, so far as he had been able to learn, and narrated the conversation he had held with Master Eaton, that afternoon. When he concluded his confession, his pa- rents, s^ well as himself, were in tears. For some mo- ADMONITIONS. 121 meiits there was a silence, unbroken save by sobs. Mr. Davenport then arose, and pressing Clinton to his heart, said : — " My son, I bless God that he has given you courage to make this .confession. You have done very wrong ; you have had a narrow escape from shipwreck, — and all the while we were not dreaming of your danger ! 0, how could you deceive us so ? But I wont chide you now. You have done well to disclose it all, even at this late day, — and I hope you have learned a lesson from this affair which you will never forget ! " His father and mother continued the conversation for some time, — pointing out to Clinton, very plainly but kindly, the principal faults of his character, by which he had been led astray; and warning him earnestly against associating any more with Jerry, or any other boys of his stamp. At length, Mr. Davenport inquired what punishment the teacher had inflicted. "None," replied Clinton ; "he said, if I would confess the whole affair to you, he would leave the punishment to vou." « Well," said his father, " I will think about it. I could 11 122 AT SCHOOL. cheerfully forgive all the past, if you would promise to do better hereafter, — but I am not sure that this would be the best thing for you." " I mean to behave better hereafter," said Clinton > ** but I do not ask to be pardoned without punishment 1 knDw I deserve to suffer for my conduct, and I shan't think hard of it if I do." Mr. Davenport said he would consider the matter, and announce his decision the next day. The family then knelt in prayer; and the erring, but repentant, son was most affectionately commended to the Divine for- giveness, and the Good Spirit implored to guide his future steps. The next morning Clinton attended school, as usual, but Jerry was absent. Mr. Eaton inquired of Clinton if he had kept his promise, and seemed much pleased when he answered in the affirmative. He gave him Bome good advice, and expressed the hope that he would avoid all similar errors hereafter. It being Saturday, no school was held in the afternoon, and Clinton returned home without having seen Jerry. In the evening, when Clinton was alone with hia PUNISHMENT 123 * parents^ the subject which had engrossed the thoughts of all, so earnestly, for the last twenty -four hours, was again introduced. " Your mother and I," said Mr. Davenport, " have talked over your affair, Clinton, and we have come to the conclusion that the series of offences was so long, and so aggravated, that the pain of exposure which you have suffered is hardly sufficient punishment. You did well in making a confession, it is true ; but, you did not do that, until you found you could no longer conceal your guilt. We have therefore de- cided that you must forego your promised trip to Boston next March, by way of punishment." This was, indeed, a severe deprivation to Clinton. For more than six months he had been anticipating with delight the arrival of spring, when, the winter- school over, he was to spend several weeks with hL« uncle and cousins in Boston. But he felt that the dis- appointment was deserved, and he made no complaint His father afterwards added, for his encouragement that if his conduct continued unexceptionable, the sus pended visit should come off in the following autumn, after the fall work was over. 124 A BURDEN REMOVED. Notwithstanding his disappointment, Clinton weni tu bed that night with a lighter heart than he had known before for many weeks. He felt that he had escaped from a frightful snare, and that he could once more look his parents and teacher honestly in the face. He determined to retrieve, by his good conduct, whatever he had lost, in their estimation ; and he felt almost im- patient to be tempted again, that he might show thera bow firmly he could now resist every evil influence. CHAPTER IX. THE RUNAWAY. T?ARLY on the Monday morning after the events related in the preceding chapter, Mrs. Preston was Been approaching the house of Mr. Davenport. She was evidently much excited and troubled, and as soon as she entered the I'Dom, she proceeded to disclose her errand. It was simply this, Jerry had run away from home! It will be remembered that Jerry learned from Clin- ton on Friday evening, that his truancies were discov- ered. He had already made up his mind what to do in case of such an emergency ; and the following day he thought the matter over, and determined how to proceed. The next day all the family went to church but himself, he having desired permission to stay at home and take care of the house. After he was left alone, he hastily dressed himself in his best suit, and 11* 126 THEFT AND DESERTION proceeded to tie up in a bundle a few articles of clothing, such as shirts, stockings, etc. He then -went to his mother's bureau, and, knowing where she kept the key, unlocked a drawer, and took therefrom a purse containing all the money she then had on hand, amounting to about thirty dollars. Seeing some letter paper by the side of the purse, he wrote the following message on the sheet, and left it in the drawer : — "i am tyred of staing in this misrable plaice — i am Goeing to see, and you wont se me again verry soon, you se i took a feu dollars, to help me allong — you musnt think you can ketch me, so Goodbie." Having thus fitted himself out for the journey, Jerry turned his back upon his home, without one reluctant thought, and hastened on his way toward Boston. As the family did not return from church until the after- noon service was over, no one knew of the disappear- ance of Jerry till late in the day. At first, nothing strange was thought of his absence; but when night set iu, and he did not appear, his mother began to grow uneasy. On examining the chest in his bed- room, she found that some of his clean clothes had A mother's ghief. 127 gone, and a suspicion flashed upon liei mind that he had forsaken his home. Still later in the evening, she happened to go to her drawer, and discovered Jerry's farewell note, and — the robbery. Yes, her son was a thief, as well as a runaway. I will not attempt to describe the anguish which pierced her soul, when she read his heartless message, confirming her worst sus- picions. Bad and unruly though he was, he was her own, her only son, and she still loved him with the affection which only a mother can know. And now to be separated from her boy under such painful and mortifying circumstances — to lose all influence over him, and all knowledge, even, of his whereabouts, with the prospect of never seeing him again — ah, it cost her a pang such as she never before experienced. Mrs. Preston destroyed Jerry's letter, before any one else could have a chance to see it ; for she determined that no one, even in the family, should know of the theft he committed. Of course, she said nothing to Mr. Davenport about this. She called upon him to ask his advice and aid in the matter. Mr. Davenport was not much surprised to hear that Jerry had run 128 NEIGHBORLY ADVICE. awaj. From what he knew of the boy, it was only what might have been expected. Nor, on the whole, was he very sorry that he had gone ; for he was a bad boy, and was corrupting the youth of the village, and hie leaving the place would be a public blessing. Still Mr. Davenport could not help pitying Jerry's mother, and in spite of his feelings, he thought it his duty to assist her to recover her son, or at least to ascertain where he had gone. He therefore advised her to write immediately to Jerry's uncle in Boston, and re- quest him to put the police officers on the look-out for the runaway, should he show himself in that city. He also decided to go himself in pursuit of Jerry, in a^ sleigh, with the hope of overtaking him. But before Mrs. Preston took her leave, he said to her : — " I have one more word of advice, IMrs. Preston ; and that is, if Jerry is bent on going to sea, I think you had better let him go a short voyage. If we succeed in bringing him back, it is not likely that he will stay here long; and if he is determined to go away, he had better go with yo«r knowledge and con- sent, than without them. His uncle can probably se- THE PURSUIT. 129 cure a chance for liim on board some vesstil wliert, he will be well treated, and then you will know where he is, and be likely to hear fiom him occasionally." Mrs. Preston said that, for her part, she would agree to such an arrangement, though she did not know as Jerry's father would consent to it. Mr. Davenport kept his promise, and, as soon as he could get ready, started off in pursuit of the runaway, taking the road that led toward Portland. He stopped occasionally at some house, on the road, to inquire if a boy had been seen travelling that way the day before. For a while, he could find no trace of Jerry ; but at last he found one house, the inmates of which re- membered that a lad, answering to the appearance of Jerry, had passed along the road on foot, the day pre- vious. Mr. Davenport now pressed forward, subse- quent inquiries confirming him that he was on the right track. Toward noon, he reached a village from which a line of coaches ran to Waterville, connecting with Ihe railroad to Portland. On making inquiries at the lavern, he learned that Jerry arrived there the evening previous, and took the stage early in the morning, say- ing that he was bou id for Boston. It was, of course, 130 FEELINGS TOWARDS JERRY. useless for Mr. Davenport to follow him any farther, and he accordingly returned home, and reported the result of his inquiries. " Father," said Clinton, as the family sat around the; fire-side in the evening, " I should n't think you wouH be sorry Jerry has run away — and yet you 've tried pretty hard to catch him." " On some accounts," replied Mr. Davenport, " I am not sorry ; but I pitty his poor mother, and for her sake I would like to save the boy from the fool- ish course he has taken. But I have little faith that he would remain here a great while, if brought back. He has been permitted to have his own way so long, that there is little probability of his submitting now to the authority of his mother." " "Well, I am almost sorry that he has gone, too," said Clinton. "You ought not' to be," replied his father. " Why, as to that," said Clinton, "I had made up my mind just how I would treat him, hereafter, and I wanted you to see that I have got some firmness left ; but now I shan't have any opportunity to show you what I can do/ TESTING RESOLUTIONS. 13i " You need not feel any regret on that score," replied Mr. Davenport. " It is easy enough to form good res olutions, but perhaps it will be fortunate for you if yours are never put to a severe test. But even if Jerry does not return, I suspect you will meet with temptations sufficient to prove your 4i"ength of resist- ^i^ce. A wise man never courts temptation." CHAPTER X, THE JOURNEY, TERRY had planned his flight with considerable care and skill, for a boy of his age ; and before the time came for him to take the first step, he had laid out the course he intended to pursue. Dressed in his best suit, with his bundle of clean clothes under his arm, and with the ill-gotten thirty dollars stowed away in the lower corner of his vest pocket, he started on his journey into the great unknown world. He walked for many a weary mile, over a road covered with snow that had recently fallen ; but the sun shone pleasantly, and the weather was not so cold but that he sweat very freely from his exercise. It was not until after sunset that he reached the tavern where he proposed to spend the night. This tavern was a large wooden building, -somewhat dingy with age, and bore upon its front a faded, weather-beaten sign, on which was in- T ii K B A rj - R o o :m . 133 « Bcribed tlie name of its proprietor. Some time l^cfore Jerry readied the building, he could see the bright, cheerful liorht of the fire shining through the windows, and flickering and flashing over the wide, level field of snow which separated him from its comfortable shelter. Quickening his steps, he was soon at the door, and without stopping to knock, he entered the room from which he had seen the light. It was a large room, with sanded floor, and the walls were covered with dingy maps, pictures, stage and railroad bills, advertisements of public houses in other places, and various other things. There was a large, open fire-place on one side, and a heap of glowing coals and blazing logs gave the room a very com- fortable and attractive aspect. Several men were seated around the fire, in chairs, which supported themselves on their back legs, at an angle of forty-five degrees. Two or three of the company were smoking cigars, the fumes of which filled the room almost to suffocation. As Jerry entered, the men all seemed to look at him pretty sharply, and as he laid down his bundle, and di'ew a chair up to the fire, one of then? said, 12 134 JERRY QUESTIONED. "Well, young man, what can we do foi you ?" " I want to stay here to-night," replied Jerry " and I should like some supper too, if it is n't too late." "How far have you come to-day?" inquired the man. " I do n't know," answered Jerry ; " I should think it was about eighteen miles." " Running away from home, eh ? " continued the in- quirer. " No, I 'm not running away, but my mother has sent me to Boston, to get work." And Jerry could utter this falsehood with so honest a look and so smooth a tongue, as to deceive all who heard him ! "What is your name?" continued his inquisitive host — for it was the keeper of the tavern that put these questions. "Jeremiah Preston." "And where did you say you belong?** « In Brookdale." " And are you going to take the stage to-morrow morning for Boston?" " Yes, sir." AGOODSUPPER. 13 The tavern-keeper made several other inquiries, whiih were answered to his satisfaction. He then left the room, and presently returned and told Jerry that hh supper was ready. Following his host, Jerry en- tered a long room, m the middle of which stood a table, running nearly the whole length. At one end of this table were spread the dishes and victuals for Jerry's supper, the rest of the household having been to tea. There were warm buscuits and butter, rich milk, and smoking tea, nice-looking cheese, and red, juicy apple- sauce, — besides a plate of tempting cakes, and pies of two kinds. A lady poured out a cup of tea, and then left him to help liimself to the eatables. His long walk had given him a sharp appetite, and he availed himself of this privilege very freely. It seemed to him that he never sat down to so good a supper before. He ate until he began to feel ashamed of himself, and then left off, not because he had had enough, but be- cause he was afraid to eat more. The demands of hunger satisfied, Jerry began to realize how tired he was. He accordingly asked the landlord to show him the way to his bed-room, which the latter did. Before leaving him for the night, the 136 A.N E A R L T C A L L . landlord told Jerry that the stage started at five o'clock in the morning, and that he would call him in season for it. Jerry then went to bed, and was ;Oon lost in sound sleep, from which he did not awake till a* loud and long-continued rapping on his door, and the repeated cry of " stage ready ! " at length elicited from him the response, " I hear." Scarcely knowing where he was, or what all the disturbance was about, he leaped out of bed, and was soon dressed, and ready to resume his journey. His tavern bill was fifty cents, which he paid, and without stopping for breakfast, he took his seat in the stage that stood waiting at the door. It was quite dark, and the snow was falling fast, a driving wind piling it up in drifts. The stage, as it was called, was a large covered sleigh, with three long seats inside. Having fastened down the woollen cur- tains to keep out the snow, the driver mounted his seat, gave the word to the horses, and away they ztarted. For a large portion of the way, Jerry was the only passenger. Now and then he could hear the crack of the whip above the noise of the storm, and the sound of the horses' bells, deadened by the snow and wet, was just audible. He could see nothing, for it was not THE STAGE RIDE. 137 yet day-light, and besides, he was a close prisoner. lie could not even tell which way the vehicle was going. Sometimes he thought it went sideways, and then again it would seem to be going backwards. Sometimes, with a jerk and a bounce he would be almost thrown from his seat, — and at other times, it would seem as if it were impossible to escape upsetting. For a while, he was much amused with his situation, but at length he began to grow tired of the continual thumping and jolt- ing, and longed to see the end of the journey. Several more passengers were picked up, as they passed through other villages, which, with the appearance of daylight, served to enliven spmewhat the remainder of the way. But Jeny was not sorry when the driver reined up the horses in front of one of the hotels in Waterville. Hungry and benumbed with cold, he en- tered the public house, and spoke for breakfast, which was furnished very soon, as passengers wer6 expected by the stage. For this he paid twenty-five cents. It was a very good breakfast, and well worth the money ; but he could not help thinking how many meals, quite as good as this, he had eaten at home, without paying 12* 138 WATERVILLE. fiuytliing for them. He began to feel the diflerence between living at home and living abroad. After breakfast, Jerry ascertained that he had abjut two hours to spare, before the cars started, which he ihought he would spend in looking about. Waterville seemed to him to be quite a large and bustling place The houses were numerous, and many of them were very elegant. There were also plenty of stores and work-shops, and quite a number of churches. The Kennebec river, on one bank of which the town is built, was frozen over, and the saw-mills were not in operation. He went on to the covered bridge, which crosses the Kennebec, where he obtained a good view of the river, the mills, and a portion of the town. On a hill, a short distance from the centre of the town, he saw three large brick buildings, one of which had a cupola. On inquiring lie misery of Jerry. He got upon GOING TOBED. 165 [u6 feet, and, clinging to the rail, began io vomit, or " throw up Jonah," as the sailors term it. The more he retched, and gagged, and groaned, the more his tor- mentors ridiculed him. The most conspicuous among them was a raw, freckle-faced lad, apparently a little older than Iiims^lf, who was now on his second voyage, and was retaliatmg upon Jerry the treatment he had him- self suffered but six or eight months before. He it was that dropped the pork into Jerry's face. The sailors called him Bob, for they seldom use any but nick-names, and those of the shortest kind. Jerry remained upon the deck nearly all the after- noon ; and no one, from Bob to the Captain, took any notice of him, except to laugh at his condition. Sea- sick people generally get but little sympathy from old salts. Towards sunset, feeling no better, Jerry asked one of the sailors if he would please to show him to his bed-room, — for, in his simplicity, it had never oo cun*ed to him that a bed-room, and even a bed, wer^ iixuries that did not belong to the sea. The old tar, with the utmost gravity, called out : — " Come here. Bob, — this 'ere young gentleman rants you to show him the way up to his bed-r*)om." 164 THE FORECASTLE. Bob came, and conducted Jerry to the rati in, or ladder, leading up the mast, — and told him to " go up two pair of stairs, and knock at the left-hand door." If there was anything funny in this, Jerry was too sick to apprehend it. His good-nature had long since given out ; but now he was getting positively angry, and re- torted ujDon his tormentors with some spirit. But this only increased their sport and aggravated his misery. At length, however, they became weary of their ban- tering, and one of the sailors, whom they called Tom, led Jerry down into the forecastle, as that part of the vessel, where ths sailors sleep, is called. This apart- ment was in the forward part of the brig, immediately under the deck. It was a small place, barely high enough to stand erect in, and with no hght except what entered at the door-way. Great chests were strewed around the floor, so that it was difficult to walk without running into them. The sides of the forecastle were fitted up with three tiers of what looked like large shelves, with raised edges. These were the bunks in "which the sailors slept. Each man had his own bunk, which was just large enough to lie down in. Two or three of these bunks were unclaimed, and Tom told FIRSTNIGHTATSEA 165 Jerry lie could take his choice of them. But Jeny had come on board without the slightest preparation for sea, and of course had neither mattress nor blank- ets, which each sailor is expected to provide for him^ self. "What was he to do in this emergency ? Luckil) for him, Tom happened to have some spare bed clothing in his chest ; and as he rather pitied Jerry, h# offered to let him use it until he should have an op- portunity to furnish himself with an outfit. Jerry gladly accepted the offer, and taking off a portion of his clothing, crawled into this narrow, box-like resting- place. Our young sailor did not enjoy a very sound sleep, on his first night at sea. The motion of the vessel, the creaking and straining of the rigging, the noise of the water dashing against the bows, the dolorous sighing of the wind through the blocks and ropes, the loud, sharp-spoken orders on deck, and the frequent passing of the seamen to and from the forecastle, together with his sea-sickness, allowed him but little repose. Nof did he quite fancy the atmosphere of the forecastle, , which became close and stifled before morning, and was flavored with various odors, the most prominent of I OG SCRUBBING DECKS. w.^jj[ch seemed to be tar, bilge-water, and (obacca However, he made out to catch a few sliort naps, from r>ne of which, about dayhght, he was aroused by a i^earty shake, and ordered on deck. It at first seemed k) him that he had not strength sufficient to arise, but he managed to get upon his feet, and staggered up on -^eck, where the mate at once set him to work, washing down the decks. Weak and sick as he was, he worked at the pump awhile, the cold water in the meantime running in streams about his feet, his shoes oifering but little resistance to the flood. Then he was obliged to kneel down and scrub the deck with small stones, called by the sailors, " holy-stones," and used at sea for clean- ing the decks of vessels. This laborious employment continued for more than an hour, and whenever Jerry attempted to relax his efforts in the slightest degree, he would hear the stern voice of the mate : — " Bear a hand there, sir, — no skulking here ! ** On one occasion, this admonition was enforced by a smart stroke of a rope's-end laid over his shoulders, Jerry began to regard the mate as a monster ; and, in- deed, he looked upon the officers and men, generally, < as littl ' better than the pirate- of whom he had read r> n i: A K F .^ T . 1 G7 in. some of his juvenile books. But these men were no^ so bad as he imagined. It is stern, rough discipline tliat makes the hardy sailor ; and Jerry's initiation was no more severe than that of most boys who go to eca * before the mast." After the deck had been holy-stoned, Jerry made hia first meal at sea, — he having been too sick hitherto to eat anything. His breakfast consisted of hard ship- bread, cold salt junk, or beef, and rye coffee, without milk. He ate but little, for the fare was not very tempting, and his stomach had not yet got accustomed to the ups and downs, the pitchings, and tossir.g^, and reelings, of a life at sea. He was kept busily employed, most of the day, in doing various little chores about the vessel ; for being the youngest, he was obliged to run at everybody's call He learned from one of the sail- ors, during the day, that the brig was bound for Val- paraiso ; but this did not give him a very definite idea of his destination, — for so sadly had he neglected his geography at school, that he could not tell in what quarter of the globe Valparaiso was situated, or whether it was a week's, or month's, or six months' sail 168 ^ C A L M . from Boston. He also discovered that the name of tho brig was " The Susan." Towards the evening of the second day out, the weather grew milder and the sea more calm. The brig, wliich had dashed through the water as if on a race, from the moment they got under headway, now began to slacken her speed, — and one of the old sail- ors predicted an " Irishman's hurricane," as a calm ia sometimes humorously called. The motion of the ves- sel was much less perceptible, and Jerry began to get over his sea-sickness. He now took some interest in the strange scenes spread out before him : the level ocean stretching away in every direction, until it appa- rently touched the sky ; no hill bounding the horizon, and not a speck of land to be seen. But one other vessel was in sight, and that was so far off that only the white sails could be discerned, the hull being hid- den .from sight by the roundness of the earth. Dol- phins and porpoises were sporting round the brig in a very amusing manner, — now darting entirely out of water, and now plunging to the bottom, or scudding along very swiftly near the surface. Occasionally, a STORMY PETRELS. 160 small bird was seen flitting past the vessel, or skimming along upon the water, in its wake. At first, Jerry took them to be swallows, but he soon learned from Tom, that they were stormy petrels, or, as the sailors call them, Mother Carey's Chickens. The sailors regard these birds with much superstitious fear, because they appear in greatest numbers just before a storm, and are besides very singular in their habits ; but the pe- trels are really very inoffensive birds, and have no more to do with getting up a tempest than our ducks, geese, swallows, snow-birds, and other land birds, which are uncommonly noisy and busy just before a storra. Tom, however, like most sailors, believed the traditions con- cerning the petrel, and when he told Jerry they were messengers of the evil one, they lost none of their in terest in the eyes of the young sailor. At night, while stowed away in his little bunk, sound asleep, they ap- peared to him in countless flocks, and he dreamed that they settled around him in such vast numbers, that he had to struggle desperately to avoid being suffocated by them. Thus passed Jerry's first two days at sea. You vs nuld hardly have patience to follow him through all 15 170 ROUTINE OF WORK. tho long voyage ; nor is it necessary that you should, for the experience of one day was much hke that of another. He found going to sea a very different thing from what he expected. To be sure, there were at first some pleasant novelties about it, but these wore away after a while. This was not the case, however, with the toils and hardships, — which only grew more distasteful the longer they were continued. The ro- mantic, free-and-easy life of the sailor, which he had pictured in imagination, he found to be in reality a life of severe labor, drudgery, exposure, and deprivation. There were few idle moments for him, even in the most delightful weather. At daylight, each morning, rain or shine, he must scrub the decks, and clean out the pig-pen. Next, perhaps, he would be ordered to assist in shifting sails, and would be obliged to haul rough ropes until his hands were sore, and his back felt ready to break ; then, for an hour or two, he would be kept hard at work scraping and oiling the masts and yards, — or be sent aloft with a bucket of tar and gr^'a^e, railed slush, and, hanging in mid-air, be compelled tg dip his hand into the nasty mixture, and rub down pome portion of the rigging or mast. He also had hia IRON DISCIPLINE. 171 own washing and mending to do ; and when there was nothing else to employ his time, he must pick oakum, or make spun-yarn and sennit. Even at night, he could not claim exemption from toil, — but was liable at any hour to be turned out by the shrill cry of " All hands, ahoy ! " to face rain or snow, or to feel his way aloft in a gale of wind, and in pitch-darkness ! There was one thing, however, that Jerry, at first felt more than even the hard work and poor fare of hia new calling ; this was, the iron discipline to which he fomid himself subjected. He had never been accus- tomed to obey any one, at home ; but here, it was prompt, instant obedience, or a blovv. This deep- rooted habit of disobedience, together with his settled habit of laziness, made his " breaking in" at sea much more painful than it would otherwise have been. One morning he did not instantly obey the summons when called up, and, without intending it, dropped asleep again ; a moment afterwards he found himself sprawl- ing among the chests in the forecastle, every bone in his body aching as though it had been twitched out of its place. The captain, with one jerk, had brought him from his bunk to the floor, and accompanied the act 172 A NAP AT THE WATCH. ■with an imprecation on his eyes, for not turning out when called. Jerry had to take his turn in watching on deck, at night. One night he was greatly fatigued, and sitting do^\^l on the boom he fell asleep with his head in his lap. The second mate happened to be on deck, and seeing the situation of Jerry, he seized the rope's-end, and approaching him stealthily, brought it down with all his strength upon the back and shoulders of the boy. Jerry, in his fright, came near leaping overboard, and it was a long time before he again took a nap at the watch. At work, too, a kick, or cuff, or a bit of rope was always handy, if there was any inclina- tion to skulk. " Hurrah, there ! bear a hand ! heave along ! heave along ! " was constantly sounding in his ears, — a system of driving which he found anything but agreeable. Jerry also added unnecessarily to the bitterness of his lot, during the first few weeks of the voyage, by his surly, insolent manners towards the sailors. Being treated as inferiors themselves by their officers, sailors have no opportunity to play the superior except to- wards the boys on ship-board, and they are very apt tc make the most of this opportunity. It is best for the BAD ASSOCIATES. 173 boy to submit patiently and good-naturedly to this petty tyranny ; for, if he is saucy or surly, they show him no mercy. Jerry soon learned this, from his own experience. He at first bore the treatment of tho crew with much ill-grace ; but he was* soon cured of this fault, and learned to be civil and obliging towardi them. In addition to all these troubles and hardships, Jerry found himself thrown into intimate companionship with men, some of whom were not only shockingly profane and disgustingly indecent, in their language, but even boasted of the immorality of their lives. But these evil influences, though they startled Jerry a little, at first, were not the things that troubled him ; — and yet, with his unformed habits and principles, they were a thousand times worse for him than all the stern hard- fiKifs of the sea. 15» CHAPTER Xm. MARY. TERRY was missed at home; — to be sure, his do- parture was not felt so sensibly as it would have been, had he acted the part of a dutiful son and an affectionats brother. Still, all mourned his sudden dis- appearance ; especially, as they knew not what had be- come of him. For a while, Mrs. Preston looked up tlie road, many times every day, to see if she could discern anything of the runaway, for she had strong expecta- tions that he would return. But he did not come, nor were any tidin^^s received from him. In her distress and anxiety on his account, she forgot all his bad con- duct, and only lemembered that he was her son, — her only son. Little Mary, too, was much troubled at tho loss of her brother. She did not fully comprehend the * occasion of his 'absence, and as little was said in her presence about it, she somehow got tlie notion into her A LETTER. 175 head that Jerry had been seized and carried off by cer- tain wicked people whom she called " bugaboos." " Mother,'' she would say, " when Jerry gets to be i> great-big man, wont he get away from the bugaboos, and come back again ? " And then her mother would look sad, and reply, " I hope so, my dear." About a fortnight after Jerry's dej^arture, Mrs. Pres- ton received a letter from her husband's brother in Boston. She opened it with mingled hope and trem- bling, for it was in reply to one she had addressed him, the day after Jerry left home. But it gave her no in formation in regard to his whereabouts. Jerry's uncle simply stated that he had been absent from home, and did not get her letter till a few days previous ; that he had made inquiries, but could learn nothing of Jerry ; and that he would be on the look-out for him, and give her immediate information should he hear anything con- cerning the runaway. She laid the letter down with a sigh ; and that evening she wrote to her husband, in- forming him of the situation of affairs, — for she had delayed doing so until now, in hope of hearing what had become of Jerry. Being at work in the woods, far away from any post-office, Mr. Preston did not 176 THE SNOW MAN. receive this letter until it had got to be quite an old affair, and so he did not think it worth while to return home, to look after his son. Clinton continued to be a frequent visiter at Mi's, Preston's, and was regarded as one of the family, •^ther than a stranger. When riding down to the Cross Roads, he always stopped to inquire if they had any errands to be done at the store ; and often, when going back and forth, he would drop in a few moments, to chat with the children, or join in their sports. There was in the yard a great image of snow, twice as large as a man, which Clinton had made to amuse little Mary. The frequent thawings and freezings to which this snow giant was subjected, gave him a smooth, thick coating of ice, so that a snow ball made no im- pression upon him. This, Clinton said, was his coat of mail. By causing water to drop down its chin, when it was freezing cold, Clinton made a beard of icicles for the image, which gave it a very grotesque look. One morning, after a thaw, Mary was highly delighted with a discovery she made of a long icicle hanging from the nose of the " old man," as she called him. A fe\^ days after there was a heay fall of moisl HIS r O RTR AIT. 177 snow, which swelled the image to gigantic proportions, the outline of the fissure beinf^ still preserved; but soon it tumbled to pieces of its own weight, and only- heap of hardened snow and ice ^mmm:,'M, remained to tell its storj. Clinton was a favorite with the \f"a j^ family and his n^;!)V^*=yii visits ^ave them |^^^^|| much pleasure ; W h^' \ \ ''-^i LlSfi yet Mrs. Preston __|||f^^^|^^^| could not look up- ^^S on him without a feeling of sadness, for his presence always reminded her of her own son — the playmate from infancy of Clinton. Nor could she help contrasting their char- acters and prospects. She thought what a difference a few years had made, in the two boys ; and then she wondered whether this difference was to go on, ever widening, to the end of their lives. Thus week after week passed away, and the family were beginning to recover from the melancholy oo 178 MARY'S SICKNESS. casioned by Jerry's flight from home, when a new and unwelcome guest entered the house. This guest was sickness, and Mary was its victim. She grew ill so alarmingly fast, from the hour of her attack, that James was soon despatched for the doctor. When this functionary arrived, he felt of Mary's pulse and ^ temples, looked at her tongue, and made some inqui- ries of her mother in relation to her symptoms. He then pronounced her to be in a fever, but expressed some hope of being able to throw it off. Opening the little leathern trunk, which he always carried with him in his professional visits, he took from it several kinds of medicines, and gave them to Mary's mother, with directions how to administer them. But Mary con- tinued to grow worse and worse, in spite of the good doctor's medicine. She tossed about on her little bed, moaning piteously, and complaining continually of the dreadful pain in her head. Night came, and she could not sleep, although the lamp in the room was shaded, and her mother moved noiselessly about in her gentle ministries to the sick one. Every little while she would call for drink, for she said she was burning up with the heat ; but she ate nothing. STRANGE TALK. 179 • The doctor called the next day, and after the usual examination, he left some more medicine, and departed But his little patient grew no better. And so daily he repeated his visits, and each time remained longer, and looked more anxious ; but his skill seemed to be of little avail. At length one morning, as Emily and Harriet were sitting at the bed-side of the sufferer, while their mother was necessarily absent, Mary awoke from a short, troubled sleep, and, with a wild, unnatural look, began to talk very fast and very singularly about a great many different things. " There 's my old snow man," she said, pointing to a bed-post on w^hich some light-colored clothing was hanging ; " old man, old man, old man, do you know who made you ? I know who it was — 'twas Clinty. O mother, see that ! see that ! is n't it beautiful ! Now it 's gone, and I sha n't see- it again. Yes I will too. There it goes — buz-z-z-z-z — do n't you sting me, you naughty bee — I '11 tell my mother if you do. See . see ! see ! there he comes — that 's Jerry — no it aint — yes it is too — I tell you it is Jerry — do n*t you see him ? 0, how glad I am he 's got away from the bugaboos ! Look ! look quick ! that 's him — there 1^ DELIKIUM. it goes — up there — do n't you see it way up there going round and round? By-low baby, — by-low baby," she continued, twisting the bedclothes into something that seemed to her a doll ; and then she repeated a verse of one of her little songs : — " Dance, little baby, dance up high ; Never mind, baby, mother is by ; Crow and caper, caper and crow, There, little baby, there you go." Thus she continued to talk, her mind flying from one thing to another in a most singular manner. Her sis- ters spoke to her, but she took no notice of them ; and Harriet ran down to her mother, and bursting into tears, cried : — " O, mother, do come up stairs — Mary's gone crazy, and is talking about ever^^thing ! " The poor little sufferer continued in a delirious state most of the day, though occasionally, for a few mo- ments at a time, reason would seem to resume its sway The ioctdr looked more grave than ever, and wlieu jMis. Preston followed him into the entry, and en- treated him to tell her exactly what he thought of tho case, he rt'.plied : — RETURN OF REASON. 181 " I think she is a very sick child, but as the fever has not reached the turning-point, it is impossible to tell how it will result. I do not despair of saving her, however, for I have seen more than one patient live through as violent an attack as this appears to be." Clinton called daily at the house, to inquire after Mary, but as it was important to keep her as quiet as possible, he did not go into the sick chamber. His mother, however, came over every day, and sometimes remained all night, greatly assisting Mrs. Preston in taking care of the sick one. Mary's delirium con- tinued with little interruption for two or three days. "When she came out of this state, she cast a recog- nizing look at her mother and sisters, who were seated in the room, and then, in a low voice, in- quired : — " Mother, where is Jerry ?'* " Jerry is not here, dear," replied Mrs. Preston ; ** he has not yet got back." " Where has he gone ? " " I do n't know where he is — he went away before you was taken sick, but we hope he will be back soon." 16 ]82 DISAPPOINTMENT. " But 1 saw liim here yesterday, mother," continued Mary, who had a confused remembrance of some of the impressions of her delirium. ^ *' No, darling, you are mistaken, you dreamed that you saw him — that was all." Mary looked disappointed ; and as her recollection of Jerry's disappearance returned, she added mourn- fully:— " Then I sha n't see Jerry again before I die — nor father either." " O, yes you will," quickly replied her mother, startled at these words ; " you will soon get well, I hope, and father will be home, before many weeks, and Jerry, too, perhaps." Mary sadly shook her head, but made no reply. That night she slept a few hours, but in the morning it was evident that she was rapidly failing. Calling her mother to the bed-side, she said, with a beautiful smile upon her face : — " Dear mother, I am going to-day — I have seen the angel that is to carry me over the river. O, I wish I could tell you all about it, but I can't talk much now. I saw a beautiful country — there was no snow THE DREAM. 183 there, but the grass was all grel^n, and there were flowers of every kind. There was a great temple, too, as high as the clouds, and it dazzled my eyes to look at it, it glittered so in the sun. And I saw thousands of little children, dressed in white, and the Saviour gathered them around him, and kissed them, and then they all jsang, and looked so happy, and he looked so kind. But there was a dark, ugly river between me and them, and while I was thinking how I should like to get across, a tall, beautiful angel came up to me, and asked me if I would not like to become one of the Saviour's little lambs. I told him I should, but 1 was afraid of the terrible river. Then he kissed me, and told me not to be afraid, for he would come for me in a few liours, and carry me over ; and he said I never should be sick any more, nor go astray. And I asked if he would not take you too, and father, and Jerry, and Emily, and Harriet, but he said* — ^Not yet.' And wliile the ano;el was talking to me, the Saviour looked (o\^ ai da us, and stretched out his arms ; and so I am sure that I shall go to heaven to-day." Mrs. Preston listened to this recital in tears, and ivas too much overpowered with her emotions to make 184 THE LAST SCENE. any reply. It was but too evident that Mary* pre* sentiment of her approaching death was not unhkely to prove true. She continued to sink through the day. The doctor came once more, but he told the weeping mother he could do nothing more for the sufferer. In the afternoon, Mary desired that all the members of the family should be gathered around her. In a few simple, childish words, she bade each a farewell, and looked the affection which she could not express. And then, remembering the absent ones, she left messages of love Tor her father and Jerry. She soon after sank into a stupor, and apparently did not recognize her mother and sisters, who sat silently and tearfully watch- ing her breathing, as each minute it became shorter and more labored. Just as the last spark of life was expiring, a heavenly smile beamed upon her pure young face, and the exclamation, " There he is ! — the angel is coming ! " faintly trembled upon her lips. A moment after, little Mary was gathered into the fold of the Good Shepherd, in heaven. A little grave was dug in the frozen earth, in one comer of the garden, and there the dust of Mary now Bleeps, in hope of a resurrection. But it is only the HEAVEN. 185 body tliat lies there. She went with the good angel, we trust, to become one of the lambs in the Saviour's flock. " There past are death and all its woes, There beauty's stream for ever flows, And pleasure's day no sunset knowi." CHAPTER XIV. THE FORESTS. A/I iRCH had come — the month which is usually considered the beginning of spring, though in the part of the country where Clinton resided it seemed more like the last month of winter. The winter school had closed, and as it was too early to commence labors on the farm, the scholars were enjoying a long holiday. There was little for Clinton to do, at home, and even his father was at leisure much of the time, having chopped and hauled his year's supply of wood, cleaned and repaired his tools, and done such other jobs as are usually deferred to the winter season. The deport- ment of Clinton, since his frank confession of the er- rors into which Jerry had led him, had been unexcep- tionable, both at home and at school. He seemed like himself again. His parents began to feel sorry that they had deprived him of his promised journey to EXCURSION PROPOSED. 187 Boston, although he had never once spoken of the matter from the daj they announced their intention. In talking over the subject one evening after the children had gone to bed, they concluded to make up for Clinton's lisappointment, in part at least, by treating him to an excursion of another kind. The next morning, at the breakfast table, Mr. Davenport introduced the matter by saying : — " Clinton, you Ve behaved pretty well, for some time past, and as I believe in rewards as well as pun- ishments, I am going to propose to treat you to a little, excursion, next week. Where should you prefer to go — to Portland, or to Bangor, or back into the for- ests, among the loggers ? As the sleighing is now ex- cellent, and bids fair to remain so for a week or two longer, we will take Fanny — or rather she shall take us ; and you shall decide to which of these points we shall steer." *< I should like to go to either of the places, first- rate,' said Clinton, " but I do n't know as I have any choice about them. I 'U leave it with you to say which BhaU be the trip." " No, ' resumed his father, " you think the matter 188 PUEPARATIONS. over to-day, and perhaps you will find that you have some preference." Clinton did so, and after weighing in his mind the attractions of the several places, he came to the con- clusion that he had rather visit a logging camp, of which he had heard so much, than to go to either Portland or Bangor. He had already once visited the former city, and the other had no special interest for him, beyond any other large place. So he infortned his father of his decision, and the logging camp was determined upon as the object of their journey. The rest of the week was spent in preparing for and talking about their approaching excursion. Clin- ton watched the weather very closely, and was con- stantly on the look out for a storm; but no storm came, though there were at times indications of foul weather, which somewhat dampened his ardor. Hia mother cooked a large amount of dough-nuts, ginger cakes, fried apple pies, and other eatables convenient for a journey ; for they were going through a section of the country which was little settled, ^nd might have to depend upon themselves, in part a<; Vast, for their pro- risions. The sleigh was cleaned mi4 even Far-ny THE OUTFIT. 189 reoei\ed extra care, and an extra allowance of fodder, in consideration of the long jaunt before her. Monday morning, at length, came. The weather was just what they desired. The sun shone pleasantly, ihe Air was mild, and the sleighing, — which had not been interrupted for a day, since the first considerable fall of snow in December, — was smooth and easy. Mrs. Davenport stowed away in the sleigh-box, under the seat, an ample supply of provisions for the journey ; and, also, a quantity of extra clothing, to be used in ease they should need a change. Nor did Mr. Daven- port forget to provide something for Fanny's comfort on the way. He lashed a bag of grain between the dasher and the front of the sleigh, and inside he put as much hay as he could conveniently carry, tied up in wisps of a convenient size for bating the horse. Some friction matches, an umbrella, a rifle, a hatchet, and two good buffalo skins, completed their outfit The sun was hardly half an hour up, when Clinton and his father bade good-bye to Mrs. Davenport and Annie, and started on their journey. The logging business is carried on most extensively around the head waters of the great rivers in the northern part of 190 THE FORESTS. Maine. These, however, were too far distant, and the roads to them too little travelled, to be visited with much pleasure or even safety, at this season of the year. The camp which Mr. Davenport intended to visit was situated on one of the tributaries of the Ken- nebec river, about forty miles from Brookdale. Here they could obtain quite as correct an idea of the loggers' life as they could by going farther north, though the business was carried on upon a smaller scale at this place. Fanny trotted off at a brisk pace, and soon the travellers found themselves upon a road where no houses nor cultivated laud could be seen, — but tall for- est trees rose on each side, and spread away in the distance as far as the eye could see. " What lots of woods," said Clinton ; "I do n't see why they go so far after logs, when they are so plenty around here." " I suppose one reason is," said his father, " that these forests are not very convenient to a stream, so thai the logs could not be easily floated down to the saw-mills. Perhaps, too, the land belongs to somebody who thinks the lumber will be more valuable by and by SCARCITY OF WOOD. 191 than it is now. There are many large tracts of wood scattered over the vState, even in parts which have been settled for years." "'I should think it would take a great many ages to use up all the wood there is in this State," continued Clinton. "I hope it will be a great while," remarked IVlr. Davenport, " before we are as badly off for wood as they are in some parts of the old world. What would you think of buying fire-wood by the pound ? Yet this is the way it is sold in Paris and many other European cities. A man who had travelled a great deal, once told me that he had known wood to sell at the rate ol eighty-five dollars a cord, in Naples. In France, and Spain, too, wood is very scarce, and as but little coal is used, the people learn to be very economical in the use of fuel. He says it would cost a fortune for a man to keep up such fires in his house, in Paris, as we do here. The trimmings of fruit trees and grape vines, and everything that will burn, is carefully saved. Lumber, for building purposes, is also much dearer than it is here, and is much less used than with us. But some psiople thirJs the time will come when \yood and lum- 192 GREAT STUMPS. ber will be as dear here as tbey are now in Eu- rope.'* Patches of fenced lands, some of which had evidently been cultivated, now began to appear, and in a few minutes a little settlement of farm-houses became visi- ble; but the travellers did not stop, and were soon again in the forests, with no signs of civilization around them but the road upon which they travelled. Most of the pine trees had been cut down, in this tract, but a few lofty and noble specimens remained, as if to show what had been there. The stumps of these departed giants of the forest were scattered in every direction, and some of them were of great size. They had no measuring tape, but ISlr. Davenport, after carefully examining one of these stumps, calculated that it measured fully seventeen feet in circumference, at the ^ cut." There was a pine still standing, near by, which he thouorht would measure almost as much as this. Its height he estimated at one hundred and thirty feet. But though there were few white pines left, there was no lack of trees. Among those which Clinton recognized, was a small, scraggy species of pine ; tho gtifl) con'i-shaped cedar ; the mountain ash, with its A TALK ABOUT TREES. 193 clusters of bright red berries ; the noble and cleanly beech ; the thrifty, broad-headed butternut ; the grace- ful birch, with its silvery trunk ; the maple, the larch, tlie spruce, etc. There was also a dense growth of smaller trees or bushes, among which he found the ha- zel, filbert, moose-wood, alder, bear-berry, winter-green, and other familiar shrubs. The conversation turned upon the properties and uses of these several trees. — for Mr, Davenport always improved such occasions for giving Clinton useful information concerning the objects around him.. He told him what an excellent substituttj beech leaves were for straw, for filling beds ; and how valuable the sugar-maples will one day be considered, when the people get in the way of making sugar as an article of export ; and how the Shakers use the wood of the butternut for making bowls, and sell the bark to the apothecaries for medicinal purposes ; and how fond the partridge is of the little red bear-berries. "As to the birches, which are so plenty along here, I suppose you already know something of their peculiar virtues," continued Mr. Davenport. "I guess a few of the boys at school discovered what they are good for, this winter," replied Clinton, wiili a laugh. 17 194 VIRTUES OF BIB<'JH. " Well, I made the same discovery myself, when ! went to school," added Mr. Davenport " The maslei got out of birch rods, one day, and sent me off to cui some. The tree whicn we usually patronized for tliif purpose was near by a pond where there happened to be excellent skating ; and as my skates were handy, 1 having hid them under a log before going into school, I thought I would take a turn or two round the pond, after cutting the twigs. I did so ; and then returned to school, with half a dozen long, stout rods. As the master took them, he said, with a smile, 'Ah, thesf • look nice, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating so I will just test them a little.' I laughed at his pleasantry, and turned to go to my seat, when hd said, ' Here, sir, come back, I 'm in earnest — I want to test these a little before you take your seat.' And sure enough, he did test one of the longest of themj eo that I carried proofs of its virtues upon my legs foi several days after. ' There,' said he, after he had satisfied himself, ' these rods will do very well ; now you may go to your seat, and when I send you after the next lot, do rCt you stop to shate on the pond!^ I afterwards learned that he grew suspicious of my long OIL OFBIRCH. 19f absence, and sent ^ut a boy to see what had become of me, who reported to him that I was skatmg. Ever Binjce that day, I have had a very lively recollection of the virtues of the birch tree." " Master Eaton often says boys are subject to some complaints that have to be doctored on the botanical system — he says there is nothing but oil of birch that will save them," remarked Clinton. " Speaking of the oil of birch," said Mr. Davenport, " did you know that it is valuable for tanning leather, as well as boys' hides?" " No, sir, I did n't know there was really such a thing as the oil of birch," replied Clinton. " I thought people used the words only in fun." " There is such a substance, and it is said to be used in tanning hides, and currying leather, in Russia. They distil it from the outside bark of the tree. Did you never notice that the birch-bark often remains en tire, after the tree to which it belonged has gone to decay?" " Yes, sir, I know some trees back of our house that have been dead ever since I can remember, and are all 196 THE BIRCH TREE. rotten inside, and yet the bark looks as though it was alive." " That is because this oil in the bark preserves it from decay. And there is another curious thing about this tree — it is generally the first to spring up after a forest has been cut down, or burned over. I suppose most of these birches that we see around us, have grown up since the pines were cut down. They are not at all particular about their location, but will man- age to flourish wherever they can find a stanfling place. They seem to take it for granted that a birch tree is better than no tree, and so they squeeze in and fill up the spaces in the forests, and settle down upon all un- appropriated tracts. And in fact they are not to be despised ; for they grow rapidly, are rather pretty, and are not only useful to tanners and schooL-masters, but their branches make strong withes, when green, and (heir wood makes good fuel, when seasoned." " Quite a catalogue of virtues," remarked Clinton. " Yes — and here we are, almost at Uncle Tim% nearly half through our journey ' added Mr. Daven* port. UNCLE TIM. 197 Mr. Lewis, or " Uncle Tim," as he was always called^ was an old pioneer, who settled down in this wilder- ness years ago, his "clearing" being many miles dis- tant from any neighbor. This was the last house they would meet, on the road to the camp, and as Uncle Tim's dwelling was a sort of tavern, at which all trav- ellers over the road were accustomed to stop, Mr. Davenport had determined to rest Fanny there until the next morning. CHAPTER XV. THE CLEARING. TTNCLE TIM was Yery glad to see ]\Ii'. Davenport and Clinton, as he always was to see travellers. He called Bill, one of his boys, to go and put up the horse, while he led the strangers into the house, where his wife had already set about preparing something for them to eat, for it was past noon, and the family had just finished their dinner. Clinton soon slipped outside, to take a look at the premises, for his curiosity was much excited by the novel appearance of things. The clearing was very large, and not a native tree had been left upon it ; but it was completely surrounded by a straight, unbroken line of forest, which looked like a perpendicular wall The land consisted of gentle slopes and valleys, and was divided into separate fields, by fences made of stumps and log-;. Nearly in the centre of the clearing THE LOG HOUSE 19» stood the house and barn. They were both built of spruce logs, placed one upon another, cob-house fashion, the chinks between them being filled up with clay and moss. From the centre of the house rose a huge stone caiiiiiioy. The windows were glazed in the common macner. As Clinton was looking around, Uncle Tim came ouv and spoke to him : — " What do you think of it, young man ? '* he said ''* do you suppose you could build as good a house aa (his, with nothing but an axe ?" 200 DINNER. " I guess not," replied Clinton ; " but you did n'l build it with an axe, did you?" " I did n't have much of anything else to work with, I assure you," said Uncle Tim. " There 's no knowing what you can do with an axe, until you set out and try. But come in — I guess your dinner's about ready." Uncle Tim guessed right. The table was covered with tempting food, in gi*eat profusion, and Clinton and his father sat down to it with a good appetite. " You do n't starve yourselves, up here in the woods," said Mr. Davenport, glancing at the heaping dishes. " No," said Uncle Tim, " we can generally find some- thing to eat ; but it 's a pity you did n't come along a little sooner, so as to have had some of our din- ner." But the travellers did not pity themselves, if Uncle Tim did ; for with the fried ham and eggs, the nice wheaten bread, the delicious milk, the sweet cakes and mountain cranberry sauce, the rich cheese, and tea sweetened with molasses, they were in no danger of starving. MAKING A CLEARING. 201 Afler their meal, Clinton renewed his examination of the house ; and Uncle Tim seeing he was interested in it, began to tell him how he built it. He pitched upon the spot about twenty years before; and aftei securing his title, he took his axe and went to work cutting down trees. The first trees he felled, he used in building a " camp," a hut made of logs and covered with bark. After he had cleared about an acre, and lopped off the limbs of the fallen trees, he set them on fire in the fall. The logs, which remained unconsumed, w^ere afterwards cut into lengths of ten oi*twelve feet, piled together in heaps, and again set on fire. Thus he had burned hundreds of cords of wood, to get rid of it, which would have sold for six or seven dollars a cord, could he have sent it to Portland or Boston. In the spring he planted his corn and potatoes, and then went to work again with his axe and cleared another piece. By-and-by he began to feel lonesome, for thus far he had been entirely alone, with the exception of a couple of trusty dogs ; so he went back to the town from which he came, married a wife, and then returned to bis home in the forest. After a while their family began 202 THE TABLE to increase, and so they built a larger and better house^ — the one in which they were now sitting. This was the substance of Uncle Tim's story, although he made a much longer one of it than I have dene ; for it was not very often that he saw a stranger, and when he did, his tongue was pretty sure to enjoy a holiday, — not of rest, but of action. By this time, Mrs. Lewis had cleared off the table, and Clinton was not a little astonished to see it sud- denly converted into a rude but capacious arm-chair ! The round *top of the table was turned up against the wall, thus forming the back of the chair ; and the frame which supported it, became the arms. The ob- ject of this was to economize space as well as furni- ture, — for in log houses there is seldom any room to waste upon useless articles. There were five rooms, but the partitions, instead of being of plastering, were made of wood. Clinton, no- ticing this, said : — " I thought you said you built this house with an ixe ; but how did you make your boards for the dooi"^ *nd partitions, and floors ? " MISTAKES AND DISCOVERIES. 203 " Boards ? Why, bless you, there is n't a board in (he house. These things are splints, not boards. I made them by splitting spruce logs. The roof is covered with them, too, and I 'm going to clapboard tlie house with the same things afore next winter." Clinton's mistake was very natural, for the floor and partitions were almost as smooth and straight as though made of sawed and planed boards. Clinton noticed in the floor, however, a great number of small holes, which Uncle Tim told him were made by the spikes that the drivers fix upon their boots to prevent their slipping off the logs. This led Chnton to another discovery. The river, to whose head waters they were going, passed through Uncle Tim's clearing ; but as it was frozen over, and the ice partially covered with snow, Clinton had not noticed it before. It was down this river that the logs and their iron-shod drivers came, and the latter were in the habit of stopping at uncle Tim's for supplies. Seeing a noble looking dog asleep in the chimney- corner, Clinton inquired if that was one of the two that came with him when he first settled in the woods. " No," said Uncle Tim, "but he's a son of theirs, and 204 BILL AND JIM. a worthy successor he is, too, — aint you, Hunter ? IJunter, at the mention of liis name, started from his doze, and wagged his bushy tail, which said " Yes," as plain as tail could speak. " He considers the poultry under his charge," continued Uncle Tim, "just as hia father and mother did afore him, and he wont suffer a hawk or any big bird to come within twenty rods of the chickens. He 's great on Ingins, too, — he smells 'em a mile off, and barks long afore they 're in sight.'* " Do you have many Indians about here ? " inquired Clinton. " Not many ; a few stragglers come along once in a while. Red-skins aint so plenty as they were when 1 first came here, nor half so saucy either. They know it 's their fate to give way to their betters, and it makes them sort of humble like. * Clinton now went out to the barn, where he found two stout, hearty lads, larger than himself, giving the cattle their suppers. These were Uncle Tim's sons. " Bill" and " Jim" were the only names by which he beard them called. Their faces were brown, their hands large and rough, and their clothing was of the coarsest description ; but their bodies were finely de- THE BARN. 205 velopcd, and, like their father, they were shrewd and intelligent, though they had never enjoyed a day*& schooling. Clinton took hold and helped them about their work, and soon he felt very well acquainted with them. They asked him a great many questions about Brookdale, and he, in return, was quite as inquisitive about their home. He was astonished to learn, as he did, in the course of the conversation, that Bill, the eldest of these great, broad-shouldered, wide-chested, and long-legged boys, was only about a year older than himself, while Jim was actually his junior by three months. Hard work, constant exposure to the air. and hearty food, had hastened their growth to a remarkable degree. The bam was larger than the house, and was built in much the same way, though there were only wooden shutters to the windows instead of glass, and the wood generally was not so smoothly finished as it was in the house. The stock consisted of horses, cows, oxen pigs and hens. The ground served as a floor, in the lower story ; but overhead there was a loft, in whicli hay, straw, and other articles were stored. Clinton Ip^^^ed from the boys, that their father raised all the 18 206 (JETTING SUPPER. hay ind grain necessary for the stock. Potatoes, grasa, and oats, were their principal crops, but they generally had small patches of wheat and Indian corn. There were a few apple trees, which Uncle Tim had raised from the seed, but the boys said the fruit was sour and crabbed, fit only for " sarse," or the pigs. When Clinton returned to the house, he found pre* •parations making for supper. The fire-place, — the only one the house could boast, — was almost large enough to admit of roasting an ox whole ; and the heap of burning logs, four feet long and unsplit, looked as if Mrs. Lewis was intending to accomplish some such feat. But it was only her ordinary fire, such as she always had to boil the tea-kettle, and bake a pan of cakes. The fire-place was built of stone, and there was a hearth of the same material before it. An iron crane swung over the fire, from which the tea-kettle and baking kettle were suspended, by hooks shaped like the letter S. Near the ceiling, over the hearth, a string was stretched across the room, on which a few stockings were drying. The arm-chair was now converted into a table, and supper was soon ready. It was very similar to the THE twJVER. 207 meal of which Mr. Davenport and Clinton had already partaken. Uncle Tim's two boys did not come to the table until the others had risen, as there was not room enough for all. After the boys had finished their sup- per, Clinton asked them if they would not go down with him to the river. They complied with his re- quest, and as they were on their way, they passed Fome logs, by the side of which there was an axe, with ft remarkably long helve or handle. " Hullo," said Clinton, " I guess that axe was made for a giant." " No," said Bill, " the helve has to be long so that the chopper can stand on the log when he cuts, so %shion," and he jumped upon the log, and gave it two or three blows that made it crack to the centre. Clinton found the river narrower than he expected, and as the snow had drifted in, there was not much ice to be seen. The boys told him, however, that in the spring the stream was two or three times as wide and deep as it was now, and they described to him its lively appearance in a freshet, when thousands of logs were swept down its swift current, every day, and the jolly • drivers were continually passing, to start otF those 208 TALK WITH THE BOYS. timbers that happened to lodge against the rocks or shores. " I 'm going to be a logger," said Bill ; '' they have first-rate times up in the woods, in the winter, and it 's real fun to see them go down the river in the spring," " Poh," said Jim, " I 11 bet you 11 get enough of it in one season. Father says it 's the hardest life a fel- low can choose.*^ "And what do you mean to be, Jim?" inquired Clinton. " I want to be a carpenter," replied Jim, " but father wont get me any tools, nor let me go away to learn the trade. Do you have any tools where you live, Clin- ton?" " Yes, lots of them. My father used to be a car- penter, and has got a whole set of tools, and lets me use them as much as I please." " 0, how I wish I had some tools," continued Jim. ** I mean to ask father to let me go over and see yours aome time." " I wish he would let you go," said Clinton. "Id show you all our tools, and how to use them, too." "Night was fast drawing on, and the boys had now THE SETILE 209 reached the house, where they found Uncle Tim and Mr. Davenport talking about the elections. There was in the room an article of furniture called a settle, B benjh large enough for three or four to sit upon, with a high back, and arms to lean upon at each end. Chnton did not notice this particularly as it stood in the back part of the room ; but when the boys moved it up to the fire, and all three seated themselves upon it, he was much pleased with it. *•' Father," he said, during a pause in the conversa- tion, " I wish we had one of these seats — do n*t you suppose I could make one?" " I think very likely you could," replied Mr. Daven port. " I mean to try, when I get home," added Clinton, and he examined it still more carefully, to see how it was constructed. "That settle was my grand-father's. Master Clin- ton," said Uncle Tim, " and you must see if you can 't make one that will last as long as that has — then your grand-children will have something to remember you by." " 1 '11 try," said Clinton, with a laugh. 18* 210 DNCLE TIM'S stories. "'I'll try' — those are good words, m^ boy," said Uncle Tim. « That 's what Col. Mller said, when Gen, Brown asked him if he could carry Queenstowu Heights. ' I '11 try,' said he, and sure enough he did try, and gained a splendid victory, and Congress gave him a gold medal, with 'I '11 try' engraved on it. So you stick to that motto. Master Clinton, and I guess your grand-children will have a settle to remember you by — do n't you think so?" Clinton laughed, and seeing Uncle Tim was in so pleasant a mood, he asked him if he would n't let Jim go over to see him, some time. Jim, finding the ground was broken, lost no time in putting in a word for him- self; and as Mr. Davenport said he should like to have the boys visit Clinton, Uncle Tim gave a sort of half promise that Jim should go, some time when he could spare him. The rest of the evening was spent in listening to Uncle Tim's stories of his early life in the woods. He related many interesting accounts of his adveiftures with bears and wolves, and other savage animals, which were thoi more numerous than now One THE THREE BROTHERS. 211- of liis anecdotes, which greatly amused Clmton, was as follows : — " Now I 'm going to tell you a story," said Uncle Tim, " that happened a good many years ago, up in Vermont. I guess it was afore I was born, but never mind, it may be just as new to you, for all that. There weie three brothers that went from Massachusetts and settled close together in the wilderness, up there. They all lived in one log hut, and ate out of the same por- ringer, but each fellow had his own patch of land, and as it was pleasanter being together than alone, they agreed to take turns in working upon each oiher's farms. One day, all hands worked on Jake's farm, the next day on Sam's, and the next on Bill's — perhaps I have n*t got the names right, but never mind that. 'But by-and-by one of them got sort of jealous, or dis- satisfied, or something of that kind, and said he would not work that way any longer, no how. So the other two stuck together, and let the odd sheep do as he pleased. Well, one day, while the two that agreed were working in the field, they heurd a tremendous outcry from the other brother's lot. So they up and leized theiv rifles, which they always kept right nnde? 2' 2 A BAD PREDICAMENT ti.eir noses, and ran o see what the matter was. Thej expected to see some horrible sight, you know, but what do you suppose they found ? Why, there was their brother up in a Httle sapling, rocking to and fro, and bello'wing with all his might, and below was a great bear, looking up dreadful earnest at him. It seems the bear came suddenly at him, and as he had n't time to go after his rifle, he sprung to the nearest sapling, which he knew the bear could n't climb. But the sapling was so slender it bent over like a bow, bringing him in such a position that he had to hold on with both his feet and hands, and the bent part of his body, which was covered with his buck- skin breeches, hung down almost within reach of the bear. Old Bruin soon discovered this, and so stood up on his hind legs, to see if he could n't reach him that ' way ; but all he could do was to give the fellow a push with his fore paw, which set him and his sapling to swinging back and forth. His claws did not go thi'ough the buckskin breeches, but the man thought fie was a gone case, and roared dreadfully. The bear then squatted on his haunches to enjoy the sport, and wlien the force of the blow was spent, and the maa GOING TO BED. 213 began to get steady, he up and gave him another start. When the other two fellows saw the state of the case, they laughed about as loud as their brother holkred, and it w^as some time afore they could steady their hands so as to put a bullet into the bear. After that scrape all three of them hitched horses together again and went to work on the old plan. The old bear paid dear for his sport, but you can't say he did n't do some good in the world, can you ? If it had n't been for him, just as likely as not the fuss among those brothers would have grown bigger and bigger, until they quarrelled just like cats and dogs." At nine o'clock, Uncle Tim wound up his yarns, and soon after all retired to bed. They ascended to the second floor by means of a ladder. There were two bed-rooms, with a space between them, which served both as an entry and a store room. The great chim- ney came up through this entry. Each bed-room had one window, in the gable end of the house, but the, space between the rooms was dark, except when the chamber doors were open. The roof came down nearly to the floor, on each side, and in the centre of the rooms, a tall man could hardly stand erect. Mr 214 THE BED-R00 5I. DavenporL and Clinton slept in one of these rooms^ and Bill and Jim in the other. Uncle Tim and his wife had a bed-room down stairs. A straw bed made up upon the floor, without a bedstead, a large chest, and one chair, were the only furniture in the room where Clinton slept. There were several long wooden pegs driven into the logs which served as rafters, upon which they hung their clothing ; and soon both were sleeping as sweetly as though they had been quartered in the best room of a " first-class hotel." CHAPTER XVI. THE LOGGERS H'^HE sun rose clear, the next morning, and after an early and bountiful breakfast, Mr. Davenport and Clinton bid good-bye to Uncle Tim and his family, and resumed their journey. The country through which they rode was much the same as that they had already passed over, with the exception that it was if possible even more stern and wild, not a single house or culti- vated spot meeting their eyes during the whole :fore- noon's ride. After the first hour, Clinton was not quite as lively as usual. In fact, he felt a trifle less cheerful than ordinary — he could not tell whether it sprang from a touch of home-sickness, or from a sense of lonesomeness. But his unpleasant feelings arose more from the influence of the dreary winter scenery upon his mind, than from either of these causes. His father, noiicinjr this, chatted away in a more Hvely 216 DINNER IN THE WOODS. Strain than usual, and after awhile succeeded in dis« polling the tinge of gloom from his mind. The road being travelled but very little, the sleigh- ing was poor, and there was no prospect of their reaching their destination before the middle of the af- ternoon. Accordingly, about noon, they reined up, for the purpose of resting the horse, and eating their din- ner. Having given Fanny a wisp of hay, to take up her mind, they collected together a heap of dead wood, the remnants of fallen trees, etc., which they found near the road, and set it on fire. It burned finely, and sent out a cheerful warmth, in which they seated them- selves, and partook with a keen relish of the various good things which Clinton's mother had stowed away in the sleigh-box. After halting about an hour at this place, they re- sumed their journey, and a ride of about three hours brought them within hearing of the loggers. The first indication they had that they were near the camp, was the loud " Gee, haw-buck, whoa!" of a man who was driving oxen. These sounds had a very enliven- ing effect upon Clinton, who could scarcely refrain from jumping from his seat, and running ahead, so MR JONES. 21? impatient was he to see some signs of humanit} in the dreary wilderness. But in a few moments, they came in sight of the camp, and soon they noticed two or three «3en, with long hair and immense whiskers, ap* proaching them from different directions. Mr. Daven port recognized an old acquaintance in one of them, and received a most hearty welcome from him. " Mr Jones," said Mr. Davenport, " my boy has long wanted to see how the loggers live ; and as I had a little leisure and the weather and sleighing were promising, I thought I would gratify his wishes." " I am right glad to see you, and him, too/' said Mr. Jones ; and he seized Clinton by the hand, and gave it a gi'ipQ and a shake which he felt for ten minutes afterwaid; — "why, I have n't laid eyes on a child or a youngster, for four months, and it 's a real treat to see you, I can tell you. I Ve got a boy of my own, at home, about your size, and a fine little fellow he is, too. I 'm afraid you 'U find rather poor quarters here in the camp, but you are welcome to such accommoda- tions as we have, just so long as you 'U stay." The horse was taken from the sleigh and led to (lie 'cattle hut, and Mr. Jones conducted Mr. Davenport and 19 218 THE CAMP. • Clinton to one of the camps, where he told them tc make themselves at home. He offered them food, which they declined until the usual supper-hour. He had many questions to ask concerning what was going on in the world, from which the loggers are almost shut out ; and as he and Mr. Davenport were absorbed ill their con.versation, Clinton slipped out to reconnoitre the premises. The camp, he found, was situated in the midst of the woods ; and not, as he expected to find it, in a clearing. There was no scenery at all ; the tall trees shut out the prospect on every side, and the only opening for the eye was towards the clear, blue heavens above. Only a few trees had been cut down, to serve as mate- rial for the houses, or as fuel. This spot was chosen for the sake of the shelter it afforded in severe weather, and also, because there was an excellent spring of wa- ter convenient to it. Clinton now turned his attention to the camps. These were built of logs, but in a style much inferior to Uncle Tim's house, in the clearing. As they are but temporary affairs, the loggers only aim at making them habitJ^tble for one or two winters. There were thr^ LOG CABINS . 219 of these buildings, one of which was used by tht oxen. They were each about twenty feet long by fifteen wide and were built of logs placed one on the top of another, and the whole sides and roof covered with bark. Each camp had one door, but no windows. A hole in the middle of the roof, three or four feet square, served both for a chimney and a window. Clinton now returned to the camp, where his father and Mr. Jones were sitting, and began to inspect the interior. He found there were no partitions, — for the 220 A TEEP INSIDE. loggers have no occasion for more than oi e room. Tlia principal feature of the interior was the fire-plaee. This was directly under the hole in the roof, and was about six feet in diameter. The ground had been dug out nearly two feet deep, to make a bed for the lire and ashes, and the space was surrounded by stones. Benches, made of split logs, were arranged around the fire, which served both as seats and tables. He no- ticed that the door had a wooden latch, which was very ingeniously whittled to resemble an iron one. The only other articles in the room were a pork barrel, water bucket, basin, dipper, towel, a few cooking and eating utensils, and a dozen greasy and well-worn books and newspapers. The floor was thickly strewn with leaves of arbor vitae, especially under the eaves, which came down to within three feet of the ground. These formed the loggers' beds. Such was the rude house in which Clinton was tc spend two or three nights. He afterwards found that it differed from the cattle hut only in having a fire- place, and an outlet through the roof. But that fire- place, with the " rousing fire" which it afforded at all hours of the day and night, made the hovel compura RETURNING FROM WORK. 22l tivelj cheerful and comfortable. So far from feeling disappointed with his quarters, Clinton longed for bed- time to come, that he might enjoy the new sensation of sleeping in such a romantic place. At sunset, the men began to return from their work. They all wore coarse but warm and durable clothing, and one article seemed universal among them, namely, red flannel shirts. Their beards and hair had not been trimmed since they left home. As they arrived at their quarters, they flocked around Mr. Davenport and Clinton, as if a strange face was a very unusual sight among them, as, indeed, it was. When they had all returned from their work, CUnton counted twenty men and six yoke of oxen. Having washed their faces and hands, the men now commenced preparations for supper, in both camps. It was fast gi'owing dark, but they had no lamps, the blaz- ing fire lighting up their houses very brilliantly. Ket- tles of water were boiled, and tea was made. Presently, one of the men began to poke round in the ashes and coals, and soon drew forth a large baking-kettle, which had been buried there two hours before. On taking off the cover, a huge loaf of bread presented itself 19* 222 SUPPER. wliich even an accomplished housewife might have been proud to own, so far as appearance was con- cerned. This, with a few slices of boiled salt pork, and tea sweetened with molasses and without milk, constituted their supper. They had no butter, but spread molasses on their bread, instead. Clinton ate heartily of the homely fare. The bread proved quite as nice as it looked, and even the tea tasted pleasantly to him. Mr. Davenport emptied what remained of the contents of the baskets which his wife had stowed away in the sleigh-box, saying that he would exchange his cakes and pies for a little of their bread, when he started for home. He and Clinton had consumed but a small part of their provisions, and this disposal of the surplus appeared to gratify the loggers very much, as they had not tasted of any luxuries of this kind for many a day. After supper, the men gathered around the fire, on tlie benches, and talked, and told stories, until nearly ten o'clock, when one after another began to creep uway to his bed of leaves, and stretch himself out, with his feet towards the fire. Clinton and his father SGcr. followed their example, and extended themselves NIGHT IN A CAMP. 225 npon the soft leaves, without removing their clothing. The novelty of their position, the crackling and glare of the fire, and the breathing and snoring of a dozen Etrong men, did not permit either of them to sleep much during the first part of the night. Clinton lay for more than two hours, at times watching the stars through the opening in the roof, and then gazing stead- fastly at the flickering fire and the curling smoke spangled with sparks. But at last he fell asleep, though he awoke again, several times, before morning. Occasionally, one of the men, w^ho happened to awake, would get up and put a fresh log upon the fire, which is kept burning by night as well as by day. By sunrise, the next morning, the men in both camps had despatch^ their breakfasts, and turned out the oxen, and were ready to commence the day's work. Mr. Davenport and Clinton determined to ac- company them to the scene of their operations, which was a short distance from the camp, and spread over a considerable extent of ground. The men did not all work together, but after proceeding a little way, they Bepurated into three different gangs. The choppers, or those who cut down the trees, formed one party, and 224 THE THREE GANGS. proceeded by themselves to their particular spot. Another gang were called swampers. It was their business to clear roads from the felled trees to the land- ing place on the banks of the river, where the logs re- main until the breaking up of the ice in the spring, when they are rolled into the water. The third party were teamsters, whose business it was to haul the logs from the forest to the stream. These last had the as- sistance of the oxen, which were attached to little " bob- sleds," as they were called, upon which the heavy end of the log was placed, while the other dragged upon the snow. Clinton had abundant time to witness the operations of all these gangs, during the day. He found there was not much of either novelty or variety, in their la- bors, which in fact differed but little from the routine of the wood-chopper, which he had often witnessed at home. The sturdy strokes of the choppers, followed by the falling of the noble tree, — the stripping of the prostrate trunk of its branches, — the clearing of a passage way for the oxen through the small growth, and the hauling of the log to the river's bank, were by no means novel sights to him. At the landing-place he P Pw I V A T E MARKS. 225 found hundreds of logs piled up, awaiting ihe openinc of the river. Each log had a peculiar and uniform mark cut in the sap-wood, by an axe, somewhat re- eembling a crow's foot, by which the owner would be enabled to know it when it should reach the great boom far away down the river, and become mixed up with thousands of other logs, belonging to many differ- ent persons. Each owner has his own private mark or device, which is bored or cut into all his logs, and thus he is always able to distinguish them from those of other lumber-men. Clinton kept with the loggers all day, witnessing their operations, and asking questions about their busi- ness. Indeed, he did not dare to go far from them, for fear of jrettinoj lost in the woods. At sunset, he re- turned with them from their labors, and after the homely evening meal, he sat and listened to the stories of the loggers, until bed-time. These stories were mostly of encounters with bears and wolves in the wilderness, of hunting excursions, and of adventures and exploits in the logging-camp and upon the river. One of th? oldest and most intelligent of the men re- Iate4 the following adventure, in answering some in- 226 LOG DRIVING. quiries of Clinton concerning tlie manner of driving logs to mill : — •• Six years ago," said he, " I was logging upon the head waters of the Penobscot. We cut eight thousand logs ; and about the last of April we started them down stream. It took two or three days to roll them all in, and by that time, some of those we started first were perhaps more than fifty miles down stream, whilo others had lodged within a hundred rods of us. So we divided into three gangs, one to descend by boats, and the others by land each side of the stream. Each man was provided with a pole, having a stout hook in the end, and with these we pushed off the logs, where ever we found they had lodged on the banks or rocks. The first few days, we made pretty good progress, having little to do but to roll in the logs, and set them afloat merrily down the river." "Did you camp at nights, as you do here?" in- quired Clinton. " Yes, we camped out, but we had nothing but little huts made of spruce boughs, where we ate and slept — as I was saying, — all went on pretty easy at first and some days we got over fifteen or twenty miles of A JAM. 227 ground. But bj-and-by we came to a jam. Do you know what a jam is ? " « No, sir." " Well, when the river gets choked up with logs which have met with some obstruction, we call it a jam. Sometimes, a thousand logs will accumulate in this way, forming a sort of dam across the river, and in- terrupting the flow of the water. And, oftentimes, all this is occasioned by a single log catching upon a pro- jecting rock ; and if that single log could be started, the whole mass would go down stream with a tremen- dous rush." "I should think that would be fine sport," said Clinton. " It 's all very fine to look at," continued the logger ; " but you would n't think there was much sport about it, if you had to go out upon this immense raft, and loosen the logs, at the risk of being ground to atoms by them when they start." "Are people ever killed in that way?" inquired Clinton. " Not very often ; for none but the most experienced dri^ ers are allowed to undertake such a delicate job 228 STARTINGAJAM. and they are always very cautious how they proceed. But let me go on with my story: the jam I was telling you about, happened to be in a rapid, rocky place, where the river passed through a narrow gorge. On each side were steep cliffs, more than sixty feet high, which almost hung over the water. The only way to reach the jam was to descend by a rope from one of these cliffs. This was so hazardous an undertaking, that we concluded to wait a day or two, to see if the choked up mass wouldn't clear itself, by its own pressure, and thus save us all trouble and danger. But after waiting nearly two days, there were no signs of the jam's breaking. We can generally tell when this is going to happen, by the swaying of the logs ; but the mass was as firm and compact as ever ; and it was evident that we must do something to start it. There was an old and very expert driver in our gang, who offered to descend to the jam, and see what could be done. So we rigged a sort of crane, and lowered him down from the cliff by means of a rope fastened around his body, under his arms. After he had looked around a little, he sung out to us that he had discovered the cause of the trouble. A few strokes of the axe in A FEARFUL SCENE. 220 • R certain place, he said, would start tlie jam ; and he cautioned us to pull him up, gently, as soon as he should cry, ' Pull ! ' and also to be careful, and not jerk him against the precipice. He then began to hew into the log which was the cause of the jam. After he had worked a few minutes, the mass began to heave and sway, and he cried out, ' Pull ! ' As the spot where he had been chopping was near the centre of the stream, he started instantly towards the cliff, so that his rope should be perpendicular. But before he could put himself in the right position for being drawn up, the huge mass of logs rose up in a body, and then, with a crash, rolled away in e\ery direction from under his feet. The scene was awful. Some of the logs plunged headlong down the rapids, with tremendous force; oth- ers* leaped entirely out of the water, turning complete somersets, end over end ; others were hurled crosswise upon each other, or dashed madly together by hundreds, or were twisted and twirled about, in a most fearful manner. At the first movement of the jam, our man \v&3 plunged into the water. For a moment, we were horror-struck, but we pulled away at the rope, ex- pecting to draw up only a mangled and lifeless body. 20 230 THE BOOM. And we should have done so, had we been half a second later ; for Ave had just raised the man out of the water, when a mass of seventy-foot logs swept by, directly under him, with force enough to have broken every bone in his body, had he been in their way. He suffered no harm but his ducking and fright. But I do n't believe he will ever forget that day's adventure. So, my boy, you see it is n't all sport, driving logs, — though some think this is the pleasantest part of a loo;o;er's life." " How do you stop the logs, when they have gone as far as you want them to go ? " inquired Clinton. "They are stopped by great booms, built of logs, and bolted and chained together very strong. These booms are rigged across the river, so that the floating logs can- not pass them. The great boom at Old To^vn, near Bangor, where our drive brought up, that year, had over a million of logs in it, when we got down there, seven weeks after we started from the forests. The logs lay upon one another about ten feet deep, and ex- tended back for miles. They belonged to hundreds of diiferent men and companies, but as each had its own mark there was no dilficulty in sorting them out. The OPENING THE BOOM. 23i boom is opened at set times, to let out a portion of the logs, and then the river below is all alive with men and boys, in small boats, who grapple the logs as they float down, and form them into rafts, or tow them to the various mills on the nver. T ery tew of the logs es- cape, unless too many are let out from the boom at once, or the river is swollen by a freshet, in which case they sometimes float off to sea and are lost. But aU hands seem to be going to bed, and I guess we had better follow their example." Upon this, the old logger stretched himseh* upon the bed of faded leaves ; and Chnton, who for some time had been his only listener, was socn in the same position. CHAPTER XYTL A TALK IN THE WOODS. T?ARLY the next morning, 'Mr. Davenport and Clinton decided to start for home, as there were in- dications of an approaching change in the weather, which might render the roads very uncomfortahle, if it did not compel them to prolong their stay at the log- gers' camp longer than would be agreeable. After a breakfast of hot bread and molasses, fried pork, and tea, Fanny was harnessed, and bidding farewell to their forest friends, they jumped into the sleigh, and set their faces towards Brookdale. As they were rid- ing along the solitary road, Mr. Davenport asked Clin- ton if he thought he should like to be a logger. " I do n't know but I should," he replied ; " there are a good many things about the business I should like. It makes tlicin strong and healthy, and I guess they have good times in the camps, and on the rivers. A logger's life. 233 It is quite a romantic life, too, and they seem to meet with a good many curious adventures." " The novelty and romance of it soon wear off," re- plied Mr. Davenport. " These gone, do you think you should like the business well enough to follow it up year after year ? " " Why, no, I suppose I should get tired of it, being away from home so much of the time," said CUnton. " The work is very hard, too," suggested his father. « Yes, sir." " And the pay is not very great, in proportion.'' "Isn't it?" "It is, however, a very useful employment," con- tinued Mr. Davenport, " and there must be men to en- gage in it. It is an honorable employment, too, for all useful labor is honorable. But I should not call it a very desirable employment. The logger not only haa to labor very hard, but he must go far away from his home, and deprive himself of nearly every comfort of civilized life, an^ expose himself to many dangers. And for all this hardship and toil, he does not receive 20* 234 MR. JONES. BO much pay as many a mechanic earns in his shop, with half the effort." " Does not jMi\ Preston make a great deal of mcney at logging?" inquired Clinton. " I suppose he makes a fair business of it," replied his father ; " but he is a contractor, and employs a good many hands. I was speaking of the hired men, not of those wJio manage che business." " Is JNJj Jones a contractor?" " No, he works by the month, and hard work he ' finds it, too, I fear." Then why does he follow it?'* " Because he is obliged to. He has a family to Bupport, and this is the only way by which he can provide for them. Should you like to know how^ it happened that he cannot make money by an easier and pleasanter method ? " " Yes, sir," replied Clinton. " When he and I were boys together," continued jMt. Davenport, " his father was rich, but mine was poor. When I was nine years old, I was taken from school, and put out to work; but Henry Jones was not €uly . THE TWO BOYS. 235 kept at school, for many years after, but was not re- quired to do any work, even in bis leisure bours. He was well dressed, and bad everything be wanted, and I can remember to this day how I used to envy him. I could not go to school even in winter, but bad to work constantly, and earn my own living. When I was about fourteen years old, I engaged myself as an apprentice to a carpenter. I liked the work, and soon made pretty good progress. As I had the long winter evenings to myself, it occurred to me that I might make up for my lack of school privileges, by an im- provement of those leisure hours. So 1 got some school books, and set myself to studying. Soon after I reached my sixteenth year, I offered myself as a candidate for schoolmaster in our town, and was ac- cepted, for the winter term, my master having agreed to release me for three months, as he usually had little business during that portion of the year. And I, the poor self-taught boy, was not only a school teacher, but Henry Jones, whose privileges I had so often envied, was one of my scholars ! A very dull scholar he was, too, for he did not take the slightest interest in his Btudiea. Before I had finished my term, he left school, 236 henry's history. against tlie wishes of his parents, having been fairlj^ shamed out of it. He remained about home several months, doing nothing, until his father secured a situa- tion for him in a merchant's store in Portland ; but when he made his appearance in the counting-rdbm, the merchant found him so deficient in penmanship and arithmetic, that, after a week's trial, he sent Henry back to his father, with the message that he would not answer. His failure discouraged him from attempting to do anything more. Instead of remedying the de- fects in his education, he refused to go to school any more, but spent his time principally in lounging about his father's place of business, and in sauntering around the town. He was a perfect idler, and as his father continued to support and clothe him, he took no more thought for the morrow, than the pigs in our sty do, and I doubt whether he was half so valuable to the world as they are. " But this state of things could not last for ever. His father had embarked very largely in the famous eastern land speculations, and when the crash came, he found himself ruined. And yet even then, Henry managed to hang upon him like a dead-weight f()r twc A FATAL MISTAKE.. 237 or three years, sponging his living out of his father's Ehattered fortunes. But after a while, his father died, and then Mr. Jones had to shift for himself. 13 ut what was he fit for ? It took him a great while to find out. He tried several lighter kinds of employment, but did not succeed. At length a man came along who was making up a gang of loggers, and despairing of any better employment, he engaged in that, and has continued at it ever since. He is with his family only four or five months in the year, and during that time he works hard, at farming, not for himself, but as a hired man." " I should think he would feel bad, w^hen he thinks how he wasted his youth," said Clinton. " He does," said Mr. Davenport. " He is a worthy and industrious man now, but he cannot repair the errors of , his boyhood. Had he worked half as hard when a youth as he has had to since, he would proba- bly be under no necessity of laboring now. But then his parents were rich and indulgent, and he thought he should never be obliged to work. Whenever we meet, he always says, ' O dear, what a fool I have been ! If my father had only kicked me into the street when I was 238 A MOOSE. twelve yeari old, and left me to shirk for myself, 1 mifht have been somethinor now.' And I never see him, without thanking God that I was brought up to depend upon myself, from my boyhood." Fanny had now come to a long and steep hill, and Mr. Davenport and Clinton got out and walked up, to lighten her load. When they reached the top, the prospect was very extensive, and they stopped a few minutes, to enjoy the scene, and to rest the horse. While they were gazing around, Clinton discovered something moving on a distant hill, and cried out : — " A deer ! a deer ! do n't you see it, father ? — right over that great pine that stands all alone, there." Mr. Davenport soon discovered the object pointed out by Clinton, and said : — "No, that can't be a deer, Clinty, — it is too large. It is a moose, and a noble great one, too. I should . like to have a shot at him, but he is too far off." "Idiin't know there were moose around in this part of the State," said Clinton. " One of the loggera told me thev had n't seen one this winter." " They are pretty scarce now in this section of the country," said his father; "but now and then one ia ITS APPEARANCE. 239 seen. That fellow has probably been pursued, and has etrayed away from his yard." The moose continued in sight for several minutes. Its gait was a swift, regular trot, which no obstacle seemed to break. There was something noble in its bearing, and Clinton stood watching and admiring it, until it disappeared in the woods. He and his father then got into the sleigh, and drove on. " The moose is a handsomer animal than I supposed," said Clinton. " That one Mr. Preston brought home, two or three years ago, was a coarse, clumsy-looking fellow." " They always look so, seen at rest, and close to," replied Mr. Davenport. " But when they are in mo- tion, and at a distance, there is something quite majes- tic about them. They travel very fast, and they al- ways go upon the trot. It makes no difference if they come to a fence or other obstruction five or six feet high, — they go right over it, without seeming to break their trot. I have been told that they will travel twenty miles an hour, which is almost as fast as our railroad trains average." 140 ANTLERS. *< I have heard of their bein<]j harnessed into sleds ■ — did you ever see it done ? '* " No, but they are sometimes trained in this way, and they make very fleet teams. The reindeer, which are used to draw sleds in some parts of Europe, are not so strong or so fleet as our moose." "It is curious that their great antlers should come off every year," said Clinton. " Yes, and it is even more curious that such an enor mous mass should grow out again in three or four months' time. This is about the time of the year that their new antlers begin to sprout. I saw a pair, once, that weighed seventy pounds, and expanded over five feet to the outside of the tips. The moose must have a very strong neck, to carry this burden about upon his head. When the antlers are growing, they are quite soft and sensitive, and the moose is very careful not to injure them. This is one reason, I suppose, why tl.ey frequent the lakes and rivers in the summer and autumn, instead of roaming through the forests. At these seasons of the year, the hunter has only to conceal himself on the shore of some pond or lake, A MOOSE-YARD. 241 and he is pretty sure to fall in with them. But the best time to hunt them is in the winter or spring, when tJvey are in their * yards/ as they are called." ** Did you ever see a moose-yard, father?" ** Yes. I saw one a good many years ago. A party of us went back into the forests on a hunting excur- sion, one spring, and as near as I can remember, it was in this very part of the country that we came across the yard. That was before the loggers came this way, and frightened away the moose. There were no roads, then, in this section, and we travelled on foot, on snow shoes, with our guns in our hands, and our provisions on our backs. Some hours before we dis- covered the yard, we knew we were near one, by the trees which had been barked by them in the fall. Having got upon the right track, we followed it up, as silently as possible, until we came to the yard. But the moose had heard or smelt us, and vacated their quarters before we reached them. The yard we found to be an open space of several acres, with paths run- ning in e\ery direction, all trodden hard; for the moose does not break fresh snow, when he can help it. Nearly all the trees in the vicinity were stripped of 21 242 A MOOSE HUNT. their bark, to the height of eight or ten feet, and the young and tender twigs were clipped off as smoothly as if it had been done by a knife. We could not tell how many moose had yarded here, but from the size and appearance of their quarters, we judged there must have been five or six. Sometimes they yard alone, but generally a male, female and two fawns are found together. But we did not stop many moments to examine their quarters. We soon found their track from the yard, but we could not tell from this how , many there were, for they generally travel single file, the male going first, and the others stepping exactly into his tracks. We kept up the pursuit until night, without catching a sight of our game. We then built a camp of hemlock boughs, made up a good fife in front of it, ate our supper, and went to bed. " We started again early the next morning, and had not gone much more than half a mile, before we found the place where the moose had spent the night. Some how or other, they can tell when their pursuers stop, and if tired, they improve the opportunity to rest. Having gone a little farther, the track divid«^l into tw^, and our party concluded to do the sam^. After A MOOSE AT BAT. 243 several hours pursuit, the gang with which I went came in sight of* a moose. He was evidently pretty BtifF, and we gained on him fast, as the thick crust on the snow, while it aided us, was a great inconvenience to him. Finding at last that he could not get away from us, he suddenly turned about, and stood prepared to meet us. But we had no disposition to form a very close acquaintance with him. One blow with his fore feet, or one kick with his hind legs, would have killed the first man that approached him. But he would not leave his place to attack us, and so we had nothing to do but to lodge a bullet or two in his head, which quickly decided the contest. We took his hide, and as much of the meat as we could carry, and went back to meet our companions, who, we found, had followed up their trail all day without getting sight of any game. At night they gave up the chase, and returned to tho place at which thej^ had separated from us. That was my first and last moose hunt. On the whole, we were Bs successful as most hunting parties are, for the moose is a very shy animal, and it is difficult to approach within sight of it, without its taking alarm." Mr. Davenport had scarcely finished his moose story 244 CLINTONATHOME. when Uncle Tim's clearing appeared in sight. As a gtorm seemed to be gathering, which might last several days, he concluded to stop here only long enough for dinner, and then to push his way homeward. Uncle Tim and his wife and boys were glad to see him and Clinton, and they seemed quite disappointed when they found their guests were not going to stop over night. After an hour's visit, the travellers resumed their journey, and arrived home early in the evening, without any remarkable adventure. The storm which ]Mr. Davenport anticipated, set in about dark, in the form of rain and sleet, and continued for two or three days. This kept Clinton in the house, much of the time, and gave him an opportunity to relate to hia mother and Annie the various incidents of his excur- sion, which he did with great minuteness and fidelity. CHAPTER XVin. WORK AND PL AY . rPHE days were now perceptibly longer, and the sun had begun to make quite an impression on the huge snow-banks in which Brookdale had been nearly buried up all winter. " Bare ground," that looks so pleasant to the boy in a northern climate, after a long winter, began to appear in little brown patches, in particularly sunny and sheltered spots. The ice upon the pond was still quite thick, but it was too soft and rough for skating. The sled runners cut in so deeply, that there was little fun in sliding down hill. Besides, skating and coasting had got to be old stories, and the boys were heartily tired of all their winter sports. The sleighing was about spoiled, the roads were sloppy, the fields and meadows impassable, and the woods un- comfortable. In fact, while all the outdoor amuse- ments of winter were at an end, it was too early for the •21* 246 CLINTON IN THE SHOP. various summer garnet, and sports that supply theii places. This brief season, which usually attends the breaking up of winter in northern latitudes, is gener- ally the dullest of all the year to boys in the country, unless they are so fortunate as to be able to amuse themselves indoors, a part of the time at least. Clinton's favorite place of resort, at such seasons, was the shop in the rear of the house. Here, sur- rounded with tools, and patterns, and plans, and speci- mens of his own work, and perhaps absorbed by some object upon which he was engaged, he was never at a loss for amusement. A day or two after his return from the logging camp, he went to work on the " settle," which he had determined to make, in imita- tion of the one he had seen at Uncle Tim's. This was a job that would require some little thinking and plan- ning, as well as skill at handling tools, — for his mother had promised to give it a place in the kitchen, if it was well made, — and he felt anxious to do his best on this occasion. He first sawed out from a plank the two end pieces, rounding off one corner of each, in a sort of long scroll pattern. Having phmed these smooth, he next made the seat, which was also of stiff THE SETTLE. 247 plank, and fastened it firmly in its place. Notl.ing re- mained to be done but to make the back, which was of boards, planed and matched, and screwed into the end pieces. In the course of a week the settle was finished ; md it was not only neat and well-finished, but really substantial. It looked as though it might do service tiill as long as Uncle Tim's. CHnton was quite satis- fied with his success, and his mother was so well pleased with the settle, that she not only decided to place it in the kitchen, but promised to make a hand- some cushion for it. As Clinton was looking admiringly upon his piece of work, soon after it was finished, and thinking whether he could improve it in any respect, the conversation at Uncle Tim's recurred to his mind, and a happy thought suggested itself, by which he might associate his settle with that interview, and thus have constantly before him a memorial of his trip to the loggers. The next time he had occasion to go to the store, he bought a small package of brass-headed tacks, and with these he carried out his new design, which was to inscribe his initials " C. D." upon one end of the settle, and the motto, " I 'll Tky," upon the other. He had seen 2'ib SPRING. nails arranged in the form of letters upon trunks, and he found no difficulty in making his inscriptions look very well. He surrounded each of them by a single line of tacks, placed in the form of an oval, which gave the whole quite a iinished look. This im- provement elici- ^ ted from his pa- rents many ad- ditional compli- ments for the new article of furniture. The snow was rapidly disappearing, and the sunny sides of the hills were quite bare. The welcome song of the robin was heard around the house, proclaiming the arrival of spring. The brook which flowed through Mr. Davenport's land was swelled to a miniature tor- rent, and Clinton's ducks, — whose water privileges had been restricted through the winter to a small space kept clear of ice by an axe, — now sailed about in all their glory. Tlie frost soon left the ground, — for it penetrates but sliglitly, when the earth is covered with »