CAPTURE OF THE FAWX. Pasre 20. 
 
THE FRONTIER SERIES. 
 
 CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. C. H. PEARSON, 
 
 ATJTHOB OP " SCENES IN THE WEST," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED, 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, 
 1870. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the ^ear 1869, by 
 * "" 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the IJfctrict^Coftrt 9f fhe District of Massachusetts. 
 
 ELECTKOTYPED AT THE 
 
 BOBTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDBY, 
 
 19 Spring Lane. 
 
TO 
 
 K 
 
 j/r SISTER, 
 
 WHOSE SPIRIT HAS JUST GONE FROM PRAIRIE-LIFE 
 TO THE HILLS OF PARADISE, 
 
 / INSCRIBE THIS BOOK. 
 C. H. PEARSON. 
 
 M88963 
 
THE FRONTIER SERIES. 
 
 FOUR VOLUMES, ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 1. The Cabin on the Prairie. By Kev. C. H. PEARSON. 
 
 Price $1.25. 
 
 2. Planting the Wilderness; or, THE PIONEER BOYS. 
 
 By J. D. McCABE. Price $1.25. 
 
 3. A Thousand Miles 9 Walk Across South America. 
 
 By NATHANIEL H. BISHOP. Price $1.50. 
 
 4. Twelve Nights in the Hunters 9 Camp. By Rev. 
 
 WM. BARROWS. Price $1.25. 
 
A FRONTIER PROPHET. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 "!F you stay here long, you will become so Westernized 
 that you will lose all love for New England. That s my 
 experience." So said a brawny pioneer, a man of large 
 mind, and generous heart, and a sledge-hammer fist that 
 never struck a coward s blow; but when swung in defence 
 of the right was like "the jaw-bone" of Samson to the 
 Philistines. He had emigrated from Maine twenty years 
 before, and was one of the first settlers I met on the prairie 
 near the scene of my story. Was his prediction fulfilled? 
 Ah, how like sweetest music sounded the bells of Salem 
 (city of peace) the first Sunday of my return to the Old 
 Bay State ! Besides, the frontiersman misrepresented him 
 self. For, seated by his ample clay-stick-and-stone fire 
 place, how his eye kindled, and tones mellowed, as he 
 treated us to reminiscences of his early days ! And what 
 a grip he gave the hand of a freshly-arrived Yankee ! 
 
 Then there were those east who said, "You will soon 
 tire of the West." They, also, were mistaken. An invalid, 
 with shadowy form and trembling limbs, when I left New 
 England, I awakened to a new life in Minnesota. "Take 
 a gun on your shoulders, kill and eat the wild game of 
 the prairies," said my medical friends. I anticipated vicis 
 situde and deprivation in following such counsel j but these 
 
 (5) 
 
6 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 toughened my weak frame, and added zest to frontier labors 
 and pleasures; for I was soon able to do a man s share 
 of the former, and in threading forest and prairie I was 
 brought into delightful nearness to nature in its beauty, 
 freshness, and magnitude, and in visiting the lodge of the 
 Indian and the cabins of the settlers . I met with plenty 
 of adventure. 
 
 In writing this work, I have, with peculiar interest, lived 
 over the scenes and incidents of my varied frontier expe 
 rience; have travelled once more amid the waving grasses 
 and beckoning flowers; heard again the bark of the wolf, 
 and the voices of birds; felt on my brow the kiss of the 
 health-giving breeze ; worshipped anew in the log-cabin 
 sanctuary. Yes, East and West are both dear to me. One 
 fittingly supplements the other. Each holds the ashes of 
 kindred. By a singular providence, since this tale was 
 completed, a much-loved relative, one of the gentlest and 
 most self-sacrificing whose presence ever glorified the earth, 
 has found a resting-place in the bosom of the very prairie 
 I had in mind while penning these pages. Sent west by 
 physicians to save her life, she reached that spot in time 
 to die, thus attaching my heart to that soil by another and 
 sorrowful tie. 
 
 That East and West may be bound together by love, as 
 well as by national and commercial relations, and that 
 this story may tend in its humble way to so happy a re- 
 gult, is the earnest wish of 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. THE PIONEER FAMILY. A SPIRITED CHASE. . 9 
 
 II. SHOOTING DOUBLE. A FRONTIER DOCTOR. . 23 
 
 III. WHERE CAN HE BE? A HEART REVELATION. . 35 
 
 IV. A BRUSH WITH INDIANS. A BLACK HEART. 47 
 V. BROTHER SMITH AND THE QUARTER STAKES. . 65 
 
 VI. MRS. JONES S STORY. THE GRAY WOLF. . 79 
 
 VII. A SABBATH ON THE PRAIRIE 93 
 
 VIII. TOM S VICTORY. 105 
 
 IX. A SURPRISE i l6 
 
 X. No WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING. . . .126 
 
 XI. OLD MRS. SKINFLINT IN TROUBLE. LOST IN 
 
 THE WOODS *4 2 
 
 XII. FIRE AND FLOOD I S 8 
 
 XIII. THE INDIAN LODGE *7o 
 
 XIV. THE WAR- SONG 187 
 
 XV. THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE, ... 194 
 
 XVI. A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 210 
 
 (7) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XVIII. THE BOY IN THE TREE 237 
 
 XVII. THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE. . 
 
 [VIII. THE BOY IN THE 
 
 XI. BUB S BROADSIDE 2 - o 
 
 XX. LONG HAIR ^ 
 
 XXI. "PULL THE STRINGS, BUB." . . . . 272 
 
 XXII. TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. . . . 285 
 
 XXIII. AN ENCHANTING SCENE. THE PARTING. . 295 
 
THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 THE PIONEER FAMILY. A SPIRITED CHASE. 
 
 "THERE, the last hill is dug, and I m glad!" 
 and Tom Jones leaned on his hoe, lost in 
 thought. 
 
 He was a stout lad of sixteen, with frowzy 
 brown hair, crowned by a brimless straw hat, 
 and his pants looked as if they had been turned 
 inside out and outside in, upside down and down 
 side up, and darned and patched and re-darned 
 and patched again, until time, and labor, and 
 cloth enough, such as it was, had been used to 
 fabricate a number of pairs of pants. As for 
 boots, for his lower extremities were not wholly 
 destitute of protection, they might have come 
 down to him as an heir-loom from a pauper of a 
 preceding generation. But what mattered it to 
 him that his clothes were threadbare, many-hued, 
 
 CO 
 
IO THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 and grotesque? or that his boots let the deef, 
 rich soil in at sides and toes? Was he not* a 
 " squatter sovereign," or the son of one, free in 
 his habits as the Indian that roamed the prairies 
 of his frontier home? He had not heard of 
 "the latest fashion," and paid no attention to the 
 cuUcf\hifc t gtiiJrnehtG, although, it must be con 
 fessed; he Sometimes wished them a trifle more 
 ;a-n$ r tomfprtable^ His home, as I have 
 ^ was bh"the prairie. Nevertheless, the 
 family domain was an unpretending one. Less 
 than an acre, fenced in the rudest manner, en 
 closed the "farm and farm buildings," the latter 
 consisting of a small log house and log pigsty, 
 the cabin, at the time our sketch opens, being, it 
 is evident, at least two seasons old a fact which 
 serves to show the more plainly the poverty and 
 thriftlessness of the inmates ; for they have had 
 time, certainly, to cultivate quite a tract of the 
 easily-tilled land, had they enterprise and indus 
 try. But they belonged to a class not famous 
 for these virtues the restless, ever-moving class 
 that pioneer the way towards the setting sun. 
 But perhaps we are leaving the boy propped too 
 long on his hoe. Let us take a more critical look 
 at him. " Fine feathers don t make fine birds," 
 observes the old proverb. Forgetting the dress, 
 then, please study his face. A clear, deep-blue 
 eye, delicately-arched eyebrows, regular features, 
 
THE PIONEER FAMILY. II 
 
 mouth and chin indicating decision and native 
 refinement, and a well-developed forehead. Ah, 
 here may be a diamond in the rough ! Who 
 knows ? 
 
 The squatter s son looked about him with a 
 dissatisfied air. "I do wish," he soliloquized, 
 " that I could see something of the world, and do 
 something for myself. Here we ve been chan 
 ging around from one place to another, doing 
 nothing but raise a few potatoes and a little corn, 
 living in a miserable cabin, where there are no 
 schools, and scarcely any neighbors. It s too 
 bad to spend all our day s so. I believe we were 
 made for something better ; and, as the minister 
 told us Sunday, we ought to try and be some 
 body, and not float along as the stick on the 
 stream. I m sure it isn t, and never was, to 
 mother s mind ; and, as to father " And here 
 he stopped and pondered, as if trying to solve a 
 mystery, and in a style that would have been 
 pronounced philosophic, had he been a college 
 professor scratched his head. .Then, with his 
 ragged sleeve, he wiped the sweat from his brow, 
 leaving a streak of black that made that part of 
 his face present quite a different appearance from 
 what it did, reader, when you and I noticed it a 
 moment ago. And going to the cabin, he re 
 turned with a rickety basket, and, commencing 
 at the lower end of the field, began picking up 
 
12 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 the potatoes that had been left drying in the sun. 
 A goodly crop had the little patch produced ; for 
 the vegetable decays and fertilizing rains and 
 snows of centuries had covered the prairie with a 
 dressing with which art could not compete, and 
 it was more difficult not to get a harvest from the 
 seed sown than to get one. The rows of hills 
 were covered with the bountiful returns brought 
 up to the light of day by Tom s well-used hoe. 
 It was not, however, the size, quality, or number 
 of the potatoes that most interested Tom just then. 
 The fact that they were all out of the ground ; that 
 the corn was cut and stacked, and the pumpkins 
 ready to be housed ; that the fall work could be 
 finished by that afternoon s sun-setting, stirred 
 him strangely ; for he had of late begun to ques 
 tion the future, to learn what it had in store for 
 him. He had come to realize, in a degree, that 
 that future would be very much what he chose 
 to make it. And serious dissatisfaction with the 
 past and the present filled his heart with dis 
 quiet. 
 
 Tom s memory had been active for a few days. 
 How like yesterday it seemed, when he was a 
 little child, and his father, getting together money 
 enough, bought a horse and wagon, and, putting 
 the family in the vehicle, started out prospect 
 ing for a new home farther from the advancing 
 waves of civilization ! How many similar expe- 
 
THE PIONEER FAMILY. 13 
 
 ditions had they taken since, and how painfully 
 had their experiences illustrated the saying, "A 
 rolling stone gathers no moss " ! But roll Mr. 
 Jones would. Tom knew this too well. It was, 
 indeed, viewed in one aspect, an easy way to 
 get on, this going in one s own conveyance from 
 place to place of Uncle Sam s unsettled lands ; 
 this living off the country, gypsying in the woods 
 and on the prairies ; this two thirds savage and one 
 third civilized mode of putting a growing family 
 through the world ; and if you were to see Mr. 
 Jones seated in the emigrant wagon, reins in 
 hand and pipe in mouth, or with shouldered rifle 
 on the track of a deer, you would say that such 
 a life was eminently agreeable to him. Every 
 man is made for something ; and you would say 
 that he was cut out for a wandering frontier 
 loafer, who gets his subsistence by doing the 
 least possible work in the easiest possible man 
 ner, and hunting and fishing. A horse and wag 
 on, or extemporized log cabin, for a shelter ; tools 
 enough for the simplest tilling of the soil, and 
 furniture for the rudest housekeeping and cloth- 
 "ing ; the making over, by the industrious wife, 
 of clothes bought "some time back," such was 
 the way the Joneses lived. Putting up a small 
 log house by the bank of a river for the sake of 
 the fish, and near a forest for the game, with 
 "a strip of clean prairie" for "garden sarce," 
 
14 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 there they might remain for a year or two ; then 
 you would be quite sure to find the immigrant 
 friend looking discontented, and expressing a 
 wish to "sell his claim." 
 
 " It s growing so crowded with folks coming 
 into the country, I can t go three miles without 
 stumbling against a shanty or a house ; and cart 
 tracks are getting so plenty, I can t stand it. I 
 must pull up stakes, and go farther on to find a 
 place to breathe in." 
 
 And, perchance, realizing a trifle for his claim 
 and improvements, Dobbin is hitched anew into 
 the crazy old wagon. The broken crockery, and 
 leaky black tea-pot, and ancient cooking-stove 
 the pipe of the latter running up through the 
 wagon-top are once more aboard, wife and chil 
 dren packed in, and the uneasy frontiersman is 
 pushing out again towards solitude. 
 
 Tom had been reviewing this bit of family his 
 tory more in detail, and much more vividly than 
 we have now done. The result was a feeling 
 of disgust, and a resolution to break away from 
 such a life, and an endeavor for something 
 higher. 
 
 But what had brought the squatter s son to 
 such a conclusion? The condition of the family 
 had for some time been unsatisfactory to Tom. 
 Though brought up in this roying, improvident 
 way, his better nature often revolted against it ; 
 
THE PIONEER FAMILY. 15 
 
 not, however, so strongly and decisively as now. 
 Still, desires, and even longings, for something 
 better had flitted through his mind, only to make 
 him moody and irritable. Doubtless these aspi 
 rations were due, in no small measure, to his 
 mother a woman much superior to her condi 
 tion, but who, clinging to her husband with a 
 pure and changeless love, accepted the privations 
 of her lot without a murmur. Taken by her 
 marriage from the comforts and advantages of a 
 good home, she had followed his fortunes "for 
 better or for worse," having much more of the 
 latter, in a worldly point of view, than the former. 
 Not that Mr. Jones was a hard or a dissipated 
 man ; but his roving habits, and the deprivations 
 and poverty they endured, had made her days sad 
 and toil-worn. 
 
 Tom, in his tastes, was like his mother. But 
 a new event had recently occurred. A godly 
 minister, in search of the lost sheep of the 
 heavenly fold, had made his way into the region, 
 and, the Sabbath previous to the opening of our 
 sketch, had, in earnest, eloquent words, preached 
 the gospel to the settlers. The log cabin, in 
 which the services were held, was only a mile 
 and a half distant, and Tom and his father, with 
 the neighbors generally, attended. How differ 
 ently the gospel message affects different per 
 sons ! Some are softened, others are hardened, 
 
l6 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 by it. Some are stirred up to certain duties, 
 while, under the same sermon, others are incited 
 to an entirely different train of thought and course 
 of action. The effect on Tom of the sermons 
 of the preacher was to incite his feelings to revolt 
 against his lot in life, and arouse him to the ne 
 cessity of a purpose in living. He did not look 
 forward so much to the world to come as to the 
 " to come " of this world. The present in its re 
 lations to life here this was the point with him ; 
 and he revolved the subject, viewing it in every 
 possible light, until a decision was reached. 
 
 "This preacher," said he, "is from a region 
 of schools and privileges. Why can I not seek 
 such advantages, and be somebody, and accom 
 plish something? Why can I not go to the city 
 to school this winter ? " What an idea for him ! 
 It almost took his breath to think of it. And, 
 then, how should he get there? Where was the 
 money coming from to support him while study 
 ing? 
 
 "I must work and earn it," he replied. "I can 
 do anything honest ; I can, at least, work for my 
 board." 
 
 Tom s mind had suffered from a famine of 
 knowledge. He could read passably well, write 
 a little, was good at reckoning, and the little he 
 knew excited a craving for more. Public ad 
 dresses had always moved him deeply, and the 
 
THE PIONEER FAMILY. 1 7 
 
 living truths of the gospel, as presented by the 
 living preacher, had set the mental machinery in 
 motion, until the decision to go from home in 
 search of an education, had been wrought out ; 
 and it was this rising purpose that kept him so 
 patiently at his day s task of finishing up the 
 fall work, that he might commence his new 
 career. 
 
 "I will finish getting in the crops by dark," 
 said he, as he filled the basket, " and then there 
 will be nothing to keep me at home ; " and he 
 was about raising the basket to his shoulder, 
 when he was startled from his reveries by a loud 
 cry of, 
 
 "Tom, Tom! come quick! I ve caught a 
 fawn, and he ll get away ! " It was twelve-year- 
 old Charley from the hazel bushes that bordered 
 the potato-patch near the woods. Tom ran to 
 assist his brother, but could scarcely believe his 
 eyes when he saw the little fellow had caught 
 the fawn by the tail, and was struggling to hold 
 the agile creature, forgetting how dexterously the 
 deer can use his heels. Scarcely had the elder 
 brother mounted the fence, when, with a smart 
 kick, the fawn sent Charley over on his back, 
 and leaped into the enclosure. At this instant 
 a bevy of flaxen-haired urchins, hatless, bonnet- 
 less, Tom s brothers and sisters, came whoop 
 ing from the cabin, and joined the chase. In 
 2 
 
1 8 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 a moment Tom had forgotten all his gloomy 
 thoughts and high resolves, and was as eager as 
 any of them, as they tried to secure the nimble 
 prize. A lively time it was, too ; fear and speed 
 against numbers, noise, and strategy. A good 
 force were the pursuers ; the " olive plants " of 
 the Joneses grew very naturally in regular grada 
 tions, like the steps of a flight of stairs. Tom, 
 Eliza, Charley, Bob, Sarah, Bill, and Bub, the 
 four-year-old, were all active with hands, legs, 
 and lungs, while the mother stood in the door 
 way, surveying the scene, with baby in her 
 arms. 
 
 "Fix up the fence where the deer jumped 
 in ! " cried Tom to Charley ; and the latter has 
 tened to repair the breach, for the brush had 
 been broken down at that point. 
 
 From corner to corner and side to side bounded 
 the deer, slipping through the fingers of one and 
 another of the youngsters ; but they gave him 
 no rest. 
 
 "Stop him, Lize! Hold him, Bob! Head 
 him off, Say ! Get out of the way, Bub ! 
 There! why didn t you catch him, Charley? 
 Mother, can t you put down baby, and help us? 
 He ll get away ! There ! he s going over the 
 fence ! No, he isn t ! " Amid such vociferations 
 the children rushed on, pell-mell, till out of 
 breath. Luckily, the brush fence was so thick 
 
A SPIRITED CHASE. 19 
 
 and high, being made of dead trees piled upon 
 each other, that the animal could find no point 
 to push through or scale, especially while kept 
 in " running order " by his pursuers. Although 
 thus imprisoned, he was baffling their efforts, re 
 fusing to be captured, when Tom said to the 
 children, 
 
 "We can t catch him this way. But if you 
 will all do as I tell you, I guess we can." The 
 fawn was standing in the further corner of the 
 field, as if waiting to see what they would do 
 next.fr And Tom, ranging his force in line, him 
 self at the head, gave the word to advance to 
 wards the deer. 
 
 " Steady, steady," said he, as they neared the 
 animal. They had succeeded in approaching 
 within a few yards, and Tom, with outspread 
 arms and eagle eye, advanced slowly, watching 
 to seize him if he should attempt to spring away, 
 when little Bub, who had been sent into the cabin 
 by Tom, having gone around unobserved on the 
 outside of the garden behind the deer, suddenly 
 ran a sharp stick through the brush into the crea 
 ture s back, saying, 
 
 " I make im wun ! " 
 
 Frantically jumped the deer at this a denoue 
 ment so unexpected to his assailants, that the line 
 became broken, the little soldiers were tumbled 
 together, with Tom on top of them, and the deer 
 
2O THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 stood almost at the" same instant at the other end 
 of the patch, the whole being accomplished with 
 marvellous quickness. 
 
 " Get off my head ! " screamed Sarah from 
 under the heap. 
 
 " O, dear, you ll break my arm ! " cried Eliza. 
 
 "What did you fall on me for?" angrily de 
 manded Bob of Charley, as he spit the dirt from 
 his mouth. " You did it on purpose you know 
 you did ! " 
 
 "No, I didn t!" 
 
 "Yes, you did!" 
 
 "I should a thought Tom might a held the 
 deer, an not fell on us so heavy," sobbed Sarah, 
 rubbing her eyes with her begrimed gown. 
 
 But while they fretted, the fawn had been 
 critically examining the fence to find egress, see 
 ing which the children dried their tears, and 
 made for him again ; and at length the graceful 
 creature, bewildered by the din, and foiled by 
 numbers, was forced to surrender himself after 
 another vigorous scramble, in which the basket 
 of potatoes was overturned, and the corn scattered 
 in delightful disorder, and was borne by Tom in 
 triumph to the cabin, accompanied by the ex 
 cited group. 
 
 "We ve got him, marm we ve got him!" 
 they shouted in chorus as they followed their 
 leader into the house. 
 
A SPIRITED CHASE. 21 
 
 "And where will you keep him to-night? " she 
 inquired. 
 
 " He tan seep with me ! " promptly answered 
 Bub, at which there was much merriment. 
 
 "No," replied Tom, shaking his head at the 
 mischief-maker, "you will stick a stick into his 
 back, and make im wun again." 
 
 After much deliberation it was decided that the 
 fawn be tied to a bed-post, while a pen was built 
 for his accommodation near the cabin. This was 
 soon accomplished, and the fawn placed in it. 
 
 When Tom returned to his work, the day was 
 far gone. He gazed around with regret as he 
 saw that not only was it now too late to finish 
 getting in the crops, but that the chase of the 
 deer, in which he had engaged with so much 
 ardor, had made him no little extra labor. What 
 a task it would be to find all the potatoes, scattered 
 and trampled into the rich earth as they were ! 
 and the bundles of corn had been broken from 
 their bindings, and must be gathered together 
 and refastened. To find and carry in the pota 
 toes consumed the time till supper ; and then, at 
 his mother s call, he went in depressed and un 
 happy, and after bringing in the wood for the 
 breakfast fire, and feeding the pigs, he went up 
 the rude ladder to his straw bed on the floor. 
 
 It was scanty fare that the Jones family had. 
 You could see that by their looks. It is true that 
 
22 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 they were healthy and strong ; but they lacked 
 the fair, plump development that plenty of food 
 of a suitable variety gives to childhood and 
 youth. Of vegetables they were not destitute ; 
 potatoes, corn, beans, and pumpkins they had in 
 abundance since fall set in, if not before. Bread, 
 milk, and meat were usually scarce with them. 
 For the latter they depended principally on the 
 father s rifle ; but as he was apt to take wide and 
 eccentric tramps over the prairies, there would be 
 long intervals when but little game from his gun 
 made savory the family cooking. 
 
 Mr. Jones had been away for some days now, 
 and his patient wife had really suffered for food. 
 Vegetables of the same kind, served up pretty 
 much in the same way, with little to give relish 
 to them, a big crying infant the while tugging at 
 her breast, and the house-work to do, it is not 
 strange that while the children, fresh from romp 
 ing in the bracing prairie air, were favored with 
 a ravenous appetite, she had little. Tom under 
 stood all this ; for, constituted like her, he, too, 
 felt the deprivations of the table, although in a 
 less degree, and much did he worry about her 
 meagre diet. 
 
 "Ah," he thought, as he lay down for the 
 night, "when I am away and earning, won t I 
 send the good things to mother ! " 
 
SHOOTING DOUBLE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SHOOTING DOUBLE. A FRONTIER DOCTOR. 
 
 TOM slept soundly, and notwithstanding he 
 charged his memory to awaken him before day 
 break, dawn was brightening the east while he 
 was still in the shadowy land of dreams. The 
 low attic had no window, save a pane of glass 
 nailed over a hole under the eaves ; and long the 
 lad might have slumbered on, had not a loud 
 sound suddenly aroused him. 
 
 "Does it thunder?" he exclaimed, fearing a 
 prairie tempest had arisen to interfere with his 
 cherished project of leaving home. 
 
 Peering through the window pane, he saw, to 
 his surprise, that the morning was cloudless. 
 What could it mean? Assuredly he had heard 
 the rolling of thunder ! He looked out again, for 
 another and more agreeable thought had struck 
 him. 
 
 "Yes, it s the hens!" he ejaculated; "my! 
 what a heap of them ! " 
 
 By "the hens," he meant prairie hens; for in 
 this familiar way they are spoken of at the west. 
 
24 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 They had spied out the corn, and the fact that it 
 was there, by some telegraphic system in vogue 
 among the birds, had spread for miles around ; 
 and making their way through the tall grass from 
 every direction, at once, as the sun appeared, 
 they flew in a huge body over the little cabin into 
 the field. For this species of grouse {Tetrao 
 cufodo) are models of good order and punctuality 
 as to their meals, and many an eastern boy or 
 girl might, we suspect, get a useful hint from them 
 on table etiquette. They assemble, as if by ap 
 pointment, around the farmer s grain-field, and 
 quietly wait for the breakfast signal, which is the 
 rising of the sun, then enter the enclosure to 
 gether, and having fed just one hour by their 
 unerring chronometer, they retire, to return at 
 sunset for another hour s feeding. This was their 
 first visit to Mr. Jones s patch ; doubtless the tram 
 pled and scattered corn had tempted them in now. 
 
 Tom s eyes danced for joy, as, peeping at the 
 hens, he hurried on his clothes. Hundreds were 
 there pecking along like so many turkeys. It 
 was the combined whirr of their wings that woke 
 him so effectually ; many an older person on the 
 frontier has been deceived by the same sound, 
 supposing it to be thunder, so heavy a noise do 
 these wild fowl of the prairies make when num 
 bers of them fly together. 
 
 " Won t mother be glad ! " he whispered to him- 
 
SHOOTING DOUBLE. 25 
 
 self; "and what a dinner she ll have to-day!" 
 And descending the ladder, he took from the 
 Booked pegs overhead his father s old shot-gun, 
 where it had hung unused for months, and from 
 a little box some powder and shot, and a percus 
 sion cap ; then loading in haste, he rested the 
 weapon on the window-sill, that he might take 
 steady aim, and fired at the fowl. A terrible re 
 port followed, and Tom came to himself to find 
 his mother bathing his forehead, and his sisters 
 crying. The gun was out of order, and, being 
 also overloaded, had blown off the lock, burning 
 his face, and stunning him by the recoil. 
 
 Poor Tom returned to consciousness to suffer. 
 His face began rapidly to swell, and presented a 
 frightful appearance, so blackened was it by the 
 powder, and the smarting was intense. Mrs. 
 Jones, in her isolated life, had been too many times 
 thrown on her own resources to be wholly over 
 come by the disaster. Her chief anxiety was 
 lest Tom s eyes were destroyed, as the eyebrows 
 and eyelashes had been completely burned off 
 by the explosion. When she saw, however, that 
 he was not blind, she said, with tears, 
 
 "O, how glad I am, dear child, that your eyes 
 are spared ! " 
 
 A couple of miles away lived a doctor, or an 
 individual who wore that title, on whom, in emer 
 gencies, the scattered settlers were wont to call. 
 
26 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 This queer yEsculapian specimen was remarkably 
 tall and lank, always went with his pants tucked 
 in the tops of his thumping cowhide boots, and 
 wore a red woollen shirt, the soiled and limpsy 
 neck-band of which, coming nearly to his ears, 
 served instead of a collar. He dwelt alone, with 
 his cat, in a rude, claim-shanty, sleeping with his 
 window open and door unfastened ; and if his 
 services were needed in the night, the messenger 
 would put his head in at the window and call to 
 him, or pull the latch-string and walk in. The 
 doctor was pompous in conversation, and affected 
 long words ; but it was understood unfortu 
 nately for his patients that his advantages had 
 been poor. 
 
 For this worthy Charley had been promptly 
 despatched by his mother ; and good time did the 
 child make, so frightened was he about poor Tom. 
 He was an imaginative lad, and, when much ex 
 cited, apt to see "two hundred black cats fighting 
 in the yard," when there was only a frolicsome 
 kitten chasing its tail ; and at such times he had 
 the bad habit of running his words together. He 
 was just the one to send on the errand, so far as 
 speed was concerned ; but when he burst into the 
 doctor s cabin, shouting, 
 
 w Blews-sed-off ! blews-sed-off ! " the slumber 
 ing man of herbs prematurely awakened, rubbed 
 his forehead, to be sure he was not dreaming, and 
 stammered, 
 
SHOOTING DOUBLE. 27 
 
 " Wha-wha-what s to pay? " 
 
 "Blews-sed-off ! blews-sed off ! " reiterated the 
 urchin. 
 
 "Boy," said the doctor, now fully aroused, "be 
 self-possessed and collected, and state distinctly 
 what has happened." And holding the lad by 
 the shoulders, he added, "Speak very slowly, 
 that I may understand you ! " 
 
 " Blew his head off! " emphatically re 
 peated Charley, pausing after each word. 
 
 " A shocking occurrence, truly ! " ejaculated the 
 physician. "I do not wonder, boy, that one so 
 unaccustomed to such sanguinary events should 
 be terrified. But who is the unfortunate victim 
 of this tragical and fatal accident or was he 
 murdered in cold blood ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Charley, who, in turn, did 
 not understand the doctor, but supposed he must 
 assent to all he said. 
 
 "Yes what?" sharply asked the physician. 
 " Was it, I say, an accident, or was the man as 
 sassinated? Be quick, now !" 
 
 " Yesir ! " instantly screamed Charley, thinking 
 the doctor was now reproving him for speaking 
 slowly. 
 
 "Well, you are scared out of your seven senses, 
 you wretched dunce ! " retorted the doctor, out of 
 temper ; and, shaking the lad, he said, " See if 
 you can tell me now who it is that s killed." 
 
28 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " It s our Tom ! " 
 
 " And how do / know who your Tom is ? " 
 roared the physician. "There s my Tom ; " and 
 he pointed to a monstrous gray cat that sat on an 
 oak chest watching the boy with green-glaring 
 eyes ; " and if he should mistake you for a thiev 
 ing gopher some fine morning, and eat you up 
 alive, small loss would it be to the world, I m 
 thinking ! " 
 
 " He s my brother ! " timidly interposed Charley, 
 keeping to the question. 
 
 " Your brother ! Well, old hunter, what do you 
 say to that?" said the doctor, stroking his dis 
 agreeable pet: "that dirty-faced, uncombed, ill- 
 dressed ignoramus of a boy claims you for a 
 relative. Do you realize the honor, eh?" 
 
 " I mean that our Tom is my brother," explained 
 Charley, bursting into tears. 
 
 The doctor, softened by his distress, asked 
 more gently, 
 
 " But hasn t your Tom any other name? " 
 
 "No, sir," answered the boy. 
 
 " Well, what is your name ? " 
 
 " Charley." 
 
 "Charley what?" 
 
 " Charley Jones." 
 
 " O, I see ! you belong to the Jones tribe ; not 
 much matter if all their heads were blown off. 
 But what do you want of me ? " 
 
A FRONTIER DOCTOR. 29 
 
 "Mother wants you to come right down quick, 
 and make Tom well." 
 
 "What ! after his head s blown off ? That s a 
 job, anyhow. Nice-looking young man he d be 
 wouldn t he? going round, well as ever, with 
 out any head on his shoulders. But I see how it 
 is : his head isn t all gone just a trifle left 
 enough to grow another with ; " and the doctor, 
 now in good humor, succeeded in drawing from 
 the lad an intelligible account of the accident, 
 and mounting his horse, with saddle-bags behind 
 him, and a tin pail in his hand, he proceeded to 
 a well-to-do settler s, and narrating the accident 
 with nearly as much exaggeration as did little 
 Charley, he added, with an emphatic jerk of his 
 collar, " I ll fix the fellow up so that he ll be as 
 good as new." He then begged some yeast, and 
 a roll of cotton batting, and, repairing to the 
 Joneses, covered Tom s face with the cotton dipped 
 in the yeast, and returned to his loggery. Whether 
 the application was in accordance with the Ma- 
 teria Medica of orthodox practice or not, after a 
 short time the pain subsided, and Tom dropped 
 into a peaceful sleep ; seeing which, Mrs. Jones 
 went about her morning s work with a thankful 
 heart. The children had had nothing to eat as 
 yet, and now that their brother s moanings had 
 ceased, they realized that they were hungry. 
 
 " Tan t I have my supper? " sobbed Bub, cling 
 ing to his mother s dress as she walked. 
 
30 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 * Tisn t supper ; it s breakfast ! " answered Bob, 
 giving the child a push, which helped him cry 
 the louder. 
 
 "Cry-baby cripsy," mocked Bob, making ugly 
 faces at the little fellow ; for fasting had made Bob 
 quarrelsome. 
 
 Sad-eyed Mrs. Jones tried in vain to quiet them, 
 carrying and nursing baby and preparing the 
 meal at the same time, for even the older children 
 were cross as unfed cubs. Mrs. Jones was no 
 disciplinarian ; she was too broken-spirited to 
 command her offspring ; if she ruled at all, it was 
 by affection and tact. In this instance she set 
 the older ones at work. One she directed to re 
 plenish the fire, another to wash the potatoes, a 
 third to sweep the floor : a slow job the latter 
 was, as the "truncheon," or floor of split logs, 
 was jagged, and the broom worn nearly to the 
 handle. She suggested to Charley to see if the 
 fawn had got away, which had the effect of caus 
 ing Bub to go on the same mission. This strata 
 gem, however, did not avail much in the case of 
 Charley, who quickly saw through his mother s 
 device, and returned, exclaiming, 
 
 " Pooh ! I guess the fawn s all right ! " 
 
 But Bub found congenial occupation in teasing 
 the fawn. The pen was narrow ; and Bub, not 
 being able to reach the deer, and tired of shouting 
 at him, started off into the field for a famous long 
 
THE PRAIRIE HEN. 31 
 
 stick which had served him for a steed the day 
 before. As he looked for it among the corn, he 
 saw something flutter, then heard a curious cackle. 
 It was a prairie hen, whose wings had been broken 
 by shot from Tom s gun. The bird moved pain 
 fully away, trying to hide behind the leafy stalks. 
 But Bub s bright eyes could not be eluded, and 
 he followed after, calling, " Chick, chick, chick ! " 
 mistaking it for a domestic fowl. The cunning 
 bird dodged in and out among the standing and 
 prostrate stacks with marvellous swiftness, con 
 sidering its condition ; but persevering curly-pate 
 seized the hen at last by the neck, saying, exult 
 antly, 
 
 " I dot yer ; now you have ! " 
 
 The strong wild fowl struggled desperately, 
 scratching his chubby hand until it bled ; but Bub 
 trudged on with his prize into the cabin, saying, 
 as he entered, 
 
 " See, marm ! I totched a biddy ! " 
 
 The little captor s entrance was greeted with 
 shouts of delight on the part of the children, and 
 by a loving kiss from his mother ; for Bub was a 
 great favorite, and a manly wee boy, despite his 
 loud-lunged blubbering, in which he excelled on 
 occasions, and his mischievious pranks, in which 
 also he was the equal of Bubs of more civilized 
 communities. As he stood in the cabin door, 
 coolly holding the kicking prairie hen, heedless 
 
32 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 of its cruel claws, his torn and soiled baby-frock 
 surmounted by a round fat face, bright blue eyes, 
 and light hair falling in tangled ringlets, the 
 golden sun resting upon his bare head and light 
 ing up his dimpled cheek, he formed a picture 
 worthy the pencil of an artist. 
 
 " What a little man you are ! " exclaimed the 
 mother, taking the heavy fowl from him. "You 
 shall ha\e some nice breakfast for this ! " and she 
 put a baked potato and a piece of corn-cake on 
 the corner of a trunk, and while Bub with a satis 
 fied hum partook of the food, she quietly slipped 
 out of doors and wrung the hen s neck. 
 
 The children plied the little hero with questions 
 as to where and how he caught the hen, which 
 he took his own time to answer while he munched. 
 Then they rushed out in a body, hoping to find 
 another. Their search was successful, and 
 they brought back two, which they found lying 
 some distance apart, quite dead. The old gun 
 had " scattered " prodigiously, but, as the flock of 
 hens was so large, did good execution, as ap 
 peared from the result. 
 
 Tom was asleep on his mother s bed, which 
 occupied a corner of the one room, but, aroused 
 by the din which greeted Bub when he came in 
 with the "biddy," regarded the affair quite com 
 placently, although he said nothing. And as the 
 hens were being picked by Lize and Sarah, he 
 
THE PRAIRIE HEN. 33 
 
 was comforted by the reflection that his well-meant 
 attempt at gunning had brought the family some 
 thing to eat. Tom, indeed, had never seen fowl 
 prepared for the household under just such cir 
 cumstances, and he watched each step in the 
 process with peculiar interest. Mrs. Jones, with 
 a fond mother s quickness, understood well how 
 he felt, and, though she seemed not to notice him, 
 made unusual parade in all that was done. 
 
 " Be very careful of those feathers, girls. Why, 
 how thick and soft they are ! We ll save every 
 one ; and who knows but when Tom gets well 
 he ll contrive some traps and catch hens enough 
 to make a pair of pillows, or a feather-bed?" 
 
 "Is a feather-bed very nice? " asked Sarah. 
 
 "Very, when the weather is cold, and a body 
 is weakly, as Tom is now ; it s so easy to rest 
 upon. There, Eliza, you may pass me the one 
 that is picked, and I ll dress it. How fat it is ! 
 and so tender ! What a feast we shall have ! 
 How thankful we ought to be that Tom s eyes 
 were not put out when he shot these hens ! How 
 good he was to think of getting them for us ! I 
 hope, girls, you ll help him all you can, when he 
 gets about, and not let him do all the chores." 
 
 Mrs. Jones was very handy at such work, and 
 she took care to face the bed so that he might see 
 every part of the operation. 
 
 "There s the heart, and there s the liver 
 3 
 
34 TH E CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 sweet as a nut!" and she smelled of them with 
 the air of an epicure. "We must keep them by 
 themselves for the present." Then, deftly joint 
 ing the fowl, she put the parts to soak in cold 
 water, strongly salted. "That will take out the 
 wild taste," said she. " How I do wish Tom 
 could eat some of this when it is cooked, it will 
 be so strengthening ! But I guess, if nothing 
 happens, the doctor will let him have a taste to 
 morrow ! " 
 
WHERE CAN HE. BE? 35 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 WHERE CAN HE BE? A HEART REVELATION. 
 
 "WHERE can he be?" sighed Mrs. Jones, as 
 she looked anxiously out of the little cabin win 
 dow. Many times a day had she done the same, 
 save that she thought the question, but did not 
 utter it, as now. Her husband had been away 
 for more than a week, and no tidings from him. 
 What could it mean ? When would he return ? 
 Had any evil befallen him? These and similar 
 inquiries were continually arising in her mind, 
 filling her with disquiet. She was one of those 
 singularly-constituted persons who are given to 
 presentiments, and who, when they are under 
 the spell of a deep, controlling conviction that 
 something unusual is to transpire, a persua 
 sion that comes to them, not through reason or 
 evidence, or the probabilities of things, but, as 
 some express it, "as if a voice had spoken to 
 them " when no human being was near, or by a 
 secret whispering to the soul by some unseen and 
 seemingly superhuman authority, when she 
 had such a presentiment it never deceived her. 
 
36 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 For some time she had foreboded trouble. The 
 foreboding grew upon her till its dark shadow 
 cast a gloom upon all her feelings ; it thrilled 
 her at times with fear. She would start at the 
 veriest trifles, as if affrighted. Particularly at 
 night did she cower under the feeling, and of 
 late it had been hard for her to sleep ; and when 
 she slept, it was wakefully : often would she start 
 up, and look around to see that all was right, 
 then fall asleep again. And yet she did not ap 
 prehend danger to herself particularly. Some 
 times she feared for her husband ; but the grow 
 ing feeling was, that trouble for the settlers was 
 at hand, and a terrible fear of the Indians rested 
 upon her. 
 
 It was far into the night now, and the lone 
 watcher felt too uneasy to retire. The moon 
 shone with great brilliancy, and she sat without 
 a light, busying herself with some coarse sew 
 ing. The children were peacefully sleeping, and 
 not a sound was to be heard save their breath 
 ing, and the whisper of the wind outside. The 
 silence was painful to her, and she arose and 
 peered out of the window again. Everything 
 looked weird and ghastly. What a solitude ! 
 For miles over the smooth prairie not a human 
 habitation was to be seen. In the other direction 
 stood the mysterious forest. How black and dis 
 mal seemed the trunks of the trees in the shim- 
 
WHERE CAN HE BE ? 37 
 
 mering moonbeams ! She gazed timidly at their 
 indistinct outlines, with strained eye. 
 
 " How foolish I am ! " she murmured ; but, as 
 she turned from the window, her attention was 
 fixed once more upon the forest ; for it seemed 
 to her that a dark object moved along its out 
 skirts. "It s only the trees!" she said, striving 
 to reassure herself. 
 
 But in a moment more an ox appeared ; then a 
 dark figure followed, and another, and another, 
 walking in single file. As the strange proces 
 sion emerged more fully into view, she saw that 
 the forms behind the Ox were those of Indians ; 
 they were driving off the settlers cattle. As 
 their route lay near the cabin, fear that they 
 would pay her a visit, for a moment quite para 
 lyzed her. It was but for a moment, however ; 
 the instinct of the mother was roused. Her chil 
 dren might be murdered. She glanced again at 
 the advancing savages, and then, softly opening 
 the door, which, fortunately, wa s on the other 
 side of the cabin, she returned with the axe, 
 the only weapon of defence at hand, and, with 
 flashing eyes, and a deadly resolution depicted 
 on her face, which seemed turned to marble, 
 silently awaited the onslaught. But the savages, 
 in their soft moccasins, glided noiselessly by, like 
 so many snakes. They did not appear to notice 
 the cabin, and were soon out of sight. When 
 
38 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 they were gone, Mrs. Jones sat down, feeling as 
 weak as before she had felt strong. The reac 
 tion was too great, and, a faintness coming on, 
 her head sank upon the side of the bed where 
 Tom lay. This aroused him, and he called, re 
 peatedly, 
 
 "Mother! mother!" 
 
 "Hush," she whispered, at last; "they ll hear 
 you ! " 
 
 "Who?" whispered Tom, alarmed. 
 
 The mother kept perfectly still, listening in 
 tently, until satisfied that the danger was really 
 past ; then she related to her son what she had 
 seen, and what her fears had been. 
 
 "But, mother," said Tom, confidently, "there 
 are no signs of trouble from them. They 
 wouldn t dare to attack the settlers ; for they 
 have always been beaten by the white man. 
 Besides, there are not many near us. You see 
 that these have not harmed us ; they only stole 
 an ox. Why, mother, don t you know that there 
 has been no Indian war for a good many years, 
 and that the Indians have been growing weaker 
 and weaker all the time, and going farther and 
 farther off?" 
 
 This was plausible ; and Tom only expressed 
 the views of the settlers. Mrs. Jones knew that 
 there was no reason for her anxiety, except her 
 fears, and she had not ventured to express them 
 
WHERE CAN HE BE? 39 
 
 to any one before ; for she was aware, such was 
 the prevalent feeling on this subject, that it would 
 expose her to ridicule. But now she only shook 
 her head, and said, 
 
 " I wish your father was safe at home." 
 "Why, mother, you don t worry about him 
 do you ? " exclaimed Tom, in amazement. " The 
 Indians always liked him, and he can go any 
 where over the prairies and through the woods 
 without guide or compass, and not get lost. And 
 he s a great marksman, you know : it wouldn t 
 do for an Indian to get in the way of his rifle." 
 
 "But, Tom," said the mother, taking his hand, 
 and suddenly changing the subject, "why is it 
 that you don t get better faster ? Your skin is 
 real hot, and you look feverish. The doctor said 
 you ought to have been out before this." Tom 
 looked down, but did not reply. " Tom," con 
 tinued she, tenderly, " something is troubling your 
 mind. I have known it for some time. Don t 
 you love your mother well enough to make her 
 your confidant? What is the matter, my son?" 
 Still the lad did not reply ; but his heart was 
 deeply moved by this unexpected and loving at 
 tack upon the citadel that held his secret secure, 
 as he had supposed. Soon the tears began to 
 stream from his eyes, and he sobbed aloud. 
 Mrs. Jones s eyes closed, and her lips moved 
 
40 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE* 
 
 as if she were in prayer; upon which Tom, after 
 she had ceased, asked, softly, 
 
 " Mother, are you a Christian? " 
 
 "That is a serious question, my son," said she. 
 " I sometimes hope that I am one ; but it is a 
 great thing to be a true follower of the Lord 
 Jesus Christ. But why do you ask?" 
 
 " O," replied he, embarrassed, " I don t just 
 know why. I know you re good enough to be a 
 Christian ; but you never spoke to us children 
 about it, and I didn t know what to think." 
 
 Mrs. Jones seemed pained by the answer, and 
 said, 
 
 " Tom, I know I have been negligent in this 
 matter." Then she added, hesitatingly, "But 
 your father does not feel as I do about it ; and I 
 have scarcely felt like instructing the children con 
 trary to his views. I have ever tried to please 
 him in everything ; perhaps I have carried this 
 too far." 
 
 "Mother, were you praying just now?" 
 
 "Yes," said she, hesitatingly. 
 
 " And were you praying for me ? " 
 
 "Yes, my son." 
 
 Tom was silent for a while, and then said, 
 
 "Mother, since I heard the preacher, I have 
 many times wished I were a Christian ; that is, 
 if if the Bible is true. But there are some 
 
A HEART REVELATION. 4! 
 
 things that I don t understand, and they are right 
 in my way." 
 
 "What are they, Tom?" He colored, and 
 said, 
 
 "I don t like to tell you, for I am afraid you 
 will think me very bad. But I thought some 
 time I would like to ask some one about it who 
 knows more than I do. You believe that there 
 is a God, mother ? " 
 
 "With all my heart." 
 
 "And that he is pleased with those who do 
 good, and angry with those who do wrong?" 
 
 "Certainly, Tom." 
 
 "Well, it seems hard, if this is true, that he 
 should let me get hurt so the other morning, 
 as I was trying to shoot the hens for you, 
 and you needed them so much, when there s 
 Jo Priest, and ever so many more, swearing, 
 ugly fellows, that go a gunning almost all the 
 time, and kill things just for the fun of it, and 
 they get plenty of game, and never get injured ; " 
 and the lad spoke bitterly. 
 
 " My child," said the mother, " there are many 
 things hard to be understood about God s deal 
 ings with us, and I am afraid that a great part 
 of them seem harder than they really are, be 
 cause we are so ignorant. But you know how I 
 am situated. I don t hear any preaching, nor 
 see those that do, very often ; and it s not to be 
 
42 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 expected that I can clear up these things, as they 
 can." 
 
 "I wish," interrupted Tom, petulantly, "that 
 the preacher was here. I d like to ask him ; but 
 perhaps he wouldn t like to talk with a poor igno 
 rant boy like me." 
 
 " Well," continued the mother, " I know here" 
 and she placed her hand upon her heart 
 " that all God does is just right, however dark it 
 seems, and that satisfies me." 
 
 Tom was impressed by his mother s faith, but 
 soon objected, 
 
 "Mother, do you think we can always trust 
 our feelings? You said a little while ago that 
 you felt that there would be trouble with the In 
 dians ; but nobody expects that. And now you 
 say that you feel that all God does is right. 
 Now, if you are wrong about the Indians, and 
 about father s being in danger from them, how 
 can you be sure that your feelings are right about 
 God?" 
 
 "Tom," replied she, "I have a great many 
 impressions that come to nothing. But there are 
 some that never do. And I know that God does 
 right ; for I feel that he does ; and, Tom, we 
 shall see about the Indians ; " and she sighed 
 heavily, and rose, and gazed long and earnestly 
 off over the prairie, and towards the woods. 
 
A HEART REVELATION. 43 
 
 Then, seating herself on the bed-side, she said, 
 gently, 
 
 " My son, you haven t told me all your troubles 
 yet. Hadn t you better hold nothing back from 
 me?" 
 
 The lad turned away at this, deeply touched 
 again ; " for/ thought he, " her feelings are right 
 about me ; perhaps they are about God ; " and 
 her persevering and delicate solicitude pierced his 
 very soul. 
 
 " Mother," said he, at length, struggling with 
 emotion, " I don t want to grow up ignorant and 
 useless. And I don t want the children and us 
 all to be so poor and despised ; " and the tears 
 came again, and the mother s mingled with his. 
 " I can t bear to have it so, and I -won t? he 
 added, rising in bed, and speaking with excited 
 energy. 
 
 "Ah, my poor child," said the mother, " I knew 
 it was that that lay on your mind, and took away 
 your appetite, and made you so unhappy. And 
 I have been praying for a long while that you 
 might feel so." 
 
 " You didn t want me to be miserable did you, 
 mother? " asked Tom, in surprise. 
 
 "God forbid, Tom. But I couldn t wish you 
 to grow up contented with such a life. I have 
 felt that you might do a great deal of good in the 
 world, and I wished you to see it." 
 
44 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " But, mother, how can I have things differ 
 ent?" 
 
 "Tom, "returned she, looking searchingly at him, 
 " how have you thought to make them different ? " 
 The boy averted his face again, and made no 
 reply for a moment, and then said, softly, 
 
 " I had decided to go away and get learning, 
 and earn my living, and try to be somebody." 
 
 "And when did you think of starting?" 
 
 "The morning," answered he, with an un 
 steady voice, " that I got hurt with the gun." 
 
 " And were you going off without letting me 
 know it, Tom?" 
 
 "Yes, mother; but I expected to write back, 
 and tell you all about it." 
 
 "Torn," returned the mother, tenderly, "you 
 asked me, a little while ago, why it was that 
 God let you get hurt that morning when you were 
 trying to kill the hens for the family, while those 
 bad boys go uninjured. I believe God s ways 
 were right in this. Why, my dear child, you are 
 better to me, and more necessary to me, at pres 
 ent, than many prairie hens ; and you might have 
 harmed yourself more by going from home than 
 you were by the powder. You meant it well, 
 Tom ; but you reasoned about going away, just 
 as you reasoned about God s dealings with you, 
 like a child. Tom, you are necessary now to 
 my comfort, and perhaps my life. I am not 
 
A HEART REVELATION. 45 
 
 over strong, and any great trouble might be too 
 much for me. I am afraid nights now, but I feel 
 safer when you are here. And you help me a 
 great deal about house, and in the care of the 
 children. Your father is away so much I have 
 to depend on you. And what if, when you are 
 away, the cabin should take fire, and you know 
 our stove is none of the tightest, or if we should 
 have trouble with the savages ? And who would 
 get the wood up for us during the cold winter that 
 is coming? God took too good care of us, Tom, 
 to let you forsake us that morning. Besides, 
 Tom, you wouldn t have succeeded." 
 
 "Why not? " asked Tom, faintly. 
 
 "You hadn t decent clothes to go in, nor any 
 recommendations. Your life had been very 
 different from that you proposed to enter upon, 
 and you hadn t a cent of money to help you on 
 your way. The chances were, that you would 
 have suffered, and, instead of helping us, as you 
 do now, you would have been a source of sor 
 row, anxiety, and expense to us. Is it not so?" 
 Tom saw that his mother understood the case ; 
 but his heart sank as his air-castle fell, and he 
 wept anew. " But do not misunderstand me, 
 Tom, as you did God s dealings with you. What 
 I say brings to you a great disappointment. It 
 seems almost cruel in me thus to cut off your 
 hopes of being something better in the world. 
 
46 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Tom, it does not follow, because you were go 
 ing too soon, and God permitted an accident to 
 stop you, that the time may never come for you 
 to realize your hopes so far as they are right. 
 You say you wish to be useful. You are useful 
 now, very useful. Be contented to help at home 
 for the present, and God will, I doubt not, open 
 something better for you in his own good time." 
 And, kissing him, she ^ lay down upon her bed 
 for a short nap before the day should break. 
 
A BRUSH WITH INDIANS. 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A BRUSH WITH INDIANS. A BLACK HEART. 
 
 " HELLO ! Let me in, I say. Are you all 
 dead ? " and a strong hand shook the door. 
 
 Mrs. Jones rubbed her eyes, for she had over 
 slept herself; and as the children depended on 
 her to awaken them in the morning, they were 
 sleeping too. Hastening to the door, she undid 
 the fastening, and her husband entered. 
 
 " Is that you, Joseph?" she asked. 
 
 "It isn t anybody else, I reckon," he gruffly 
 answered; "but where shall I put this?" taking 
 a quarter of venison from his shoulder, which his 
 wife hung against the wall on a wooden peg. 
 
 " I m glad you ve got back, Joseph." 
 
 " Well you might be, for you came near never 
 seeing me again." 
 
 " I hope you haven t met with any mishap," 
 said the wife, anxiously. 
 
 " Nothing to speak of, only a scratch from the 
 bullet of one of them rascally red-skins." 
 
 " Why, you haven t been fighting with the In 
 dians have you ? " 
 
48 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " Not exactly," he answered ; " I ve always 
 treated them well ; but after this, if any of em get 
 in my way, I shall pop at em before they do at 
 me ; that s all." 
 
 " But how did they happen to shoot at you ? " 
 asked Mrs. Jones. 
 
 "Well," said her husband, "just give me some 
 thing to put on my side, for it s a grain sore after 
 my long tramp, and cook us a venison steak, and 
 I ll tell you all about it; " and Mr. Jones, pulling 
 open his hunting-shirt, showed an ugly-looking 
 flesh wound in his side. 
 
 " Dear me, Joseph, you are hurt," said the wife, 
 as she carefully bandaged it, putting on a simple 
 salve, which she always kept on hand for family 
 use. M You look tired and pale bringing home 
 such a load, and bleeding all the way. Sit down, 
 and I ll get you something to eat directly." 
 
 Scarcely had he seated himself, when there 
 was a cry of pain from Tom, and Bub came 
 tumbling head first upon the floor ; for, having 
 seen his father, he had scrambled, without cere 
 mony, across Tom s sore face, and receiving a 
 push from the latter, landed upon his nose. 
 
 By this time the rest of the children were 
 awake, and shouting, " Dad s come home ! " while 
 Bub bellowed at the top of his lungs, " My nose 
 beeds ! my nose beeds ! " 
 
 " O, no, it don t," replied his mother, soothingly. 
 
A BRUSH WITH INDIANS. 49 
 
 "Well, it feels ived, it does!" he answered, 
 determined to be pitied. 
 
 This remark elicited peals of laughter from his 
 brothers and sisters, which Bub taking as in 
 sults, he roared the louder. 
 
 "Children," cried Mrs. Jones, "stop laughing 
 at Bub." 
 
 But he cut too comical a figure for them to stop 
 at once, for, as he had used, the night before, one 
 of Tom s old shirts for a night dress, he now found 
 it difficult to move towards his father, as each 
 time he stepped the garment would trip his feet. 
 
 "Children," interposed Mr. Jones, "why don t 
 you hush. Your marm s spoken to you a number 
 of times already." 
 
 At which Bub added with dignity, as he tried 
 to balance himself, 
 
 " I des they re blind^ they re so hard o hearin ! " 
 
 "Your father," said the mother, impressively, 
 "has been shot at by the Indians, and came very 
 near being killed, and you ought to keep more 
 quiet." 
 
 "Did they kill you, daddy?" asked Bub, who 
 now stood at his father s knee, his blue eyes wide 
 with wonder ; " tause, if they did, I ll stick my big 
 stick into their backs." 
 
 There was a suppressed tittering at this, for 
 which the children felt half ashamed, considering 
 the startling intelligence they had just heard. 
 4 
 
50 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " Mother was afraid you d have trouble with 
 the Indians," observed Tom, " and she was so 
 much worried that she didn t sleep last night." 
 
 "Why, the Indians haven t been doing any 
 mischief about here have they?" asked his 
 father. 
 
 "No," replied Tom, "and I told mother that 
 there wasn t any danger." 
 
 But the venison was filling the cabin with its 
 savory smell, and Mrs. Jones said, 
 
 " Hurry, children, and get washed and dressed 
 for breakfast." 
 
 And going to the basin, which was in its place 
 on the wash-bench outside the door, with much 
 discussion as to who should have the first chance, 
 hands and faces were treated to a hasty bath. 
 
 Mr. Jones was about forty-five years of age 
 a short, thick-set man, with dark hair and heavy 
 beard. He was a man of much natural ability, 
 and exhibited singular contrasts in character and 
 speech. The free and easy carriage, and quaint 
 language of the " Leather-stocking," sat easily 
 upon him ; and yet, at times, he would express 
 himself in words well chosen, and even elegant. 
 He hated society, and was despised by the set 
 tlers for his lack of enterprise ; and yet, when 
 circumstances drew him out, they were wonder- 
 struck at the variety and accuracy of his informa 
 tion. These inconsistencies made him a mystery ; 
 
A BRUSH WITH INDIANS. 51 
 
 and he was looked down upon, and looked up 
 to, as his neighbors came in contact with one or 
 the other side of his characteristics. In all, too, 
 that pertained to the habits of the animals, and 
 the appearance of the country, no one was so 
 well posted as he. He was built for physical 
 endurance, was cool and courageous in danger, 
 but could not confine himself to regular employ 
 ment, bodily or mental. 
 
 "Isn t Tom coming to breakfast?" inquired 
 Mr. Jones, as the rest of the children were greedi 
 ly helping themselves from the plate of meat. 
 
 So the mother related how Tom had been hurt, 
 and then said, 
 
 " But you haven t told us how you received 
 your injury ? " 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Jones, as he pushed away 
 his plate, having satisfied his appetite, " I had 
 started for the lake, hearing that there was a good 
 many wild geese and other sorts of game there, 
 and the prospect was, that we should make a pretty 
 big thing of it ; but the afternoon after we reached 
 the pond, and was looking about a little, Davis 
 and I were crossing a prairie, and had come in 
 sight of a grove, and says I to him, You just go 
 round on the other side of the thicket, and I ll go 
 in on this, and if there s any deer in there, one 
 of us 11 start them out. Well, I d got within a 
 few yards of the trees, when, the first I knew, I 
 
52 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 heard the crack of a rifle, and a bullet came sing 
 ing through my side. Says I to myself, That s a 
 red-skin s compliments ! and making believe that 
 I was a gorner, I pitched forward and lay still as 
 a door nail, in the tall grass. I hadn t lain there 
 more n a minute, when, sure enough, a red-skin 
 popped out from behind a tree close by, and made 
 for me, to take my scalp. I had my revolver 
 ready, and when he was within a few feet of me, 
 I just let daylight through him ; and as he fell, 
 not knowing how many more of the scamps might 
 be about, I dragged myself along to the side of 
 the lake, where I found Davis waiting for me, 
 for he had seen the whole thing, and creeping 
 around to the other side under the banks, w r e made 
 tracks for home. Why under the sun the feller 
 didn t put the bullet through my heart, I can t make 
 out, for I never knew one of em to miss, when, 
 he was so near as that, and had a fair aim." 
 
 Mrs. Jones then knew why her heart was so 
 burdened on his account at the very hour of his 
 marvellous escape from death. 
 
 But their conversation was interrupted by a 
 settler who called to ask if they had seen anything 
 of a stray pair of cattle. 
 
 "Ah, neighbor Allen, is that you?" said Mr. 
 Jones, going to speak to the caller, who sat upon 
 his horse before the door. 
 
 "Ah, Jones, when did you git back? and what 
 
A BRUSH WITH INDIANS. 53 
 
 luck?" rejoined the horseman in a hearty 
 way. 
 
 "Got a taste of venison," replied Mr. Jones, 
 w and had a brush with the Injins." 
 
 "Ah, ha ! the red scamps want to smell powder 
 again d o they? Well, I m ready for them, for 
 one, and I have seven boys not an inch shorter 
 than I am, and as good with the rifle as the best, 
 who would like a sight at the varmints. But if 
 none of your folks have seen any stray cattle 
 about the diggins, I must be going. Fact is, I 
 reckon they ve been driv off by some thievish 
 villain." 
 
 "What sort of cattle were yours?" inquired 
 Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " One was red, and the other was a brindle." 
 
 " Was the red one very large, with very wide- 
 spreading horns?" 
 
 " That s the ticket," said the man. 
 
 " I saw such a one last night, going down that 
 way, by our cabin." 
 
 " You did ? Was Brindle follerin ? " 
 
 " No," replied she, " but some men were driving 
 him." 
 
 "They were Indians ! " cried Tom, excitedly. 
 
 But Mrs. Jones fell, to scraping the tin pan she 
 held in one hand, with a case-knife, and drowned 
 his words, so that they did not hear, while she 
 motioned to him to be silent. 
 
54 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 The caller sat thinking a moment. His hair 
 was silver-white, but his face was youthful and 
 ruddy ; and his massive, well-knit frame indicated 
 remarkable physical strength. He was a bold 
 and athletic man, skilful with the rifle, and a lineal 
 descendant of the revolutionary hero whose name 
 he bore, and whose fighting characteristics were 
 reproduced in him. 
 
 " What time was the ox driv by? " he asked. 
 
 " About twelve, I should think," said she. 
 
 " Were the men afoot ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, they ll have to travel fast to git away 
 from me ! And if I catch em " But the re 
 mainder of the sentence was lost in the distance, 
 for the old man had already touched the trail of the 
 stolen ox, and, dismounting, examined carefully 
 the ground, then fiercely shouting, " Indians ! " 
 drove on at full speed. 
 
 When he had gone, Mr. Jones turned to his 
 wife, and asked, 
 
 " Did you see the men that driv the ox ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why on earth didn t you say so, then?" 
 
 " Husband," said Mrs. Jones, "the trouble will 
 come soon enough ; and I was hoping Mr. Allen 
 would never find out who took his cattle. If he 
 shoots one Indian, it will bring hundreds of them 
 
A BRUSH WITH INDIANS. 55 
 
 upon the settlements, and we shall have dreadful 
 times ! " 
 
 w Fush ! " returned the husband ; " Allen is good 
 for a dozen Indians, and there are plenty more 
 of us to help him. But don t you be scared ; the 
 red-skins know us too well to risk a fight. They ll 
 only prowl around and steal a little beef, and 
 shoot at a fellar unaware, from under kiver 
 that s all they ll venter on you can depend on 
 that ! " Then he took down his rifle, cleaned 
 and loaded it, and saying, " I guess I ll go along 
 a piece ; perhaps Allen 11 come across the var 
 mints afore he s aware," with a quick step he was 
 soon hidden from view. 
 
 The news of the accident that had happened 
 to Tom, and that Mr. Jones had been shot at by 
 the Indians, spread rapidly, with many exaggera 
 tions ; for the inhabitants of a new country, being 
 mutually dependent, feel a special personal inter 
 est in whatever befalls each other. Besides, there 
 are not such distinctions as obtain in the old, settled 
 portions of the country, and they become well 
 acquainted with one another s affairs. Moreover, 
 the doctor, as he went his rounds, gave a flaming 
 account of the injury that his patient at the cabin 
 had sustained, and painted in glowing colors the 
 magical effects of his professional services. If 
 he did not assert in so many words that Tom s 
 head was actually blown from his body, and that 
 
56 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 he replaced it so that it was on better than before, 
 he gave the impression that something as extraor 
 dinary had been achieved by his medical and 
 surgical skill. And through the day quite a num 
 ber called to satisfy their curiosity, or show their 
 sympathy. It proved, therefore, quite an occa 
 sion for the Jones children, and they feasted their 
 eyes and ears to their hearts content. As for the 
 mother, weary of the unwonted interruptions, 
 and wishing to commune with her own heart, 
 she willingly bade the last visitor " good by," and, 
 calling Robert, she directed him to bring in some 
 wood and make a fire, that she might fry some 
 cakes for tea. Robert proceeded with alacrity 
 to do this, the other children helping him in the 
 task, the prospect of the cakes being the quicken 
 ing principle. Robert filled the grate with dry 
 wood, and, proceeding to light it, the room was 
 soon dense with smoke. This, however, was no 
 new experience, as the blackened walls of the 
 cabin testified. But soon the smoke had meas 
 urably cleared away, and the tea-kettle sent up 
 volumes of steam, and Mrs. Jones, taking some 
 meal from her frugal stock, poured boiling water 
 upon it, and added some salt. Then putting on 
 the griddle some deer fat, she put the dough in 
 large iron spoonfuls into the sputtering grease. 
 
 "Your father will relish these," said she to the 
 children, who stood in solid ranks around the 
 
A STRANGER. 57 
 
 stove, watching her with interest. And having 
 taken off the last cake, she set the heaping plate 
 in the open oven to keep warm till her husband 
 came. 
 
 " I guess pa s coming now," said Sarah, who, 
 anxious to get to eating, had looked out to see if 
 he was in sight. " No ; it isn t he, either ; I don t 
 know who it is. How nicely dressed he is ! " 
 
 At the latter exclamation the family urchins 
 rushed in a body through the door, upsetting 
 Sarah in their eagerness to see the wonder. 
 
 A gentlemanly, middled-aged man in black, 
 with gold spectacles and pleasant countenance, 
 approached. 
 
 Accustomed to the plainly-attired specimens of 
 humanity that do the hard work of the frontier, 
 the children, overawed by his appearance, shrank 
 behind cabin and pigsty, in spite of his kindly 
 invitations to stay, where they peeped at him in 
 open-mouthed astonishment. 
 
 " Mrs. Jones, I presume," said he, bowing, as, 
 abashed, she answered his polite rap on the door 
 frame. 
 
 " Yes, sir," she replied, wondering how he knew 
 her name. 
 
 Entering, without being asked, for Mrs. 
 Jones was too confused to think of it, he 
 said, 
 
 " I heard that your son had met with an injury, 
 
58 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 and as I was looking up children for the Sabbath 
 school we are to organize next Sunday, I thought 
 I would step in and see how he was, and how 
 many of your little ones could attend." 
 
 " It is the missionary," whispered Tom, as his 
 mother nervously smoothed the bed-clothes. 
 
 The good minister heard the remark, and not 
 appearing to notice the mother s embarrassment, 
 stepped to Tom s side, and in a way that made 
 both mother and son feel at ease, said, 
 
 " I hope you are not seriously hurt, my lad." 
 
 " No, sir," replied Tom, grateful for his thought 
 ful kindness. " My face was burnt pretty badly 
 by the powder ; but it s nearly well now, and the 
 black is coming off nicely." 
 
 " How did you contrive to get hurt so, at this 
 season of the year? Boys sometimes get burned 
 with powder on Independence Day. I once met 
 with such an accident myself." 
 
 " How did it happen ? " Tom ventured to inquire, 
 for he loved dearly to hear a story. 
 
 " It was when I was about fourteen," replied 
 the minister. " I was a wide-awake little good- 
 for-nothing, and had for some weeks saved up 
 my pennies to celebrate the Fourth with. I 
 bought me a half* pound of powder, and a little 
 iron cannon, on wheels, and, as you may believe, 
 anticipated a jolly time. I had decided, the night 
 before, to commence the day with a grand salute ; 
 
INDEPENDENCE DAY. 59 
 
 and that it might produce the greatest effect, I 
 crept softly down in my stocking feet, by my 
 parents bed-room into the front hall, before day 
 light, and having loaded my little gun to the 
 muzzle the evening before, I touched it off. It 
 made a great noise, I assure you all the louder, 
 of course, because it was in the house ; then, slip 
 ping on my shoes, I went into the streets, leaving 
 the old folks to go to sleep again if they could. 
 My first use of the powder, you see, did no harm 
 to me, unless it made me careless. When I 
 got into the street, I found crowds of boys and 
 men were there before me, making all the noise 
 they could, firing off crackers, pistols, and guns, 
 and making the foggy morning air resound with 
 the music of tin horns and drums. Meeting a 
 boy with a large horse-pistol, I bought it of him 
 at a foolishly high price, and banged away with 
 that till breakfast time. At the eastern extremity 
 of the city, where I then lived, was a high hill, 
 called Munjoy, on which the soldiers were to 
 encamp that day ; and after eating a hurried meal, 
 I went there. Scores of white tents were pitched, 
 occupied by men who sold all sorts of tempting 
 eatables, while thousands of men, women, and 
 children walked about. It was an exciting scene 
 to me. The hill, indeed, was a glorious spot, 
 for it overlooked the city on the one side, with its 
 thousands of buildings and shaded streets, and 
 
60 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 on the other the harbor, with its shipping and 
 wharves, and lovely islands, while the ocean 
 stretched away as far as the eye could reach." 
 
 " I never saw the ocean," interrupted Tom. 
 
 " Well, I will tell you what it resembles. You 
 have looked for miles and miles over the prairie 
 I mean a rolling prairie, that in gentle swells 
 of land extends till the sky shuts down upon it?" 
 
 " O, yes," answered Tom. 
 
 " Well, imagine that prairie turned to water, 
 so deep that you could not touch bottom with the 
 longest line you ever saw, the ocean would 
 look so ; only remember that it is always in mo 
 tion ebbing, and flowing, and roaring, and 
 dashing against the land and the rocks, its waves 
 sometimes running very high, topped off with a 
 white foam." 
 
 " O," said Tom, earnestly, " if I could only 
 once see it ! " 
 
 The minister studied Tom s expressive face a 
 moment, and then said, 
 
 " Perhaps you may, some day. But I was 
 going to tell you how I got hurt. I had ex 
 ploded all the powder, and was about tired of 
 the pistol, for you know such things don t 
 satisfy a great while, after all, when I came 
 across some boys who were making volcanoes. 
 Volcanoes, you know, are burning mountains. 
 They took some powder, wet it, worked it with 
 
A BLACK HEART. 6 1 
 
 their fingers into miniature hills, then put one end 
 of a strip of match-paper in the top of each, and 
 lighted the other end of the paper ; this would 
 burn slowly down into the top of the powder-hill ; 
 that would take fire and send up showers of sparks 
 for quite a while, as it gradually consumed. This 
 amusement fascinated me. So, buying a quarter 
 of a pound of powder, I made a hill like those 
 I had seen, and lighted the match-paper as I saw 
 them light theirs ; but when it had burnt all 
 away, the hill did not burn. Thinking, there 
 fore, I had put too much water in mine, I stooped 
 down and poured on from the paper some dry 
 powder. In an instant it ignited from a smoulder 
 ing spark, exploding also the contents of the 
 paper which I held in my hand. My face was 
 dreadfully burned, and became as black as a 
 negro s." 
 
 " So did mine," said Tom ; " but it is coming 
 off nicely now." 
 
 " So I see," returned the minister, laughing ; 
 " and I dare say you worried almost as much 
 about the black as you did about the burn" 
 
 " Tom feared it would never come off," said 
 the mother. 
 
 " Ah, that s just the way I felt. But I have 
 found out since that there s something worse than 
 a black face." 
 
 "What s that? "asked Tom. 
 
62 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 w A black heart ! " replied the minister. 
 
 " A black heart ! " repeated Tom, in doubt of 
 his meaning. 
 
 " Yes, my lad. What I mean is a heart black 
 ened by sin. Ah, if folks worried more about 
 that, and less about their looks, how much more 
 sensible it would be ! " Then, after a pause, he 
 said, 
 
 " But there is one thing for which we should be 
 very grateful ; and that is, that as there are reme 
 dies for us when we injure the body, and disfigure 
 it, as we did our faces, my son, that can heal 
 the injury, and bring the skin out all fresh and 
 fair, so there is a great Physician, who can heal 
 the hurt which sin has done our souls, and cause 
 them to be pure and white forever. Isn t that a 
 glorious thought?" 
 
 " Yes," whispered Tom, weeping. 
 
 "Yes," ejaculated the mother, with deep emo 
 tion. 
 
 " But," said the minister, " how many of these 
 little folks " for most of the children had ven 
 tured in, and stood listening spell-bound to his 
 recital " will come to Sunday school next 
 Sunday?" And getting a promise that as many 
 of them would be there as possible, he took leave, 
 saying he hoped to call again soon. 
 
 The children s hearts were taken captive by 
 their clerical visitor. And well it might be so, 
 
A SURPRISE. 63 
 
 for he was their true friend. And it mattered 
 little to him that their dwelling was rude and 
 comfortless, their clothing old and worn, and their 
 manners uncultured. He loved them for his 
 Master s sake, and for their souls sake : for this 
 he had left the elegances of his eastern home, 
 and come out into the wilderness. He was a true 
 man, and a true minister of Jesus Christ seek 
 ing not a name, wealth, luxury, the favor of the 
 rich and great, but to bring the straying lambs 
 and sheep into the fold. 
 
 "I think we won t wait any longer for your 
 father," said Mrs. Jones, after the children had 
 got somewhat over the excitement caused by the 
 missionary s call ; and putting her hand into the 
 oven to take from thence the plate of cakes, she 
 looked in to see why she did not find them, ex 
 claiming, 
 
 "Why, where are the cakes? I certainly set 
 them in here. Who has taken them away?" 
 
 The children gazed at each other in consterna 
 tion. 
 
 " I ll bet it s some of Bub s doings," said Eliza ; 
 and noticing for the first time that he was not in 
 the room, they hastened out to find him. 
 
 " Bub, Bub ! " called the mother. 
 
 " Bub, Bub ! " echoed the children, as they 
 searched the field over, and looked into every 
 nook and corner that they could think of. But 
 
64 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 there was no answer, and not a trace of him was 
 to be found, until, at last, Charley called out, 
 
 " Here s his stick ! 
 
 " He cannot be far off, then," said his mother, 
 although she began to grow uneasy about him. 
 
 " No," said Robert, " for he rides that stick most 
 all the time:" then he suddenly added, "Ah,, 
 you little rascal ! I see you ! " Then turning to 
 the rest, he whispered, "Just look here, but don t 
 make any noise ! " 
 
 And Mrs. Jones and the children, gathering 
 softly around the pen, peeping in, saw Bub, com 
 fortably seated by the fawn, the cakes in his lap, 
 eating them and feeding the gentle creature. Bub 
 had teased the fawn the most, and Bub was the 
 first to tame it. 
 
BUB AND THE FAWN. Page 64. 
 
BROTHER SMITH AND QUARTER STAKES. 65 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BROTHER SMITH AND THE QUARTER STAKES. 
 
 "GOOD morning, Mr. Jones. I suppose we 
 may call this Indian summer may we not?" 
 , and the missionary for it was he shook hands 
 with the hunter. 
 
 " Scarcely time for it yet," replied the latter. 
 "But this is fine weather, though." 
 
 " Shall you be busy to-day? I wish to find a 
 good quarter section of land- on which to put up 
 a house. I have been thinking that as I have 
 never pre-empted, and have therefore a right to 
 do so, I may as well do it." 
 
 The hunter laughed scornfully, and said, 
 
 " Good many folks about here pre-empt more 
 than once." 
 
 " But that is illegal," replied the minister. 
 
 " They don t stand about that." 
 
 " But they are obliged to take oath at the Land 
 Office that they have never availed themselves of 
 the privilege." 
 
 "And they take it." 
 
 " But they perjure themselves in doing so." 
 5 
 
66 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well," said the clergyman, with a sigh, "I 
 can t understand how a person can break the laws 
 and take a false oath for the sake of a little land." 
 
 "Nor can I," replied the hunter, almost fierce 
 ly ; " and I makes no pretensions to -piety , either. 
 I pre-empted once, and afterwards sold out; and 
 I hev moved about considerable sence ; but I have 
 never cheated government out of a cent yet 
 nor anybody, as to that. I don t own nothing 
 here ; this is government land that my cabin sets 
 on, and if it was put up for sale to-day, by the 
 proper authorities, I couldn t say a word if it was 
 sold, improvements and all. I have to take my 
 risk, and I m contented to, rather than own the 
 biggest farm out doors, and get it by lying under 
 oath. No ; they calls Joseph Jones a worthless 
 dog, and / don t say he isn t ; but let me tell you, 
 neighbor, that I haven t it on my conscience that 
 I went into the Land Office and lifted up my 
 right hand, solumly promising to speak the truth, 
 the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and 
 then, when I knows that I have pre-empted once, 
 or maybe a number of times, swear that I never 
 hev as some of your praying, psalm-singing 
 folks has ! " 
 
 " Do I understand you to say, Mr. Jones, that 
 professing Christians living about here have done 
 this?" 
 
BROTHER SMITH AND QUARTER STAKES. 67 
 
 " That s just what I say," replied the hunter; 
 w and I have as much respect for sich whining 
 hypercrites as I have for a hissing adder : that s 
 why I never took much to meetin s, I suppose. 
 What I gits, I gits honest don t I, pet?" and he 
 caressed his rifle as if it were a living thing, and 
 understood what he said. " I brings home what 
 the good Lord sends inter the woods an over the 
 prairies fur me. The cattle upon a thousand 
 hills are his that s Scripter, I believe ; and it 
 means, I take it, that the deer, and the elk, and 
 the bear, and the geese and the hens, belong to 
 him: nobody ken say, </ owns them all, and 
 keep them for his own use ; and when Billy, 
 here," patting his gun, "brings down a fat 
 buck, we feel honest about it don t we, Bill? 
 Tisn t like standing behind the counter with a 
 smerk on yer face, as yer cheat in weight an 
 measure, or sell sanded sugar for the genuine. 
 Many an many s the time I ve known this done, 
 by them that lives in fine houses, and wears fine 
 clothes, an goes reg lar to church ; an if they 
 passed Joseph Jones, wouldn t deign to speak to 
 the old hunter. Not that I care about that; I 
 don t deign to speak to them ; and if heaven is 
 for them, I had just as lieves stay a while outside, 
 for they an I could never git along together here, 
 and we couldn t be expected to there. But did 
 you want anything perticular of me?" 
 
68 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 : I was told," said the missionary, "that none 
 of the settlers understood so well about the land, 
 and where to find the section and quarter section 
 stakes as you ; and I thought, if it wouldn t be 
 taking too much of your time, that perhaps you 
 would show me around a little." 
 
 " Nothin would suit my feelings better," said 
 the hunter. " Was there any perticular direction 
 you wish to go to ? " 
 
 " Brother Smith tells me that here is a fine 
 quarter section still unclaimed ; " and the clergy 
 man took from his note-book a roughly-sketched 
 map of the vicinity, purporting to show what was 
 taken up and what was not. 
 
 " Did he give you that 1 " asked the hunter, as 
 he ran his eye over the paper. 
 
 "Yes; as looking up land is new to me, I 
 was thankful to get some sort of a guide," replied 
 the missionary. 
 
 " I don t see much to be thankful for on that 
 drawin ." 
 
 " Why, isn t that quarter section free ? " inquired 
 the minister, perplexed. 
 
 "Yes; an we ll go an see it. But are yer 
 goin afoot?" 
 
 The missionary replied affirmatively. 
 
 " You ll never stand it in the world, to hunt up 
 land in that way too much ground to go over. 
 Wife," he added, putting his head in at the door, 
 
BROTHER SMITH AND QUARTER STAKES. 69 
 
 " you jist entertain the minister, while I see if I 
 ken scare up a team fur him." 
 
 Mr. Jones strode off as if he had a congenial 
 errand to do, and striking a " bee line " across the 
 prairie, over a river, through a grove, halted 
 before a cosy cottage that would remind one of 
 New England. The acres and acres of tilled 
 land stretched away from the dwelling, enclosed 
 in the most substantial manner, and sleek cattle, 
 that fed in the rich pasture, bespoke competency 
 and enterprise. He stopped not to knock at the 
 door, but entering, asked of a lady who sat sew 
 ing, 
 
 "Is yer husband about, Mrs. Lincoln?" 
 
 K Yes ; he s in the other room. I ll speak to 
 him." 
 
 And in a moment the robust form of the owner 
 of the farm appeared. 
 
 "How are you, Jones?" he said, in an off 
 hand way. 
 
 " O, I m nicely. I called on an errand fur yer 
 minister, that youVe invited to settle among us. 
 He wants a spot for a cabin, like the rest of 
 us, I suppose, and Smith has told him to look 
 at the quarter section way over there, a mile and 
 a half beyond Clark s ; you know the place. I 
 jist want to git your team and take him over in a 
 good, Christian way, and not let him travel his 
 
70 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 legs off, so that he can t preach to us sinners next 
 Sunday." 
 
 Mr. Lincoln had been foremost in urging the 
 missionary to cast in his lot with them, and no 
 one had made more promises of material aid than 
 he. He was sincere in this, and was really a 
 generous man, but exceedingly careless. He 
 had been told that the minister was going to look 
 up a claim ; but it had never occurred to him, until 
 now, that the preacher had no other conveyance 
 than his feet, and that to walk over the prairies 
 would be a toilsome and time-consuming task. 
 Slapping his caller on the shoulder, he said, 
 
 " Glad to see you interested, Jones ; and to en 
 courage you, I ll harness right up, and you may 
 take the span." 
 
 The nimble-footed steeds were soon in the 
 buggy ; and the hunter, having taken the preacher 
 aboard, was, in good time, pointing out to him 
 the boundaries of the claim. It was a lovely 
 spot, like many such in Prairiedom, and the 
 hunter took care that it should be seen to advan 
 tage. On a gentle swell of ground was a small 
 gem of a grove, commanding a view of the rest 
 of the section. The fall flowers, many-hued 
 and bright-eyed, nodded gayly in the tall grass; 
 a natural spring, bursting from the hillock, wound 
 its way along till lost in the distance ; the sun 
 was pouring down its rays from a sky fleecy- 
 
BROTHER SMITH AND QUARTER STAKES. 7 1 
 
 clouded and soft. How could the preacher, with 
 his pure tastes and cultivated love of the beauti 
 ful, help being delighted with the scene? 
 
 " This is delightful ! " he exclaimed. " I ll build 
 my cottage right here by the side of this spring, 
 and my tilled land will always be in view." 
 
 The hunter had anticipated his decision, and 
 dryly observed, 
 
 " It wouldn t be no sich place as yer ought to 
 hev." 
 
 " Why not?" asked the minister, smiling. 
 
 " Do you reckon on keeping a horse ? " asked 
 the other. 
 
 No ; I couldn t afford that." 
 
 " How, then, are you goin to git to yer appint- 
 ments, an to visit the sick an* the dyin , from this 
 pint ? And you ll never farm it much ; the land 
 looks nice and slick as a gentleman s lawn : 
 this is one of the Lord s lawns, neighbor; but 
 twasn t made for you to live on. Don t you ex 
 pect to hev no evenin meetin s? You can t hev 
 them out here where there s no live critter but the 
 prairie hins, and maybe in the winter a stray 
 wolf or two. You re a -perfessional man, and it s 
 necessary for you to be right among folks, and 
 not livin off one side, like as if you wanted to 
 keep out the way of company." 
 
 This rugged, common-sense way of putting 
 
72 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 things was quite effective, and the missionary 
 said, 
 
 " You are right. But what can I do? By this 
 chart I find that there is little vacant land about 
 here, and I am unable to purchase an improved 
 farm at the prices at which they are held." 
 
 " You don t mean to settle down on this do 
 ye?" 
 
 " That is out of the question." 
 
 " Well, Joseph Jones isn t of much account, but 
 if he don t show you a bit of land that s been left 
 for jist sich as you, then I lie like that lying 
 chart," he said, angrily. And motioning the 
 preacher to re sume his seat in the buggy, the 
 hunter drove back for some distance in the direc 
 tion from which they had come, then, striking a 
 well-worn cart-path to the right, suddenly emerged 
 from a piece of woods near a river, on the farther 
 bank of which was a saw-mill, and in the stream 
 were men at work strengthening a dam. 
 
 "There," said the hunter, "is the centre of 
 things, so fur as this vicinity is concerned. That s 
 the store," as he pointed across the river to a 
 small building, " and a hotel is going up just 
 opposite; and the land sharks and speculators 
 that s going to settle here will want jist sich as 
 you right among em, to stir up their consciences, 
 and jog their pure minds by way of remem 
 brance, as the Book says, an not way off 
 
BROTHER SMITH AND QUARTER STAKES. 73 
 
 there ! " pointing contemptuously over his shoul 
 der. 
 
 " But brother Smith informs me that all the land 
 near to the town is taken up," said the missionary. 
 
 " Brother Smith who s he ? I know Charles 
 Smith; and if you kin fellowship him, I can t. 
 An when you come to sift folks down, as I 
 foresee sich as you will, you won t brother him 
 much, unless he repints an I don t say he 
 won t. Now let me introduce you to your future 
 home, ef you settles in these parts. There, this 
 is the town, where we now are ; " and he placed 
 the tip of his little finger on the place as repre 
 sented on the map. " Now coming down square 
 on to the town-site is this eighty-acre lot ; lays 
 beautiful to the town, the main street running 
 right up to it. And through that street," continued 
 he, impressively, " must go all the travel to the 
 important places beyond. And by and by, 
 when the immigration gets strong enough, the 
 owner of that piece of land will hev corner lots 
 and sich to sell. Let me show jist how it lays ; " 
 and crossing the bridge, and passing up the pro 
 jected street, he stopped the horses on a gentle 
 rise of ground, forming the nearest point in the 
 eighty acres. "There," he continued, referring 
 to the map again, "you see the eighty-acre lot 
 runs lengthwise from the town. Across it runs 
 a tributary of the river just down there where 
 
74 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 you see the plum and bass-wood trees ; and be 
 yond that are ten acres of the richest and easiest- 
 worked river bottom that the sun ever shone on 
 all fenced ; then follers thirty acres of young 
 and valuable timber land. Here s your building 
 spot right here where we stand, in sight of every 
 body, and all the travel, handy to the store, and 
 saw-mill, and post-office, and sich, and handy to 
 meetin ; and the ten acres of alluvial, rich as the 
 richest, and finely pulverized as powder, you 
 ken plough it or hoe it jist as easy as you ken turn 
 your hand over, will give you all the sarce you 
 want, and something to sell. And there s wood 
 enough down over the place to keep yer fires 
 a going ; and when you want to pre-empt, jist sell 
 some of yer standing .timber there, to help pay 
 for the whole, at government price." 
 
 " But," replied the missionary, as the squatter 
 finished his graphic description, " I see by this 
 chart that this is taken up ; " for he had meanwhile 
 been examining it. 
 
 "Well," said the hunter, " whose name s writ 
 down as the owner of this land ? " 
 
 " Henry Simonds," said the minister, reading 
 from the paper. 
 
 " And do you know who Henry Simonds may 
 be ? " asked the hunter. " It s a young chap jist 
 turned nineteen, and of course not old nought to 
 pre-empt, according to law, and who hasn t lived 
 
BROTHER SMITH AND QUARTER STAKES. 75 
 
 on this claim a day in his life. There isn t a 
 sign of a shanty on the place, and the law re 
 quires that every man must show something of a 
 house to prove that he is an actual settler. That 
 name s a blind. This land jines Smith s, and he s 
 been carrying on the ten-acre lot over the river, 
 rent free ; and it comes very handy for him to 
 come in on this piece and get his saw-logs. It s 
 government property ; and all you have to do is, 
 to put you up a cabin, and go ahead, and if 
 Smith kicks up a fuss, jist send him to me." 
 
 This revelation of duplicity on the part of Mr. 
 Smith took the minister by surprise. It was evi 
 dent that the location would be as advantageous 
 for him as his plain-spoken guide had repre 
 sented. It was defrauding the government for 
 Smith to hold it as he did ; and should he, in a 
 legal wa} r , take possession, no one could accuse 
 him of wrong. But he had not come out on the 
 frontier to promote his worldly interests ; and he 
 said to the hunter, 
 
 " What you say is all right, I have no doubt, 
 Mr. Jones ; but it is not land that I want so much 
 as to do good among this people ; and I should 
 not wish to do anything that would cause ill 
 feeling." 
 
 "Just as I expected," said the squatter, with a 
 disappointed air ; " and I rather think you be 
 long to the kingdom that is not of this world. 
 
76 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 But you are stopping at Edmunds s aren t you? 
 Well, it s only a short piece to his cabin, and I 
 must take the team back ; but " after thinking a 
 moment "if you ll take the dam on your way, 
 you ll find Palmer there. He s a Christian, if 
 there is one in these parts ; and you can depend 
 on him ; and if you choose to talk with him a 
 bit about this eighty-acre lot, there won t be any 
 harm done." 
 
 The minister thanked the squatter for his ser 
 vices, the latter saying, as he drove off, 
 
 "Call on me agin, if you want anything in 
 my line." 
 
 As the missionary passed towards the dam, 
 he saw the surveyors at work, dividing the town 
 site into lots ;. and he paused to notice again the 
 location. The underbrush had be in carefully 
 removed, and the cleared space bounded on 
 one hand by the river, and on the other by the 
 forest, while farther away from eacl side stretched 
 the ^smooth prairie looked as if nature had in 
 tended it as a business centre. 
 
 " How do you like our town plot? " said a voice 
 at his side. 
 
 " It is charming ! " exclaimed the preacher ; 
 and, turning, he saw Mr. Palmer. 
 
 He was a medium-sized man, in shirt sleeves 
 and blue overalls, with an old black silk hat 
 on, which, from its bent appearance, gave one 
 
BROTHER SMITH AND QUARTER STAKES. 77 
 
 the idea that it had on occasions been used for a 
 seat as well as a covering. The keen blue eyes 
 under it, and the general contour of the face, 
 ending in a smoothly-shaven chin, revealed a 
 hard-working, frugal, money-saving character, 
 yet honest, sincere, and unselfish. He was, in 
 deed, what he struck the observer as being, 
 a prudent counsellor, a true friend, a wisely-gen 
 erous helper in every good word and work. No 
 man in the settlement was more respected than 
 he a respect not based on his personal appear 
 ance, it was clear ; for he had a perfect contempt 
 for the ostentations of dress and equipage, but 
 due to his straightforward and consistent "deport 
 ment. He was about forty, and unmarried, and, 
 on account of his amiable, thrifty, and Christianly 
 qualities, was said to be the victim of incessant 
 " cap-setting " by managing mammas and mar 
 riageable daughters, and of no little raillery on 
 the part of the men, which he bore with great 
 good nature, safely escaping from each matrimo 
 nial snare, and returning joke for joke. 
 
 " Been looking up land? " asked the bachelor. 
 
 The missionary related the day s doings, and 
 what the squatter had said about Mr. Smith and 
 the eighty acres. 
 
 "Jones has stated the facts in the case," said 
 Mr. Palmer, " and advised well ; but it won t do 
 for you to have any falling out with Smith. If 
 
78 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 you will leave the matter with me, I guess I can 
 manage it so that you shall have the eighty acres, 
 and there be no bad feelings. We had better 
 pay Smith something than to have a quarrel." 
 
 "But is Smith a member of a church?" asked 
 the missionary. 
 
 " We don t know who is who, yet," answered 
 the other ; " but should we ever form a church 
 here, of course he ll have to show a certificate of 
 membership in order to join ; and I rather think 
 he ll never be able to do that. Do him all the 
 good you can, but don t trust him overmuch." 
 
MRS. JONES S STORY. 79 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MRS. JONES S STORY. THE GRAY WOLF. 
 
 "WAS it so very different east, mother," 
 asked Tom, one day, "where you came from, 
 from what it is here?" 
 
 "Different in what respects? " she inquired. 
 
 "O," he answered, hesitatingly, "I mean, were 
 folks as poor and ignorant as as " 
 
 "As we are, you were going to say," said she, 
 placidly, finishing his sentence for him. 
 
 " I don t think that you and father are igno 
 rant" he replied, looking confused ; "but- 
 
 "I understand what you mean, Tom. No; 
 where your father and I were born, and where 
 we were married, the country was thickly settled. 
 All the children went to school, and there were 
 no such cabins as the one we live in, but nice, 
 framed houses of wood, stone, or brick." 
 
 "Were there no poor people there?" 
 
 "Yes, as many as there are here, a great 
 many in the large cities, and they found it very 
 hard getting along." 
 
 "Were yours and father s folks very poor?" 
 
8o THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " No ; they were in comfortable circum 
 stances." 
 
 " Then why, mother, did you come west, and 
 why do we live as we do now ? " 
 
 As she did not at once reply, the lad, busy 
 once more with his own thoughts, forgot that he 
 had asked the question. He had often revolved 
 the matter in his own mind, but had never before 
 ventured to speak of it. His mother s conversa 
 tion with him, after his injury by the gun, had 
 shown him the folly of his plan of leaving home 
 clandestinely; but dissatisfaction with his lot 
 grew with his growth and strengthened with his 
 strength. It was a great mystery to him how 
 his mother could consent to live so, for so many 
 years. He would look at the black and cra 
 zy loggery, with its clay "chinking," that was 
 ever more cracking, and crumbling, and falling 
 to the floor, leaving holes between the logs, 
 through which the wind and rain entered ; and 
 the one rickety chair, and the rude benches and 
 boxes for sitting accommodations, and the bed 
 steads, composed of rough oaken slabs, spiked at 
 the head and side to the walls, and a rough 
 post at the unsupported corner, and the cracked 
 and rusted stove and leaky funnel ; and then he 
 would look at his mother, who, despite her coarse 
 and dingy dress, seemed so superior to her condi 
 tion ; and the more he realized the contrast, the 
 
MRS. JONES S STORY. 81 
 
 more he marvelled. When he was younger, he 
 had noticed this incongruity between his gentle 
 mother and her wretched surroundings ; and now 
 he sometimes wished he could be insensible to 
 it, it made him so unhapp}^. How restless he 
 became how like a caged eaglet, as he pon 
 dered the subject by night and by day none 
 knew save the watchful friend who moved so 
 gently about the dark-lighted cabin, and kept so 
 uncomplainingly at her tasks. 
 
 And his father seemed to him, in his way, as 
 much of a mystery as his mother. Was he con 
 tented with the roving Ijfe he led? and did he 
 never realize the deprivations of his wife and chil 
 dren ? Did father and mother ever know brighter 
 days? and were they never to see them again? 
 And was it duty for him to keep on in the same 
 way, sacrificing every rising aspiration and pure 
 taste, and getting nothing in return but poor food 
 and clothing, a comfortless home, and a mind 
 undeveloped and unfurnished? 
 
 Seated on the end of a box, shelling corn by 
 drawing the ears against the back of a broken 
 scythe, he had been working and thinking 
 through the evening, while the children slept, 
 with no one to notice his absent-minded labor but 
 his ever-wakeful mother. 
 
 " I will not endure it," he mentally exclaimed ; 
 and, by way of emphasis, he drew the ear of 
 6 
 
82 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 corn he held against the edge of the scythe with 
 unusual force, at the same instant springing to 
 his feet with a cry of pain, and a finger in his 
 mouth, upsetting his seat, and sending the con 
 tents of the box rolling across the floor, and into 
 the gaping cracks. 
 
 "O, I ve scraped my finger awfully ! " he said, 
 with grimaces that added nothing to his personal 
 attractions. 
 
 "Why, how did you do it, my son? " asked the 
 mother, although she knew very well. 
 
 " Why, you see, I was thinking about some 
 thing, and pulled my finger, instead of the cob, 
 against the edge." 
 
 Mrs. Jones laid back the strip of bleeding 
 flesh into the place from which it had thus un 
 ceremoniously been torn, and from which it hung 
 by a bit of skin, and carefully bound up the 
 wound. 
 
 Then, sweeping the scattered kernels into a 
 heap, and restoring them to the box, she seated 
 herself in a little dislocated chair, and said, 
 
 "There, don t shell any more now, Tom; 
 I have something to say to you. You asked 
 why we came west. The time has come when 
 you had better know something of our his 
 tory ; it may help you decide your course of 
 action. 
 
 " Your father and I were born in Connecticut, 
 
MRS. JONES S STORY. 83 
 
 in the same town. We attended school together 
 in our early childhood, and often played together. 
 Both of our families were respectable your 
 father s quite so, although not so well off as to 
 property as mine. He was a bright, promising 
 boy, quick to learn, warm-hearted, and conscien 
 tious. I never knew him guilty of any of the 
 petty meannesses too common among school 
 children. He was sensitive to a fault, but had 
 high notions of honor, and despised falsehood 
 and deception in any form. When I was seven 
 teen I became secretly engaged to him. My 
 parents did not suspect this, nor did any of the 
 household, except a younger sister, to whom I 
 confided my secret. I now think it would have 
 been better for all concerned had I from the first 
 been open in the matter, and frankly stated to my 
 mother what my preference was. But I knew 
 that he was not their choice for me. They were 
 ambitious to have me marry brilliantly, as the 
 phrase went, that is, wealthily and in style, 
 and he was young, and had his fortune to carve 
 out pretty much for himself. He knew what their 
 hopes were concerning me, matrimonially, and, 
 that I might be perfectly free to break the en 
 gagement, should I repent of it, rarely saw me, 
 nor did any correspondence pass between us. 
 My regard for him did not lessen on this account, 
 for I understood his motives. When he was of 
 
84 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 age, his father died, leaving him a thousand dol 
 lars as his portion. With this he went into busi 
 ness, with good prospects, in a neighboring city. 
 I shall never forget how earnestly he spoke, 
 one evening, as we parted after a brief inter 
 view. 
 
 Mary, said he, I will be rich. I ve set my 
 mind on that ; and then your father won t be 
 ashamed to own me as a son-in-law, and I shall 
 come and claim you. 
 
 " It seemed noble and heroic for him to speak 
 thus ; but my heart smote me with foreboding, 
 and I answered, 
 
 But what if you do not succeed ? 
 
 I will succeed ; he replied, impetuously. 
 What a man wills he can do. 
 
 "Ah, how foolish and sinful it is to worship 
 money and show, as my parents did ; how much 
 suffering it has caused me ! and how equally un 
 wise and presumptuous it was for a young man, 
 stung by the pride of others, to make that the 
 rule of his life, and go forth in his own strength 
 to build up a fortune, so that he might demand 
 me of my parents as an equal, and thus gratify 
 his own pride! I see it now, but not clearly 
 then. 
 
 "Joseph, for a time, was prosperous. Every 
 thing he turned his hand to was remunerative ; 
 
MRS. JONES S STORY. 85 
 
 and when we met, his manner was confident and 
 hopeful. 
 
 Let the old gentleman look down upon me 
 now if he chooses, he would say; he won t 
 always do it. 
 
 " He had been a year in business when a 
 partnership was proposed to him by a man of 
 education and gentlemanly appearance. Joseph 
 spoke to me about it, and I said, 
 
 : f You are doing well enough now. Why not 
 be contented to go alone? I have often heard 
 that partnerships are poor ships to sail in/ 
 
 Well, said he, there s something in his ap 
 pearance that I do not quite like, and I think I 
 shall not take him in. 
 
 " But as the man came with the highest testi 
 monials as to his character, ability, and influence, 
 with the hope of greatly enlarging his business, 
 a copartnership was entered into. Mr. Jacques, 
 the partner, was Joseph s senior in age a stout, 
 robust man, with a high forehead, light hair, al 
 ways carried a cane, was jovial, and good- 
 natured in the extreme, fond of telling a good 
 story, but sharp in trade. I met him on one occa 
 sion, and there was something in the turn of his 
 eye a restless, jerking, selfish expression that 
 made me shrink from him. Joseph was proud 
 of his acquisition, and, remembering my cau- 
 
86 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 tion, asked me what I thought of him. I well 
 remember the reply that leaped to my lips. 
 
 f Didn t you say that he was religious ? 
 
 "He professes to be, said he. 
 
 1 I fear that it is only a cloak to his real char 
 acter. If he is a Christian, I do not know what 
 grace has done for him ; but if I do not misread 
 his face, he is constitutionally dishonest. 
 
 " But every thing went on smoothly, and Joseph 
 would say to me when we met, 
 
 My partner loves scandal a little too well 
 is apt to talk against others ; but one thing I m 
 sure of he s honest. 
 
 " One morning, some months after this con 
 versation, I chanced to meet Joseph as he was 
 going to the office ; he looked pale and care 
 worn. 
 
 "O, said he, I have had the most singular 
 exercise of mind. Some folks are troubled with 
 sleeplessness ; but I never was until last night. 
 I went to bed feeling as well as usual, but could 
 not sleep. I was not unusually tired, had taken 
 a light supper, and saw no reason why I should 
 be so wakeful. I turned and tossed in bed, and 
 shut my eyes ; but all in vain. I even laid my 
 finger on my wrist, that the counting of my pulse 
 might, by the monotony, induce slumber; when, 
 suddenly, before my mind s eye stood my part 
 ner ; it seemed as real as life ; and with the ap- 
 
MRS. JONES S STORY. 87 
 
 -pearance came little remarks of his, little acts and 
 words, which, as they ranged themselves along 
 like the links in a chain, revealed him to me, 
 against my will, as a deceiver and a dishonest 
 man. 
 
 " He was much excited, and hurried to town. 
 Mr. Jacques, as I afterwards learned, was there 
 before him, and met him with his bland smile 
 and well-turned compliments ; and, strange as it 
 may seem, scarcely an hour had passed before he 
 had charmed away every shadow of suspicion. 
 Matters now went on as before for a few weeks, 
 when Joseph had another sleepless night, and a 
 more convincing unfolding of his partner s real 
 character ; and the next night, after the office had 
 been closed, he spent in examining the books 
 of the concern, and detected a number of artfully- 
 contrived fraudulent entries in the handwriting 
 of his partner, for, according to agreement, the 
 latter kept the accounts. Further revelations 
 showed that he had been gradually abstracting 
 the stock. As soon as Mr. Jacques saw that he 
 was being found out, his gentleness and polite 
 ness were all gone, and he raged like a beast of 
 prey. Joseph attached his furniture at his dwell 
 ing, but found it had all been made over to his 
 son a young lawyer in the city ; meanwhile 
 the dishonest man had fled with his ill-gotten 
 gains, leaving the business in a frightfully com- 
 
88 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 plicated state. The result was, as is often the 
 case when a man* begins to go down in his 
 affairs, although he may be ever so deserving 
 and innocent, there are enough to give him a 
 push. It was so with him. In vain did Joseph, 
 by his books, show that he was doing well up to 
 the cruel embezzlements, and that if he was dealt 
 leniently with, he could recover his standing, 
 and go on as prosperously as before ; his cred 
 itors, one after another, ferociously pounced upon 
 him; he got through one trouble only to meet 
 another, until utter failure came. The effect on 
 Joseph was lamentable in the extreme. He sat 
 by his fire at home, day after day, for weeks, 
 with his head buried in his hands, in utter de 
 spair. Had some kind friend stepped forward 
 and started him anew, what a deed of mercy it 
 would have been ! But the men whom he accom 
 modated with money, when prosperous, turned 
 their backs upon him now. 
 
 "Recovering somewhat from the shock, he 
 sought again and again for employment; but 
 his short-sighted and relentless creditors would 
 factorize his earnings, and thus oblige him to 
 leave." 
 
 "Factorize!" asked Tom, interrupting her; 
 "what is that?" 
 
 " Why," said the mother, " if a man owes an 
 other, the creditor attaches his wages, and when 
 
MRS. JONES S STORY. 89 
 
 the man presents his bill to his employer, he finds 
 that he cannot pay him anything. In vain he 
 went to distant places to earn a subsistence. 
 Shrewd lawyers were put upon his track; he 
 was ferretted out, until, discouraged, he came to 
 me one day, and said, 
 
 Mary, the hounds are after me from morning 
 till night. They dog my steps wherever I go, 
 and give me no chance to retrieve my fortunes. 
 I am going to the west ; and it isn t right to hold 
 you to your engagement any longer, for I can 
 never, on my part, fulfil it. The odds are 
 against me here, and, what is worse, I ve lost 
 my courage and hope ; I have come to bid you 
 good by. 
 
 f If you do not care for me any longer, I said, 
 say so. You ve struggled hard, and have mer 
 ited a better result ; it isn t your fault that you 
 have failed. God forbid that I should break my 
 promise. If } 7 ou must go west, you are not go 
 ing alone. I shall go with you, and shall this 
 very night tell my parents all about my engage 
 ment, and get their consent to our marriage. 
 
 " He shook his head. But feeling that it had 
 been cowardly in me not to have mentioned the 
 subject before, whatever the result might have 
 been, in a few words I frankly, and with a com 
 posure that surprised myself, told them the whole 
 story. My father was a quick-tempered, imperi- 
 
90 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 ous man, and my mother lived only for this world : 
 the result you can easily imagine. But I felt that 
 my duty was plain ; and we were quietly mar 
 ried. Having a little money of my own, joining 
 it with what your father had by him, we started 
 towards the setting sun. But what was that?" 
 said Mrs. Jones, stopping in her recital, as a 
 strange sound fell upon her ear. 
 
 It was a long, fiendish yell, swelling upon the 
 still night air over the unbroken solitudes of the 
 prairie ; it was most appalling. Tom and his 
 mother hastened to the window ; they saw a no 
 ble buck, his antlers held aloft, flying with his 
 utmost speed, pursued by two dark-looking ob 
 jects, that gained rapidly on him. 
 
 "It s the gray wolf," said Tom, "chasing a 
 deer. How I wish I had a rifle ! I could bring 
 one of them down easy as not," as they dashed 
 by, with short, quick yells, following their prey 
 into the woods that skirted the river. 
 
 "I hope the poor creature will escape," said 
 Mrs. Jones, with, a sigh; and she resumed her 
 narrative. "I was not long in seeing, on our 
 journey out, that a dreadful change had been 
 wrought in your father by his business troubles. 
 It had given him an unconquerable disgust of 
 society, which he has not yet outgrown, making 
 him uneasy and restless wherever he has been ; 
 and this, Tom, is the secret of his wandering 
 
MRS. JONES S MISTAKE. 91 
 
 life ; and this is why I never feel that I can com 
 plain at any of the changes in our hard, unset 
 tled career as a family." 
 
 Tom, who had listened absorbed to this be 
 fore unread chapter in the family history, was 
 deeply moved, and, while the tears filled his eyes, 
 asked, in tremulous tones, 
 
 "Do you think father 11 ever get over it, 
 mother?" 
 
 "Tom," replied she, "your father has a true 
 heart and a good mind, and I believe that, in 
 some way, good will yet come out of this long- 
 continued trial. He s taken a great liking to the 
 missionary ; and Mr. Payson seems to under 
 stand him better than most, and I am praying 
 that the acquaintance may lead to something 
 brighter for him ; and, Tom," she added, " I have 
 told you this that you may see a new reason for 
 not being in haste to leave your father and 
 mother. There is one passage in the Bible I 
 often think of, which directs us to both hope and 
 quietly wait for the salvation of God. Your 
 father s mistake, when he went into business, 
 was, that he was in too great haste to accomplish 
 his own, will. This is apt to be the error of the 
 young. They are sanguine of success, and they 
 rush into the battle of life without waiting to put 
 on the armor of faith. What the young want in 
 setting out, Tom, is a Guide and a Helper, who 
 
92 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 cannot err, and will not forsake them. An old 
 man in our town used to say, Never try to kick 
 open the door of Providence. I want you, 
 Tom, to wait patiently till Providence opens 
 the door for you. Then you need not be afraid 
 to go forward." 
 
A SABBATH ON THE PRAIRIE. 93 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A SABBATH ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Extracts from the Missionary s Diary. 
 
 YESTERDAY I preached my first sermon in a 
 log cabin. When I awoke in the early morning, 
 and looked out of the little window at the head 
 of my bed in the rough, low-roofed attic, a new 
 world seemed to break on my sight. Instead of 
 the narrow, noisy streets and tenanted blocks of 
 the populous eastern city, my eyes rested on 
 one vast green field stretching to the arching 
 horizon, over which brooded a profound silence, 
 intensified by the sacred hush of the Sabbath. 
 
 My host offered his own cabin for the forenoon 
 service. His son a sturdy young man of 
 eighteen, inured to pioneer life had ridden far 
 and wide to give notice of the meeting, and he 
 was confident of a good attendance. I anti 
 cipated the labors of the day with some misgiv 
 ings, for I had become slavishly accustomed to 
 the use of written sermons ; but here, before a 
 log-cabin audience, to speak from manuscript 
 
94 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 was not to be thought of. For once, at least, I 
 must trust to the grace of Christ, and speak as 
 the Spirit gave utterance. My study was a cor 
 ner of the loft, my library a pocket Bible. 
 
 " Where do all these, people come from ? " I 
 ejaculated in pleased surprise, as, for a full hour 
 before the time appointed, men, women, and 
 children, afoot, in wagons and ox-teams, con 
 tinued to arrive. And through the cracks in the 
 loosely-laid, unnailed floor, I could see members 
 of the family engaged in contriving sitting ac 
 commodations for the growing congregation. 
 Unplaned oaken boards, placed across trunks, 
 boxes, and huge blocks, soon filled the room, 
 every seat being occupied, while groups of men 
 stood about the door outside, or sat upon the 
 embankment. I would have a " full house " cer 
 tainly. And what effort had been made by these 
 frontier folk to attend I could easily imagine. 
 Some had walked many miles for the purpose ; 
 most had come quite a distance. And the ear 
 nest, thoughtful faces that met my gaze, as I 
 descended the ladder, and read the opening 
 hymn, how reverently their heads were bowed 
 for prayer, and with what hushed interest they 
 listened to the discourse, I can not soon forget. 
 One woman, who sat surrounded by her family, 
 wept from the announcement of the text till the 
 close of the sermon wept for joy that, once 
 
A SABBATH ON THE PRAIRIE. 95 
 
 more, after long deprivation of sanctuary privi 
 leges, she could hear the word of God. It was 
 a scene for a painter that log cabin crowded 
 with representatives of every state in the Union, 
 in every variety of garb, and of all ages, from 
 the gray-haired backwoodsman to the babe in 
 its mother s arms. No costly organ was here, 
 with its gentle, quiet breathings, or grand and 
 massive harmonies ; no trained choir ; no conse 
 crated temple, with its Sabbath bell, and spire 
 pointing heavenward ; no carpeted aisles and 
 "dim religious light," and sculptured, cushioned 
 pulpit. But I could not doubt the presence of 
 the Spirit. And when, at the close, "Praise 
 God, from whom all blessings flow," was sung to 
 Old Hundred, sung as if with one voice and 
 soul, the clear, sweet tones of childhood blend 
 ing with the deeper sounds of manhood and 
 womanhood, the rough, rude building seemed 
 as the gate of heaven. 
 
 My appointment for the afternoon was at a 
 small settlement eleven miles away. 
 
 A charming drive through the " oak openings " 
 and over the rolling prairie brought us to the 
 cabin which was to serve as meeting-house. It 
 was a long, low, one-roomed building, the logs 
 of which it was constructed still rejoicing in their 
 primitive covering of bark, the openings between 
 them being closed with clay thrown in by hand. 
 
96 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Mr. G., the owner, a short, gray-haired, brisk 
 little man with a wooden leg, gave me a cordial 
 welcome, and, to show how willing he was to 
 have the meeting in his cabin, pointed to his shoe 
 maker s bench, and various articles of furniture, 
 including a bedstead, trundle-bed, and bedding, 
 which had been removed from the room, and 
 piled in admirable disorder outside. 
 
 " You have been to a great deal of trouble," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " None too much," he cheerily replied. " I am 
 an old soldier, you see, and that s why I have to 
 hobble about on this," pointing to the ancient arti 
 ficial limb. " I was in the war of 1812, belonged 
 to the cavalry, and at the battle of " 
 
 "Husband," gently interposed his wife, an 
 intellectual-looking woman, with a face expres 
 sive of goodness, "the minister will not care to 
 hear of war to-day , " adding, with a blush, 
 " You must excuse us, sir ; but it is so long since 
 we have seen one of your profession, or attended 
 religious services, that the days seem too much 
 alike ; there is little here to remind us that the 
 Sabbath should be kept holy. O, it is so dread 
 ful so like heathenism to live without the 
 ordinances of the gospel ! No Sunday school for 
 our children and youth, no servant of God to 
 counsel the dying, comfort the bereaved, and 
 point the heavy-laden to Christ ! " 
 
A SABBATH ON THE PRAIRIE. 97 
 
 w Such a state of things must, indeed, be a 
 great trial to those who love the Saviour," I ob 
 served. 
 
 "Yes; and what adds to the trial," she con 
 tinued, "is, that members of churches, after they 
 have been here awhile, fall into great laxity in 
 respect to the Lord s day. Those who were ex 
 emplary east, are here seen starting upon or re 
 turning from a business journey on Sunday. O, 
 we need some one to gather these straying sheep, 
 and unite them by the public means of grace : 
 many of them, I doubt not, are secretly longing 
 for this. For more than a year I have been 
 praying that God would send a servant of his 
 this way." 
 
 "And sometimes, I dare say, you have felt 
 almost discouraged," I suggested. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, weeping; "but last week 
 something came to strengthen my faith, and later, 
 intelligence that you were to visit us. Months 
 ago I wrote east for a donation of good reading 
 to scatter among the settlers, but received no re 
 sponse till, last Tuesday, a package of books, 
 tracts, and religious papers arrived. In one of 
 the papers was an article entitled The Pulpit 
 and the Beech Tree. " 
 
 "Here it is," said the husband, passing her the 
 sheet ; " better read it to the parson ; there ll be 
 plenty of time afore the meeting ; " and he 
 7 
 
98 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 glanced at a venerable clock screwed to a log 
 over the wide-mouthed clay-stick-and-stone fire 
 place. 
 
 She read as follows : " Nearly a score of years 
 ago, a pioneer sought a home in one of the West 
 ern States. He selected a* quarter section in 
 a dense wilderness, and soon entered upon the 
 arduous work of clearing a farm. He was a 
 man of athletic constitution, and well adapted to 
 cope with the trials on the frontier. He was in 
 the prime of life ; and in those days a man was 
 .famous according as he had lifted axes upon the 
 thick trees. This man was ranked among the 
 leading characters in that region. He could 
 bear up with fortitude under all trials and priva 
 tions, except those of a religious kind. 
 
 " Before his removal to the west, he had en 
 joyed the privileges of a large and well-regulated 
 church, in which he had for years been a promi 
 nent member. To be thus suddenly deprived of 
 those blessed means of grace caused him many 
 painful feelings, and at times almost incapacitated 
 him for ordinary duties. This subject pressed so 
 heavily on his mind, that he often sought relief 
 in laying his wants before God in prayer. One 
 day he enjoyed near access to the throne while on 
 his knees in a secluded part of the forest. He 
 prayed earnestly that God would make that wil 
 derness and solitary place glad with the sound of 
 
A SABBATH ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 99 
 
 the gospel. He asked for the church privileges 
 to which he had been accustomed, and he felt 
 assured that God could grant them. So much 
 was he engaged in pleading for this blessing, 
 that he forgot his work. His family looked for 
 his return to dinner, but he came not. They 
 were alarmed, and, making search, found him 
 on his knees. To this man of God there was 
 something peculiarly pleasant in the memory of 
 that approach to the mercy-seat. He loved the 
 spot on which he had knelt, and determined to 
 mark it. It was by the side of a beech tree. 
 He blazed it, so that in after years it might re 
 mind him of the incident that I have related. 
 
 "That prayer was speedily answered. God 
 put it into the hearts of the people of that region 
 to build a sanctuary in the desert. They have 
 now the stated means of grace. That pioneer is 
 one of the officers of the church. The mem 
 bership is near eighty. The cause of religion 
 seems to be flourishing among them. Not long 
 since it was my privilege to preach in their house 
 of worship ; it was filled with an intelligent con 
 gregation. At the close of the services, the old 
 man gave me a history of his praying under the 
 beech tree, and, with tears in his eyes, closed 
 by saying, That tree stood only about five feet 
 from the very spot where you stood while preach 
 ing for us to-night. " 
 
100 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " There," said she, at the conclusion of the 
 narrative, "I felt that this was a word in season 
 to me. I fell upon my knees, and, with in 
 creased earnestness, pleaded for the privileges of 
 the gospel, and rose feeling, as did the pioneer, 
 that God would grant the request. But how did 
 my heart leap with glad surprise the next day, 
 that is, last Wednesday, when a neighbor 
 called to consult me about a place for you to 
 preach in ! " 
 
 But it was time for service. There was the 
 same thronged attendance and absorbed atten 
 tion as in the morning. How delightful to pro 
 claim the tidings of great joy to those who are 
 hungering for the word of life ! How different 
 from ministering to fashionable worldly hearers, 
 who gather in the house of God for intellectual 
 entertainment, or from motives of custom, re 
 spectability, or ostentation, and who are hardened 
 by the ver}^ abundance of spiritual instruction ! 
 
 At the close of the services, with the social 
 freedom of western intercourse, I was introduced 
 to most present, and they all seemed anxious that 
 I should make a home in their neighborhood. 
 How different it would be to settle with this new 
 people, on the precarious subsistence which I 
 might get for my family here, preaching, and 
 perhaps keeping house, in a log cabin, from the 
 situation I must fill, should I accept the call 
 
A SABBATH ON 37H ,MAllUE: ; IOI 
 
 extended by the large nad Wealthy ditirth iti 
 N. A frontier parish on a prairie,* oh v the Out 
 skirts of civilization, and a city parish, what a 
 contrast ! But my heart is strongly drawn to 
 wards this people. Should I remain with them, 
 what would my money-loving, place-seeking, 
 eastern friends say? 
 
 ***** 
 
 I have passed another delightful Sabbath, 
 notwithstanding certain trifling violations of the 
 proprieties of worship as observed in eastern 
 assemblies. 
 
 It struck me quite ludicrously, at first, to see 
 mother s listening to the preaching while nursing 
 or dandling their infants. Yesterday a fat, burly 
 baby, who, by some singular good fortune, had 
 an apple, for we never see that fruit here, 
 let it drop from his fat fist, and it rolled nearly to 
 my feet ; and the mother, not in the least discon 
 certed, gravely came and picked it up, and re 
 turned it to her boy. Nobody, however, was 
 disturbed by the incident ; all appeared to take it 
 as a matter of course. And I confess I like this 
 absence of fastidious conventionalities. Why 
 should the mother be kept from the house of God 
 because she may not bring her child with her? 
 " Suffer the little children to come unto me, and 
 forbid them not," said the great Preacher when 
 the disciples would drive out of his congregation 
 
102 l c THET CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE 
 
 tte>r, infants. Is the servant 
 particular" tharT his Lord ? 
 
 Then, too, the uncouth garments of many of 
 my log-cabin hearers, how unlike the elegant 
 and costly apparel worn in our eastern sanctua 
 ries ! But I like the western way best as to dress. 
 I enjoy seeing the poor, in his plain attire, sitting 
 unabashed by the side of the man in " goodly 
 apparel." And when I consider what thousands 
 of starving souls are kept out of Christian 
 churches because they cannot dress in broad 
 cloth and silk, and how much money is wasted 
 and vanity indulged by the bedizened crowds 
 that throng our sanctuaries, I am thankful that 
 the reign of fashion is unknown on the frontier. 
 
 But these hardy pioneers are bold and inde 
 pendent thinkers. The preacher must show him 
 self " a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, 
 rightly dividing the word of truth," if he would 
 keep his hold on their respect. It will not do to 
 be careless even in teaching the Sabbath school. 
 I was suddenly reminded of this yesterday. 
 Speaking on the subject of benevolence, I had 
 remarked that the poorest of us, if we were care 
 ful not to waste, might have something that we 
 could spare as well as not to those needier than 
 ourselves. And I inquired if any scholar could 
 tell me what scripture enforced this lesson. As 
 no one responded, I read the account of the mul- 
 
A SABBATH ON THE PRAIRIE. 103 
 
 tiplying of the loaves and fishes when Christ fed 
 the fainting multitudes ; and coming to the words, 
 "Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost," 
 I asked, " Do not these words show that we ought 
 to save the pieces, that we may give them to the 
 hungry? " 
 
 " No, sir," promptly answered a lad of about 
 sixteen. 
 
 Thinking he had misunderstood the question, I 
 repeated it, saying, "I asked, Thomas," for 
 that was the boy s name, "if this language 
 does not teach that we should save what we are 
 apt to throw away, that we may have something 
 to give the poor." 
 
 " I do not think it does," he replied. 
 
 "Why not?" I inquired. 
 
 "Jesus told the disciples to share the nice new 
 loaves with the people, and to keep the bits and 
 ends for themselves." 
 
 He was right. I had unconsciously been mak 
 ing that great miracle of mercy teach stinginess ! 
 How often I had heard it explained to polished 
 audiences in New England in the same way, and 
 not a criticism offered. Yet the one who pointed 
 out this strangely-common error was a child be 
 longing to one of the most thriftless of these 
 frontier families. His name is Jones ; and he is, I 
 think, a lad of promise, in whom I am becoming 
 much interested, as also in his father, a restless, 
 
104 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 singular being, but who is more of a man, in 
 my judgment, than he seems. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I am getting to feel more and more deeply 
 that duty calls me to labor here. If it were not 
 for my dear wife and children, I should decide 
 at once to remain. But how could she get along 
 in this out-of-the-world place? Can she relin 
 quish the comforts of her eastern home, and share 
 with me, for the Master s sake, the privations of 
 the wilderness? The settlers are kind, and say 
 we shall not suffer. A subscription paper has 
 been started, and has already a goodly array of 
 names ; and brother Palmer an excellent man 
 of some means says he will furnish me money 
 with which to build a neat cottage. 
 
TOM S VICTORY. 105 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TOM retired to bed the night after his mother 
 had confided to him the history of his father s 
 business trials, feeling that she had conferred an 
 honor upon him in thus sharing with him her life- 
 secret, and that he understood his parents as he 
 never did before. He was conscious, also, that 
 she had put him under new obligation to be always 
 frank with her, as she had been with him ; that 
 she had, in fact, made the obligation very sacred, 
 for he realized that it was an act of condescension 
 in her thus to make him the repositary of her 
 secrets, while to share his with her was but the 
 duty of a child, and for his own advantage. And 
 he thought, " How can I now desert the family 
 for any imaginary good, and leave her to reproach 
 me by her patient cross-bearing for dear father 
 and the children s sake ? " 
 
 It cost him a bitter struggle to act in accordance 
 with this view. In the darkness of the night he 
 wrestled long and hard to put down the wish to 
 free himself from the burden that was now laid 
 
106 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 upon his conscience. He, the squatter s son, 
 in his wretched life, had built up a golden future 
 for himself, as the ambitious young, of every con 
 dition, are sure to do when once the heart is 
 roused to wish, and the mind to plan, for great 
 things. And now, to give it all up, and come 
 down to the cheerless drudgery of home-ser 
 vice in such a home, it could not be expected 
 that he could do this, only after a severe conflict 
 with his own nature, if at all. It is true his 
 mother had exhorted him to wait for Providence 
 to open the door before him. But he could not 
 help recalling, with an aching heart, through 
 how many long, weary years she had waited ; and 
 what door of relief had been opened for her? 
 And was she not a thousand fold more deserving 
 of such an interposition than he ? He reflected on 
 this point till his brain was in a whirl ; the more 
 he pondered the matter, the darker it seemed. 
 
 " I am called," he reasoned, "to keep by the 
 family if I never see brighter days that s the 
 meaning of her words, and the demands of my 
 lot. Am I ready to do this to be true to duty, 
 if it involves, as it has to her, poverty, seclusion 
 from privileges, toil, suffering, obscurity?" 
 
 He knew that he ought thus to decide, and to 
 decide cheerfully. But he could not. He tried 
 again and again to reach the decision only to 
 recoil from it. His will was powerless to calm 
 
107 
 
 the rebellion within. Ah, the pioneer s ragged 
 son had been precipitated into a solemn moral cri 
 sis, which tested him, and showed him how weak 
 he was ! The tumult of feeling, and sharpness 
 of the battle, had, at length, cast him into utter 
 despair, when his mother s remark concerning 
 his father s mistake in setting about getting rich 
 by the strength of his own will, abruptly recurred 
 to him. 
 
 " What did she mean by that? " he asked ; and 
 he sat bolt upright in bed to consider the point. 
 
 He could not, however, quite master the idea, 
 and wished his mother was awake, that she might 
 explain herself. Then his mind returned to the 
 subject, and lo, the mist rolled away, and the 
 truth shone out. 
 
 " I see it : father should have sought direction 
 and strength of God. And that is just what I 
 ought to do. He can give me grace to perform 
 my duty, yes, even to choose it." 
 
 And Tom, under the inspiration of the light 
 that was breaking in upon his soul, resolved, 
 
 " I ll ask God to enable me to do as mother has 
 advised, and as I see to be right in the circum 
 stances." 
 
 And covering his face with his hands, he lifted 
 up his heart in prayer. As he prayed, a heavenly 
 peace seemed to pervade his whole being. It 
 stole upon him so gently and unexpectedly, that 
 
IO8 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 he felt like shouting praises to God ; and at last, 
 unable to keep his marvellous happiness to him 
 self, he called, softly, 
 
 " Mother, mother ! " 
 
 " What do you wish, my son? " she asked, al 
 ways ready to answer her children s calls. 
 
 " O, mother," he replied, "I have been strug 
 gling and praying, and I ve got the victory." 
 
 Instantly she was kneeling on the rough floor 
 by his side, she understood him, and tears 
 of grateful joy ran down her face, and she 
 said, 
 
 " It is as I would have it, Tom. God has taken 
 you up, and all will be well." 
 
 Next morning Tom arose with a peaceful, 
 serious face. His mother did not allude to the 
 happy change that had transpired within him 
 during the night, but as she busied herself about 
 breakfast, she would occasionally wipe away the 
 tears, for her heart was full. 
 
 " Mother," said he, as they finished their frugal 
 meal, "I ve been thinking it would be a good 
 plan to get up all the wood we can while the 
 weather is pleasant. Winter 11 be coming along 
 by and by, and it ll be so nice to have a warm 
 fire all the time then, and not have to wade 
 through the snow after something to burn." 
 
 "Yes," she replied, " we have not had our In 
 dian summer yet ; and while that lasts we shall 
 
THE INDIAN ON THE PONY. 109 
 
 use but little fuel, and if you and the children are 
 smart, you can get quite a pile ahead." 
 
 " Why is the beautiful spell we have in fall 
 called Indian summer?" he asked. 
 
 "Because," replied his mother, "the Indians 
 were in the habit of attacking the white settle 
 ments then; they don t go on their war expedi 
 tions after cold weather sets in. And," she added, 
 sighing, " I shall be glad when snow comes, for 
 I shall feel that we are safe until spring opens." 
 
 " The Aliens are dreadful mad about their cat 
 tle," remarked Tom. "The old man tracked 
 them to a ravine in the woods, and found that his 
 oxen had been killed and dressed : the horns and 
 hide lay on the ground, and the blood was scarce 
 ly cold, but not an Indian was to be seen. He 
 couldn t even find a trail, and he s an old Indian- 
 fighter, you know." 
 
 " Have any Indians been seen near here, 
 since ? " 
 
 "Yes; Mr. Payson, the missionary, saw one 
 the other morning as he was going from Root 
 River settlement to Slough Creek. He was pass 
 ing the Norwegian s cabin, near the grove, when 
 suddenly a Sioux galloped by on his pony, giving 
 a loud whoop as he rode out of sight. And Mrs. 
 Pingry had a great scare. Her husband was 
 away after supplies, and she was alone about her 
 work, when the door opened and an Indian stalked 
 
IIO THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 in and took a seat. Pretty soon a second came, 
 and did the same, and then another ; until a dozen 
 sat round the room, silently smoking their pipes. 
 She says she knew by their manner and the way 
 they were painted that they intended mischief. 
 She determined, however, not to appear fright 
 ened, and went on with her work. Soon one of 
 them got up and broke open her husband s trunk, 
 and then the rest fell to rummaging the house, 
 helping themselves to whatever they wished ; and 
 she was expecting they would next assault her, 
 when, to her relief, she heard the barking of a 
 dog, and the rumbling of wheels, at which the 
 savages took alarm, and in a moment were gone." 
 
 " And what," asked Mrs. Jones, " do the settlers 
 think of this?" 
 
 " O, they only laugh about it. They don t ex 
 pect any serious trouble. They say that the 
 chiefs have had a grand talk with the govern 
 ment agent, and declare that they wish to be on 
 good terms with us. But some of our people do 
 all they can to provoke the Indians, and say they 
 would like to have a brush with the red-skins ! " 
 
 " But what s that? " he exclaimed, as loud shouts 
 and the barking of dogs broke on their ears. 
 Mrs. Jones and Tom hurried to the door, and saw 
 some men and boys chasing a large animal across 
 the prairie. 
 
 " A bear ! a bear ! " cried a neighbor, rushing 
 
THE CHASE. Ill 
 
 breathlessly up to Tom, saying, " Is your father 
 at home? Tell him to come on, and we ll pepper 
 his carcass ! " and without waiting for an answer, 
 or explaining whose carcass he meant, he hastened 
 after the others. 
 
 The creature that they were pursuing was so 
 fat that he did not run very swiftly, and the dogs 
 gained on him ; aware of which, he w r as making 
 desperate efforts to gain the shelter of a small 
 grove not far off, while stringing along for quite 
 a distance behind were his pursuers. Some 
 were hatless, a few had guns, but most were 
 armed with pitchforks or clubs ; and one man, in 
 his zeal, carried a piece of rusty stove-pipe, al 
 though what use he proposed to put it to in cap 
 turing Bruin, it was difficult to imagine, unless 
 he intended, should Bear gain the grove, to smoke 
 him out with it. The truth is, he was putting up 
 a stove in his cabin when the cry of "Bear, bear," 
 interrupted his labors, and he joined the chase, 
 forgetting that he held anything in his hand. He 
 was wiry, lank, and long-legged, with" sandy hair 
 that came down straight and thin upon his shoul 
 ders, and being without his coat, with pants that 
 reached only half way between his knees and 
 ankles, he cut a ludicrous figure as he straddled 
 on, followed by a short, dumpy man, who, wad 
 dle as ambitiously as he might, swiftly fell behind, 
 
112 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 without, however, seeming in the least discour 
 aged. 
 
 " There, they are surrounding the grove," said 
 Tom, as the men and boys spread out from the 
 centre till they had encompassed Bruin s leafy 
 retreat. 
 
 Soon there was the report of guns, and not 
 long after, the hunters returned, looking tired and 
 disappointed. 
 
 " The bear must have got away," said Mrs. 
 Jones. 
 
 But Charley came rushing towards her, and, 
 throwing up his cap, cried, 
 
 " O, isn t it fun ! It wasn t a bear, mother ; it 
 was only Mr. Abbott s black hog that he lost last 
 fall, and thought was dead. He had run wild, 
 feeding on roots and acorns, and was awful fat. 
 But they didn t know twas a hog till they shot 
 him, the dogs kept up such a yelping, and the 
 grass and bushes hid him so. They ve gone after 
 a wagon to take him home." 
 
 But Tom was at work making an opening in 
 the fence nearest the woods ; seeing which, Char 
 ley called out, 
 
 " What you doing that for, Tom? " 
 
 " I ve been thinking," answered Tom, pleasant 
 ly, " that we shall want some wood near the cabin 
 next winter, instead of digging it out of the snow, 
 and I m fixing a place to drag it through." 
 
IN THE WOODS. 113 
 
 "Yes, children," added the mother, "Tom and 
 I have been talking it over. Suppose you take 
 hold together and see how big a pile you can get 
 up. It will be so nice to have plenty of wood to 
 cook the corn-cakes with, and keep us comfortable 
 when it s freezing weather ! " 
 
 The project pleased the youngsters, even to 
 Bub, and, headed by Tom, they began at once 
 to put it into execution. 
 
 It is customary in new countries for the first 
 comers to help themselves freely to the trees on 
 government land, for logs with which to construct 
 their cabins, and to rive into shingles and saw 
 into boards ; and many a sinewy oak had fallen 
 before the frontiersman s axe in the woods near 
 the Joneses, leaving the brawny limbs upon the 
 ground. There were also many dead trees still 
 standing, and from these sources dry, hard wood 
 of the best quality could always be obtained. 
 
 Tom directed operations. The limbs and small 
 dead trees were thrown or dragged in piles a cer 
 tain distance towards the field ; from there another 
 took them to the opening in the fence, and from 
 thence others of the youngsters pulled them up 
 to the house. The girls and boys had a merry 
 time of it, Sarah making the woods ring with her 
 bird-like voice as she sang at her task, while 
 many a joke was exchanged by the lively little 
 company. But no one of them entered on the 
 8 
 
114 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 labor with more zeal, and a higher appreciation 
 of his own services, than Bub. 
 
 " That child is always under foot," said Eliza, 
 as she stumbled over him while tugging along a 
 scrawny limb. 
 
 " You ought to go into the house," said Tom ; 
 " I m afraid you ll get hurt." 
 
 "No, I won t," answered the child, "tause I 
 dot to tarry in the wood ; " and seizing a long 
 branch under one dimpled arm, and a short, heavy 
 one under the other, to make good his words, 
 with the will of an older head, he started for the 
 cabin. 
 
 Out from under his arm would be wrenched 
 the long one by some bush beside the path, and 
 Bub would pick it up and pull at it until it had 
 cleared itself, when down would go the big piece 
 from the other arm. Then he would bravely lift 
 it again, his baby frock going up with it ; and 
 thus dropping his load and picking it up, with an 
 occasional tumble, which he would not cry about, 
 he reached the house, dragging his load in through 
 the door, to the imminent danger of knocking 
 over the old stove. He now rested from his 
 labors to eat a cold potato and a piece of his 
 mother s much-loved corn-cake, which, while 
 disposing of, he dropped asleep, his rosy cheeks 
 crammed to their utmost capacity. 
 
 "Pooh ! " cried Charley, coming noisily in "to 
 
BUBS CHOICE. 115 
 
 see if dinner was most ready," "why didn t you 
 keep to work, like the rest of us?" 
 
 Bub resumed eating, and replied, dignifiedly, 
 
 " Tause I found out that it wasn t fun." 
 
 The unexpected effect of his answer on Char 
 ley, who received it with uproarious laughter, 
 highly offended the child ; and when Charley was 
 out of sight, he said to his mother, 
 
 " I isn t never going to work no more." 
 
 " Ah, why not? " she inquired. 
 
 " Tause I don t like to work." 
 
 " Then," said she, "you ll never make a man." 
 
 " Do men have to work ? " he asked. 
 
 " Certainly," she replied. 
 
 "Then I won t be a man," he answered, de 
 cidedly. 
 
 " Won t ! " exclaimed his mother ; " what, then, 
 will you be ? " 
 
 " I sail be a missernary, and walk wound, and 
 wear dold dlasses ! " 
 
Il6 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A SURPRISE. 
 
 "CAN you tell me, sir, if I can find a convey 
 ance for myself and children to L , Minne 
 sota ? " inquired a lady of the attentive clerk at a 
 hotel in the thriving young town of Dacotah, 
 Iowa. 
 
 " There is no stage running to that point," he 
 replied; "but we can send a team with you, if 
 you wish to go to so much .expense." 
 
 "I would like," answered the lady, smiling, 
 "to get there with as little cost as I can. My 
 husband is a missionary. I am on my way to 
 join him." 
 
 "I will see what I can do for you," returned 
 the clerk, bowing respectfully ; and, stepping into 
 the bar-room, he asked, 
 
 " Is there any one here going to L to 
 day?" 
 
 "I shall go half way there," said a short, 
 sharp-nosed, black-eyed man, who sat reading 
 an eastern paper. 
 
 " Could you take a passenger or two ? " 
 
A SURPRISE. 
 
 "I m pretty well loaded," he answered; "But 
 I always find room for one more, seeing it 
 pays." 
 
 " It s a clergyman s wife and children," said the 
 clerk, in a lower tone. 
 
 "O, well," replied the other, rising to his feet, 
 " they shall go along, pay or no pay ; " and he 
 followed the clerk, who introduced the parties to 
 each other with, 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer Mrs. Payson. He will take 
 you as far as he goes." 
 
 "And how far is that?" she inquired. 
 
 "About twenty miles." 
 
 " But how shall I get over the remainder of the 
 distance ? " 
 
 "Don t be concerned about that," replied the 
 man, heartily. "I guess there ll be a way to 
 forward you all right." 
 
 And in a half hour his team was before the 
 door, waiting to take her* farther into the wil 
 derness. A pair of stout iron-grays harnessed 
 into a long, open wagon, affording space for a 
 large variety of boxes and packages, and three 
 rows of cushionless seats, constituted the convey 
 ance. Its owner had been on a trading expedi 
 tion, but, with an eye to "the main chance," was 
 prepared to catch some of the travel going west 
 ward. The wagon was crowded with passen 
 gers ; and, disposing of the three children, a 
 
Il8 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 \ 
 
 delicate, intelligent little boy and his two sisters, 
 in the laps of those already seated, the team 
 ster assisted the mother to a seat at his side. 
 Their presence, it was evident, excited -much in 
 terest ; for the manner and dress of the little fam 
 ily betrayed New England birth and culture. 
 
 " Your husband," said the owner of the con 
 veyance, as his horses trotted sturdily along, " rode 
 up with me the other day. He had been down 
 to the Mississippi waiting for you a whole week, 
 and the landlord at McGreggor s Landing said 
 he was the bluest man he ever saw, because you 
 did not arrive." 
 
 " I am sorry that he was anxious on my ac 
 count," replied the wife, with a merry laugh. 
 " He didn t wish me to venture on the journey 
 alone with the children, and wrote that he would 
 return for me if I could not find suitable com 
 pany ; but, not wishing to take him from his 
 labors, I packed up, and took our darlings 
 along." 
 
 " I hope you didn t meet with any accident on 
 the way," observed a man on the back seat. 
 "You was pretty resolute." 
 
 " No ; but I came near losing one of my little 
 girls." 
 
 " How did it happen ? " asked a motherly-look 
 ing woman. 
 
 " It was in the depot at Springfield. The chil- 
 
CHILD LOST. 
 
 dren were thirsty, and, charging them not to stir 
 until I came back, I crossed the room for water. 
 There was a great crowd rushing here and there, 
 trains were coming and going, all was bustle 
 and confusion, and I hurried, not having been 
 away but a moment ; but little Fannie, my young 
 est girl, was missing. Helen, the eldest, had 
 been so taken up with the sights and sounds 
 about her, that she did not know that her sister 
 was gone. I was almost frantic with fear, she 
 had so suddenly and completely disappeared. 
 So, throwing my bonnet back upon my shoul 
 ders to attract attention, I cried at the top of my 
 lungs, 
 
 " My child ! my child ! I ve lost my child ! " 
 
 " Child lost ! child lost ! " shouted a number 
 of voices, repeating the description I gave of 
 her. Nobody seemed to have seen her ; and a 
 terrible dread that I might not find her wrung 
 my heart, when, to my joy, above the din, I heard 
 some one exclaim, 
 
 " She s found ! she s found ! Where s the 
 mother?" and a gentleman, holding her aloft, 
 brought her to me. He was deeply agitated, 
 and said, 
 
 "Your little girl, madam, came very near be 
 ing killed. I found her under the car between 
 two of the wheels, playing with them, saying, 
 Car may hurt a me; car may hurt a me. " 
 
I2O THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 The last bell had rung, and I had barely time 
 to drag her off the track when the train started." 
 
 " It must have been a great care for you," re 
 marked a passenger, M to bring your children on 
 so long a journey." 
 
 " It was, indeed," she replied. " Generally the 
 worst part of it was in getting them into the 
 trains : the children are so small, and the rush 
 of passengers so great, that they were in danger 
 of being trampled on, or prevented from getting 
 aboard in season." 
 
 " Everybody looks out for Number One at such 
 times," said a man. " I often think that we see 
 more of the selfishness of human nature while 
 travelling than under any other circumstances. 
 I suppose you were left to get along as best you 
 could with your little ones." 
 
 " Usually," she replied. " Sometimes, how 
 ever, a stranger, bound the same way, would 
 give us a helping hand; but often he would 
 blunder so as to make matters worse. Once I 
 was both amused and frightened. I was strug 
 gling to place my children on a train just starting, 
 and, making little headway. I called out, "Will 
 some one help my children into the cars ? " 
 when one of. the largest, fattest men I ever saw, 
 who was panting and puffing from his unusual 
 efforts at hurrying, caught up my little boy, and, 
 trotting on like an elephant, he struck his foot 
 
QUEER DISASTER. 121 
 
 against a stone, and came down sprawling into 
 the sand, uttering a great, wild cry, and giving 
 my little boy a throw at the same time. I felt 
 sorry for the man, but thought I should die laugh 
 ing at the queer figure he cut. And, ungrateful 
 as it seemed, I was obliged, in going for my boy, 
 to pass around our huge friend, and ride off, 
 leaving him to pick himself up at his leisure." 
 
 There was much merriment at this recital, 
 which was increased by a portly Englishman 
 behind her saying, in a jolly way, 
 
 " Hi feel as if hi could happreciate that story, 
 mem ! " 
 
 "But how do you think you ll like living 
 west?" asked the motherly woman. "It seems 
 to me that the likes of you won t know how to 
 put up with our rough ways." 
 
 "O," replied the clergyman s wife, with an 
 enthusiasm which showed what manner of spirit 
 she was of, "I did not come out here for enjoy 
 ment, but to cheer and help my husband in labor 
 ing for Christ." 
 
 "Well," answered the other, wiping a tear from 
 her eye, "the land knows we need such folks 
 among us ; and if we don t have things as nice 
 as you do your way, I hope you ll find us west 
 erners ready to do what we can for the good 
 cause. Most of us have seen better times, and 
 have known what it was to go to meeting every 
 
122 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Sunday, and do our mite towards supporting 
 preaching, and we are willing to do it again." 
 
 " See, mother," exclaimed little Helen, a 
 bright, wide-awake miss of six years, "what 
 a large garden ! " 
 
 The team had passed the irregular ridges of 
 the bluffs extending inland from the Mississippi, 
 and had attained the summit of a gentle swell of 
 land commanding an extensive prairie view, and 
 the whole landscape was bedecked with flowers 
 of every hue and shape. The child s wondering 
 eyes danced with delight, and she said, 
 
 " Mother, isn t the man who owns this great 
 garden very rich ? " 
 
 " This don t belong to any one man, my dear," 
 replied her mother, smiling ; " it is one of God s 
 gardens. He planted all these flowers, and made 
 them grow without anybody s help. All these 
 are wild flowers." 
 
 " O," exclaimed the child, " how good he is ! 
 isn t he, mother? Has God such a garden where 
 our new home is ? " 
 
 "I expect he has," she answered; "for out 
 here, my child, it s almost all garden. You 
 might ride thousands of miles, and not see a stone, 
 or any sand nothing but the green grass and 
 the sweet blooming flowers." 
 
 " O," cried Blue-eye, clapping her hands, 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 123 
 
 "I m so glad we ve come west! aren t you, 
 mother?" 
 
 The passengers were delighted with the prat 
 tle of the dear girl, and the matronly lady who 
 had her in charge could not forbear giving her a 
 kiss, and said, 
 
 " I hope you will meet with nothing more un 
 pleasant than prairie flowers." 
 
 But just then the child s bright eyes caught 
 sight of a settler pursuing his lonely way with 
 his gun on his shoulder, his tall figure standing 
 in bold relief against the sky, although he was 
 several miles in the distance, and she asked, 
 
 "Mamma, is that a wild man?" And, later, 
 seeing a cow grazing, she inquired, "Is that a 
 wild cow? " 
 
 The next night, about sundown, Mr. Sawyer 
 deposited the missionary s family at Mr. Lin 
 coln s snug western cottage. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Lincoln, laughing, as she 
 took her guest s things, "you ve stolen a march 
 on your husband this time." 
 
 " Isn t he here?" asked Mrs. Payson, with a 
 disappointed air. 
 
 " No," she replied. " He spent a week at the 
 Mississippi, waiting for you. And, fearing you 
 might get carried by, or injured in leaving the 
 steamer, for you know little ceremony is used 
 towards passengers or their goods, he visited 
 
124 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 each boat as it arrived, and had the porter at the 
 hotel call him up at every boat through the night, 
 inquiring of the passengers if they had seen a 
 lady of your description with three young chil 
 dren ; and hearing, since he returned, that one re 
 sembling you had gone to the Landing higher up 
 on the river, he went there yesterday, hoping to 
 meet you, and bring you back with him. He ll 
 probably get here late this evening ; and won t 
 we give him a surprise ? " 
 
 It was about nine o clock when the missionary 
 returned, alone, anxious, and dejected. 
 
 " You don t look as if you found your lost wife 
 and babies," said his host, sympathizingly. 
 
 " No, and I don t know what to make of it. I 
 inquired thoroughly. I looked the papers over 
 also, but did not find that there had been any 
 railroad accident of late. I am afraid she has 
 been taken sick on the way. It was barbarous 
 in me to listen a moment to the idea of her com 
 ing all the way alone, with three children, from 
 Massachusetts to Minnesota. I ought to have 
 insisted on her remaining at home until I could 
 have gone for her." 
 
 "Perhaps," suggested Mr. Lincoln, "she 
 thought it wasn t prudent to venture on such a 
 journey, and wrote you so, but the letter has 
 miscarried." 
 
 " I know her too well to think so," responded 
 
A SURPRISE. 125 
 
 the minister. " She has started on her way here. 
 She had decided to do so as a matter of duty ; 
 and, having made her mind up on that point, she 
 would come right on if she met with a railroad 
 accident every other train if she is a delicate 
 little body." 
 
 "Well, you look tired enough to drop," said 
 Mrs. Lincoln, abruptly, turning her head to con 
 ceal a smile. "I think you had better retire 
 early." 
 
 The clergyman was quite taken aback at this 
 piece of advice ; but Mr. Lincoln relieved his 
 astonishment by saying, 
 
 " My wife, hoping that you might be cheered by 
 the arrival of your family, has been fixing up 
 your room a bit, and I suppose she won t rest to 
 night unless she sees how you like the improve 
 ments." 
 
 And Mrs. Lincoln opening the door into his 
 apartment, the missionary saw before him his 
 three children, sleeping peacefully in their nice 
 beds, and his wife seated in a rocking-chair, ex 
 ercising a world of self-control, in order to carry 
 out the plot of surprising him. 
 
126 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " NO WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING ! " 
 
 IF the Scottish bard found it a hard experience 
 that 
 
 The best laid schemes of mice and men 
 Gang oft agla 
 
 in staid old Scotland, how would he have sung 
 if his lot had been cast amid the vicissitudes of 
 frontier life on an American prairie ? 
 
 We speak of the uncertainties of all earthly 
 expectations where society organized, helps man 
 in a thousand ways to achieve his plans ; but 
 there is nothing settled in a new country : 
 everything is in embryo, and therefore disappoint 
 ments are indefinitely multiplied. When the 
 immigrant arrives at his destination, he soon finds 
 that his most reasonable projects prove to be the 
 veriest air-castles, and that his reliance must be 
 on Providence and his own strong arm. This 
 state of things is specially trying to the man of 
 small means and unaccustomed to physical toil, 
 as was the case with Mr. Payson. The settlers, 
 especially those of religious character, had made, 
 
NO WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING. 127 
 
 in true western style, many and generous prom 
 ises to induce him to live among them. They 
 designed to keep their engagements with him ; 
 but a thousand contingencies were continually 
 arising, which they could not foresee, to render 
 the fulfilment of their agreements impossible. 
 But perhaps no failure in this direction had tried 
 the missionary so much as that connected with 
 the erection of a dwelling-house. Mr. Palmer 
 had voluntarily made him the offer of money for 
 that purpose, and if any man could be depended 
 upon, it was he ; but he had invested his funds in 
 the new town. He was a prudent man, and when 
 the proposal was made him by the two proprietors 
 to join them in the enterprise, he was disinclined 
 to do so. They were irreligious men, stirring, 
 energetic workers, but devoid of interest in 
 "things unseen," and therefore could not be ex 
 pected to care for the present and future moral 
 condition of the settlement. Yet we should do 
 them the justice to say that they were not indif 
 ferent to the religious welfare of their village, 
 only that, not being religious men, they would not 
 take the matter in charge themselves ; they needed 
 a leader, both to plan and to set a wholesome 
 example, and this was one reason for their asking 
 Mr. Palmer to become a partner. This reason 
 was a weighty one with him ; but before deciding 
 the question, he consulted with Mr. Pay son. 
 
128 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Laying the whole matter before him, he 
 asked, 
 
 "What do you think of my engaging in this 
 thing?" 
 
 "I do hope," he answered, "that, if you can 
 make it pecuniarily successful, you will become 
 a town owner. I should feel that I had a pillar 
 to lean upon in all my endeavors for the social 
 and religious good of this people, and it seems to 
 me that there can be no risk in it; we have 
 everything here to make a town, water-power, 
 timber, limestone quarries for building material, 
 abundance of clean prairie land for agricultural 
 purposes, and sooner or later a railroad must pass 
 very near here, as it is on the great travelled 
 route to the important points west and north. 
 Emigration is coming in well ; we have a religious 
 meeting established, and I hope soon we shall 
 have a school." 
 
 " That is the way it seems to me," said Mr. 
 Palmer ; " and it appears also, that I might do a 
 great deal of good by using aright the power a 
 town owner might have." 
 
 So he decided to make the investment. But 
 mishap after mishap occurred to thwart the enter 
 prises of the town owners ; and while their ex 
 penses were large, the returns were so small that 
 Mr. Palmer came to the preacher one day, and 
 with emotion said, 
 
NO WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING. 129 
 
 w Mr. Payson, I fear I shall have to disappoint 
 you about the money I promised to let you have 
 for the building of your cottage." 
 
 This was a heavy blow to the missionary, and 
 his friend knew too well that it would be, for Mr. 
 Payson had set his heart on having a comfortable 
 home provided for his family when they should 
 arrive. Many a pleasant bit of correspondence 
 had passed between himself and wife on the sub 
 ject of the pretty white cottage, on the eighty- 
 acre lot adjoining the town, and the joy of meet 
 ing her was overshadowed by the thought that 
 she had come to a homeless wilderness, while 
 expecting something so different ; and when she 
 asked repeatedly if the cottage was ready, and 
 when he was going to take her to see it, in his 
 unhappiness he avoided a direct reply, which, 
 with the ominous silence of the good friends by 
 whom they were entertained, led her to conjecture 
 how matters stood ; and one day she lifted the 
 weight in a measure from his heart by saying, 
 
 "It would be very strange, while almost ev 
 erybody in a new country are obliged to live in 
 log cabins, if we should be enough better off 
 to put up a framed house. I don t believe you 
 have been able to yet ; it is too much to expect. 
 But never mind ; if others can live within log 
 walls for the sake of making money, we certainly 
 can for a higher motive." 
 9 
 
I3O THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 "Just like yourself," said he, gratefully, relat 
 ing the facts as we have recited them. 
 
 " But what are we going to do? " she inquired ; 
 w we ought not to think of accepting the hospitality 
 of this generous-hearted family much longer. 
 Their house is already so crowded, it puts them 
 to great inconvenience." 
 
 " I am aware of it," said her husband. " Mr. 
 Palmer has a little cabin which he has offered 
 me for temporary use until I can put up something 
 on my claim ; but it is so rough and lonely, that 
 on your account I have not felt like saying any 
 thing to you about it." 
 
 "O," said she, merrily, "do take me there to 
 day; it would be so romantic to live in a log 
 cabin." 
 
 So, their host s team being chartered, they went 
 to look at the "rent." It was a funny wee log- 
 gery, hastily put up for pre-emption purpose, 
 standing in a small, enclosed field near the river, 
 two miles from town, the nearest neighbor being 
 Mr. Jones, who lived a mile and a half farther 
 down the "stream. 
 
 Mr. Palmer, in anticipation of the visit, had 
 been there before them, and put in a whole glass 
 window, laid the rough boards, that constituted 
 the floor, more closely, and put up some shelves 
 for a cupboard in a corner. 
 
 "This is elegance itself!" exclaimed the little 
 
NO WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING. 131 
 
 woman, laughing heartily : " get a few chairs, 
 and a stove, husband, and we ll move right in ; 
 and see," she added ? looking out of the door ; 
 "there are potatoes here that have not been 
 dug quite a crop : perhaps you can buy the 
 right to use them." 
 
 " O, yes," replied her husband ; "brother Palmer 
 says we can have the use of the cabin free, and 
 all there is about it." 
 
 " The fish in the river, too, I suppose," said 
 she, stepping to the fence, and peering over the 
 river brink. 
 
 " I reckon you won t get fish enough to get 
 sick on them," said a voice near ; and, Mr. Jones 
 emerged from a clump of bushes, his gun on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " This is our neighbor," said the minister ; " my 
 wife, Mr. Jones." 
 
 " Looking up a cage to put your bird in ? " asked 
 the squatter. 
 
 The minister replied affirmatively. 
 
 " You found that eighty-acre lot just as I told 
 ye didn t ye ? " he asked. 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " And did your brother Smith give it up like 
 a Christian?" he pursued. 
 
 " I suppose I am the proprietor of it now," said 
 the minister, good-naturedly. 
 
132 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " And he didn t charge you anything for giving 
 up what was not his did he? " 
 
 " No," said the missionary ; " he did not charge 
 me anything for the claim, although he seemed 
 to think it right that I should give him something 
 for the improvements." 
 
 " Improvements ! Yes, I suppose he expects 
 some pay for the saw logs he stole from the lot, 
 while he had acres on acres of timber of his own. 
 It s no more n fair that a Christian man should 
 be paid for the lumber he plunders from other 
 folks land. You paid him for that, of course?" 
 
 " O, no," replied Mr. Payson ; " he didn t bring 
 in his bill for that. He had cleared and fenced 
 the ten-acre piece over the river, and he said he 
 didn t wish to lose his labor." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Jones, almost fiercely, "I 
 wasn t aware, elder, that you employed him to 
 do that little job ; I thought that was done last 
 year, fore we knew anything bout you in these 
 parts." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the missionary, coloring. 
 
 "And I rather think," he continued, "that he 
 got his pay for his work, as he expected to, in what 
 he took from the land. I never saw better corn 
 and wheat, let alone the potatoes and the pump 
 kins that he raised on that river bottom ; and as 
 to the rails, they belong where he took them from, 
 that eighty-acre lot that he robbed and impover- 
 
NO WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING. 133 
 
 ished, tilling the soil in the summer, and cutting 
 down the best trees in the winter, and working 
 what he didn t care about into rails ; and now he 
 turns around, after having skimmed your milk, 
 when he had plenty of his own, and tells you, 
 as a Christian brother, that you orter pay him for 
 taking off the cream, and making butter of it for 
 his own table. May I ask what he charged you 
 for the operation? " 
 
 " He asked," said the minister, " eighty dollars, 
 but concluded to take thirty." 
 
 " And when you form your church you ll choose 
 him first deacon won t you? " said the squatter, 
 sneeringly. 
 
 " Neighbor Jones," said the minister, quietly, 
 " I find that Mr. Smith s character is pretty well 
 understood among the settlers. From all I can 
 learn, I judge that he has never been a member 
 of a church, but is one of a too large class, who 
 try to palm themselves off on religious people, 
 that they may the better carry out their own 
 wicked and selfish ends. I did not pay him the 
 thirty dollars because he had a right to ask it of 
 me, but because I had rather sacrifice something 
 than to expose the spiritual welfare of this people 
 by giving an occasion for a quarrel, however un 
 justly ; and, mark me, the time will come when 
 that money, small as the amount is, will be a 
 burden to the conscience of that man. But," he 
 
134 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 added, suddenly changing the subject, " we expect 
 to have a raising on my lot day after to-morrow. 
 Cannot I rely on you for a lift ? " 
 
 "Ah," said he, "what are you going to put up 
 there a framed house ? " 
 
 "O, no," replied the minister, smiling, "only a 
 few logs. The town owners are going to let me 
 take down the log house they have used on the 
 other side of the river, as the logs are so well 
 seasoned, and put them up on my place ; and, 
 wife," turning to her, " we shall have to de 
 pend on you for refreshments for the occasion." 
 
 "You have given me short notice," she replied, 
 " but I can have things ready if you can manage 
 to get supplies, and a stove up in season." 
 
 " If you want a little help in getting started 
 here," said Mr. Jones, " I ll send up my Tom ; I 
 guess he d like to lend you a hand." 
 
 " Could he come to-day? " asked Mrs. Payson. 
 
 " I ll send him right along," said the squatter, 
 as he bent his steps towards home. 
 
 " What are we going to do for a stove ? " asked 
 the wife, as soon as he was out of sight. 
 
 " That 11 be forthcoming," said the minister. 
 
 Tom, having made his appearance, was re 
 quested by Mr. Payson to take the team and go 
 to town, and say to Mr. Palmer that they had de 
 cided to move into the cabin, and would like to 
 get settled before night ; which message brought 
 
NO WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING. 135 
 
 Mr. Palmer back with Tom, accompanied by a 
 wagon-load, containing a large cooking-stove, 
 a bag of flour, some chairs, a little crockery, and 
 a supply of various eatables. And by nightfall 
 the missionary family were domiciled in the fron 
 tier cabin ; and the next morning you would have 
 thought the missionary s wife already quite * wes 
 ternized, with her neat calico and tidy apron, busy 
 in her preparations for the house-raising. 
 
 " I don t mean to stay in a borrowed house a 
 great while," she said. "Husband, how soon do 
 you calculate that we can be housekeeping in 
 our own cabin ? " 
 
 " It will take some weeks, do our best," he 
 answered. 
 
 "Well," she rejoined, "I ll set the time four 
 weeks from to-day ; and if it isn t ready then, I 
 shall go into it if I have to leave you behind." 
 
 But how slowly everything dragged, except 
 the raising ! The settlers went into that with right 
 good will ; men and teams were busy drawing 
 the logs, while experienced hands placed them 
 properly upon each other, till the ridge-pole 
 crowned the whole. Then they sat down on 
 the grass to partake of the tempting eatables that 
 Tom and Mr. Payson had brought on the ground. 
 There were the light biscuits and the golden 
 butter, nice venison steaks for which they were 
 indebted to the rifle of Mr. Jones, dried apple 
 
136 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 turnovers, and the sheets of crisp gingerbread, 
 loaf cake, and fragrant coffee." 
 
 " We don t get any whiskey at this raising ! " 
 said Mr. Palmer, nudging his next neighbor. 
 
 " No," he replied ; " and it s an example that I 
 hope will be often followed." 
 
 Then there was the door to be made and hung, 
 and the windows to be put in, and the crevices 
 between the logs to be mortared, and the floors 
 laid long and tedious operations, where every 
 body was over-busy, and labor could be hired 
 neither " for love nor money." Mr. Payson found 
 that much of the work had to be done by himself, 
 with the occasional help of Tom. He was city- 
 bred, and his bodily strength feeble ; but necessity 
 obliged him to perform prodigies of teaming, lift 
 ing, and joinering, and even of quarrying stone 
 for the well that was being dug. A few weeks 
 had wrought a wonderful change in the man of 
 books ; his study was wherever he chanced to be ; 
 his white hands had become horny and browned, 
 his pale face tanned. His retiring habits had 
 given place to a broad sociality, his diffidence to 
 a generous self-reliance, and it seemed to him 
 that he could do and dare almost anything. From 
 early morning till late at night he worked to get 
 his log home ready, while his wife and little 
 ones remained in the solitary cabin by the river 
 side. It was a long walk for him, however, after 
 
A LOG-HOUSE BELL. 137 
 
 toiling all day ; and when the sky was overcast at 
 nightfall, he was in danger of getting lost. This 
 gave his wife much uneasiness ; then she feared 
 that he might meet some prowling wolf, or other 
 beast, in the darkness ; and when he was very 
 late, she would be sure to think he was lost, and 
 would ring her house-bell, which consisted of a 
 tin pan, on which she would drum vigorously 
 with the stove-lifter. She said he would recog 
 nize that sound, she thought, at a great distance. 
 
 But the four weeks went by, and on account of 
 the difficulty of getting lumber, and other neces 
 sary articles, the roof was still unshingled, and 
 the floor only half laid. The wife, like most 
 women, had a very good memory for dates. The 
 log cabin they occupied was open, and the prairie 
 winds cold and piercing, and for a few days she 
 had been quite ill ; but that morning, after her 
 unsuspicious husband had left for his joinering, 
 Tom might have been seen guiding a yoke of 
 cattle, attached to a cart, into the enclosure, which, 
 after much " geeing " and " gee-hawing," he man 
 aged to make stand before the door. 
 
 " Charlie," said he, as that urchin made his 
 appearance from the inside of the cart, " you stand 
 by the cattle while I put the things aboard." 
 
 And bringing out a barrel filled with crockery 
 and other things, which Mrs. Payson had clandes 
 tinely packed for the occasion, and the wash- 
 
138 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 boiler full of eatables, and hanging the chairs 
 over the cart stakes, he took down the bedsteads, 
 and placed them in a manner that was highly 
 satisfactory to the energetic minister s wife, and 
 tying up the bed-clothes in great bundles, de 
 posited them also ; and saying to Mrs. Payson, 
 "I shall have to fix an easy place for you to 
 ride, as you ve been sick," he laid the hard 
 beds in the empty space which he had left for 
 that purpose in the cart, with the feather beds 
 above, saying, 
 
 " There, you won t feel the motion much now ; " 
 and assisting her to mount, she was enthroned on 
 her downy seat on the top of the load, with the 
 children in high glee by her side. 
 
 The steers, which were notoriously unruly, as 
 if aware that they had a minister s wife aboard, 
 behaved with becoming decorum under Tom s 
 wise supervision. 
 
 Now, it chanced that some careless hunter, firing 
 into the dry prairie grass on the other side of the 
 town, had started a fire. Mrs. Payson had noticed 
 in the morning that there was a smell of burning 
 in the air, and a hazy appearance, but had at 
 tached no particular importance to it ; but as they 
 approached the town, a scene of great magnifi 
 cence burst upon her. The fires, driven with 
 velocity before the w r ind, had swept over the prai 
 ries, and reached the belt of woods, in a portion 
 
FIRE ON THE PRAIRIE. 139 
 
 of which were the eighty acres that her husband 
 was at work upon. The flames were crackling 
 and roaring in the forests, burning up the dry 
 underbrush, shooting to the tops of the old dead 
 pines, so that the scene being constantly on her left, 
 was more or less in view for most of the distance. 
 
 "What shall we do?" asked Tom, in alarm. 
 " Had nt we better go back? " 
 
 " Do you think the fire has reached my hus 
 band s claim?" she answered. 
 
 Tom scanned the appearance of the smoke 
 with a practised eye, and at length replied, 
 
 " No ; it s not got as far as there yet." 
 
 " Do you think it will ? " she inquired, anx 
 iously. 
 
 " If the wind does not change, it must before a 
 great while," he said, "although it will have to 
 cross the road, which will backen it some." 
 
 "Would it burn up the cabin, then?" she in 
 quired. 
 
 " I am afraid it would," he answered. 
 
 "Well," said she, firmly, "I said I would go 
 into that cabin in four weeks, and if it s not burnt 
 down, I shall keep my word. At any rate we 
 shall be in season to see the fire ! " Then she add 
 ed, looking grave, "I do hope, if it is the Lord s 
 will, that the fire will be checked in time, my hus 
 band has toiled so hard." 
 
 As the cart turned up the main street of the 
 
140 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 town, she caught sight of the cabin that was to 
 be her future home, and she saw her husband, 
 too, at the same moment, for there he sat on the 
 roof, gazing at the fire, which seemed to be dying 
 out. He heard the rumbling of the wheels as 
 they drew near, and as he caught sight of the 
 picturesque-looking object approaching, he called 
 out, 
 
 " Why, what under the canopy have we here ? 
 Wife, and babies, and household effects ! What 
 does this mean ? You are not going to emigrate 
 farther west are you? " 
 
 " If you ll descend from your elevated position," 
 she replied, cheerily, " I ll condescend to inform 
 you. Now," she added, "you know I told you, 
 husband, I should move into the cabin to-day ; 
 and did you ever know me to break my word ? " 
 
 " But," said he, looking disconcerted, " I m not 
 ready for you yet ; the floor isn t half laid." 
 
 "Well," she replied, "I can t stand it to have 
 you sweating up here all alone at your task, run 
 ning the risk of being devoured by the wolves, 
 or losing your way at night because you think 
 the cabin isn t comfortable enough for me. Why, 
 you are as particular about having everything done 
 just so about this cabin, as you used to be, east, in 
 having every word exactly in its place when you 
 wrote your sermons. Please, now, just help Tom 
 unload, and set these things in, and I ll have tea 
 
A STRANGE OCCURRENCE. 14! 
 
 ready directly, and we ll be where we can cheer 
 you a bit. But what about this fire? " 
 
 " Our cabin has had a very narrow escape." 
 "Yes," said Tom, coming up, "I ve been out 
 to look, and the fire just came up to your line, 
 and then stopped." 
 
 Mr. Pay son was deeply affected by the intelli 
 gence, for, knowing that no human power could 
 stay the advancing flames, upon the cabin top he 
 had been praying that the wind might change. 
 Was it in answer to his silent petitions that it had 
 taken place in so timely a manner? 
 
142 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 OLD MRS. SKINFLINT IN TROUBLE. LOST IN 
 THE WOODS. 
 
 THERE is no man so bad as he might be 
 a fact that everybody knows, but that most are 
 apt to forget in their estimate of those who have 
 offended their sense of right. 
 
 Mr. Smith had his virtues as well as faults ; 
 perhaps more of the latter than the former ; but 
 there were some mollifying circumstances to be 
 taken into the account in the summing up of his 
 character. His natural love of money had been 
 stimulated and intensified by the malign influence 
 of his wife. She was miserly when he married 
 her. To keep what she had, and get what she 
 could, was her ruling passion ; besides which she 
 had a passion for ruling. And often, when her 
 husband s gentler heart would be touched by a 
 tale of suffering, and his hand be opened to re 
 lieve the distressed, would she interfere to pre 
 vent the indulgence of the benevolent impulse ; 
 and now, after some thirty years matrimonial 
 moulding, he had become so assimilated to her 
 
OLD MRS. SKINFLINT IN TROUBLE. 143 
 
 grasping spirit, and so accustomed to yield to her 
 stronger will, that his dealings in business made 
 him appear worse than he really was. In the 
 sale of the " eighty-acre lot " to the missionary, 
 about which much indignation was felt in the 
 settlement, Mrs. Smith was the chief actor. 
 Mr. Smith was the monkey employed to pull the 
 chestnuts out of the fire, although, it must be 
 confessed, he relished the chestnuts. She was a 
 crafty woman, and kept out of sight in the trans 
 action while she urged him on, so that people 
 saw only Mr. Smith in the wrong-doing, when, 
 if they could have peeped behind the curtain, they 
 would have seen that his " better half" was the 
 more guilty. 
 
 The thirty dollars which Mr. Smith finally 
 consented to take for the " improvements on the 
 claim," Mr. Payson was unable to pay all at 
 once ; he was, therefore, subjected to many vex 
 atious -duns for the balance. Fearing that, at 
 last, her husband would relent, and the debt 
 might not all be realized, Mrs. Smith resolved 
 to turn collector herself. So, putting on her best 
 cap, and her faded black alpaca, she made her 
 way through the woods to the missionary s cabin. 
 
 When she reached it, she found no one but 
 Tom and Bub within ; for Mr. Lincoln had 
 called with his team, and taken the family to 
 dine at his house. 
 
144 THE CABI N ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 "Is the minister to home?" she asked. 
 
 " No," replied Tom. 
 
 "When will he be back?" 
 
 "I don t know," said Tom; "but he expects 
 to attend a wedding this evening, and, as it s 
 now most four, I expect him every minute." 
 
 "Then," said she, "I guess I ll take a chair 
 and wait. My husband has a small bill agin 
 him, and I thought maybe he d just as lief pay 
 it now as any time." 
 
 She was garrulous and inquisitive, plying Tom 
 with all sorts of questions about the minister s 
 family, much to the anmyyance of the lad, who, 
 remembering that there were certain errands yet 
 to be done that afternoon, for Tom was now 
 often at the cabin assisting the minister, he 
 asked her if she would look after Bub while he 
 went to the village, saying he thought it likely 
 the family would return before he did. The old 
 lady rather liked the arrangement, as it would 
 give her a chance to inspect the housekeep 
 ing of the minister s wife ; and, watching Tom 
 till he was well into town, she commenced her 
 examinations. First she opened the closet door 
 to see how the dishes were arranged, for she had 
 heard that once on a time the good man s lady 
 had committed the great crime of writing a book ; 
 and she had often remarked that " anybody that 
 could waste their time in sich a way must be a 
 
OLD MRS. SKINFLINT IN TROUBLE. 145 
 
 master slack housekeeper." To her disappoint 
 ment, however, she found that quite as good 
 order, and rather more taste, reigned there than in 
 her own pantry, but was relieved again a moment 
 at finding an unwashed plate. 
 
 "Just as I thought," she muttered, with a grunt 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 Having finished her leisurely inspection of the 
 cupboard, during which she smelled of the bread 
 to see if it was sour, broke off a bit of the cake 
 to see if it was extravagant, and sucked some 
 plum sauce from the ends of her fingers, she 
 started to peer under the bed to ascertain if there 
 was any dust there, when, hearing a noise, sup 
 posing that the minister had come, she turned and 
 closed the closet door, and reseated herself, wip 
 ing her mouth with her apron as she did so. 
 This change of posture brought her into full 
 view of the stairs leading to the loft above, which 
 humble place, under the roof, the clergyman 
 used for a study when he wished to be very much 
 retired. On the stairs, descending with solemn 
 step and slow, was Bub, with the minister s old 
 hat on, which he kept above his eyes by one 
 chubby hand, and the minister s steel-bowed 
 glasses resting on his nose, and the good man s 
 dressing-gown trailing magnificently behind. 
 Bub s manner showed that he felt his conse 
 quence much increased by his clerical outfit, and 
 10 
 
146 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 the benignant gravity of his face was edifying to 
 behold. 
 
 " Goodness gracious ! " exclaimed the old lady ; 
 "what on airth you up to, you imp o Satan? 
 Can t you berhave in the minister s house? " and, 
 seizing the urchin as he landed, she only ceased 
 shaking him as the spectacles dropped to the 
 floor. 
 
 This reception was wholly unexpected to poor 
 Bub, and, as she relieved him of his ministerial 
 vestments, he sobbed indignantly, 
 
 "Now Bub go wite away, and never come 
 back no more ! " and, opening the door, he 
 marched resolutely out. 
 
 The elderly caller had now the congenial duty 
 to do of restoring the minister s apparel to its 
 proper place overhead ; and, glancing out of the 
 window, to be sure nobody was coming, she 
 ascended to the missionary s sanctum sancto 
 rum. 
 
 Now, Rev. Mr. Payson, in his varied pursuits 
 of preacher, pastor, house-carpenter, stone-ma 
 son, farmer, and doctor, for, having skill in 
 medicine, the sick depended somewhat on his 
 medical care, he was quite apt to leave his un 
 inviting study in disorder, especially when sud 
 denly called from home. Moreover, like the 
 other cabins in a new counhy, the house was 
 overrun with field mice, making it, as Mr. 
 
OLD MRS. SKINFLINT IN TROUBLE. 147 
 
 Payson sometimes said, "dangerous to sleep with 
 one s mouth open, lest a mouse might mistake it 
 for his hole, and pop in." Whether, however, 
 such a suffocating casualty would occur or not, 
 the wee animals chased each other along the 
 logs, ransacked the closet, scampered across the 
 beds, nibbling at everything that tempted their 
 sharp little teeth; even the clergyman s books 
 and papers were mutilated by them most irrev 
 erently. 
 
 The sight of the sheets and bits of writing 
 paper, the news journals, and old reviews, 
 for the missionary, unable to take the current 
 publications, read and re-read the old ones with 
 a mournful satisfaction, and the other signs of 
 confusion which prevailed, and which so annoyed 
 his wife, were as refreshing to Mrs. Smith s eyes 
 as the first glimpse of land to Columbus. 
 
 "Zactly as I expected," she ejaculated, lifting 
 her hands in horror. "I alluz hearn tell that 
 these ere lit ry women are a shiftless set. I 
 should think it would worry a man s life out of 
 his body to be jined to sich a hussy. Why, 
 there s my Betsy Ann ; she ken go a visitin 
 more n half the time, and her husband never 
 said boo agin her housework ; an I ve known 
 lots o women what could embroider, an play the 
 piana, an make heaps o calls, an attind balls 
 an sich till enymost mornin , an they d no more 
 
148 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 think o wastin their time in writin a book than 
 cuttin their heads off ! But duzzn t them books 
 look pooty on them shelves ? I should think it 
 would make the minister s head split if he knows 
 all that s in them volums ; an they do say he s 
 ter ble larned. Well, I mustn t stay here no 
 longer, though it s jist as I expected." And, return 
 ing to the room below, she lifted her hands again 
 in astonishment as she saw by the clock that it 
 was five. "I guess John 11 have to git his own 
 fodder to-night, or go without. He s used to it, 
 though. I brings my man up not to expect a 
 woman to drudge, drudge, about house. But, 
 mercy me ! " she exclaimed, " where s that child 
 gone to? I warrant he s in some mischief; " and, 
 opening the door, she called, 
 "Bub, Bub ! come inter the huss ! " 
 But Bub did not answer. So she went around 
 the cabin, but could see nothing of him, and, 
 thinking that he would not come because it was 
 she that called him, she added, 
 
 " Come right in now ; Tom wants yer." 
 There was only a slight clearing around the 
 cabin, and then came a thick growth of bushes, 
 and beyond, the woods on either hand, save the 
 path in the direction of the town. It was but a 
 few rods to the nearest house in the village, and 
 she hurried there to make inquiries, for she was 
 becoming anxious for the child. But the chil- 
 
LOST IN THE WOODS. 149 
 
 dren, playing near by, said that Bub had not 
 passed that way, so, running back, she instituted 
 a new search in the vicinity of the cabin, calling 
 him as before, and receiving no answer; and, as 
 there was a wide cart track leading into the 
 woods from the cabin door, thinking it natural 
 for the child to stray that way, she hastened in 
 that direction. 
 
 We have said that Mr. Smith had his virtues 
 as well as weaknesses ; and, of course, his wife 
 was not " totally depraved," in the sense in 
 which that much-controverted term is not in 
 tended by those who hold that man is naturally 
 sinful. And, as she had borne children, a moth 
 erly solicitude was now awakened in her heart 
 for Bub, and she pressed anxiously down the 
 path, w r hile the deepening twilight steadily in 
 creased the gloom that lingered in the shadows 
 of the lofty trees. The cart track grew less 
 distinct as she advanced ; and, as she had not 
 found Bub, she concluded to return and alarm 
 the neighbors, but found her course impeded on 
 every side by the thick underbrush, for she had 
 lost the main path. With desperate efforts she 
 pushed aside the strong-armed boughs, and 
 struck once more the cart track, as she sup 
 posed ; but, alas for her, she was mistaken. Her 
 head had become bewildered, and she was pen 
 etrating into the depths of the forest. On, on she 
 
I5O THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 urged her steps, wondering that she did not come 
 in sight of the minister s cabin, when, to her de 
 light, she heard a sound like the crying of a 
 child. Now a heavy load was lifted from her 
 mind. 
 
 " I must be nearing the cabin," thought she ; 
 " and that s Bub ; " and she called with unusual 
 tenderness, " Bub, Bub ! Where are you? " 
 
 She listened intently, expecting a response, 
 and heard again the same sound, but, strangely, 
 farther off. So she quickened her speed, calling 
 the boy with renewed vigor. Wearied at last in 
 her fruitless endeavors, she stopped to rest a mo 
 ment, and collect her scattered faculties. She 
 was an apt calculator in money matters, and that 
 faculty, summoned into exercise now, convinced 
 her that she had passed over many times the dis 
 tance needed, had she been going in the right 
 direction ; and the horrible conclusion that she 
 was lost in the woods thrilled her with terror. 
 She recollected also that there had been stories 
 told of late of a panther s voice being heard in 
 those woods, and that it sounded like the crying 
 of a child. This increased her fear. 
 
 While she was considering what to do in her 
 extremity, a short, quick bark, far in the forest 
 behind her, succeeded by a prolonged howl, the 
 bloodthirsty cry of the "timber wolf," which, 
 when once heard, can never be forgotten, broke 
 
LOST IN THE WOODS. 
 
 on her ear. She had lived too long in the wil 
 derness not to know what that meant, and she 
 fled with wondrous swiftness down the path, on, 
 on, she knew not whither. Her trembling limbs 
 began to fail ; but again the fiendish wolf-cry re 
 sounded, succeeded by that of another, and yet 
 another, showing that the call of the first had 
 brought others to the chase, made her forget 
 her weakness, and, like a spirit, away she sped, 
 once more, on the race for life. The race, how 
 ever, was an unequal one, and its fearful termina 
 tion was soon staring her in the face, as she heard 
 the ferocious creatures drawing near ; when, to 
 her relief, she saw ahead a small, untenanted 
 cabin. It was a shanty used by the woodsmen 
 in the winter while felling trees. The door was 
 off its hinges ; and, passing swiftly in, in the 
 agony of despair, she glanced around for a hid 
 ing-place. But the room was equally open to 
 the wolves as to herself. Instantly, in a manner 
 that seemed almost superhuman, she passed up 
 the side of the cabin to a beam laid for an upper 
 floor, and stood there, clinging, with her bony 
 fingers to the wall, as motionless as a marble 
 statue, while the wolves, disappointed of their 
 prey, sat on the floor below, lapping their hun 
 gry jaws, and watching her till dawn, where she 
 was found by a party who had been searching 
 for her all night. She was speechless when 
 
152 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 rescued, and utterly unable for a time to give any 
 account of herself. Her first inquiry, however, 
 when she could remember what had happened, 
 was for little Bub. 
 
 "I guess," said one of the men, soothingly, 
 " he has turned up all right afore now." 
 
 But as she insisted on going to the minister s 
 to ascertain if Bub was safe, they assisted her 
 there, where were assembled a number of women, 
 among whom was Mrs. Jones, anxious about the 
 lost child, for no trace of him had been dis 
 covered. 
 
 When Bub was so unceremoniously disrobed 
 of his priestly garments by Mrs. Smith s skinny 
 hand, highly offended at so gross an invasion of 
 his rights and dignities, to console himself he 
 determined to run home and tell his mother of the 
 outrage. 
 
 Now the "make of the land," back of the 
 missionary s cabin, was much like that near his 
 father s, and therefore he took his way in that 
 direction, instead of the one Mrs. Smith had sur 
 mised. He had taken quite a walk when he saw 
 the stream that divided the minister s lot. Re 
 membering that there was a river back of his 
 mother s cabin, he concluded that his home was 
 on the other side of the stream before him. The 
 cornstalks, too, left standing in the cleared 
 ground opposite, were in sight, and they re- 
 
LOST IN THE WOODS. 153 
 
 sembled the corn that Tom had cut and stacked. 
 So he trudged up and down the bank to find a 
 way to cross, till he came to a tree which had 
 been felled for that purpose, and constituted the 
 only bridge, the topmost boughs of which rested 
 on the other side, just as the stream was bridged 
 below his father s cabin, but upon which he had 
 often been charged not to venture. Bub had 
 been so often charged on this point, and im 
 pressed with the danger, that he did not forget 
 it now; and, while he amused himself with drop 
 ping sticks into the water, and watching to see 
 them carried along by the current, he called, 
 
 "Mother, come, get Bub, if you don t want 
 him drownded up." 
 
 And, as his mother did not make her appear 
 ance, he shouted for Sarah, till, as it was getting 
 dusk, he felt afraid to linger longer, and mounted 
 the tree. It was a dizzy height above the water, 
 and Bub s curly pate would whirl whenever he 
 glanced below ; so, as he could not walk steadily, 
 he sat down, and tried to hitch along as he had 
 seen Sarah do. This was not much better for 
 him, and he began creeping on all fours; and, 
 with many an admonitory slip, which served to 
 make him the more careful, he had got nearly 
 across, when he fell, holding his breath from 
 fright. Fortunately, however, he had reached 
 the lower limbs, and the friendly branches held 
 
154 THE CABIN O;N THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 him until he was able to regain the trunk of the 
 tree ; and ere long his little feet pressed terra 
 Jirma. 
 
 The cultivated ground was not fenced next the 
 river, the bank being sufficiently steep to keep 
 out stray cattle, and Bub found some difficulty in 
 scaling it ; but as he was hungry for supper, and 
 had something of a will of his own, despite his 
 short legs and frequent tumbles, at last he suc 
 ceeded. And, wandering around in the corn 
 field, vainly seeking his mother s cabin, baffled 
 in his efforts, and finding that crying was of no 
 avail, tired, frightened, and dispirited, he leaned 
 his head against a clump of cornstalks, and, 
 falling gently from the support to the soft soil, 
 he dropped asleep as the darkness came on. 
 
 But where was Tom ? When he returned from 
 doing the errands, he was surprised at not find 
 ing either Mrs. Smith or Bub at the minister s, 
 and was standing undecided what to do, when 
 the clergyman drove up. Tom immediately 
 stated his perplexity. 
 
 " You don t suppose the woman went home, 
 leaving Bub here alone, and the child has 
 strayed away?" suggested Mrs. Payson, ap 
 prehensively. 
 
 " I scarcely think a woman of her age would 
 be so imprudent," replied her husband. " She 
 may, however, have gone to the village, and 
 
LOST IN THE WOODS. 155 
 
 taken the child with her for safe keeping. It 
 would be well, Tom, to go down and see." 
 
 Tom was hurrying along, when a lad called 
 out, 
 
 " Did the old woman find Bub ? " and he related 
 how she came there in search of him. This 
 startled Tom, and, hastening back, he told Mr. 
 Payson what he had heard. 
 
 "Perhaps, then," said the minister, "the old 
 lady got tired of waiting for me, and took Bub 
 home with her. You may take the team and 
 ride over there." 
 
 Finding that Mr. Smith had not seen his wife, 
 Tom at once concluded that there must be some 
 thing seriously wrong ; and he said, 
 
 " I was told at the village that your wife was 
 there, trying to find Bub. It may be they are 
 both lost in the woods. Now, if you will get the 
 settlers about here together, I will rouse the vil 
 lagers, and we will make a search." 
 
 We have already described the finding of the 
 lost woman. 
 
 The ground on the side of the river next to the 
 minister s cabin had been looked over repeatedly, 
 and no one seemed to think it possible that the 
 child had crossed the river, and the conclusion 
 came to be general that he had either been car 
 ried off by a wild beast, or fallen into the water, 
 and been drowned ; and preparations were made 
 
156 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 for dragging the stream for the body, when one 
 of the party saw a bit of cloth, which Tom 
 recognized as torn from Bub s dress, flaunting 
 from a twig on the tree-bridge. 
 
 " He must be on the other side ! " cried Tom ; 
 and, with new hope, the party rushed to explore 
 the field, shouting his name. 
 
 " Here I be ! " answered a childish voice ; and 
 they found him seated on the ground, composedly 
 picking the kernels from an ear of corn, the 
 channels which the tears had ploughed on his 
 unwashed cheeks being the only evidence of the 
 sorrows through which he had passed ; and he 
 said, with the air of one whose feelings had been 
 wounded by undeserved neglect, 
 
 " I hasn t had any dinner." 
 
 Some theologians tell us that the sinful should 
 never be addressed through their fears ; that 
 love can only reform the erring. Perhaps Mr.s. 
 Smith was unlike the rest of the race ; but the 
 terrors of that night wrought a change in her ; 
 and Mr. Pay son was surprised one day by Mr. 
 Smith s calling at his cabin with a fine quarter 
 of beef, saying, as he lugged it in, 
 
 "I ve been killing an ox, elder; and wife 
 thought, if you wouldn t be offended, that I d 
 better bring you down a piece ; " adding, as 
 he rose to go, "Here s that due-bill that you 
 gave me for the improvements on the ten acres. 
 
LOST IN THE WOODS. 157 
 
 Wife says you ve paid enough on it ; so IVe re 
 ceipted it, and will call it square, if you will. 
 And, by the way, when you are out of butter, 
 just send over to our house ; we can spare you 
 a few pounds, now and then, just as well as 
 not." 
 
158 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FIRE AND FLOOD. 
 
 THE sum which had been pledged by the set 
 tlers was not sufficient for the support of the mis 
 sionary s family ; and although the treasurer ex 
 erted himself to the utmost, he could only collect 
 a portion of what was due from those whose 
 names were on the subscription paper. No one 
 felt the inconvenience of this more than the cler 
 gyman s wife. She was a good manager,* and 
 had a wonderful faculty for making " one dollar 
 go as far as three, and getting up meals out 
 of nothing," as her husband often remarked. 
 But it must be confessed, that with the keen 
 appetites brought to them on the wings of the 
 prairie winds, the little household sometimes 
 rose from the scantily-furnished table hungry 
 for more. 
 
 Mr. Pay son, under these circumstances, would 
 comfort her with anticipations of future abun 
 dance. They knew, indeed, that most of the set 
 tlers had newly arrived, and had everything to 
 buy, as they had not been long enough settled to 
 
FIRE AND FLOOD. 159 
 
 raise anything from the ground. But a year had 
 now elapsed, and many acres of the rich soil had 
 been turned over and planted, and there was 
 prospect of abundant returns. The missionary, 
 being unaccustomed to farming, and wishing to 
 devote his energies, as far as practicable, to the 
 spiritual interests of his growing charge, had let 
 out his tillable ten-acre lot to a neighbor, to be 
 cultivated on shares, reserving a little spot for 
 himself, which he had planted to early potatoes, 
 and a good variety of garden vegetables. As the 
 one who carried on the rest of the piece was an 
 intelligent and experienced farmer, and had facil 
 ities for the work in the way of teams and men, 
 the clergyman felt that he might reasonably cal 
 culate on a supply of corn and wheat, to which 
 crops the ground had been devoted. And no 
 where was there promise of a larger }deld than 
 on that quick and productive river bottom. The 
 corn grew to a prodigious height, crowded with 
 mammoth ears, and the wheat emulated the corn ; 
 while the squash and pumpkin vines conducted 
 as if on a race to see which would beat in the 
 number and size of their fruit ; and Mr. Payson s 
 pet sorghum a species of sugar-cane shot 
 up to a marvellous perfection. It is true that a 
 neighbor s unruly cattle had broken into the en 
 closure a number of times ; and a contrary sow, 
 with her lively family of eleven, had also made 
 
l6o THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 sundry plundering raids, causing the minister 
 considerable trouble in driving and keeping out 
 the intruders ; but he had already a fine supply 
 of seasoned oak rails under way for perfecting 
 the fences ; and he cheerily said to his wife, 
 
 " Another year, and I ll defy the unruliest ani 
 mals in the settlement to steal an ear of corn or a 
 potato from my lot." 
 
 Summer had now faded into late autumn, 
 and one day the farmer, who had charge of 
 the field, called at Mr. Pay son s, looking very 
 dejected. 
 
 "Elder," said he, "our farming this year is 
 going to be losing business." 
 
 " Why, what s the matter? " asked the clergy 
 man. 
 
 "You see," he replied, "most of the settlers, 
 like myself, came from a warmer climate than 
 this. We were told also that the growing season 
 was as long here as there, and brought our 
 choicest seed with us. But there is not time for 
 it to ripen ; and our corn will not do to grind, nor 
 will it keep, it is so green. It is a great disap 
 pointment to me ; but most of the neighbors are 
 in the same situation." 
 
 Words cannot describe what sad tidings these 
 were to the missionary. 
 
 "The wheat is good is it not?" he inquired. 
 
FIRE AND FLOOD. l6l 
 
 " Yes ; but you know there was little sown, as 
 the ground was best adapted to corn." 
 
 So it turned out that more was realized from 
 the half acre cultivated by the missionary, not 
 withstanding the old farmer laughed at his city 
 style of doing things, than from the nine and a 
 half acres besides. And the year of plenty had 
 to be deferred for another twelvemonth. 
 
 That eighty acres ! how much comfort the 
 missionary and his wife took in the thought that 
 it was, or rather soon would be, theirs ! How 
 many "times they admired its pleasant, rolling as 
 pect, and weighed its prospective value ! And 
 the pretty grove near the cabin, with its straight- 
 growing trees what cosy walks they had with 
 the children in its leafy shade ! What enjoyment 
 in noting the progress made in clearing out the 
 underbrush and trimming the trees of superfluous 
 branches ! 
 
 "If the place was only paid for," said the hus 
 band one day, " I should be glad. Let me see. 
 Eighty acres, at one dollar and twenty-five cents 
 an acre, the government price, would be one 
 hundred dollars. I think I ll act upon Mr. 
 Jones s suggestion, and sell some of the timber 
 across the river, and pre-empt immediately. I 
 have been offered thirty dollars an acre for the 
 privilege of cutting off the wood, and, at that 
 ii 
 
l62 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 rate, three and a half acres would be more than 
 enough." 
 
 So the sale was effected, and, with the hun 
 dred dollars in his pocket, the clergyman started 
 one morning on horseback for the Land Office, 
 thirty-seven miles distant. A horseback ride 
 across a Minnesota prairie is highly exhilarating, 
 and both horse and rider were in good spirits. 
 Seemingly half borne on by a sweeping prairie 
 wind, Mr. Payson reached his destination in 
 some five hours, in season for an early tea ; and 
 the next morning he was conducted to the Land 
 Office by a lawyer acquaintance, and, with a 
 witness at hand to prove what he affirmed, stated, 
 under oath, that he had, on the land he wished to 
 pre-empt, a cabin and other improvements to the 
 amount that the law required ; and then, having 
 paid his hundred dollars, he started towards 
 home with a light heart. 
 
 The day became dark and cloudy; and, as 
 there was only a faint cart track across the prai 
 ries, the minister found, in the course of the 
 afternoon, that he had lost his way. There were 
 no cabins at which he could retrieve his error, 
 and, after many vain endeavors to find the track, 
 he let his horse take his own course ; and, carry 
 ing his master under low-branched trees and 
 through thorny thickets, across a swamp, he 
 brought him out at last by a much shorter route 
 
FIRE AND FLOOD. 163 
 
 than he had taken in going, on the farther bank 
 of the river, near the town. 
 
 As the clergyman neared the village, he no 
 ticed heavy volumes of smoke ascending. Then 
 he saw Mr. Palmer with a force of men busilv 
 engaged in checking a fire that was careering 
 through the bushes. There was a wall of flame 
 between him and them. Striking the road, he 
 dashed through the glowing boundary ; and Mr. 
 Palmer, beckoning to him, said, 
 
 "We have rather bad news to tell } r ou, though 
 not so bad as it might have been. A fire com 
 menced near your place yesterday afternoon, and 
 came near burning the town." 
 
 " A fire there ! " ejaculated the minister. " How 
 did it start?" 
 
 " I cannot stop to tell you," said his bachelor 
 friend; "but your wife, when you get home, 
 will tell you all about it. Had it not been for 
 her, we should have been swept away." 
 
 What a sight met the clergyman s eye as he 
 came into the town ! The entire area, before so 
 like a lawn, looked as if the contents of a large 
 ink-pot had been spread over it. He was re 
 lieved, however, to see that his cabin and the 
 other houses were still standing ; but his wife 
 met him with a depressed bearing quite in con 
 trast to her usual sprightly manner. It so struck 
 to his heart to see how badly she felt, that al- 
 
164 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 though his glance from the saddle showed that 
 the flames had not -spared his beloved grove, and 
 had consumed the rails, of which he had been so 
 proud, and spoiled many a promising tree 
 with a desperate endeavor, he set about comfort 
 ing her. 
 
 "O, this is nothing," said he " nothing at 
 all ! Consider what it would have been had the 
 cabin taken fire, and you and the children been 
 in danger." 
 
 "Which would have been the case, "she added, 
 "had not our quick-moving town owner, Mr. 
 Caswell, come to the rescue with his usual en 
 ergy, at the head of a force of men and teams, 
 bringing with them hogsheads of water, and 
 pails, with which to throw it upon the fire. You 
 have reason to thank them ; for they worked as I 
 never saw men work before." 
 
 " But how did the fire commence ? " he asked. 
 
 "Why, you see," said she, "after you left, I 
 said to the children, Father s gone to the Land 
 Office to buy the land ; and now we ll stir around, 
 and see how nice we can make everything look 
 by the time he gets back. Well, you know how 
 unsightly the chips looked around the house, and 
 which you had not had time to remove. So we 
 went to work raking them up into little heaps. 
 While we were thus employed, we heard the re 
 port of a gun in the bushes near by. The morn- 
 
FIRE AND FLOOD. 165 
 
 ing, you recollect, was quite calm ; but just as 
 the gun was fired, a gust of wind swept over the 
 place, carrying with it some burning wadding 
 that alighted in a dry log some rods away. 
 Before I could get there, the inflammable wood 
 was afire, and from that other sparks had been 
 borne on, and at once had kindled flames in a 
 number of different places. Seeing that it was 
 impossible to arrest the progress of the conflagra 
 tion, I sent Helen to the nearest neighbor s to 
 give the alarm, and, as I have already said, by 
 the help of those that came, our cabin was barely 
 saved, and the neighbors had to fight hard to 
 preserve their own dwellings." 
 
 Each day after that the missionary would walk 
 about his blackened domain, pondering the un 
 certainty of all sublunary things, about which he 
 had so often preached, his wife scrutinizing his 
 disconsolate face the while, and he repeating, 
 with an emphasis that showed he was saying it 
 for his own benefit as much as hers, 
 
 "O, it s nothing at all nothing at all ; and as 
 for those few rails," as he kicked over the burnt 
 fragments with a melancholy look, "they re 
 not of much account, for the piece over the river 
 is pretty well fenced, after all ; luckily, the fires 
 didn t touch them, and we have them safe for 
 another year." 
 
 One afternoon, a few days later, as Mr. Pay- 
 
1 66 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 son was in his attic study absorbed, an unwonted 
 darkness fell upon the page before him ; then a 
 heavy peal of thunder succeeded. It was one 
 long, continuous roll, for an hour or more, with 
 out pause, and the rain poured down as he never 
 saw it in any shower east ; it seemed as if the 
 heavy clouds were literally emptying their con 
 tents upon prairie and forest, while flash followed 
 flash of vivid lightning. Throughout the whole 
 night it rained, and the next day, and the next ; 
 and, were it not for the ancient promise, one 
 might have thought that a second flood was to 
 sweep the inhabitants of the world away. About 
 midnight of the third day of the terrible storm, 
 the family at the missionary s cabin were awa 
 kened by wild shoutings in the village below. 
 
 "What do you suppose is the matter?" asked 
 Mrs. Payson. 
 
 " Nothing serious, I think," said her husband. 
 " As the town site is rolling and descends towards 
 the river, it is probable that the high water has 
 come up into some of the yards and gardens, and 
 perhaps has invaded some of the settlers pig-pens 
 and hen-coops, and the neighbors are working in 
 the rain and darkness to save their live stock." 
 
 The sun came out next morning like " a bride 
 groom from out his chamber, rejoicing as a strong 
 man to run his race," flooding the fields with 
 light, as the clouds had flooded them with water, 
 
FIRE AND FLOOD. 167 
 
 revealing the destruction which the tempest had 
 caused. It appeared that the river, a short dis 
 tance up stream from the town, had become ob 
 structed by dead trees, and brush, and loosened 
 soil, until a heavy body of water had accumu 
 lated, when, the impediment suddenly giving 
 way, the water rushed with tremendous power, 
 inundating a wide extent of ground, and sweep 
 ing away everything movable in its path. Many 
 cabins were flooded, sleepers being awakened by 
 the water dashing against their beds, while arti 
 cles of furniture were floating about in the room. 
 It was this that caused the outcries that Mr. Pay- 
 son had heard. 
 
 The Jones s cabin had been well chosen for 
 safety on ordinary occasions ; but, on the night 
 in question, Tom was awakened by something 
 cold touching his hand ; for, in throwing it out of 
 bed in his sleep, it had been immersed in the 
 water, which had entered the room, and was rap 
 idly rising. Shouting to his mother and the chil 
 dren, he struck a light, and leaped into the 
 water ; and, taking Bub in his arms, and direct 
 ing the movements of the rest, he hurried them 
 out of the door, away from the river bank, as fast 
 as they could go. How providential it was that 
 he should have, in his restlessness, dropped his 
 hand over the bedside ! for scarcely had they as 
 cended a swell of ground beyond the field when 
 
l68 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 the cabin went down with a crash, and the frag 
 ments, whirling about and jarring together, dis 
 appeared from view. 
 
 They were now poorer than ever ; but, cold 
 and wet, with the lightning flashing about them, 
 in the pouring rain, they clung together for mu 
 tual protection, while they took their toilsome and 
 difficult way from the scene of danger. 
 
 There was an unoccupied shanty in the edge 
 of the town farthest from the river, and to that 
 Tom led the terrified and shivering group. It 
 was three full hours before they reached it ; and 
 then they had nothing but the bare walls and 
 the bare floor, with the shelter over their heads, 
 for a resting-place, where, the next day, the mis 
 sionary found them as he went about assisting 
 to succor the sufferers; and, at his suggestion, 
 from the scanty stores of the settlers about, 
 their cabin was fitted out with eatables and 
 housekeeping articles. 
 
 During all this time Mr. Payson had been so 
 occupied in benevolent labor among those whose 
 cabins had been flooded, that it had not occurred 
 to him that he had sustained any damage ; but, 
 after the subsiding of the waters, as he took his 
 way down his favorite path through the grove, 
 he saw that the waters had borne away every 
 vestige of fencing around his cherished ten- 
 acre lot. The highest part of the fence had 
 
FIRE AND FLOOD. 169 
 
 been under water many feet on that calamitous 
 night, and with the loss of the rails had gone 
 down another of the earthly props on which 
 he had leaned for his daily bread in the wil 
 derness. 
 
I7O THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE INDIAN LODGE. 
 
 SPRING on a north-western prairie. What a 
 glorious scene ! Suddenly, you scarcely know 
 when, the snow has disappeared, leaving the 
 long, dead grass lying in matted unsightliness, 
 and you would think it was dead forever ; but 
 soon, in little clusters of from three to seven, 
 you see dotting the landscape a purple flower, a 
 tough, membranous, hairy sheath protecting each 
 floweret from the chilling winds, for it opens at 
 once to your gaze. Then, as the weather waxes 
 genial, the blossoms shoot up from their hirsute 
 guardianship, and nod brightly in the breeze. 
 It is the "spring beauty," as the frontier folk 
 call it, the first vegetation of the season, pre 
 senting the phenomenon of rich blooming flow 
 ers, while yet the lifeless turf shows no signs of 
 vitality. But life is there ; for at once, as if by 
 magic, the whole expanse is green with verdure, 
 growing with marvellous rapidity, decked with 
 flowers. 
 
 " Garden without path or fence, 
 Rolling up its billowy blooms." 
 
* THE INDIAN LODGE. I>JI 
 
 Then you rise some soft morning, and the air 
 is vocal with the cooing of myriad birds. If you 
 are just from the east, you will think that thou 
 sands of turtle doves are announcing that spring 
 has come. They seem close about you ; but you 
 cannot see them. They are not in the groves 
 near by ; you follow the sounds through the wav 
 ing prairie grass for a long distance, and you 
 find them not, and will be surprised when your 
 western friend tells you that these are the voices 
 of the prairie hens, miles away, holding their 
 annual convention, the queer cuckooing not be 
 ing loving sounds, but notes of war abortive 
 attempts at crowing, which the rival males set 
 up as they prepare to do battle with each other. 
 
 And now from the blue expanse overhead 
 come down the varied cries of the migratory 
 birds returning from the south. Line upon line 
 of wild geese, in military order, follow their 
 leader, while the trumpet blasts of the sand-hill 
 cranes the ostrich of the American prairie 
 ring out clear and shrill, and their long white 
 bills glisten in the sunlight from afar, like bris 
 tling bayonets of ivory. 
 
 Tom stood in front of the hotel, enjoying the 
 spring sights and sounds with unusual zest. The 
 two winters now past had been eventful to him. 
 Mr. Payson, the missionary, who had taken a 
 great interest in Tom, had, the winter before, 
 
172 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. ^ 
 
 kept school in his own cabin ; and Tom and his 
 sister Eliza had attended much of the time, their 
 tuition being paid by such assistance as Tom 
 might be able to render Mr. Payson in his out 
 door work. 
 
 Eliza had grown to be a sedate and interesting 
 young woman, and was making good headway 
 with her studies, when one day she gave notice 
 that she should not be able to attend school any 
 longer ; and to her teacher s inquiries she returned 
 only blushes in reply, and he could get no further 
 light until the next day, when an enterprising 
 young man from a " neighboring village," twenty 
 miles distant, called to invite Mr. Payson to join 
 himself and " Miss Eliza " in marriage. 
 
 The last winter the missionary s family had 
 occupied rooms at the hotel. Mrs. Payson had 
 been growingly unhappy from dread of the In 
 dians, and often said to her husband, 
 
 " Our lot is just such a place as they would be 
 likely to come to first." 
 
 Mr. Payson did not share this fear; but, on 
 account of her feelings, the generous-hearted 
 landlord offered them rooms for the winter rent 
 free. 
 
 The winter had gone by without any adverse 
 occurrence. Tom had been prospering in his 
 studies under the missionary s direction, work 
 ing for his board in the family of one of the town 
 
THE INDIAN LODGE. 173 
 
 owners, just opposite the hotel ; so it was but a 
 step for him to the missionary s when he wished 
 to recite. 
 
 "Will you be able to hear my recitation this 
 afternoon?" asked Tom, as Mr. Payson came 
 down the hotel steps. 
 
 "Yes," replied the missionary. "I am called 
 away this morning, but I think I shall get back 
 in season." 
 
 That afternoon, as Tom sat in the missionary s 
 front room, absorbed in a book, the furious bark 
 ing of a dog disturbed him. He glanced out of 
 the window, and saw, to his surprise, an Indian. 
 The savage had turned, facing the hotel, rifle in 
 his hand, and, with flashing eyes, was driving 
 back a large mastiff that had attacked him. Tom 
 was struck with the singular intelligence and 
 beauty of the young savage. He was a shade 
 lighter than most of his race, had large, dark, 
 expressive eyes, regular and finely-cut features, 
 a symmetric form, and his luxuriant black hair, 
 which was of great length, was dressed with 
 most elaborate care, and the ornaments that he 
 wore about his person, and his blanket, were 
 better than those usually worn by Indians. 
 
 From the Indian s manner, Tom concluded 
 that he suspected the dog was set upon him by 
 some white person. The bearing of the red man 
 was lofty, collected, and defiant. In an instant 
 
174 THE CABI N ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Tom sprang down the front stairs, and called the 
 dog off. The Indian, glancing at the lad, went 
 stolidly on his way, up the mam street, through 
 the village, till he was hidden from view by the 
 trees on the missionary s land. 
 
 Mrs. Payson and her children stood at the 
 window, watching the retreating figure of the 
 Indian with mingled fear and admiration. 
 
 " Isn t he handsome ? " exclaimed the elder of 
 the little girls. 
 
 w He certainly is very intelligent looking," re 
 marked her mother; "a noble specimen of the 
 red man." 
 
 "Did you see that Indian?" inquired the land 
 lady, a calm, dignified woman, as she stepped 
 into the room. "One of the boarders says there 
 is quite a company of them encamped on your 
 husband s land. They have a large wigwam, 
 and seem to be making themselves as much at 
 home as if they owned the place." 
 
 The missionary s wife shuddered, and re 
 marked, 
 
 "It is just as I foreboded." 
 
 " But these are friendly," returned the land 
 lady. "The chief has a letter from the gov 
 ernment agent, recommending him to the con 
 fidence and charity of the settlers. It has been 
 a long and hard winter, and the agent says there 
 has been much suffering among the Indians." 
 
THE INDIAN LODGE. 175 
 
 " Is that young Indian the chief ? " asked Mrs. 
 Pay son. 
 
 " No ; I wish he were. He is the finest-look 
 ing savage I ever saw. I don t think I should be 
 afraid to trust him. But the chief looks fright 
 fully ; he is as cruel and treacherous as a snake, 
 or I do not read his face aright." 
 
 " Then you have seen him ? " said the other, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Yes ; I was riding through the woods with 
 husband, and we met him. The young Indian 
 seems to belong to the company, and yet holds 
 himself somewhat aloof from the others, as if he 
 feels conscious of being superior to them, and 
 finds it difficult to fellowship their low ways. 
 To-morrow a party of us are going to call on the 
 Indians at their wigwam, and I stepped in to in 
 vite you to go. There will be a good many of 
 us ; so you needn t fear being tomahawked ! " she 
 added, laughing. 
 
 The visit to the Indians the next day was full 
 of interest to the missionary s family, for, although 
 they had seen numbers of the half-civilized In 
 dians of the Eastern States, they had never before 
 seen the red man in his native wilds, with habits 
 and customs unchanged from their primitive 
 character. The wigwam was large and well 
 constructed, erected in a sheltered and romantic 
 spot, convenient at once to the village, the woods, 
 
176 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 and the river. Within were squatted four or 
 five of the company on the ground, playing a 
 game of chance, in which employment the Indian 
 men spend most of their time, when not hunting, 
 fishing, or at war. There were no women with 
 them, and therefore the men had, besides the cook 
 ing, to do the drudgery usually assigned to the 
 squaws, such as gathering and bringing in the 
 wood, and dressing the skins of the wild an 
 imals. 
 
 The Indians did not lift their eyes as the 
 whites entered through the narrow opening which 
 served as door, and ranged themselves around 
 the sides of the lodge as best they might. Nor 
 did they answer any questions, not appearing 
 to understand a word of English, their faces 
 remaining as stolid under the remarks of the 
 whites as if nothing had been said ; and taking 
 it for granted that the Indians were as ignorant 
 of civilized speech as they appeared, some of 
 the inquisitive pale-faces indulged themselves in 
 quite uncivilized speeches, for they had a tra 
 ditional contempt and hatred of their tawny 
 brothers. 
 
 " You had better not express yourself quite so 
 freely," said Mr. Caswell, the landlord, aside to 
 a settler; "these fellows understand every word 
 you say, and it s better to have the good will 
 than the ill will of a dog, as the old saying is." 
 
THE INDIAN LODGE. 1 77 
 
 Curious, however, to see what the effect would 
 be, those who disliked the Indians the most made 
 them presents with the rest. Tobacco, skeins 
 of cotton, brass buttons, cakes, crackers, cents, 
 sticks of candy, bits of ribbon, were received by 
 the Indians without a word or nod of acknowl 
 edgment. No sign of consciousness of visitor 
 or presents was evinced, save that a grimy 
 hand would deftly clutch the article tossed within 
 its reach, and convey it to the head, quickly and 
 ingeniously twisting it in the hair, the game pro 
 ceeding the while, without a pause. The young 
 Indian played with his companions ; and from 
 his beauty and princely bearing drew much at 
 tention and a large share of the gifts to himself; 
 yet even in receiving the presents he seemed 
 different from the other savages. His was the 
 only face in the swarthy group that betrayed 
 " the workings of the soul ; " and although he 
 fastened the trinkets in his raven locks, drops 
 of sweat stood on his brow, and it seemed as if 
 it cost him a struggle to be treated as an object 
 of charity. 
 
 Tom, with the others, was much struck with 
 the appearance of the young Indian, and made 
 a number of unsuccessful attempts to converse 
 with him. Finding that the "confusion of 
 tongues," or some other barrier, had made talk- 
 
 12 
 
178 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 ing together impossible, in various ingenious 
 ways he tried to direct the Indian s attention to 
 himself, but without avail ; game succeeded 
 game in Indian silence, the talking and advan 
 cing towards acquaintanceship remaining wholly 
 on the side of the whites. 
 
 " How many belong to this company ? " asked 
 Mr. Payson of the landlord. 
 
 " There are nine of them : the rest are out 
 hunting, I suppose," was the reply. 
 
 " And do all these- chaps manage to sleep in 
 this little hut?" asked a settler. 
 
 " A nice time they must have of it on the 
 ground, especially when it rains," added another, 
 pointing up through the roof, which was open, 
 to let out the smoke. 
 
 " But," said the missionary, " everything is in 
 remarkable order here. Don t you see that each 
 man has his place, and on the side of the lodge 
 a snug chance to stow away or hang up his per 
 sonal effects. We whites could scarcely arrange 
 the little space with more fairness and mathe 
 matical precision, so as to make the most of the 
 room." 
 
 It was indeed so; and much did the callers 
 marvel at the intelligent system that prevailed. 
 
 " Some one has had a hand in the ordering 
 of affairs here, who has more intellect than we 
 are accustomed to attribute to the red man ; " and 
 
THE INDIAN LODGE. 179 
 
 the minister glanced at the young Indian, as if 
 to say, " It must be due to him." 
 
 But twilight was falling, and the villagers 
 started on their way home. Scarcely, however, 
 had they passed the hedge of elders and the 
 rows of young oaks that hid the abode of the 
 Indians from view, when from within the wig 
 wam there went up a startling whoop and yell, 
 mingled with derisive laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Payson stood still, pale with terror, as if 
 expecting to see the savages rush out to massacre 
 them. But they kept within their tent, their 
 horrible whoopings and mockings continuing 
 until the whites were well away. 
 
 " I do not like the sound of those yells," said 
 the missionary, soberly. 
 
 " O, the Indians are only amusing themselves 
 by trying to scare the women and children," re 
 plied Mr. Caswell, merrily. 
 
 " There is more than that intended," returned 
 the minister. " There was the bitterest irony and 
 hatred expressed in those tones. If the authors 
 of them dared, or it was in their plan to do so 
 now, they would spring upon us with the eager 
 ness of so many beasts of prey." 
 
 The next day eight of the Indians walked into 
 the village, one after the other, as is the Indian 
 way, and called at the hotel to beg. They had 
 found their tongues over night, and could man- 
 
l8o THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 age, not only to understand, when it was for 
 their interest, what was said to them, but in 
 broken English make reply. They were a fine 
 set of men, physically tall, broad-chested, 
 erect ; and, wrapped in their white and red blan 
 kets, they made a formidable appearance. There 
 was no touch of fawning or crouching in their 
 manner. They demanded the articles given them, 
 rather than begged. You would have thought 
 them lords of the soil, come to collect rent of 
 tardy tenantry. 
 
 The young Indian, however, still preserved 
 his individuality, and various romantic conjectures 
 were conjured up in imaginative heads concern 
 ing him. Some went so far as to assert that he 
 had no Indian blood in him, and started the 
 theory that he must have had white parentage, 
 and that he might have been stolen, when a 
 child, from some noble white family. But the 
 more experienced of the pioneers set that at rest 
 by affirming that they could tell the pure, un 
 mixed Indian, and that he was one. 
 
 Tom lingered much about him. 
 
 " O," said he to the missionary, "if I could 
 only talk with him, how I would love to teach 
 him how to read, and speak to him of the blessed 
 things in the Bible ! " 
 
 " That is on my mind most of the time, Tom," 
 replied the good man. " I am often asking my- 
 
THE INDIAN LODGE. l8l 
 
 self. Can I not, in gome way, lead these be 
 nighted souls to the Lamb of God? But how 
 inaccessible they are ! What an impassable bar 
 rier between them and us ! and, with the ex 
 ception of the youngest of them, how brutal 
 and low ! To see such splendidly-formed men 
 spend their time squatted on the earth, playing 
 jack-straws, or some equally silly game, from 
 morning to night, is pitiful. And then their 
 yelling and laughter are more like wild beasts 
 or demons than human beings. These people 
 seem to me the lowest, meanest, most treacher 
 ous, and hardened of the human race. I do not 
 wonder that it is so difficult to civilize or Chris 
 tianize them." 
 
 Weeks went by, and the Indians remained in 
 their lodge, daily growing bolder and more in 
 trusive, till they had become obnoxious to the 
 most benevolent of the settlers. It had come to 
 be not over pleasant to the women of the neigh 
 borhood to look up from their domestic duties, 
 and see that a grim savage had stolen into the 
 house, and, unasked, seated himself in a chair, 
 ready, as soon as he thought best, to nod, in a 
 dictatorial way, towards some coveted article, in 
 a manner which meant, 
 
 " Hand that to me ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Tom and the young Indian who, 
 whether that was his real Indian name or not, 
 
1 82 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 was called Long Hair had become quite in 
 timate. Nevertheless, not many words passed 
 between them, for Long Hair was more reticent, 
 if possible, than the rest of his company. But 
 without word-signs they managed to understand 
 each other. Long Hair, indeed, appeared to 
 read Tom s thoughts intuitively, and Mrs. Pay- 
 son was often made anxious for Tom, because 
 he would be gone so long in the woods with 
 Long Hair. The latter had selected a tree for a 
 canoe, and Tom, with his sharp-edged axe, cut 
 it down for him, and helped him dig it out and 
 shape it. A strange sympathy had grown up 
 between them, and one evening, as Tom was on 
 his way to the prayer-meeting, chancing to meet 
 Long Hair, he invited the latter to accompany 
 him, trying, with great earnestness, to make him 
 comprehend the object of the gathering. Long 
 Hair seemed to gain a dim perception of what 
 his friend meant, and, after much persuasion, 
 entered with Tom the cabin in which the meeting 
 was to be held. The Indian s face gave evi 
 dence of great excitement as the service s pro 
 gressed ; the deep solemnity of the prayers, and 
 the devout strains of Christian song, took power 
 ful hold of the red man s feelings. Doubtless he 
 understood little of the scene in which, for the 
 first time, he mingled; but a potent influence 
 went along with it, and so affected was he, that 
 
THE INDIAN LODGE. 183 
 
 his hand sought Tom s, and he held it in a 
 strong, tender grasp till the meeting closed, his 
 frame trembling with emotion. And yet Tom 
 could not converse with him afterwards ; and 
 what the nature of the emotion was that shook 
 him so, what thoughts were stirred, and with 
 what result for eternity in the bosom of that silent 
 son of the prairie, who, for the first time, had 
 attended Christian worship, no one knew. 
 Tom could not induce him to attend again, and 
 yet he did not seem offended at what he had 
 heard ; but when his white friend alluded to it, 
 his eye gleamed with a new light, and his face 
 looked thoughtfully, doubtfully serious. 
 
 Nearly every day Tom and Long Hair were 
 together, the latter keeping but little in the wig 
 wam, and seldom going with the other Indians. 
 When they filed into town, and besieged the 
 houses, trying the doors, peeping into the win 
 dows, accosting the street-passers, Long Hair 
 was not with them ; and when at evening they 
 returned exultant from a successful hunt, sing 
 ing their strong-lunged song of triumph, their 
 wild and scarcely human " Hi yar I hi yar ! " 
 growing nearer, till, entering the village, they 
 sang their way through to their lodge, Long Hair 
 was not of their number. 
 
 One day Tom, chancing to visit the wigwam, 
 found Long Hair there, shivering with a violent 
 
184 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 attack of ague. He was alone, and had been 
 for two days. 
 
 How bare and cheerless appeared the Indian s 
 life to Tom s sympathetic nature then ! for an 
 Indian, when sick, has few comforts. Solitary 
 he sits wrapped in his blanket, or lies on the 
 ground, with no one to nurse or care for him ; no 
 nice dishes to tempt his feeble appetite, no hand 
 to bathe his fevered brow, no medicines to as 
 suage his pain or drive disease away. 
 
 "Why, Long Hair," cried Tom, "why didn t 
 you let me know that you were sick ? " 
 
 But Long Hair sat shaking in his blanket, and, 
 as usual, heard, but made no answer, only with 
 his expressive eyes. 
 
 Tom brought in wood, and started the fire, and 
 saying, " Mother 11 know just what to do for you, 
 Long Hair 5 I ll go and tell her how you are," he 
 ran to his mother s cabin, and, quickly making 
 some nourishing gruel, and putting up a store of 
 simples that she used in fever and ague, she re 
 turned with Tom to the lodge. What a treasure is a 
 loving, experienced woman in sickness, whether 
 in a palace, a log house, or beneath the rude 
 shelter of an Indian s moving home ever gen 
 tle, exhaustless in resources, untiring in her min 
 istrations ! It seemed a marvel to Tom how read 
 ily his mother knew just what to do for Long 
 Hair, intuitively adapting herself to his Indian 
 
THE INDIAN LODGE. 185 
 
 peculiarities ; and, for the week that his illness 
 lasted, she nursed him with great tenderness, 
 often remarking to Tom, 
 
 " He is one of God s children, Tom ; for the 
 Bible says, God has made of one blood all the 
 nations of men to dwell upon the face of the 
 earth, and Jesus died for the red man as much as 
 for the white." 
 
 Through all this womanly care of him by Mrs. 
 Jones, and brotherly attention of Tom, the In 
 dian, while shivering with the chill, or burning 
 and panting with the fever, made no acknowl 
 edgments of kindness shown him, or uttered a 
 word of complaint as he suffered, and, when he 
 recovered, returned in silence to his Indian occu 
 pations. 
 
 " I wouldn t give one of the red skins a glass 
 of water to save his life ! " exclaimed a settler 
 who had lost by the depredations of the Indians. 
 "There isn t a particle of gratitude in one of 
 em. Give any of them all you have, and ten 
 to one he ll steal upon you out of a bush, and 
 take your scalp." 
 
 "It is too true of most of the Indians, I ad 
 mit," said Mrs. Jones, " and perhaps Long Hair 
 will prove ungrateful ; but I only did as the 
 Bible directs, and I am contented." 
 
 But, some days after, as Long Hair strode 
 into her cabin with a freshly-killed deer on his 
 
1 86 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 shoulder, which he deposited at her feet, saying, 
 as he left, for he tarried not to sit down, 
 " White squaw, much good ; Long Hair bring ven 
 ison," Mrs. Jones wiped the tears from her eyes, 
 rejoicing more to find that there was gratitude 
 even in an Indian s heart, than at receiving his 
 generous gift. 
 
LONGHAIR AND HIS PRESENT. Page 186. 
 
THE WAR-SONG. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 r THE WAR-SONG. 
 
 MRS. PAYSON sat sewing in her pleasant room 
 at the hotel. Her thoughts were far away from 
 the checkered experiences of the frontier, for 
 her husband having received by the last mail 
 a new book from an eastern friend read while 
 she plied her needle. Baby was in his crib in the 
 bed-room adjoining, and Fannie and Helen were 
 whispering in a matronly way in the corner, as 
 with the help of mother s scissors they fitted their 
 dolls to new dresses. Had you looked in upon 
 the group, you would not realize that they consti 
 tuted a pioneer missionary s family ; for the hotel 
 building was tasteful and spacious, and if they 
 lived and dressed plainly, and often felt the pinch- 
 ings of poverty, their appearance betrayed no 
 unhappiness. And then the volume had trans 
 ported the father and mother to other and brighter 
 scenes than those of the uncultured wilderness. 
 The tone of the reader in its subdued or im 
 passioned modulations attested the interest he 
 felt in the volume, and the heightened color of 
 
1 88 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 the wife showed her sympathy with the theme. 
 What a magician is a book ! It can cause the 
 poor to forget their poverty, and the wanderer in 
 a distant land to become oblivious of his exile. 
 
 "What was that?" exclaimed the missionary 
 and his wife at once, as they sprang to their feet 
 in breathless suspense. 
 
 Again the horrible cry broke forth, seeming to 
 come from the room below. 
 
 At this moment the fair face of the landlady 
 appeared, and she said, 
 
 " The Indians are below, and are going to sing 
 for us. Won t you come down and hear them?" 
 
 " Rather discordant music," answered the min 
 ister ; " but I think we may as well accept your 
 invitation don t you, wife ? " and taking the chil 
 dren with them, they descended to the dining- 
 room. Ranged round the long table were eight 
 savages, and sitting back against the walls a few 
 boarders, for most of the household were away. 
 Some of the Indians held tin pans, and on these, 
 as an accompaniment, they beat time with iron 
 instruments, their heavy blows making a deafen 
 ing din, and their harsh, guttural notes, uttered in 
 unison, made the diabolical uproar. Mr. Pay- 
 son s inspection of the performers in this strange 
 concert was anything but satisfactory to him. 
 The manner of the savages was impudent and 
 brutal beyond anything he had yet seen in them, 
 
THE WAR-SONG. 189 
 
 and he fancied that their sneering and malignant 
 grimaces and serpent-like contortions of the body 
 expressed evil and vengeful passions that burned 
 within. On the faces of the whites a startled, 
 anxious look struggled, with an effort to feel at 
 ease, and fear nothing. 
 
 "There is something wrong about these In 
 dians," whispered the minister to a man near 
 him ; "they are plotting mischief; their looks and 
 tones are full of ugliness ; and I am convinced 
 that if they intend no trouble to-night, they know 
 that some hidden danger threatens us. See how 
 that chiefs eye glares. Observe the murderous 
 leer of the one beside him. Notice how they 
 mock and insult us to our very faces. Now, how 
 awfully jubilant their tones, as if they had us at 
 their mercy. Do you suppose they are secretly 
 armed?" and, rising, he went calmly from In 
 dian to Indian, lifting the blanket of each, to see 
 if a rifle cut short, or some other deadly weapon, 
 was not concealed there. But none was to be 
 found ; and at the close of their alarming exhi 
 bition, the chief haughtily arose, bowed to the 
 missionary, who was now seated again, and passed 
 out ; each of his followers imitating him in the 
 salute as he glided from the room. 
 
 " The Indians have taken down their wigwam, 
 and gone away," said Tom to Mr. Payson, the 
 next day. 
 
190 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied the missionary ; 
 " they are a dangerous set, and I have been quite 
 anxious lest the settlers should get into a quarrel 
 with them. But what makes you look so de 
 pressed? Are any of your folks sick?" 
 
 " No," replied Tom, striving to appear calm. 
 " Father came home last night " 
 
 "Well, that was a pleasant surprise was it 
 not?" interrupted his kind friend. 
 
 " Yes ; but but he wants us to remove." 
 
 "Remove! Whereto?" 
 
 Near Spirit Lake." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that. I heard this morning 
 that the Sioux are quite insolent towards the set 
 tlers in that vicinity, and threaten an outbreak. 
 I must see your father, and dissuade him from his 
 project ; " and the minister proceeded to the cabin 
 occupied by the Joneses. 
 
 It w r as near Spirit Lake that Mr. Jones was 
 wounded by the Indian. This, however, did not 
 deter him from going there again to hunt. Three 
 promising young settlements had sprung up there, 
 side by side, for the beauty, fertility, and cheap 
 ness of the land had attracted quite an immigra 
 tion that way. Mr. Jones had mingled much 
 with the settlers, for an entirely new country 
 had special charms for him, and his knowledge 
 of all matters most needful to the pioneer made 
 him a welcome acquaintance. He had become a 
 
THE WAR-SONG. 19 1 
 
 great favorite with the inhabitants. The Indians 
 were numerous and bold, but entertained a whole 
 some dread of the squatter s rifle and personal 
 courage ; and the whites, although they did not 
 anticipate serious trouble with the savages, felt so 
 much safer when he was with them, that they 
 offered him a comfortable cabin, and promised 
 other advantages if he would dwell among 
 them. Among the Indians Mr. Jones went by 
 the name of Long Rifle^ and they expressed great 
 admiration of his marksmanship. Occasions not 
 unfrequently happened for him to show his su 
 perior qualities in that line. For example, the 
 squatter happened in one day at a cabin, and 
 found some half dozen Indians there, who had 
 busied themselves, in the absence of the men, in 
 rummaging the house for plunder, greatly to the 
 terror of the women and children. As Mr. Jones 
 appeared, they seated themselves with Indian 
 gravity, refusing to answer a word, while their 
 faces wore an angry and sullen look. Among 
 these were some famous for their skill with the 
 rifle, and, knowing their passion for target-shoot 
 ing, he proposed at once a trial of skill. This 
 was eagerly accepted ; but the squatter triumphed 
 in the contest, and the Indians went away much 
 impressed with the result. 
 
 When Mr. Jones returned to his family, and 
 mentioned his decision to remove, the mother 
 
THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 heard his account with a foreboding heart, but 
 made no objection, only saying, 
 
 " We mustn t take Tom away from his studies." 
 
 To this the father assented, for he really felt 
 grateful to the missionary for the interest he took 
 in his son, and proud of the progress the lad was 
 making in his books. 
 
 "Tom," said he, "has a good chance, and it 
 isn t in me to discourage him." 
 
 It was, however, more difficult to persuade Tom 
 to remain behind, than for his parents to give him 
 up, hard as it was for them. He had so long 
 been the staff of his mother, that it seemed like 
 selfish desertion for him to stay with the mission 
 ary, while she went farther off on the frontier. 
 
 " It is your duty to remain, Tom," urged the 
 mother. "God has opened the way for you to 
 cultivate your mind, and fit yourself for useful 
 ness ; and we shall not be so far away but that 
 you can come to us at any time, if we need you." 
 
 " And are you not afraid to go where there are 
 so many Indians?" asked Tom. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "I am afraid; and yet I 
 feel strengthened to go. Your father will be 
 useful there. He is fitted to take the lead in case 
 of trouble with the savages ; the settlers look up 
 to him, and depend upon him, and I cannot find 
 it in my heart to hold him back ; and if he goes, 
 it is best for me to be with him. If you remain 
 
THE WAR SONG. 
 
 behind, we shall have in you a friend to as 
 sist us if any trouble should arise. You might 
 be able to do more for us here than if shut up 
 with us by a common danger." 
 
 And so, with many a last farewell by the fond 
 mother, Tom saw them start for their new. home. 
 13 
 
194 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 
 
 BETWEEN the settlement in which the mission 
 ary lived and the one next north-east was a wide 
 prairie, succeeded by a stretch of primitive for 
 ests, through which, down its abysmal, rocky bed, 
 ran a foaming river. The limestone bluffs that 
 formed its banks abounded in holes and caves 
 fitting homes for wild beasts. Here the cry of 
 the panther might be heard, and bears and 
 wolves sought their food. 
 
 Through these gloomy solitudes Tom was 
 making his way in the buggy, which the mis 
 sionary had provided ; for Tom had been in 
 trusted with the errand of going to the village 
 beyond for a trunk which had arrived from the east 
 for Mr. Pay son. He was jogging along, listen 
 ing to the strange sounds of the forest; for it 
 was near here, the last winter, that a sight met his 
 gaze that he could never forget. There had been 
 a succession of those still snow-storms which so 
 often come in the night in Minnesota, and go off 
 at day-dawn, leaving a perfectly even coating of 
 
THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 195 
 
 snow over everything. The sleighing was quite 
 passable, and the weather, that day, mild. Com 
 ing suddenly to an open space, within a few feet 
 of him, were two large gray wolves, eating a 
 horse not yet dead. The poor beast was still at 
 tached to his team, and hopelessly struggled 
 against his twofold fate ; for he had fallen into 
 a sink-hole that the treacherous snow had con 
 cealed, and his driver, unable to extricate him, 
 had abandoned him to his fate, or gone for help. 
 Brandishing his . whip, Tom shouted at the 
 wolves in hope of frightening them off. They 
 only raised their heads to glare threateningly at 
 him, their jaws dripping blood, then voraciously 
 resumed their gory repast, tearing great quiver 
 ing masses of flesh from the struggling beast, 
 which they seemed to swallow without chewing, 
 with such a ravenous appetite did they eat. 
 
 Tom was a brave lad. But as he descended 
 the side of the hill towards the river, and the 
 dense shadows made his way dim, although it 
 was high noon and a brilliant sun was flooding 
 the prairies, he could not shake off a Reeling of 
 dread that had grown upon him. Every now 
 and then he caught himself starting with nervous 
 apprehension, and, to break the spell, he began 
 to whistle a merry tune, to keep up his courage, 
 as boys are wont to do. But he was thinking 
 how dismally it sounded, when, suddenly, in the 
 
Ip THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 distance rang out the clear notes of a robin. 
 Tom involuntarily reined in his horse at that ; 
 for the call of that bird his Indian friend Long 
 Hair used to imitate for a signal, and had taught 
 Tom how to do it. 
 
 "For the sake of Long Hair," said Tom, 
 more cheerily, "I ll answer you, old bird." 
 
 But scarcely had he done so, when, to his 
 surprise, the bird responded. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, "you think I m your mate, 
 I guess; and if you choose to give me your 
 company, I shall not object, it is so lonely 
 here ! " 
 
 So he answered the robin again. 
 
 Instantly the bushes parted, and Long Hair 
 stepped into view. His eyes were bloodshot, his 
 blanket torn, and his whole appearance indicated 
 that something unusual had happened. 
 
 "Why, Long Hair ! " exclaimed Tom, greatly 
 startled ; " what is the matter? " 
 
 The Indian glanced warily about, then laid 
 his ear to the ground, listening intently, and 
 arose quickly, saying, 
 
 " Indian come. Much fight. Kill white man ; 
 kill white squaw ; kill pappoose." 
 
 "What of my father and mother?" inquired 
 Tom, excitedly. " Have they been murdered?" 
 
 " Long Hair save um little ; father shoot one, 
 two, tree, ten Injun. Long Hair been up to Fort. 
 
THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 197 
 
 Sojer no bleeve Long Hair ; say he spy. Long 
 Hair come for Tom to get sojer. Injun see Long 
 Hair; be here pretty soon one, two, tree, ten, 
 twenty, fifty! Kill Long Hair, kill Tom, take 
 scalp. Tom go with Long Hair. He save him. 
 Horse know way home." 
 
 Tom saw, from Long Hair s manner, that it 
 was no time for delay, and, leaping from the 
 wagon, with marvellous quickness the Indian 
 turned the horse s head about, facing home, and, 
 striking him smartly, the spirited animal rapidly 
 retraced his way. 
 
 At their right rose a rocky ridge to a consid 
 erable height, springing up which Long Hair 
 motioned Tom to follow. The other side was 
 quite precipitous ; but a narrow fissure hi the 
 rock afforded a scanty footing, down which the 
 Indian glided, Tom following him, although 
 dizzy with the height. Passing along for a short 
 distance, they came to a scrub oak, the roots of 
 which had struck into the side of the ledge. 
 Climbing around it, a small opening appeared. 
 Motioning Tom to enter, Long Hair said, 
 
 "If both stay, Injun kill both. Long Hair 
 run swift like deer ; " and he darted up the ridge 
 again with cat-like agility. 
 
 When Tom s eyes became accustomed to the 
 darkness, he found himself in a spacious, rocky 
 room. It was one of those natural caves which 
 
198 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 seem as if the work of art, rather than a freak of 
 nature. The room was almost a perfect square, 
 and extending around its sides was a seat of solid 
 rock, while in a square hole, which looked as if 
 it had been excavated for the purpose, was a 
 spring, the water of which was icy cold, and of 
 crystal clearness. 
 
 Tom seated himself to await the result of the 
 strange events that had so suddenly befallen 
 him. Not a sound was to be heard in the forest ; 
 and had he not known enough of the Indian 
 acuteness in detecting the approach of a con 
 cealed or distant foe, he would have doubted 
 Long Hair s representations of the impending 
 peril. Indeed, as the moments sped, and they 
 seemed long to him, he had begun to consider 
 the propriety of venturing out to look about a 
 little, when a slight rustle in the ravine below 
 arrested his attention. At any other time he 
 would not have noticed the sound, it was so like 
 the passing of the breeze. The scrawny roots 
 of the tree at the entrance of the cave, and the 
 darkness within, protected him from observation ; 
 and, drawing nearer the mouth of the cavern, 
 he watched the bushes below with strained eye. 
 He had not long to wait when he saw an Indian 
 creeping cautiously along ; then, a little farther 
 off, another came into view, and still another. 
 They were Long Hair s pursuers ; and from 
 
THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 199 
 
 their belts hung a number of scalps, which, from 
 their bloody appearance, showed that they had 
 recently been taken; and the luxuriant tresses 
 of some of them indicated that they were from 
 the heads of white women. At the sight Tom s 
 blood almost froze in his veins. But his heart 
 gave a sudden bound as he heard the sound of 
 soft footfalls. From this he judged that the In 
 dians had got upon Long Hair s trail, and some 
 of them had gone round in front of the ridge, 
 while the others followed closely in his track. 
 Tom felt that his hour had come, and a mortal 
 terror seized him. Then, thinking of his im 
 perilled father and mother, to whose succor Long 
 Hair had bidden him go, he was astonished at 
 the fierce reaction which followed. He had no 
 weapons ; so, planting himself behind the tree, 
 he lay in wait, ready to spring upon the first 
 intruder, and hurl him into the depths below. 
 
 The dark figure of an Indian creeping stealth 
 ily along, like a horrid serpent, he saw cau 
 tiously approaching the tree : a moment more, 
 and the death grapple would come, when an ex 
 clamation above made the Indian turn his head. 
 Long Hair s trail, returning from the cave, had 
 been struck by another Indian. At the same 
 instant, Long Hair s defiant war-whoop, challen 
 ging his pursuers to come on, was heard in the 
 distance. The answering yell of the savages 
 
2OO THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 from the ravine below and the ridge above rang 
 out as they dashed after. The Indian, unaware 
 of the presence of Tom, stepped to the tree to 
 turn himself on the face of the cliff, so that he 
 stood with his brawny back close to Tom. His 
 waist also was hung with gory scalps. The 
 sight maddened Tom to frenzy. The savage let 
 go the tree, and started to join the chase, when 
 Tom thrust his hands at once through the fissure, 
 and sent him headlong from the precipice. The 
 body struck with a dull, heavy thud, and all was 
 still. 
 
 Tom could hear the sound of the pursuit as it 
 died away, and knew that there was now no im 
 mediate danger to him ; and, stooping down, he 
 took a long draught from the spring, and bathed 
 his fevered brow. Then; climbing out of his 
 hiding-place, he passed quickly upon the ridge, 
 and descended into the ravine below, where lay 
 the mutilated form of the red man. 
 
 " Who knows but he is the murderer of some 
 of our family? " he said, as he drew near. " No ; 
 none of our folks have such hair as that," he 
 added, after examining the scalps, one by one. 
 Then, taking possession of the rifle, powder- 
 horn, and bullet-pouch, and thrusting the In 
 dian s scalping-knife into his belt, and throwing 
 some limbs over the body, that it might not so 
 soon be discovered by his friends, Tom hurried 
 
. THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 2OI 
 
 away in the direction of the fort, as Long Hair 
 had suggested. He lingered a moment, how 
 ever, wishing that he could do something to 
 serve Long Hair, who, he well knew, had ut 
 tered that challenging war-cry that saved his 
 life on purpose to call the Indians away from the 
 cave. 
 
 But what was he? A mere boy against so 
 many infuriated savages. Besides, they were 
 now far away, he knew not where. Moreover, 
 Long Hair had charged him to go for the sol 
 diers to rescue his father and mother, and, with 
 out further hesitation, he turned his steps towards 
 the fort. Tom was in good health, a quick 
 walker, and, like his father, accustomed to thread 
 the woods and traverse the prairies. 
 
 Tom was agitated with strong and conflicting 
 emotions as he pursued his lonely way. His 
 boy-nature had been terribly roused by the ex 
 citing scenes through which he had just passed. 
 He had experienced the strange feeling which 
 men feel, when, in battle, they are stirred by dan 
 ger and the sight of blood to deeds of blood. 
 It was under this feeling that he was led to pre 
 cipitate the Indian from the bluff, and to view his 
 remains with so much composure. But now a 
 faintness came stealing over him. His young 
 heart recoiled at the thought of what he had 
 done. This relenting, however, was repelled by 
 
2O2 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 the recollection of Long Hair s heroism, and his 
 father and mother s beleagured condition, if, in 
 deed, the tomahawk ere this had not drank their 
 life. How many days had passed since Long 
 Hair had seen them he knew not ; but it was 
 easy to see from his friend s anxiety that his 
 parents were in an extremity of danger, and 
 whether he could succeed in procuring assistance 
 for them in season seemed doubtful. It would 
 take him, to go afoot, two days to reach the fort; 
 and he could not hope to get to his father s settle 
 ment with the soldiers in less than a day more, 
 even if they were mounted. It was now about 
 two o clock, and he had eaten nothing since 
 early in the morning ; but he thought not of food 
 as he hurried on. With the accuracy of the 
 practised pioneer he struck a bee-line for the fort. 
 This took him some miles away from any village ; 
 but towards night he reached a cabin standing 
 alone. Entering, he found the family just taking 
 their evening meal. With true western hospital 
 ity, the man of the house urged him to sit down 
 and partake with them, while his wife poured out 
 a generous bowl of strong, black coffee, which, 
 as was the custom, was used without sugar or 
 milk ; and she heaped his plate with fried pork, 
 and hot, mealy potatoes, while by the side of his 
 plate she laid a generous slice of brown bread. 
 
THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 203 
 
 Tom partook with a relish that did honor to the 
 fare. 
 
 "Where are you from, and where are you 
 bound, my lad?" asked the man, who had re 
 frained from questions until he saw that his guest 
 was well under way eating. 
 
 Tom s mouth and heart were full, and between 
 them both he found it difficult to reply. He was 
 painfully hungry from his long fast and the thrill 
 ing experiences of the day, and his brain was 
 greatly excited. 
 
 w I am going," said he, answering the last 
 question first, perhaps because it was nearest at 
 hand, "to the fort after help." 
 
 "After help ! " cried the wife, stopping short in 
 the act of transferring a potato from the end of 
 her fork to Tom s plate, holding it aloft uncon 
 sciously. " Ain t any trouble down your way 
 with the Injuns is there?" 
 
 "No, not exactly," said Tom. 
 
 And the good woman, relieved, remembered 
 the potato, and deposited it as she had designed, 
 then was proceeding to place another slice of 
 pork beside it, just as Tom added, 
 
 " But I saw lots of them this morning not more 
 than twelve miles from here, and they looked 
 fierce enough in their war-paint, and with the 
 bloody scalps dangling from their bodies." 
 
 " Goodness gracious ! " exclaimed the good 
 
204 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 lady ; and, again forgetting herself, she paused 
 with the pork, letting the fat drip upon the 
 snowy cloth. "I told you, husband, they d be 
 down upon us yet, and we more n three miles 
 from any neighbor." 
 
 And as Tom commenced his recital of the 
 occurrences of the morning, she sat down in her 
 chair with the slice of meat still in its elevated 
 position, and the gravy dripping into her lap, 
 while the husband ceased eating, and listened 
 with open-mouthed interest. 
 
 Tom eyed the pork longingly as he continued 
 his narration, and, seeing no prospect of getting 
 it, abruptly said, 
 
 " I hadn t tasted a bit of food till I came here 
 since five o clock this morning, and I ve got to 
 walk all night." 
 
 " Law me ! " ejaculated his good-hearted host 
 ess ; " if I haven t forgot to -help ye, I was so 
 scared bout the Injuns ; " and she passed it, add 
 ing, "Husband, you jist go down cellar, and 
 bring up a pumpkin pie, and some o that ginger 
 bread. The boy mustn t leave this huss till he s 
 had his fill ; " and the tears came into her large 
 blue eyes. " And are you going with the sojers 
 over among the Injuns where your father and 
 mother is ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Tom. 
 
 " Why, it seems to me that a stripling like you 
 
THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 205 
 
 had best stay behind, and keep out o danger. 
 One o them Injuns wouldn t make nothin o tak 
 ing your scalp." 
 
 Tom s spirit rose at this, and he told them how 
 he killed the Indian in the morning. 
 
 " Well, I never ! " said the good lady, in blank 
 astonishment. " Why, I don t s pose my husband 
 here would be any more dependence if them wild 
 critters should come beseeching our dwelling than 
 a three-year-old." 
 
 At which the husband thrust his hand up into 
 his wiry hair, till he made it stand upon end all 
 over his head, while he grew very red in the 
 face, and said, fiercely, 
 
 "Let the varmints come on if they wants, to. 
 Guess I could stand it if you could." 
 
 Tom saw that there was danger of a falling 
 out between his fat, overgrown hostess and her 
 diminutive husband, and adroitly said, 
 
 "We don t any one of us know what we could 
 do until the time comes. I was surprised my 
 self at what I had done." 
 
 "Well," said the woman, restored to good 
 humor, "there s a great deal o good sense in 
 that remark. I know it from experience. For 
 when I had the toothache so that I couldn t sleep 
 nights for a week, and husband wanted to take 
 me over to Groveville, to the doctor s, I felt as 
 weak as dish-water; but when I got there, I 
 
2O6 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 had out two jaw teeth and a stump without win- 
 cm , as you may say, and the doctor said he d 
 like me for a subject to pull on all the time. But 
 I told him it would take two to make a bargain 
 on that, I reckoned ; " and she laughed heartily 
 at the remembrance of her own wit. 
 
 But Tom had finished his meal, and rose to go, 
 when his hostess said, 
 
 " You won t think o travelling in the night 
 willyer?" 
 
 " Every moment is precious," replied Tom. 
 
 "Well, husband," said she, "if the boy feels, 
 under the circumstances, that he must go, it isn t 
 in me to detain ^him. But it seems to me we orter 
 do as we d be did by; and help him onto his 
 way a piece. Now, you jist go and harness the 
 hoss into the waggin while I put up something 
 to stay his stomach like till he gets to the fort. 
 You could drive him there just as well as not, 
 husband." 
 
 " Pretty long drive," observed the man, look 
 ing out of the little window dubiously. 
 
 "Well, but," she persisted, "you see the child s 
 got to go^all the way afoot, and it ll take so long 
 that his folks 11 be killed, murdered, tomahawked, 
 and scalped, afore he can git there." Then, 
 waxing warm, "an if you* an I was in that per- 
 dicament, we d want them as was going to help 
 
THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 207 
 
 us not to aggervate our feelin s by coming to our 
 rescue when it was too late." 
 
 "Yes, yes," returned the little man, unable to 
 reply to his wife s wordy reasoning. 
 
 " Now, if you re not afeard " 
 
 "Afeard!" said he, bristling his hair, and 
 reddening again. "Who s afeard? I was only 
 thinking, if the Injuns should come whilst I m 
 gone, what would become of you, Barberv 
 Jane." 
 
 "Well," said she, looking aghast, and sinking 
 into her chair anew, " I declare, if I hadn t forgot 
 that ! " 
 
 But she was a person who " made it a point " 
 to carry her point in all domestic arrangements 
 and controversies with her lord ; and partly on 
 this principle, andpartly, we hope, from a worthier 
 motive, she rallied, and added, 
 
 "But I ll risk it, if you will, James. An I m 
 more in danger n you are, bein I m so fleshy. 
 You can hide most anywhere in the woods, and 
 they couldn t find ye any more n a needle in a 
 haymow ; an I never could stand it to think on t 
 that we d been sich cowards " 
 
 " Cowards ! " interrupted her husband, goaded 
 by this ; for on the matter of size and courage he 
 was specially sore a wound which his spouse 
 took care to keep open. " Cowards ! " and, bris 
 tling about, and striking his feet together, he 
 
2O8 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 bustled out, and, with commendable energy, soon 
 had the horse in the buggy before the door. Tom 
 sprang in, as the kind-hearted woman passed him 
 a bountiful supply of provisions, saying, as she 
 wiped her eyes with her apron, 
 
 " I hope next time you come this way you ll 
 be alive an well ; but I m dreadful afeard the 
 Injuns 11 git ye." The latter remark seemed to 
 have more effect upon her husband than Tom, 
 for the flush disappeared from his cheeks again. 
 
 The ponderous wife watched the wagon until 
 it was out of sight", then, with much pains, fas 
 tened the little window and the outer door, and, 
 going to her trunk, took from thence a copy of 
 the Bible, and sat down and read a chapter a 
 duty which she always performed on extra occa 
 sions, and especially in times of danger. It 
 mattered not to her what chapter she read ; and 
 she now opened to the genealogical records in 
 Firs t Chronicles. She was a poor reader at best ; 
 but she struggled on with those names of foreign 
 accent, feeling much safer with the exercise, while 
 her thoughts were far away, following Tom and 
 her husband. In truth, she had done a good 
 deed, and one that had cost her a real sacrifice, 
 in sending away her husband with the horse to 
 accompany the lad ; and the consciousness of 
 this began to fill her with happiness, calmed as 
 she was by the feeling of security which the 
 
THE MASSACRE AT SPIRIT LAKE. 
 
 use of the good Book imparted. Hers was a 
 simple-hearted faith ; but who shall say that she 
 was not accepted and blessed according to the 
 measure of her light? 
 
 Who would not choose to be such a one, 
 with her defective knowledge and her weak 
 superstition, as some would call it, than the 
 proud sceptic, ever croaking, like some hideous 
 night-bird, as he turns his bleared eyes away 
 from the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, 
 " No God, no Bible, no Saviour, no Heaven of 
 blessedness, no Immortality," wandering through 
 life without hope and God in the world, and, at 
 death, taking a frightful " leap in the dark " ! 
 
2IO THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 
 
 IT was a misty morning when Tom and his 
 companion approached the fort. The air was 
 damp with vapor, and the American flag, with 
 its glorious stars and stripes, drooped heavily. 
 The fortress was on the very outskirts of civiliza 
 tion, on an elevated point of land, commanding 
 an extensive prospect on every side. Richly 
 diversified prairies, rarely pressed by the white 
 man s foot, gave one an impressive sense of vast- 
 ness and magnificence. As the sun arose, and 
 the curtain of fog rolled off, Tom gazed on the 
 landscape, spell-bound ; for, accustomed as he 
 was to prairie scenery, he had never seen any 
 view that equalled this. 
 
 " Not an Injun could come nigh this ere fort," 
 said the little man that held the reins ; " everybody 
 has to be seen, no matter how fur off they be, 
 specially when the officers gits their telescopes to 
 their eyes. Why, I suppose they can see hun 
 dreds o miles with one of them big glasses ; any 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 211 
 
 rate, I heard tell about their seeing clean up to 
 the stars, an a good piece bey end." 
 
 They had now approached a gate, before which 
 paced an armed sentry, in answer to whose chal 
 lenge, the little man, who grew consequential as 
 he neared the citadel, said, 
 
 "This ere youngster, Mr. Sojer, wants to see 
 the commander of this ere institution on very per- 
 ticler business, which admits of no delay." 
 
 The man with the gun sent a message into the 
 fort without a word in reply, until the messenger 
 returned, when he said, laconically, 
 " Pass in." 
 
 Tom had never before seen a fortress, and sur 
 veyed with eager interest the rows of heavy guns, 
 and the cannon-balls in conical shaped piles, and 
 the long, four-storied brick buildings extending 
 around the spacious square, from the centre of 
 which rose the flagstaff. Grimly as frowned the 
 guns and warlike munitions, the neatness and 
 order that reigned had a pleasing effect on Tom s 
 mind. And within those many-roomed buildings, 
 standing amid the solitudes of the wilderness, in 
 the families of the officers gayety and mirth often 
 held carnival. Already a gush of music, elicited 
 by fair fingers from a richly-toned piano, was 
 borne through an open window into the court 
 below. Then a clear, sweet voice accompanied 
 the instrument. 
 
212 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " Pooty as a bird, and a plaguy sight nicer," 
 exclaimed the little man as he frisked about, 
 hitching his horse to an iron-ringed post. 
 
 Tom and his friend were shown into the dining- 
 room of the commander of the fort. The officer 
 was an early riser, and breakfasted betimes. The 
 mahogany extension table was set with an elegant 
 service. General McElroy was a tall, slender 
 man, with iron-gray hair and weather-beaten 
 face. His wife, a richly-dressed, stately lady, sat 
 at the head of the table, and a boy of seven, in 
 Highland costume, was at her side, while black 
 Nancy flitted in and out with viands in her hands. 
 
 "Well, my lad," said the general, sedately, 
 " what do you want of me ? " motioning his callers 
 to be seated. ^ 
 
 Tom commenced to state the occasion of his 
 calling, and the general s stolid features lighted 
 up with growing interest ; and he said, 
 
 " Wait a moment, my boy ; I guess you ve a 
 message important enough, and it will save time 
 for you to relate it to two of us at once ; " and pull 
 ing a bell-rope, a soldier appeared, to whom he 
 said, 
 
 "Tell Captain Manly that I wish to see him." 
 
 -In a moment the last-named personage came 
 in. He was about forty, of frank, open face, and 
 soldierly bearing. Tom liked him at the first 
 glance. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 213 
 
 " Captain," said the general, " I want you to 
 hear this boy s story. Commence again, my lad, 
 and state the whole as briefly and connectedly as 
 you can." 
 
 When Tom finished his recital, "You are a 
 brave little fellow," said the general, " and in my 
 opinion, if you were in the ranks, you would 
 be sure to be well spoken of; " then turning to the 
 captain, he added, "This is grave business, 
 Manly, and something should be done for the set 
 tlers whom this boy represents. I heard that an 
 Indian called at the fort, and tried to make us 
 understand that there was an uprising ; and I sup 
 pose it was this Long Hair that the lad tells about, 
 but I did not attach much importance to what he 
 said. And now, Manly, I want you to take a 
 detachment of men, for I think I can depend 
 on you to do it up right. See that they are well 
 mounted and provisioned, and that their arms are 
 ift good order, but you understand all about 
 that, and go to the relief of the settlement that 
 these villains have beset." 
 
 Then turning to Tom, he asked, 
 
 " What is your name, young man? " 
 
 " Thomas Jones," he replied. 
 
 " Well, Thomas, I conclude you will want to 
 go with the men." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
214 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " And do you know the shortest route to the 
 settlement in question ? " 
 
 Tom answered affirmatively. 
 
 " Include a horse for the boy s use, captain, 
 and see that he is well provided for. He may be 
 of use in piloting the way. At any rate he is a 
 noble-spirited fellow, and deserves consideration 
 at our hands. How many men will you need, 
 captain ? " 
 
 " I d as lief have forty as more, if I can have 
 my pick." 
 
 w Make such arrangements as will please you ; 
 and I hope to have a good report when you come 
 back. The rascally red-skins should be taught 
 a severe lesson for this outrage, or they may com 
 mit more." 
 
 Tom and his friend rose to withdraw with the 
 under-officer, when the general said, 
 
 " But you have not told me how far you came 
 this morning." 
 
 " We rode all night," returned Tom ; " I took 
 supper at this man s cabin, and he brought me 
 here in his wagon to save time." 
 
 " Bless me ! " ejaculated the general, as he left 
 the table ; " that has the true ring in it. Nancy, 
 see that these folks have a sip of coffee, and 
 something to eat, and when you ve broke your 
 fast, my lad, come out into the square. I guess 
 the captain will be ready by that time." 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 2 15 
 
 Tom felt some diffidence about accepting the 
 invitation of the general; but Mrs. McElroy 
 was a true lady, and her winning smile, as she 
 filled his cup with the fragrant beverage from the 
 silver urn, put him at ease. She had many a 
 woman s question to ask about his adventures of 
 3 T esterday morning, and seemed never to tire ad 
 miring his heroic conduct. He was just explain 
 ing for the third time how he pushed the savage 
 from the cliff, when his voice was drowned by 
 that of a girl, who came tripping and singing 
 through the long hall that led into the dining-room. 
 Hers were the same bird-like notes that came 
 through the open window. It was the general s 
 only daughter, Alice, who, as she burst into the 
 apartment, stopped in surprise as she saw stran 
 gers there. 
 
 "Just in time, Alice," said the mother, pleasant 
 ly, " to hear this story." 
 
 The girl was scarcely in her teens, and her fair 
 face, expressive of good sense, gentleness, and 
 intellectuality, was set off by a wealth of au 
 burn curls that fell in careless profusion over her 
 shoulders. 
 
 Tom had never known anything of sentiment, 
 or thought much of personal looks, but he had. a 
 quick eye for grace and beauty, and, charmed at 
 the unexpected ingress of the little fairy, he forgot 
 alike his food, his manners, and his story, and 
 
2l6 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 gazed in stupid silence at the lovely apparition. 
 The mother comprehended the state of things, 
 and, with a look of gratified maternal pride, said 
 to Tom, 
 
 " But you mustn t forget your plate ; you have 
 had a long ride, you know, and have another 
 before you." 
 
 This recalled Tom to his senses, and in his 
 straightforward, manly way he finished the ac 
 count of the affair. 
 
 " The captain s most ready," said black Nancy, 
 glancing out of the window, as Tom finished his 
 repast. 
 
 "Farewell, my boy," said Mrs. McElroy. "I 
 wish you success, and hope no harm will come to 
 you ; " and Tom went out and mounted the horse 
 that had been provided for him, and shaking 
 hands with the kind settler who brought him 
 there, he saw Mrs. McElroy and Alice waving 
 their handkerchiefs, as he and the men rode in 
 military order out of the square. 
 
 The horses were in good order, and the men 
 in fine spirits, glad, after their idle life within the 
 fort, to be sent on active duty. The day was 
 almost cloudless, the air pure and bracing, and 
 they coursed the smooth prairies at a rapid rate. 
 Yet to Tom s anxious heart the moments seemed 
 long ; and when they stopped at noon for refresh 
 ment, and to bait the horses, Tom could scarcely 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 217 
 
 brook the delay. He was really on his way with 
 a brave band for the rescue. The thought of 
 this was joyful to him, yet he was afraid that they 
 might arrive too late ; and as the soldiers lay upon 
 the grass eating their rations, Captain Manly, 
 reading his feelings, said to him, 
 
 " Be patient, my dear boy ; be patient. The 
 old saying, Prayer and provender hinder no 
 man s journey, is as true in war as in peace." 
 
 He was a Christian soldier, and he added, 
 
 w We must pray, Tom, that God will prosper us. 
 By this bit of rest the men and horses will be all 
 the better for service when we catch up with the 
 savages ; and if God shall so order it, we will 
 save such of the poor settlers as have escaped 
 from massacre." 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon they drew 
 near one of the settlements that lay in their path. 
 Scouts were sent ahead to see if any Indians 
 were lurking in the vicinity. They, reported that 
 none were to be seen, but that the village had 
 been totally destroyed. Putting spurs to their 
 horses, the eager soldiers were soon on the ground. 
 
 The air was still heavy with the smell of the 
 burning, and as they passed along they saw that 
 every cabin had been consumed. It was a scene 
 of utter desolation. The horses feet splashed in 
 pools of clotted blood, while ever and anon they 
 came to the mutilated remains of some victim of 
 
2l8 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 the massacre. In one place lay the form of a 
 brawny pioneer, his broken rifle still clutched by 
 the muzzle, while the ground around him was 
 torn up by the mighty struggle he had made with 
 his assailants. Here young children had been 
 murdered by being dashed against a tree. To 
 an oak near by a woman had been nailed while 
 yet alive. All the corpses were horribly mangled 
 and disfigured, indignities the most fiendish being 
 heaped upon them. Their ears and noses were 
 cut off, sticks were thrust into their eyes, and 
 their mouths were filled with filth. 
 
 These awful sights wrought up the soldiers to 
 frenzy. Tom s passions rose also ; but he was 
 startled by the deadly paleness that sat upon the 
 countenances of the others, so expressive of in 
 tensified hate and desire for revenge. But the 
 scouts again appeared, and reported a large force 
 of Indians encamped before a log house a few 
 miles farther jon ; and Captain Manly decided 
 to strike for a piece of woods to the right of the 
 savages. When the woods were reached, it was 
 discovered that all the dwellings on either side of 
 the besieged cabin, comprising three promising 
 young villages, had been swept away. Cau 
 tiously the little company pushed on to the scene 
 of action. Before the lone cabin were assembled 
 hundreds of Indians, engaged in some savage 
 ceremony. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 2 19 
 
 " They have taken a captive," whispered Cap 
 tain Manly, "and have brought him near the 
 cabin to tantalize the inmates, hoping to induce 
 them to make a sortie for the rescue of the pris 
 oner." 
 
 " It is Long Hair ! " replied Tom, wild with 
 excitement. 
 
 " Be quiet, be quiet, my boy," replied the cap 
 tain ; " we ll be in their long hair before they get 
 his, if they don t look sharp." 
 
 Then dividing his force into four companies of 
 ten men each, and directing them to crawl care 
 fully through the long grass to the points he desig 
 nated near the foe, he instructed each man to be 
 sure of his aim, and fire when the captain s di 
 vision fired. The Indians had been so successful 
 in their attacks on the settlements thus far, and 
 so unmolested in their barbarities, that they were 
 now completely off their guard, which enabled 
 the whites to get close to them unobserved. 
 
 Tom s eyes were fastened upon Long Hair. 
 The faithful Indian s handsome face betrayed no 
 fear, but it was evident that he had given up all 
 hopes of deliverance. With eagle eye he watched 
 the ceremonies, and, as he saw them approach 
 their fatal termination, began to chant his death- 
 song. Captain Manly understood Indian cus 
 toms, and telling certain of his men to make sure 
 of the savages nearest Long Hair, he gave the 
 
220 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 signal, and the bullets of the ten unerring marks 
 men mowing them down, firing from the other 
 detachments following with deadly effect. 
 
 The panic of the Indians was indescribable ; 
 for the firing from so extended a line gave the 
 impression of a much larger force than had really 
 attacked them. Their confusion was increased 
 also at seeing some soldiers issue from the woods, 
 mounted ; for the captain had given orders, in 
 case there was a panic, for a portion of the 
 command quietly and quickly to take to their 
 horses and pursue the fugitives. Thinking them 
 selves attacked by superior numbers of both 
 cavalry and infantry, the Indians were at the 
 mercy of the soldiers, who shot and sabred them 
 with small opposition. 
 
 As soon as Captain Manly saw the effect of 
 the first volley, he said to Tom, 
 
 " I shall leave Long Hair in your charge." 
 
 For with delicate magnanimity he would have 
 Tom be the deliverer of the noble Indian who 
 had perilled his life for Tom. 
 
 The lad needed no second hint, but sprang 
 away, and severed the thongs that bound his In 
 dian friend to the death-stake. 
 
 " Ugh ! Tom good friend ; big soldier-boy," 
 ejaculated the grateful Indian. 
 
 "Are father and mother safe?" asked Tom. 
 
 " In cabin there," replied Long Hair. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 221 
 
 Tom hurried forward towards the dwelling, 
 but Long Hair seized him, saying, 
 
 " Maybe they think you Injun ; shoot you ! " for 
 his keen eye had caught sight of the muzzle of a 
 gun pointing at them from out an aperture in the 
 building. "White chief come soon,"" he imme 
 diately added. " They no fire at you ; see, gun 
 gone." 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered these words, when the 
 outer door opened, and Tom saw his mother 
 standing there, for she had discerned him in the 
 deepening twilight, and recognized him as her 
 son. Tom, with a bound, hastened to her, and 
 as she folded him in her arms, and tenderly kissed 
 him, he inquired, - \- 
 
 "But where is father?" 
 
 " Speak softly," she replied, as she led the way 
 to a bed in a corner of the inner building, on 
 which lay Mr. Jones. "He is wounded," said 
 she, mournfully, " and is sleeping now. We can 
 not yet tell how it will turn with him, but hope 
 for the best." 
 
 "But where are the other men?" asked Tom, 
 weeping, for only a few women and children 
 we.re in sight. 
 
 " They deserted us night before last. Our pro 
 visions had run low, and the savages had retired 
 .to make us think they had left, and the men, half 
 crazed with sleepless nights and scanty food, 
 
222 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 were deluded by the idea that they might get 
 safely away, and perhaps bring us aid. But, 
 poor things, they were not themselves, and they 
 had gone only a few rods, when they were set 
 upon by the savages, and brutally slaughtered 
 before our eyes. We used our guns on the In 
 dians as well as we could, but found it difficult 
 to prevent them from scaling the building." 
 
 "Did you fire upon them?" asked Tom, won- 
 deringly. 
 
 "Yes, my son," said she, gently; "and last 
 night, knowing how feeble our force must be, 
 they were emboldened to attempt to burn the 
 house. The roof caught in several places, and 
 your father went up and put out the fire at the 
 risk of his life. It was then that he was shot. 
 He had been our main defence from the first, for 
 the Indians were more afraid of his rifle than a 
 dozen of others." / 
 
 " But how did you get along after father was 
 disabled?" 
 
 "We women loaded, watched, and fired by 
 turns. I do not see how we could have held out 
 an hour longer. Help came just in time." 
 
 " But where are all the children," inquired Tom, 
 forebodingly. 
 
 Mrs. Jones gave a low moan, as if her heart 
 would break, but, with wonderful self-command, 
 suppressed all other manifestations of emotion, 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 22J 
 
 and said, lovingly, laying her hand on his shoul 
 der, 
 
 "My son, we are a broken family; we shall 
 never all meet again on earth. Charlie disap 
 peared at the first attack. I did not see him 
 killed ; and you know what a quick, active boy 
 he is, and he may have escaped, although the 
 chances were fearfully against him. Sarah was 
 overtaken by an Indian, and tomahawked while 
 flying home from the store." 
 
 "And Bub?" sobbed Tom. 
 
 " That was one of the cruelest of the cruelties 
 connected with the outbreak. There was an In 
 dian who made great professions of friendship, 
 visiting our cabin almost daily. You saw him, 
 Tom, when you visited us. We treated him very 
 kindly, and made him many presents. He 
 seemed to have a particular liking to Bub, and 
 Bub was fond of him, and would always run to 
 meet him when he saw him coming. The day 
 of the fatal attack, he made his appearance as 
 usual, and Bub, with an exclamation of joy, has 
 tened to be the first to greet him, when, as the 
 child drew laughingly near, the treacherous 
 savage raised his rifle, and shot him through the 
 head. This was the signal for the assault. Sarah 
 was standing at the time in the store door oppo 
 site, and, seeing the murder, started for the house, 
 her face terribly pale with fright. So terrified 
 
224 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 was she that it seemed as if she flew rather than 
 ran ; but the same savage swiftly pursued her, 
 and, being nearer the house than she, struck her 
 down with his tomahawk. But Robert has been 
 left to us, and a brave, good boy has he been." 
 
 Tom was so absorbed that he had not noticed 
 the quiet entrance of Captain Manly and others 
 of the command, who, seated or standing around 
 the room, listened intently to his mother s account 
 of the massacre. As she concluded, the captain 
 said, 
 
 "I had taken the precaution, madam, to bring 
 the surgeon along with me ; and if you desire it, 
 he will examine your husband s wounds, and see 
 what is best to be done for him." 
 
 At which the doctor stepped forward and pro 
 ceeded to probe and dress the wound. 
 
 "It is an ugly hurt," remarked the surgeon, 
 "but by good care and nursing he may rally." 
 
 "Just what are impossible," answered the cap 
 tain, " in this place. Would it do to remove him, 
 doctor?" 
 
 " If a good litter was prepared," was the reply, 
 "there would be less risk in doing so than in 
 leaving him in this wretched hole." 
 
 " Particularly," added the captain, " as the red 
 skins would be sure to come back to finish their 
 fiendish work. And I would propose, madam, 
 that, after my men have taken a little rest, we 
 
A BELEAGUERED CABIN. 225 
 
 remove you an4 your family at once to the fort, 
 where you shall receive the best of attention, and 
 everything be done for your husband that skill 
 and medicine and needful comforts can do for his 
 recovery." 
 
 Mrs. Jones glanced at the ghastly wound of 
 her husband. 
 
 " I understand your feelings," said the captain, 
 kindly ; " but you have shown that you are a brave 
 woman, ever ready to do what is for the best. 
 Now, the Indians to-night were some three or four 
 hundred strong ; and, panic-stricken as they were, 
 some of them must have discovered that I have 
 but a handful of men. They will return in larger 
 force, thirsting for revenge. It is therefore indis 
 pensable that we take Mr. Jones with us. It is 
 all we can do under the circumstances." 
 
 Mrs. Jones saw the propriety of this, and grate 
 fully assented to the captain s plan, and at the 
 hour appointed all the preparations having 
 been efficiently made the wounded man was 
 carefully placed upon the nicely-constructed litter, 
 the women and children taken upon the soldiers 
 horses, and the little cavalcade moved noiselessly 
 out on the star-lighted prairie. 
 15 
 
226 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE. 
 
 FEW words were spoken, as the handful of 
 brave men, with the rescued women and chil 
 dren, and the suffering squatter moved on. Ex 
 perienced, scouts were thrown out on either hand, 
 to give notice of danger, for at any moment the 
 wily foe might spring upon them. 
 
 "Where can Long Hair be?" whispered Tom 
 to his mother. 
 
 " I cannot imagine," she answered ; " he left 
 the cabin as I was telling you about the loss of 
 the children through the treachery of Yellow 
 Bank. His eyes glared while I was speaking, 
 and there was a look on his face that I could not 
 interpret. Do you suppose he is trusty ? " 
 
 " Trusty ! " echoed Tom ; " why, mother, he 
 perilled his life for us." 
 
 " Yes, I know it, child ; he is unlike any In 
 dian I ever saw. But why did he leave so mys 
 teriously ? " 
 
 " I don t know," replied Tom. " Captain Man 
 ly tried to find him ; he wished to present him to 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE. 227 
 
 General McElroy. He said he did not doubt 
 that government would reward Long Hair for 
 his services." 
 
 "Well," sighed his mother, shuddering as she 
 spoke, " how different these Indians are from us ! 
 They come and go so noiselessly, and talk so 
 little! But what is that?" she exclaimed, glan 
 cing back. 
 
 "What?" inquired Tom. 
 
 "Why, that light," --pointing in the direction 
 from which they came. -And Tom saw against 
 the dark woods, for a background, thick flying 
 sparks from the cabin chimney made themselves 
 visible for miles across the prairie. 
 
 A scout now rode up, to call the attention of 
 the captain to the same appearance. 
 
 "I cannot comprehend it!" ejaculated that 
 officer, putting his glass to his eyes. "It is 
 clear that the cabin is not on fire. It seems to 
 be occupied." And, riding up to Mrs. Jones, 
 he said, "Madam, can you tell me if there was 
 any fuel in the fireplace when we left?" 
 * There was not," was the decided reply. 
 " But there is a large fire burning on the hearth 
 .now ; how do you account for that ? It s a trick 
 of the savages," he muttered, as he put spurs to 
 his steed ; " and yet," he added, " it is not like the 
 Indians to go into a house and make a fire. If 
 they had discovered our retreat, they would be 
 
228 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 too cunning thus to let us know that they had 
 found it out ; we should see them prowling around 
 as stealthily as so many panthers. Somebody s 
 alive and stirring there ; who can it be? " 
 
 The singular incident served to heighten the 
 anxiety of all, and stimulate the soldiers to make 
 as good progress as they could without too 
 greatly distressing the wounded man. Several 
 times, in the dim light, the groaning and pallor 
 of her husband led Mrs. Jones to fear he was 
 dying, and, with Tom and Robert, she watched 
 every change in his appearance, tenderly min 
 istering to him. Fresh relays of men took the 
 places of those who bore him, taking their turn 
 at the litter with alacrity, for Tom s dutiful and 
 heroic conduct, and the mother s loving gentle 
 ness and patient endurance, and the squatter s 
 stubborn defence of the lone cabin against such 
 odds, had won the hearts " of the soldiers, and 
 they had resolved to see the family safe within 
 the walls of the fortress, or, if attacked on the 
 prairie, to defend them to the death. 
 
 " How did it happen," asked Captain Manly, 
 in a low voice, of the mother, "that your cabin 
 was enclosed with those walls of heavy logs. 
 Were you expecting an attack?" 
 
 " Long Hair gave us warning," she replied ; 
 " and husband persuaded the settlers to cut down 
 trees and build the walls." 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE. 
 
 w And your husband directed the defence ? " 
 
 " Yes," said she, " and he made a sortie, and 
 rescued a number of neighbors, who would other 
 wise have been murdered, the very persons 
 who afterwards deserted in the night, leaving, 
 in their haste, the outer door wide open. We 
 should all have been sacrificed before morning, 
 had we not been startled at seeing Long Hair 
 standing in the cabin. How he got in undis 
 covered through so many enemies, and notified 
 us of our danger in so timely a manner, we could 
 not conjecture. Husband secured the door again, 
 and Long Hair vanished as he came, saying, 
 Long Hair go quick, get sojer, come right back 
 bimeby, quick ! that was, I suppose, when he 
 came to the fort, as Tom told us about, and not 
 succeeding in his errand, hurried to find Tom, 
 to intercede with you for us." 
 
 " You have had a hard time of it," said the 
 captain, " and your husband stood a siege before 
 which a well-manned "fort might have fallen. I 
 only hope that the brave fellow 11 get well, and 
 enjoy the fruits of his noble conduct. If I had a 
 few hundred men like him, I could sweep the 
 red-skins from the soil." 
 
 But the jarring, and the motion, and the pain 
 were proving too much for the wounded pioneer, 
 and delirium setting in, he began to rave, speak 
 ing, however, slowly and distinctly, and without 
 
230 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 a tinge of the squatter dialect, but in the purer 
 English of his early days. 
 
 " There ! " he exclaimed, pointing his finger, 
 "you ve come again. I knew you would not let 
 me rest." 
 
 " He s thinking of the Indians," remarked the 
 captain, sorrowfully ; "the confounded red-skins !" 
 
 " I told you he stole it all. Will you harass 
 me into my grave? A set of vampires, sucking 
 the life-blood of an honest man ! " 
 
 " Now he wanders," said the captain ; and, 
 sending for the surgeon, the latter opened his 
 medicine case, and, lighting a match to read the 
 labels on his vials, administered an opiate, and 
 the sufferer sank into a troubled stupor. 
 
 "Ah!" whispered the mother to Tom, "it is 
 not the savages that disturb his mind so ; it s the 
 old agony of a wounded spirit." 
 
 About noon, the next day, they came in sight 
 of the fort. How welcome the frowning walls to 
 the weary women and children ! How sublime 
 seemed the national flag, floating proudly on the 
 breeze, symbol of a united sovereignty of states, 
 powerful to protect its citizens on the ocean and 
 the land, in the teeming city, and in the wilds 
 of the wilderness ! 
 
 General McElroy received the settlers in the 
 kindest manner, causing them to feel at once that 
 they were among friends. Airy, quiet apart- 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE. 23! 
 
 ments were assigned to the wounded man and 
 his household, and the ladies of the garrison vied 
 with each other in their attentions to him and his 
 stricken family. Often would Mrs. McElroy 
 come in and sit by Mr. Jones, that his wife might 
 get some rest. With her and her husband Tom 
 had become a great favorite, and they entertained 
 a high respect for the mother. 
 
 The squatter s life in the open air, roaming the 
 prairies, tended to build up for him a healthy 
 physical organization, favorable to the healing of 
 the wound; and as this progressed, the doctor 
 marvelled that he did not get stronger. He was 
 strangely liable to delirious attacks, and opiates 
 gradually lost their influence over him. 
 
 One day the surgeon entered as his patient, 
 wildly raving, was exclaiming, with great vehe 
 mence, 
 
 " I tell you, again, that I have nothing to pay 
 with, and you will give me no chance to earn. 
 O, what a load to carry! Debt! debt! debt! 
 Shall I never find rest?" Then, in a moment 
 more, his thoughts relapsing to another subject, 
 he murmured, "What did the preacher say? 
 Come unto me and I will give you 
 rest; yes, that is what I want. O, if only I 
 could come ! " 
 
 The surgeon watched him through the deliri 
 um, and said, 
 
232 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 "Madam, it is not the bullet of the savage 
 that s killing your husband, but some more deadly 
 sore. He needs medicine for the mind, rather 
 than the body ; and when he is himself, you 
 had better call in the chaplain to converse with 
 him." 
 
 An hour later, when Mr. Jones had an easy 
 interval, she gently said, 
 
 " Husband, you are very sick. Don t you 
 think it might do you good to have a little talk 
 with the minister?" 
 
 " Minister ! " he feebly answered ; " what min 
 ister?" 
 
 " The minister that belongs to the fort." 
 
 "I don t know him," replied the sick man, 
 suspiciously. "But there is one minister that I 
 do know," he added, after a moment s pause. 
 
 "Who?" she inquired. 
 
 " Why, him ! " he answered, impatiently, as if 
 he thought she ought to understand. 
 
 " You mean the missionary," she returned. 
 
 "Yes ; if I could talk with him, I would like to." 
 
 The wife mentioned his remarks to the sur 
 geon, and General McElroy sent for the mis 
 sionary. 
 
 It was evening, of a lowering, rainy day, when 
 the messenger returned with Mr. Pay son. It had 
 been drizzling and dripping all day, but towards 
 night the clouds grew black and wild, and a 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE. 233 
 
 furious wind dashed the big rain-drops violently 
 against the window. The air was raw, and 
 seemed to pierce to the bones. The old fort 
 buildings were delightful in fair weather, but 
 now were damp and chilly. Mrs. Jones feared 
 for the effect of the storm on her husband, whose 
 frame, since his wound, had been extremely sen 
 sitive to atmospheric changes ; and dreading that, 
 if he was disturbed, he would relapse into delir 
 ium, she concluded not to invite the missionary 
 in to see him until morning. She had disposed 
 everything as comfortably as possible about the 
 bed, and had a nourishing broth and his medi 
 cines handy, when Mrs. McElroy entered, and 
 said, 
 
 "You look worn out. Go and take a nap 
 now, and if you are needed I will call you. 
 You know the missionary is here, and will wish 
 to be with him in the morning ; and it is desira 
 ble that you should feel as well as you can, to 
 encourage your husband." 
 
 Mrs. Jones, thus charged, retired to an adjoin 
 ing room, thinking to rest herself for a short 
 time, and then return. She felt that a great event 
 was impending, and thought it impossible for her 
 to close her eyes; but so utterly exhausted was 
 she, that she immediately fell into a sound sleep, 
 from which she was awakened at midnight by 
 Mrs. McElroy, who said, 
 
234 THE CABJ N N THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " A great change has come over your hus 
 band. I think he is going to get well. He 
 wants to see you and the boys." 
 
 Hurrying to her husband s side, she found him 
 sitting up in bed as composedly as if no trouble 
 had ever disturbed the serenity of his mind, look 
 ing much as he did in their bridal hour. He 
 had called for a bowl of water and a towel, and 
 was calmly washing himself. Bestowing on her 
 a loving look as she entered, he asked, 
 
 " Mary, dear, has the missionary come?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied. 
 
 " Can I see him now ? " 
 
 Mrs. McElroy took out her watch, and said, 
 pleasantly, 
 
 "Are you particular about seeing him now? I 
 suppose you are not aware how late it is." 
 
 " Yes," he answered, "it is twelve o clock;" 
 and his eye shone with a strange intelligence. 
 " I should have sent for him a year ago, had not 
 my heart been so proud and bitter. But I know 
 him. He ll come now, if it is late." 
 
 There was something unearthly in his manner, 
 and Mrs. McElroy said, rising, 
 
 " It shall be as you request." 
 
 As Mr. Payson entered, the sick man extended 
 his hand, saying, 
 
 " I m almost through, my friend. I ve had 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS FIRE. 235 
 
 some sore trials in life, not so much on my 
 own account as because of those who were too 
 dear to me. We were cruelly wronged, and I 
 have not been quite right here,"- -placing his 
 hand upon his forehead, "and what has made 
 it worse, I have been all wrong here," laying 
 his hand upon his heart. " I have doubted every 
 body, and distrusted my God. I have been hard 
 and scornful, and hated my fellows ; but it is 
 different with me now. I have heard that voice 
 speaking to me, that you told us of in the little 
 cabin. He has said unto me, even me, Come, 
 and he has given me rest. I have had a long, 
 long struggle, but the conflict is over. Ah, He 
 is so different from human creditors ! I have 
 been a poor debtor, chased, hunted, oppressed, 
 goaded almost to insanity, and none took pity on 
 me, because I owed them a few paltry dollars, 
 which I had the heart to pay, but, through the 
 robberies of another, and their oppressions, could 
 not. But what a debt I owed my Savior ! Yet, 
 without a word of reproach, he has forgiven 
 me all!" 
 
 This was spoken with a wondrous energy and 
 clearness of voice ; but a deathly paleness be 
 gan to overspread his face ; partial delirium su 
 pervened, not raging, as before, but his features 
 lighted up the while with a smile of heavenly 
 
236 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 beauty, and repeating again, his voice sinking 
 to a whisper, 
 
 w What did the preacher say ? Come unto 
 me, and I will give you rest. Rest ! Rest ! It 
 is mine." His spirit was gone. 
 
THE BOY IN THE TREE. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE BOY IN THE TREE. 
 
 CHARLIE was a boy who naturally loved ad 
 venture. He was excitable, and yet had a re 
 served power, which, in great emergencies, made 
 him cool and brave. He was fertile in expedi 
 ents, and, when aroused, experienced a rollicking 
 enjoyment in danger. In the little settlement he 
 came across an old copy of Robinson Crusoe, 
 and, charmed with its romantic descriptions, con 
 ceived the idea of becoming another Crusoe. 
 But there was a serious obstacle in his way. He 
 could not convert a prairie into an ocean, and get 
 shipwrecked. Yet if he lacked salt water, there 
 was many a man Friday at hand, - for he men 
 tally promoted every friendly Indian to that office, 
 and there were plenty of cannibals in the shape 
 of disaffected Indians who were already threat 
 ening the settlements with depredation and car 
 nage. Now, Charlie, to enjoy his book under 
 congenial circumstances, and where he would not 
 be interrupted by his mother saying, "Charlie, 
 bring some wood," and " Charlie, get some water," 
 
238 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 and the various et-ceteras of domestic duty to 
 which boys of his age and active habits are lia 
 ble, looked about for some safe retreat, and 
 chanced to find, one day, in the woods near at 
 hand, a large, hollow tree. Many a time had he 
 passed it, and not discovered the welcome fact. 
 The entrance was effectually concealed by a 
 tangled clump of bushes. Had they taken it 
 specially in hand to grow in such a way as to 
 hide the hole in the tree, they could not have done 
 it more thoroughly ; and nobody but a prying 
 young Crusoe of Charlie s qualifications would 
 have spied out the entrance. Having discovered 
 it, he would creep slyly in, and, by means of 
 the light let in through a hole higher up in the 
 trunk, would pore over the haps and mishaps of 
 the Juan Fernandez hero, and imitate his achieve 
 ments as well as he could. 
 
 It got to be a great mystery what became of 
 Charlie through the long hours of the day. He 
 could hear and see much of what passed around 
 him, and, with imperturbable gravity, would sit 
 in his sly retreat, making no answer, while his 
 mother would come to the cabin door, and call, 
 in silvery treble, 
 
 "Charlie! Charlie! Where are you, Char 
 lie?" 
 
 And then, in turn, the father would make his 
 appearance, and shout, in masculine bass, 
 
THE BOY IN THE TREE. 239 
 
 "Charlie, Charlie, your mother wants yer. 
 Why don t you come ? " 
 
 After a while Sarah would be despatched to 
 search for him, and her girlish voice would re 
 peat the parents calls as she looked everywhere 
 in vain. 
 
 Then, when he returned to the house, to the 
 accustomed inquiry, " Why, where have you 
 been? We ve been calling you, and hunting 
 everywhere for you," he would reply, with the 
 utmost nonchalance, "O, only out here;" at 
 which Sarah would retort, impatiently, " I know 
 better than that; for I hunted all round for you, 
 and you wasn t anywhere to be seen ; " and Char 
 lie respond, with compassionate condescension, 
 " Pooh ! girls are great at hunting ! " 
 
 Now, it was very wrong in Charlie to be so 
 dumb when his parents wanted him, and to cause 
 them so much concern by his unexplained ab 
 sence-; but he justified it to his own conscience 
 on the ground that it was in keeping with his 
 character as second Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe, 
 in his estimation, was the greatest and most glo 
 rious man that ever lived. Charlie had taken 
 him for his model in life ; and it would derogate 
 from the dignity of his position, while enacting 
 the man Crusoe, " monarch of all he surveyed," 
 to obey as the child Charlie. He was willing, 
 when in the house, to do what was expected of 
 
240 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 him, as a boy under subjection ; but when he was 
 in his Crusoe cave, alias the hollow tree, he was 
 altogether another person ; and he reasoned, in 
 order to have things in harmony, he must act 
 accordingly. . % J 
 
 Charlie, by some means, had come into posses 
 sion of a horse pistol, considerably out of order, 
 it is true ; but it served to fill the place of one of 
 the two pistols Robinson Crusoe found on board 
 the Spanish ship. He was in daily expectation 
 of finding another ; but needing ammunition to 
 store up against a coming fray with the canni 
 bals on the shore, he helped himself frequently 
 to the contents of his father s powder-horn and 
 bullet-pouch. 
 
 "What under the canopy makes my powder 
 go so fast? " his father often exclaimed, as he re 
 plenished the mysteriously-wasting stock. The 
 lad also begged ammunition of the free-hearted 
 settlers, and by these means he laid up a surpris 
 ingly large amount of warlike munitions, kept 
 securely in an old skin bag. He had also dried 
 venison stowed away, and a good store of nuts, 
 with pop-corn for parching, and potatoes for roast 
 ing all against some coming time of need. 
 
 Now, it chanced that Charlie s tree-cave turned 
 to good account, as it saved his curly scalp ; for 
 the afternoon of the Indian outbreak, with one 
 eye on the Crusoe history, and the other watching 
 
THE BOY IN THE TREE. 24! 
 
 to see if any cannibals landed on the shore, tak 
 ing an occasional sip from an old coffee-pot 
 filled with spring water, which he called goat s 
 milk, the whole frightful scene of the massa 
 cre passed before him. He saw dear little Bub 
 run to meet Yellow Bank, and he also saw what 
 his mother did not in the panic, that, just as the 
 treacherous savage fired, the little fellow tripped 
 and fell, unharmed by the bullet. He saw, at 
 that instant, his sister Sarah start from the store 
 for the cabin, and that the fiendish savage did not 
 notice Bub s escape, in his eagerness to intercept 
 the girl ; so that Bub, terrified by the report of 
 the gun, and at seeing his sister struck down 
 by Yellow Bank, dragged himself off in the di 
 rection of Charlie s tree, not seeming to know 
 but that he was going towards the cabin. 
 
 He saw the door of the cabin closed, and that 
 preparations were made to keep out the savages, 
 and that the whole attention of the Indians was 
 turned on assaulting the house. So, cautiously 
 creeping out, and placing one hand firmly over 
 Bub s mouth to prevent him from making a 
 sound, he drew him into the tree. He was fully 
 aware that he did this at the risk of his own life ; 
 for if the child made an outcry, their hiding-place 
 would be discovered, and they would both be 
 sacrificed. But he had too loving and noble a 
 16 
 
242 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 nature to save his own life by leaving his darling 
 pet brother exposed. 
 
 Charlie found it a difficult task to control him 
 self sufficiently in the scenes that were passing 
 before him to keep guard over Bub each instant, 
 as he must, to prevent him from revealing their 
 place of refuge. The little fellow had received 
 a terrible fright, and at first struggled with sin^ 
 gular strength to free himself from Charlie s 
 grasp, and Charlie s arms ached from the con 
 stant strain in holding him ; his efforts, however, 
 were rewarded at last by Bub s beginning to 
 comprehend the case. 
 
 " It s the wicked Indians," whispered Charlie, 
 "and they ll kill us if we make any noise." 
 
 Three days and nights came and went. How 
 thankful Charlie was for the provisions and water 
 which he had unwittingly provided for this fear 
 ful hour ! He had the good sense, however, to 
 be careful of the water; for he knew not how 
 long he must stay there ; and he taught Bub to 
 eat very slowly, as he had heard his father say 
 that the hunters did so on the plains to prevent 
 thirst. It was a terrible ordeal for a boy of his 
 tender years to witness the horrid sights tran 
 spiring around him; and then, when the neigh 
 boring cabins were fired, he was filled with fear, 
 lest the cinders would set the tree ablaze. 
 
 Charlie hoped, through all this long watching, 
 
THE BOY IN THE TREE. 243 
 
 for an opportunity to take refuge with his father 
 and mother in the cabin; but the savages lay 
 encamped around him, and several times an In 
 dian crept upon his hands, and knees, and fired 
 from behind the tree at the inmates of the 
 cabin. 
 
 Three days and nights how long they were 
 to the children in the tree ! And yet there was 
 nothing to indicate that they might not remain 
 there as much longer, provided the defence of the 
 cabin continued as persistently as it had done. 
 There was still a good supply of food, although 
 the potatoes had to be eaten raw. But the water 
 grew nauseating, and if some more could not be 
 obtained, what would they do? Bub began to 
 be tormented with thirst, and once attempted to 
 cry for water. He had borne up like a hero, 
 controlled by his fears, sometimes seeming to 
 forget his own wants and perils in his baby con 
 cern for his parents. 
 
 "Will the wicked Indians kill father and moth 
 er?" he once asked, his blue eyes wide with 
 horror, and voice too loud for prudence, just as a 
 savage was creeping up to take aim from behind 
 the tree, so that Charlie had to guard him with 
 ceaseless vigilance. But thirst how could he 
 expect that a little boy, like Bub, could long 
 endure its torments without making his agony 
 known ? 
 
244 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " I want some water," hoarsely whispered Bub ; 
 "I dry." 
 
 " Well, don t make any noise, and Charlie 11 get 
 you some." 
 
 So, waiting till after nightfall, Charlie put his 
 head cautiously out of the hole, and peered 
 around. The spring was not far off; but Char 
 lie knew that the savages would be likely to 
 guard that, and he did not venture to draw his 
 whole body from the aperture save with the ut 
 most caution, and very slowly. Satisfying him 
 self that the Indians were not noticing the tree, 
 he drew himself completely out, and then, put 
 ting his head in again, whispered, 
 
 " Now, Bub, don t you move nor stir, w r hile I 
 go for the water. I ll be back in a minute." 
 
 The heroic boy might have been taken in the 
 darkness for an overgrown caterpillar, he crawled 
 so softly towards the spring. He knew thatif 
 he broke a stick or twig, or inadvertently hit his 
 coffee-pot against an obstacle, the quick ear of the 
 Indian would be sure to detect it, and yet he was 
 surprised at his own coolness and mastery of 
 himself ; and he accomplished the feat, returning 
 with the black old pot filled to the brim.. 
 
 He had got within a few feet of the tree, when, 
 in range of the opening, he saw a figure ap 
 parently watching him. Charlie thought his 
 hour had come ; that it was a savage ready with 
 
THE BOY IN THE TREE. 245 
 
 his scalping-knife, and had given up all for lost, 
 when the dark form moved from out the shadow 
 towards him, and to his consternation he saw that 
 it was Bub, who trudged forward, saying in a 
 loud whisper, 
 
 " Has oo dot any water ? " 
 
 Charlie, to save further noise, chose the bold 
 alternative of letting him drink on the spot; 
 and retaining his prostrate condition, quickly put 
 the pot to Bub s lips, and the child swallowed 
 great draughts with satisfied gutturals that seemed 
 to Charlie s apprehensive ear like the reports of 
 pocket pistols. He let him drink his fill, how 
 ever, then, pulling him down by his chubby legs, 
 thrust him swiftly, but softly, through the aperture, 
 following as fast as he could, and keeping per 
 fectly still for a full hour before he dared venture 
 forth again for the coffee-pot, which he was 
 obliged to leave behind. 
 
 The vigilance of their father in the defence of 
 the cabin not only kept the children in the tree 
 longer than Charlie bargained for when he turned 
 in, on that memorable afternoon, to play Crusoe, 
 but also put their lives in jeopardy from their 
 father s bullets. For, as we have said before, the 
 tree being a large one, and conveniently near the 
 cabin, the savages would creep up behind it to 
 shoot from, which would be sure to bring a dan 
 gerous response ; and Charlie was obliged to know 
 
246 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 more than once that the tree was perforated by 
 balls from his father s rifle. At such times the 
 youngsters kept as close to the ground as possible. 
 
 When the Indians set fire to the roof of the 
 cabin, Charlie was almost wild with excitement, 
 fearing that his parents would now be burned to 
 death. Nor was his anxiety lessened when he 
 saw his father ascend the roof to extinguish the 
 flames, thus exposing himself to the deadly aim 
 of the foe. 
 
 Captain Manly s attack, however, he did not 
 understand ; for the soldiers did not pass near the 
 tree, and the confusion and clamor, the horrid 
 yells that rent the air, and the tramp of the con 
 tending parties in the dim twilight, seemed like 
 the chaos of a whirlwind, the fight was so sud 
 den and so soon over, and he dared not leave the 
 tree after the battle, not knowing what it all meant. 
 He had a bewildered idea that there had been an 
 attack on the Indians by a party of whites, but 
 which had been victorious he could not tell. So 
 he watched on, trying to determine this point, 
 until late in the night, when he saw a dark body 
 moving cautiously from the -cabin. 
 
 "The Indians have taken the cabin," he con 
 cluded, " and now they ll burn our house as they 
 did the others." 
 
 And yet it puzzled him to see how closely 
 together the savages kept, instead of being scat- 
 
THE BOY IN THE TREE. 247 
 
 tered about in all directions, as they were before. 
 He could see them moving quietly away, and 
 thought some of them were mounted on their 
 ponies. After they were well out of sight, rest 
 ing Bub s head against the skin powder-bag, 
 for the little fellow, overcome by weariness, had 
 fallen asleep, he crawled from his hiding-place 
 and reconnoitred. Suddenly he stumbled over a 
 dead Indian, lying with his rifle beside him; and 
 soon he came across another. But all was still 
 in the cabin. 
 
 " There has been a battle," said Charlie to him 
 self, exultantly, " and the Indians are driven 
 away ; " and he entered the house. 
 
 All was dark and quiet; so, feeling his way 
 to the chimney, he raked open the ashes, and 
 found a few sparks. Going out, he gathered 
 twigs and limbs, and, heaping them on the hearth, 
 blew them into a blaze ; then running to the tree, 
 he awakened Bub, and hurried him to the cabin, 
 and returned for his Crusoe provisions and ammu 
 nition. 
 
 "Where s father and mother?" asked Bub, 
 looking round in dismay. 
 
 " I think," said Charlie, soothingly, with a pro 
 found air, " that the settlers have got together and 
 driven off the Indians, and taken our folks where 
 they ll be safe ; and now, Bub, we ll live here like 
 Robinson Crusoe on the island, and you shall be 
 
248 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 my Friday till our folks come back ; for, you see, 
 they ll find out that we ain t with them, and they ll 
 come and take us away." 
 
 " Can t we go where our folks is now ? " inquired 
 Bub, beginning to cry. 
 
 "It s so dark we can t find them," said Charlie. 
 
 " Won t the Indians come and hurt us ? " 
 
 Charlie started at the thought. 
 
 "I don t know," he replied, shaking his head 
 doubtfully; " twould be just like them. But I ll 
 tell you what I ll do. There s a good many In 
 dians been killed around the house, and I ll just 
 go out and get all the rifles I can, and then let 
 them try it if they want to. Why, Robinson 
 Crusoe drove off twenty-nine canoes full, and I 
 bet he didn t have so many guns as I ll have." 
 
 And hastening out, he kept finding and bring 
 ing them in until he had a dozen. 
 
 "Now," said he, "I ll bring in lots of wood, 
 and we ll keep the fire crackling ; " and he stirred 
 the burning limbs to make the sparks fly ; " and 
 if the Indians return, they ll think there s a big 
 houseful of men in here. Besides," he add 
 ed, "if our folks see the sparks from the chim 
 ney, they ll know you and I are here, and return 
 for us. And on the whole, I guess I d rather go 
 with them, than to fight the cannibals alone ; for 
 if I should happen to be killed, I suppose they d 
 ha.ve to eat me, and I d rather not be eaten." 
 
THE BOY IN THE TREE. 249 
 
 Charlie brought from the enclosure a fine pile 
 of wood and a pail of water, then went out to 
 see that the outer door was secured, and closed 
 the shutter in the room. He then proceeded to 
 examine the rifles, for he was well versed in 
 fire-arms, like western boys generally, and 
 carefully cleaned and loaded them. 
 
 "Now," said he, "Crusoe had his seven guns 
 mounted, and I ll mount my twelve." 
 
 Fortunately for his scheme, the places had 
 been already prepared. After this was done, he 
 went down into the cellar to see if there was any 
 thing to eat, and finding some food, he returned, 
 and hanging the tea-kettle over the fire, he poured 
 some boiling water upon the tea-grounds in the 
 tea-pot, then set the table for himself and Bub, 
 and assigning Bub one chair, and getting another 
 for himself, said, 
 
 " We might as well live like folks, as long as 
 we are out of the tree." 
 
 Then, having finished their repast, he said, 
 
 " I feel tired, it s so long since I ve had a good 
 sleep ; so I guess we d better go to bed." And 
 lying down upon the bed in the corner, with an 
 arm lovingly clasping little Bub, they sank into 
 the sweet sleep of childhood. 
 
250 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IT was nine o clock next morning when Char 
 lie awoke, much refreshed. Some moments 
 elapsed before he could recollect where he was, 
 and how he came there. Then, hastening, first 
 to the port-holes, through which his guns were 
 pointed, he scanned the field on all sides, to see 
 if any enemy was in view. The result being 
 satisfactory, he commenced preparations for 
 breakfast, for Bub was now awake, and hungry 
 as a "starved kitten." 
 
 " I tell you what," said he to Bub, as they ate 
 their morning meal, " I ve got a jolly plan for us. 
 I m going to dig a cave in the cellar, so that if 
 the Indians should get into the cabin, we could 
 hide there just as we did in the tree." 
 
 " And you ll have some water in there for me 
 to drink," suggested Bub. 
 
 "Yes," answered Charlie; "we ll have every 
 thing that we want." 
 
 So, assuring himself, by another examination, 
 that matters outside wore a peaceful aspect, he 
 
BUB S BROADSIDE. 251 
 
 repaired to the cellar, to commence the excava 
 tion. Luckily for Charlie s plan, the cellar 
 walls had been carelessly constructed, and in a 
 corner he found a large-sized stone, that he 
 could remove from its place in the foundation 
 without disturbing the others. Taking this out, 
 with the iron fire-shovel, he soon had drawn 
 forth a large quantity of the loose sand. 
 
 "Now," observed Charlie to Bub, "you must 
 take the shovel, and throw the sand about the 
 cellar, while I work with my hands." 
 
 This was quite an easy task, the sand was so 
 light and dry. And ere long he had a place 
 large enough to conceal himself and Bub. 
 
 "But," said he, "I shall make it extend far 
 ther in, so that if the cabin is burnt over our 
 heads, it won t be too hot for us." 
 
 But Bub made little headway in shovelling the 
 sand; so Charlie finished the job for him, and 
 then from a heap of litter, which he had before 
 taken the precaution to scrape into a corner, he 
 took enough to cover the fresh sand all over. 
 
 "Now," said he, "let s try our new cave;" 
 and, squeezing through the hole from which he 
 had taken the stone, Bub creeping in after him, 
 Charlie reached out and drew the stone into its 
 place again. Charlie was delighted. 
 
 " I like this ! " he exclaimed ; " it s more like 
 Robinson Crusoe s cave." 
 
252 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Bub thought he liked it too, but soon cried out, 
 " I can t hardly breeve ; an it s drefful dark." 
 
 "It s lucky I ve tried it," replied Charlie; 
 "but I ll fix it all nice." 
 
 And pushing out the stone with his foot, he 
 went up stairs, and returned with an old bayonet, 
 with which he succeeded in dexterously working 
 some small holes through the mortar, with which 
 the crevices of the ill-matched stones were filled. 
 This was so ingeniously done, that it would not 
 be noticed ; and yet enough light and air were let 
 in to make the place tolerable for the purpose for 
 which it was intended. 
 
 It was now past noon, and they went up stairs, 
 and Charlie looked out again, to see if there 
 were any signs of danger; but still "all was 
 quiet along the Potomac." 
 
 " I don t think," sagely observed Charlie, 
 " that the Indians are ever coming back. In my 
 opinion they have had about enough of fighting, 
 they cleared off so quick, and there is so many 
 of them dead." 
 
 At which Bub waxed valiant, and said, 
 
 " I wish I had my big stick to -stick into their 
 backs, if they do come." 
 
 Charlie could not forbear a laugh at this, not 
 withstanding the sanguinary scenes that had 
 crowded the last few days with horrors, but 
 answered, 
 
BUB S BROADSIDE. 253 
 
 " I know what you can do, Bub, to drive them 
 away, if they should come ; " and, drawing a ball 
 of twine from his pocket, he tied it to the trigger 
 of one of the mounted rifles, then feeling again in 
 his pocket for his knife to cut off the string, he 
 said, 
 
 " Where s my jackknife ? I must have lost it 
 in going to the spring for water ; lots of things 
 tumbled out as I crawled through the grass. 
 Never mind ; I can use a case-knife ;" and, taking 
 one from the table, he divided the string so as 
 to leave the end of it hanging within easy reach 
 of Bub. He did the same to all the guns. 
 
 "Now," he explained to Bub, "when I tell you 
 to pull one of these strings, you must do it as quick 
 as you can. I will whisper, Pull ! and you must 
 take right hold of the twine, and draw it so ; " 
 and, contrary to Charlie s intention, bang went 
 the rifle. 
 
 "Why, I didn t mean to do that; but it will 
 show you how. Pulling the string made the 
 gun go off, you see." 
 
 Bub was all attention, and asked, eagerly, 
 
 "Shall I do it now?" 
 
 " O, no," replied Charlie. "I mean, when I 
 tell you to. When the Indians come, and I say, 
 Pull! Suppose, for instance, I should get up in 
 this way," and he ascended to the lookout, 
 " and I should look out in this way," and he 
 
254 THE CABI N ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 put his eye to the port-hole, " and I should see 
 a big Indian coming to kill Bub." 
 
 " Yes," answered the little listener, " I knows ; " 
 and his eyes glistened with excitement. 
 
 " Well, as I was saying, I peep out, and I see 
 a big Indian coming " 
 
 Bub at this instinctively drew nearer the string, 
 his gaze on Charlie. 
 
 " And I should whisper, Pull f " 
 
 Instantly Bub s fat fist twitched the string, and 
 a second report echoed over the prairie. 
 
 "What did you do that for?" asked his broth 
 er, much displeased. " I didn t wish you to do it 
 now. I was only explaining how to do it, and 
 I want you to do it right. Don t touch the strings 
 till I tell you ; and then, when I give the word, 
 you ll pull won t you?" 
 
 Curly-head looked as if he intended to stand 
 by the guns. 
 
 " In that way, Bub," continued Charlie, "we 
 could keep off a great many Indians ; I loading 
 and firing, and you firing too, Bub. But I 
 haven t put that last rifle in just right ; " and glan 
 cing out of the hole, as he adjusted it, he turned 
 deathly pale, and his whispered utterance was 
 strangely faint, as he exclaimed, 
 
 " If there isn t an Indian now ! " 
 
 It is said by old hunters accustomed to shoot 
 small game, however skilful in the use of fire- 
 
255 
 
 arms they may be, that the first time they see a 
 large animal, a deer, for example, such a 
 nervous excitement seizes them, although the 
 creature stands within a few feet of them, for 
 an instant they cannot command themselves to 
 .fire ; and when they do, they are sure to miss 
 the object. It is not surprising, then, that Char 
 lie was, for a moment, paralyzed. He gazed at 
 the Indian as if fascinated, as the savage glided 
 along, his head bent, going from the spring to 
 wards the tree, in the very path through which 
 Charlie had carried the water, stooping to pick 
 up something, then, keeping on a few paces, then 
 stopping and putting his ear to the ground, as if 
 intently listening. He was within easy range of 
 Charlie s rifle all the time ; yet the boy lifted not 
 his finger. 
 
 The savage now rapidly darted forward, as 
 if following Charlie s trail, and, sweeping the 
 bushes back with his hand, discovered the open 
 ing in the tree, and, to Charlie s amazement, man 
 aged to creep in. Nearly an hour had passed, 
 and Charlie still waited in painful suspense, won 
 dering what next would transpire, when he saw 
 a score or more of Indians stealthily approaching 
 from different directions towards the cabin. The 
 blood returned to Charlie s face, and, recovering 
 his sense.s, he whispered to Bub, "The Indians 
 have come." 
 
256 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 He then took sight across the rifle nearest Bub, 
 and found that it covered several of the savages ; 
 and, taking aim with the one next to it, he said 
 to his little brother, " Pull !" Bub did so, and, 
 starting on the round trot, pulled each string in 
 succession. A broadside ensued that would have 
 done honor to an old-fashioned ship of war. The 
 effect was prodigious. The savages seemed to 
 think that a strong force occupied the cabin ; for, 
 with a loud yell, and a hasty discharge of fire 
 arms, they vanished from sight. 
 
 Charlie was astounded at Bub s misunderstand 
 ing of the order and the effect produced. Gaz 
 ing amazed into ^vacancy, for the enemy had 
 disappeared, he sprang to the floor, hugged 
 Bub till he almost suffocated him, and, laughing 
 uncontrollably, stammered, "That beats Robinson 
 Crusoe I " 
 
 The scene was indeed ludicrous. The sav 
 ages had conie to carry off their dead comrades, 
 and, creeping cautiously along, had got so near 
 the house without being observed, that their 
 suspicion that the cabin was vacated became con 
 firmed. The discharge of the rifles by the boys 
 was, therefore, a perfect surprise, the fact that 
 they were permitted to get so near before they 
 were fired upon impressing them all the more ; 
 for they well knew that, if few were in the 
 dwelling to defend it, every effort would have 
 
BUB S BROADSIDE. 257 
 
 been put forth to keep them at a distance. More 
 over, the firing coming from all sides of the 
 dwelling at once, had also the appearance as if 
 it was quite heavily manned. 
 
 It was a brilliant day, and the light puff of 
 smoke from each rifle rose at once into the air, 
 giving Charlie a fine view of the field ; and the 
 simultaneous springing up of so many astonished 
 savages, their queer grimaces, and the grotesque 
 manner in which they scrambled out of range, 
 struck the lad as irresistibly comic, especicilly as 
 he considered that it was Bub s blunder that was 
 at the bottom of the rout. 
 
 Recovering himself, he proceeded to reload the 
 rifles. But one thing gave him uneasiness. The 
 Indian, he was quite sure, was still in the tree. 
 What was he there for? "Perhaps," thought 
 Charlie, " he will make a hole through the tree, 
 and watch his chance, and shoot me. At any 
 rate, he s a spy ; and if he should find out that 
 only Bub and I were here, he might make us 
 trouble." 
 
 He was puzzled to know what to do. He set 
 himself to watch through the port-hole to see if 
 he would come out. Two long hours Charlie 
 remained at his post, till he grew weary with the 
 duty. Then he bethought himself of another 
 plan. He had read in the old spelling book of 
 the boy who wouldn t descend from the farmer s 
 17 
 
258 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 apple tree for coaxing; and the farmer said, "If 
 you will not come down for words, I ll try the 
 effect of stones," which brought the trespasser 
 quickly to the ground. Now, the Indian was not 
 up a tree, but he was in one, and he would not 
 come out for Charlie s watching; so Charlie 
 thought he would employ harder arguments, 
 and, aiming at the point where he supposed the 
 savage must be in his hiding-place, he blazed 
 away. He had fired three times, when, sud 
 denly, the tawny occupant slipped out, and 
 crouched behind the tree, from which he com 
 menced making friendly signs towards the cor 
 ner of the cabin from which the bullets came. 
 Charlie understood the signals, but muttering, 
 "You can t catch me that way, old villain," 
 continued firing every time he thought he could 
 hit the savage. The Indian had not, during all 
 this, fired in return. This seemed curious to the 
 boy ; but concluding it to be an Indian trick, he 
 determined not to be outwitted. Whatever the 
 object of the savage was in his mysterious con 
 duct, he at last despaired of accomplishing it, 
 and adroitly slipped away. 
 
 As night drew its heavy curtains around the 
 beleaguered cabin, Charlie experienced a feeling 
 of dread creeping over him. He felt compara 
 tively safe while he could see the foe ; but now 
 the night seemed ominous of evil. The wind 
 
259 
 
 moaning through the trees, the ticking of the 
 insect under the bark in the logs, and even the 
 shrill chirping of the cricket, sounded unnatural 
 to him. He thought of the dead and gory forms 
 stretched upon the greensward without ; the grass 
 matted with human blood ; the imprecations and 
 fierce shouts that had resounded, and the death 
 ly struggles that passed before him while shel 
 tered by the friendly tree ; the heavy tramp of 
 men fighting in the deadly struggle ; the sharp 
 reports of the fire-arms; the horrible screams and 
 heart-piercing pleadings of women and children 
 as they were murdered and tortured by the sav 
 ages ; the lurid glare of the burning cabins ; the 
 Indians dancing and yelling in horrid mirth : 
 his active brain was filled with such remem 
 brances. In the stillness and loneliness of night, 
 in that cabin, these awful scenes came up with 
 appalling vividness, and weird and demon faces 
 seemed to peep and mutter at him from the cor 
 ners of the room. Once he fancied that he heard 
 the cellar stairs creak under a heavy tread. 
 And while Bub slept peacefully in childish un 
 consciousness of his brother s terror, he shivered 
 and watched through that long night until the 
 rosy beams of morning dispelled the illusions of 
 the darkness. 
 
260 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 i 
 
 LONG HAIR. 
 
 THE news of Mr. Jones s death, together with 
 the atrocities connected with the Indian uprising, 
 spread a gloom throughout the Tort ; and when, 
 two days later, the funeral of the pioneer took 
 place, tears were in many a veteran s eye. Gen 
 eral McElroy respected the qualities which had 
 marked the last days of the deceased, and said, 
 
 " He did not serve in the ranks, but if ever a 
 man deserved a soldier s burial, poor Jones does ; 
 and he shall have it." 
 
 So the body was borne to the grave under 
 military escort, the soldiers marching to the 
 mournful strains of the funeral dirge and muffled 
 drums ; the corpse was lowered to its last resting- 
 place ; the burial service read with a trembling 
 voice by the chaplain, for the missionary had 
 taken his place among the mourners by the side 
 of the widow, the usual salute was fired, and 
 the procession retraced its steps. 
 
 Mrs. Jones felt that she was now bereaved 
 indeed, and almost alone in the world, and it 
 
LONG HAIR. 26l 
 
 became a question with her what she could do, 
 under the circumstances, for herself and family. 
 Disconsolately she discussed this matter with 
 Tom. 
 
 " I cannot remain longer in these apartments, 
 living on the hospitality of the general," said 
 she ; w and as your dear father is gone, it becomes 
 me to earn something for my own support. I 
 must have Robert with me, he is so young, and 
 make some humble home where you c#n be. with 
 us as much as possible. But what I can do to 
 effect this I cannot now see, there are so few 
 opportunities for women to earn." 
 
 It goaded Tom that his mother was under the 
 necessity of talking in so depressed a way, and 
 that he could do nothing suitably to provide for 
 her. At this juncture there was a gentle knock 
 at the door, and Mrs. McElroy entered. 
 
 "You will excuse me if I have intruded," said 
 she; "but I came in to ask what arrangements, 
 if any, you had made for the future, and to say 
 that, if you have nothing better in view, the gen 
 eral and myself would like to have you remain 
 with us." 
 
 " But I have already been dependent on your 
 hospitality too long," objected Mrs. Jones, " and 
 it seems proper that I should make a home for 
 myself and Robert as soon as possible." 
 
262 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " Have you any suitable place provided as 
 yet?" asked Mrs. McElroy. 
 
 "Not decisively," answered the widow. 
 
 " It could not be expected that you would so 
 soon," answered Mrs. McElroy. " Now we have 
 a plan for you, which may be to our mutual ad 
 vantage. The little community dwelling within 
 these brick walls is a very social one, and the 
 general s time and my own is so much occupied, 
 that my children suffer for a mother s care. You 
 are exactly the person we need to take the over 
 sight of them. Your own children are a credit 
 to you ; they show that you have just the quali 
 ties of mind and heart for such a position. Now, 
 if you will look a little after my children s train 
 ing, you will take a burden from my hands, and 
 a load of anxiety from my mind, and between us 
 both, I think we can manage so as not to be over 
 charged." 
 
 " But Robert " began Mrs. Jones, hesitatingly. 
 
 "The general has taken a great fancy to him, 
 and says if he can have him he will make some 
 thing of him ; and what my husband undertakes 
 he never does by halves. Robert would have 
 the best of advantages, and be under your own 
 eye." 
 
 Mrs. Jones s emotions w r ere too great for words. 
 This unexpected provision for herself and boy 
 seemed truly providential. She might go the 
 
LONG HAIR. 263 
 
 world over and not meet with such delicate and 
 appreciative treatment. Still she hesitated. Her 
 life in the squatter s cabin through so many years 
 of deprivation and poverty placed her, in her own 
 consciousness, in such painful contrast to the 
 courtly and elegant Mrs. McElroy, that she felt 
 diffident about accepting so responsible a trust. 
 And she understood children well enough to 
 know that the offspring of the rich often look 
 down on those in humbler circumstances. Would 
 the general s children respect her as they should, 
 in order for her to assume such a relation towards 
 them as their mother wished? These thoughts 
 passed rapidly through her mind, and, in justice 
 to them as well as herself, she felt that she would 
 like to have that point put to rest. She was a 
 woman of straightforward good sense, and there 
 fore decided to be frank in the matter, and 
 asked, 
 
 " But would the arrangement be agreeable to 
 your children, madam?" 
 
 Mrs. McElroy had foreseen this, and was pre 
 pared with an answer. She rang the bell, and 
 black Nancy appeared. 
 
 "Send Alice and Willie here," she said; and 
 in a moment the brother and sister came run 
 ning in. 
 
 " Children," said their mother, " I ve been trying 
 
264 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 to persuade Mrs. Jones to stay with us, and take 
 charge of you. How would you like that? " 
 
 " O, that would be so nice ! " said Alice, crossing 
 to Mrs. Jones, and putting her arms around her 
 neck an action that was peculiar to her. 
 
 "It would be real good in her, I m sure," 
 chimed in Willie ; " and then I could have Robert 
 to play with me, he makes splendid pop 
 guns, couldn t I, mother? " 
 
 So it was settled, and in such a manner that 
 Mrs. Jones was made to feel that she was confer 
 ring a favor, rather than having one conferred on 
 her ; and, in fact, the arrangement was mutually 
 advantageous, as Mrs. McElroy had sincerely 
 remarked. 
 
 Mr. Payson now called to take leave of the 
 widow, and ask if Tom would like to return 
 with him. He was much pleased with the ar 
 rangement, expressing anew his sympathy with 
 her in her bereavements, and, charging her to 
 cling to the consolation of the gospel, he and 
 Tom took their departure, the latter tenderly kiss 
 ing his mother and Robert as he bade them 
 good by. 
 
 "You must come often and see your mother," 
 said Mrs. McElroy, cordially; "you know we 
 shall be like one family hereafter ; and not only 
 Robert and your mother will be lonesome without 
 you, but the rest of the children will be glad to 
 
LONG HAIR. 265 
 
 have you join them in their amusements and 
 studies," to which assurance Alice and Willie 
 looked their approval. As the wheels of the 
 missionary s buggy rumbled out of the square, 
 Mrs. Jones said with a sigh, 
 
 " What a change has come over my flock within 
 a few days ! my husband, and Sarah, and dear 
 little Bub murdered by the Indians, and Charlie, 
 also, I suppose I must say, although there is 
 something peculiarly trying in the mystery that 
 hangs over his fate." 
 
 " You do not really know, then, what became of 
 him," observed Mrs. McElroy. 
 
 " No ; and this uncertainty is agonizing. Per 
 haps he was captured by the Indians, and may 
 be at this very moment suffering the most barba 
 rous treatment from them ; or the dear boy may 
 have been devoured by a wild beast, or he may 
 be starving in the wilderness. This suspense 
 concerning him is too much to bear ; " and she 
 looked anxiously out of the window. 
 
 But the hour for dinner had arrived, and Mrs. 
 Jones and Robert went down with the others to 
 dine. As they entered the dining-room, the gen 
 eral directed their attention to the corner of the 
 room ; and there, wrapped in his blanket, sat an 
 Indian, whom Mrs. Jones, after the first start of 
 surprise, recognized as Long Hair. 
 
 "Mrs. Jones," said the general, "perhaps you 
 
266 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 can find out what the red-skin wants. He isn t 
 very communicative with me, but seems anxious 
 to see your Tom." 
 
 "I am glad to meet you," said Mrs. Jones, 
 kindly, to the savage. " Have you anything of 
 importance to communicate?" 
 
 But Long Hair appeared as if something had 
 gone wrong with him, and sat in moody silence. 
 
 "Will you not speak to me, Long Hair?" 
 asked Mrs. Jones. "You know I ve always 
 treated you well have I not?" 
 
 " White squaw good to Injin. Sojer say In- 
 jin lie ; sojer call Long Hair dog ; tell him go 
 way." 
 
 " Some of your men have ill-treated Long 
 Hair, I m afraid," said Mrs. Jones to the gen 
 eral. 
 
 "Well," said the general, "I ll see that they 
 don t do it any more ; " and, wishing to propitiate 
 the tawny brave, he added, "perhaps Long Hair 
 would take some dinner with us." But the In 
 dian wasn t so easily appeased, and said, 
 
 " Long Hair no beggar-dog ; Long Hair shoot 
 deer, shoot raccoon, catch fish, plenty ! " 
 
 "But," interposed Mrs. Jones, "didn t you 
 bring some venison to my cabin one day, and did 
 I refuse it, Long Hair?" 
 
 "White squaw good," he repeated; "Long 
 Hair never forget. Long Hair sick ; white 
 
LONG HAIR. 267 
 
 squaw medicine him. Long Hair kill deer for 
 white squaw." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Jones; "you were sick, and 
 I took care of you, as I ought to ; and you have 
 been very kind to me and mine, and I shall never 
 forget it." 
 
 Under her gentle influence, the Indian was 
 persuaded to partake of the food placed before 
 him. He ate with a voracity which showed that 
 he had been long fasting, and his appearance 
 indicated that he had seen hardship and danger. 
 Mrs. Jones was satisfied that his coming por 
 tended something to her, either good or evil ; 
 and, from his reserve, she feared it might be the 
 latter, and the better to draw out of him the tid 
 ings, whatever they might be, related the circum 
 stances attending her husband s death, referring 
 to the murder of Sarah and little Bub, and the 
 disappearance of Charlie, adding, that she sup 
 posed he was also killed. The Indian listened 
 in silence till she spoke of Charlie and little Bub, 
 and then, with energy, exclaimed, 
 
 " Charlie no dead ! Bub no dead ! " 
 
 "But Bub must be dead," said Mrs. Jones; 
 " for I saw him shot by Yellow Bank." 
 
 "No; Injin speak truth." 
 
 "What makes you think so?" asked she, 
 astonished. 
 
 Long Hair made no reply ; but drawing from 
 
268 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 beneath his blanket a little shoe, he placed it on 
 the edge of the table ; then, by its side, he laid 
 an old battered jackknife. 
 
 "Why, Long Hair ! " cried Mrs. Jones, deeply 
 agitated ; " that s Bub s shoe, and Charlie s knife. 
 Where did you get them ? " a ray of hope spring 
 ing up in her heart. 
 
 "Long Hair went find Charlie; travel much; 
 peep in wigwam much ; no find. Long Hair 
 say Charlie no killed ; Charlie no taken prison 
 er; Charlie hid near cabin. Long Hair look all 
 bout near cabin ; see Charlie hand put down so," 
 spreading his fingers, " in mud at spring ; den 
 Long Hair say, Charlie thirsty ; been spring for 
 water; find trail; find knife in trail, near big 
 tree ; find shoe near big tree ; Bub hid in tree ; 
 then Long Hair push bush way ; see hole in 
 tree. Long Hair hear Injins coming ; Long 
 Hair crawl in tree quick; no Charlie there ; no 
 Bub there ; find these in tree ; " taking from his 
 blanket a handful of nuts, and some potatoes, 
 and a crust of bread, and some trinkets that must 
 have fallen from Charlie s pocket ; " den Long 
 Hair see Injins come, one, two, tree, ten, twenty, 
 many ; come all round, crawling, crawling ; get 
 near cabin ; Injin think nobody in cabin, cause 
 get near ; rifle shoot from cabin, one, two, tree, 
 many rifle ; scare Injin ; Injin run like deer ; 
 Long Hair wait to see if Injin come again ; no 
 
LONG HAIR. 269 
 
 come ; shoot from cabin at Long Hair ; come out 
 tree ; get behind tree quick ; make peace sign at 
 cabin, no bleeve Long Hair; try shoot at 
 him ; Long Hair come way come "to fort ! " 
 
 "Well, that s strange," said General McElroy ; 
 " from Long Hair s account, there seems to be a 
 number in the cabin ; it must be that all the set 
 tlers were not massacred, and have returned, 
 and taken possession of the cabin; we must send 
 a force to their relief." 
 
 "But where are Charlie and Bub?" asked 
 Mrs. Jones of the Indian. 
 
 " Long Hair don t know ; think in cabin." 
 
 " How many persons, should you judge from 
 the firing, were in the cabin ? " inquired the 
 general. 
 
 "Long Hair don t know; no trail." 
 
 "What does Long Hair mean by that?" asked 
 Mrs. McElroy of her husband. 
 
 " He means that there is no appearance of any 
 of the settlers being about the cabin," said the 
 general, " which makes the matter still more in 
 comprehensible ; for if any of the settlers had 
 come back, Long Hair would have traced them. 
 Isn t that it, Long Hair?" The Indian nodded 
 assent. " And yet he says that there were many 
 guns fired," continued the general ; " so many 
 that quite a force of the assailing Indians were 
 panic-struck, and fled. How was the firing 
 
270 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 done, Long Hair? As if by persons that were 
 used to handling the rifle?" 
 
 " One, two, tree, bery good ; hit Injin some ; 
 shoot at Long Hair good ; much hard get way ; 
 to the most, much poor shoot here, shoot dere, 
 shoot everywhere ! " 
 
 " But what makes you think the children are 
 in the cabin?" asked Mrs. Jones ; for, mother- 
 like, her thoughts were constantly recurring to 
 them. 
 
 "Trail go towards cabin," replied the sagacious 
 red man ; " couldn t follow trail ; shoot Long Hair 
 if he follow trail." 
 
 "I think that Long Hair is right," said the 
 general, striking the table with the flat of his hand : 
 "your boys were born to be heroes, madam. If 
 I mistake not, that Charlie and Bub of yours 
 were the defenders of that cabin against the sav 
 ages. And yet," he added, doubtfully, "that is 
 simply absurd ; it s beyond the power of two lit 
 tle boys to perform such a feat ; for you recollect, 
 ladies, that Long Hair said that not only a num 
 ber of guns were fired, but at the same time ; 
 and to conclude that two little boys should fire 
 off a score of guns, more or less, simultaneously, 
 is to assent to a physical impossibility. The 
 truth is, the deeper I go into this matter, the 
 more I m puzzled. What is your opinion of it, 
 Long Hair?" 
 
LONG HAIR. 271 
 
 " Long Hair no sense ; no tell ; mind much 
 dark ; " and the Indian seemed mortified that his 
 sagacity was for once at fault. " No white set 
 tlers in cabin ; Charlie and Bub in cabin ; much 
 gun fire ; hurt two, tree Injin ; scare much In- 
 jin don t know." 
 
 " He means that he is certain that no settlers 
 have returned to the cabin," explained Mrs. 
 Jones, " but that Charlie and Bub are there ; 
 while as to who shot off so many fire-arms, he is 
 as much in the dark as ourselves." 
 
 "Well," said the general, rising, "there is one 
 way to clear up this mystery. I ll send a trusty 
 detachment there at once to open the secrets 
 of the cabin." 
 
 Long Hair rose at this, and said, 
 
 " White chief send sojer to cabin, right way, 
 bimeby, quick?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the general, "and I should like 
 to have you go with them as guide." 
 
 "No," answered the Indian, sententiously ; 
 " Long Hair go lone ; Long r Hair always go 
 lone ; " and, starting at a quick pace, he was 
 speedily out of sight. 
 
272 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 "PULL THE STRING, BUB." 
 
 THE high state of excitement into which 
 Charlie had been kept by the startling events 
 connected with the massacre, and his ingenious 
 defence of the cabin, brought about a reaction ; 
 great lassitude alternated with feverish symp 
 toms. He felt obliged to watch during the long 
 hours of night, and caught such snatches of 
 sleep as Bub s performances allowed by day. 
 
 One day, after Bub had had his breakfast, 
 Charlie said, 
 
 " I feel as if I was going to be sick, Bub ; my 
 mouth tastes dreadfully, and my head aches so I 
 can scarcely see. If I shouldn t get well, and 
 the Indians should come, you must remember and 
 go into the hole in the cellar, and pull the stone 
 up in its place after you, just as I showed you 
 how, and keep still same as we did in the tree." 
 
 " And shall I have to take the toffee-pot and 
 go to the spring, same s you did?" 
 
 "No," said Charlie; "the Indians would see 
 you and kill you if you did, and we have a well 
 
PULL THE STRING, BUB. 273 
 
 in the yard. But I ll tell you what I ll do. I ll 
 bring a pail of cold water now, and fill the coffee 
 pot, and put it into the hole, and a good lot of 
 food there for you to eat, so that you wouldn t 
 have to come out for anything ; and, Bub, if I 
 should die, and father and mother should come 
 and take you away, I want you to tell them 
 that I put the water and the food there ; won t 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Bub; "and I ll let them hide in 
 our tree; mayn t I, Charlie?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Charlie ; "you must tell them 
 all you can remember ; tell them that I tried to 
 be a good boy; tell mother," speaking very 
 softly, "that every night we said Now I lay 
 me ; and don t you never forget to say, ? Now I 
 lay me ; will you, Bub ? " 
 
 "No, I won t," said Bub ; "tos, if I m dood, like 
 you and mother, and say, Now I lay me every 
 night, when I die Dod will send a big angel 
 down to take me up to heaven ; won t he, 
 Charlie?" 
 
 "Yes," said Charlie. "Now I ll go get the 
 water ; " and, walking with unsteady step to the 
 well, he returned with a pail of water, and, fill 
 ing the coffee-pot, descended, feebly, to the 
 cellar, and placed it in the hole which lie had 
 dug ; then, carrying most of the provisions that 
 they had, deposited them there also, and going 
 18 
 
274 THE CABIN N THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 up stairs again, he started for the bed, but sud 
 denly stopped, and putting his hand over his 
 eyes, said, 
 
 "O, where is it? I can t see, I m so dizzy ," 
 and fell by the side of it, on the hard floor. Bub 
 looked on in wonder, scarcely comprehending 
 the meaning of it, saying, 
 
 "Did the cellar hurt you, Charlie?" But 
 there was no answer. In a few moments after, 
 Charlie opened his eyes, and said, 
 
 " Bub, I m dreadful sick ; if the Indians should 
 come, and you must watch for them, Bub, else 
 they might come when you wasn t looking, " 
 
 Then he relapsed into silence. 
 
 "Did you peak, Charlie?" said Bub, wonder 
 ing that he did not finish the sentence. The 
 dear little voice seemed to recall his wandering 
 thoughts, and, taking up what he was saying 
 where he had left off, continued, 
 
 " If the Indians should come, Bub, remember 
 and pull the strings ; perhaps that will frighten 
 them off, as it did before. If it doesn t, go right 
 into the hole in the cellar, as I told you." 
 
 " I fraid to go into the cellar out you." 
 
 "But you must," answered Charlie, "or^the 
 Indians will kill you. But you won t feel afraid 
 if you pray God to take care of you. * 
 
 " Is Dod stronger than dark?" asked Bub. 
 
 "Yes," said Charlie, "he made the dark; he 
 
PULL THE STRING, BUB. 275 
 
 made you, and everything ; but," he added, " I 
 feel better ; I guess I ll get on the bed ; it s easier 
 there." 
 
 Charlie was threatened with brain fever, as 
 his bloodshot eyes, flushed face, and throbbing 
 temples revealed. The strain had been too great 
 for him, and he soon seemed to be unconscious 
 of what was passing around him, and moaned 
 and tossed incessantly. Chary of his scanty 
 store of provisions, not knowing how long they 
 might be shut up in the cabin, he had eaten 
 sparingly himself, but fed Bub generously, not 
 only from love to his little brother, but because 
 it would keep him the more quiet. The night- 
 watching had worn on him terribly. 
 
 Bub had small comprehension of Charlie s con 
 dition ; and finding, after a while, that Charlie did 
 not talk with him, he took the post of sentinel, 
 and did himself great credit. This seemed a 
 long period to the little fellow, and after going 
 the rounds of the port-hole, and seeing nothing to 
 alarm him, he set about amusing himself. The 
 skin bag, containing the ammunition, caught his 
 eye ; so, getting the fire-shovel, he managed to 
 dislodge it from the peg on which it hung, and 
 down it plumped upon the floor. Bub looked 
 towards Charlie at this, to see what he would 
 say, but, as he did not seem to notice, lugged the 
 bag to the hearth, and commenced strewing the 
 
276 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 powder upon the fire. This was highly satis 
 factory, and one little puff would go up, sending 
 out the white ashes, to be succeeded by another, 
 as fast as the fat fist of the little mischief-maker 
 could work. Then he began to strew the powder 
 out from the hearth upon the floor ; and he clapped 
 his hands in glee, as he saw the fire run along 
 the trains that he had laid. Very careless was he 
 in his pyrotechnic contrivances, and might have 
 found himself involved in a grand explosion, had 
 he not bethought himself that, if powder w r as 
 good to burn, it was also good to eat. Now, it 
 chanced that Charlie, in his investigations in the 
 cupboard, had come across a neglected jug, that 
 contained molasses ; and as molasses \vas much 
 prized by Bub, he had kept it for that little boy s 
 sole use, dealing it out to him, a little at a time, 
 at each meal. So, bringing out the jug and a 
 saucer, Bub filled the latter with molasses, into 
 which he stirred the powder, and commenced 
 eating the sweet mixture. He knew he had been 
 into mischief that would displease his brother ; so, 
 denying himself the first taste, taking the saucer 
 and spoon in his hand, he trudged to the bedside, 
 and said, 
 
 " Bub made Charlie some tandy. Bub good 
 boy." 
 
 But, as Charlie gave no heed to the peace- 
 offering, Bub put the saucer upon the table, and, 
 
PULL THE STRING, BUB. 277 
 
 seating himself in his usual place at meal time, 
 commenced eating. The compound was not so 
 pleasant as its inventor had expected, and, after 
 the first few spoonfuls, was abandoned in dis 
 gust. It now occurred to him that it was time 
 to resume his post as sentry. Mounting to his 
 first outlook, his little blue eyes dilated, for he 
 saw an Indian creeping along. 
 
 " Charlie," said he, jumping down in terror, 
 "Injun come to kill Bub!" 
 
 But, as Charlie did not reply, he clambered on 
 the bed, crying, 
 
 " Charlie, peak to Bub ; Injun come ! " Then, 
 supposing that the reason he made no answer 
 was because he had burnt the powder, he said, 
 with quivering lip, 
 
 " Bub s sorry he s been naughty ; Bub won t be 
 naughty no more. Bub love Charlie ; " and he 
 put his little face lovingly against Charlie s. But 
 he started back as Charlie s hot cheeks touched 
 his tender flesh. Remembering how hot his own 
 flesh was when tortured with thirst in the tree, 
 and how grateful the draught of water was 
 Charlie fetched from the spring at the risk of his 
 life, Bub exclaimed, 
 
 " Charlie dry ; Bub give Charlie some drink ! " 
 and hastening to the table, he took from it the large 
 bowl, and filled it from the bucket that Charlie 
 had left on the floor, and, climbing with it on the 
 
278 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 bed again, essaying to put it to his lips, upset 
 the whole over his face and neck. The sudden 
 application of the cold water proved a balm to 
 the sick boy, and, recognizing Bub, he inquired, 
 confusedly, 
 
 "Where where am I? what s the matter?" 
 
 " Injun s come ! " cried Bub, with renewed 
 earnestness. 
 
 Charlie attempted to rise, but fell back, ex 
 hausted, saying, while 3. growing faintness crept 
 over him, 
 
 " I can t get up, Bub, I m so sick ; pull the 
 string." 
 
 Bub did as he was directed, and again the 
 cabin fort broke the stillness of prairie and forest 
 with its unmanned broadside. 
 
 " Now," said Charlie, his voice sinking to a 
 whisper, "go and hide yourself in the cellar, 
 Bub, and keep very still." 
 
 " I fraid out you ! " said Bub. 
 
 " I am so sick," answered Charlie, w I can t go 
 with you." 
 
 "I so fraid!" quivered Bub, as he saw the 
 deathly pallor creeping over Charlie s face, and 
 the fixed look of his eyes. 
 
 " Pray, and then go and keep still," said 
 Charlie. 
 
 And little Bub knelt by the bedside, and, fold 
 ing his hands, repeated, 
 
PULL THE STRING, BUB. 279 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep; 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to take ; " 
 
 and then adding, of his own accord, "Please, 
 Dod, take care of Charlie, and don t let the dark 
 hurt Bub;" rising, he said, "Bub isn t fraid 
 now ; " and, descending into the cellar, he crept 
 into his hiding-place in the wall, and carefully 
 readjusted the stone. 
 
 The Indian that Bub had seen was Long Hair. 
 While he was cautiously reconnoitring, the com 
 mand under Captain Manly had reached the 
 ground. The soldiers found the outer door se 
 curely fastened, and, though they thundered for 
 admittance, there was no response from within. 
 In their impatience, some broke down the door, 
 while others scaled the walls. Captain Manly 
 was the first to enter, -and the soldiers pushed in 
 eagerly after him, anxious to rescue the settlers, 
 if any were there still. Instantly his eye caught 
 the figure stretched on the bed. 
 
 "Hush, boys," said he, reverently; "the little 
 fellow is dead." 
 
 Tears filled the eyes of the men as they gath 
 ered about their officer, and gazed silently upon 
 the features of the boy. A placid look was upon 
 the brave lad s countenance ; his curly-brown 
 hair lay in dank masses, in fine contrast to his 
 
280 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 white forehead ; while the lessons of self-control, 
 which he had been taught, made his expression 
 mature and noble. Captain Manly stooped and 
 kissed the cold forehead, and the soldiers instinc 
 tively lifted their caps. 
 
 Meanwhile, the cabin had been carefully 
 searched. 
 
 "There s not a soul in it," said Sergeant Eaton, 
 touching his cap. w The little lad yonder seems 
 to have been all alone." 
 
 " Impossible. What did that firing mean from 
 the cabin, just as we rode up? And here, you 
 see, are no less than a dozen rifles, all nicely 
 mounted. Where are the fingers that pulled the 
 triggers? Sergeant, there is some mystery here 
 that needs to be unravelled. Have you searched 
 the cellar?" 
 
 "We have, sir," was the reply. 
 
 The officers stood looking at each other per 
 plexed, and were continuing their conversation 
 in a low tone, when Long Hair entered, and 
 without noticing any one, stood, with folded 
 arms, gazing at Charlie. 
 
 "Long Hair," said the captain, turning ab 
 ruptly towards him, " how long did you get here 
 before we did?" 
 
 " Little time not much." 
 
 " Were you on the ground when we heard the 
 discharge?" 
 
PULL THE STRING, BUB. 28l 
 
 w In tree ; just here ; over dere." 
 
 " Did any one leave the cabin after the guns 
 were fired?" 
 
 "No leave cabin," he answered. 
 
 "Who do you think fired the guns, Long 
 Hair?" 
 
 "Charlie fire gun." 
 
 " But Charlie is dead ; and the discharge was 
 only a few moments ago." 
 
 "No; Indian no sense; Charlie no fire gun. 
 Bub fire gun." 
 
 " Impossible," returned the captain, impatiently. 
 "How could such a child do it?" 
 
 " What string for, cap n ? " asked Long Hair, 
 pointing to the twine that hung from the gun trig 
 gers, which, being so near the color of the walls, 
 had been detected only by the Indian s keen 
 glance. This ingenious arrangement was ex 
 amined with interest ; and the conviction was fast 
 gaining ground, that Long Hair was not far from 
 right in his conclusions. 
 
 " But where is the child ? " asked the captain ; 
 and again they searched the cabin. The closet 
 was peered into to its topmost shelf; a few boxes 
 that had been left, emptied of their contents ; 
 even the bed on which Charlie lay was minutely 
 examined, and the improbable supposition that 
 the walls of the cellar might conceal him was 
 
282 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 renounced, as the soldiers struck the butts of their 
 guns against the stones. 
 
 " Is it possible," asked the captain of Long 
 Hair, for he had learned to rely much on his 
 sagacity, "that Bub could escape from the 
 house?" 
 
 Long Hair shook his head, saying, 
 
 " No trail ; Bub no go." 
 
 " May it p t lase your honor," said the Irish pri 
 vate, O Connor, touching his cap to the captain, 
 "I belave, on me sowl, that it s the ghost of the 
 brave lad that shot the guns. The likes of him, 
 sir, would be afther defendin the cabin if twas 
 only out of respect to the onburied bodies of the 
 women and the childers that has been murthured 
 by the hathen savages bad luck to em ! " 
 
 "Long Hair," said the captain, smiling at the 
 superstition of the warm-hearted Hibernian, "I ve 
 a mind, while the men are taking their rations on 
 the grass, to leave you to clear up this mystery ; 
 I believe, if any one can find it out, you can." 
 
 The men, having fallen into line, stacked their 
 guns, and Long Hair was left alone with Char 
 lie. He stood for a moment looking at the quiet 
 form of the boy ; and the workings of his usu 
 ally stolid face showed the affection which he 
 felt for him. He then carefully looked about the 
 room, then went quietly out, and passed around 
 the cabin, critically examining the ground as he 
 
PULL THE STRING, BUB. 283 
 
 walked. He soon returned, and made directly 
 for the cellar, gliding noiselessly in his mocca- 
 sons down the stairs. In the dim light he care 
 fully went over the cellar bottom. Taking up 
 some of the litter with which it was covered, he 
 gently scraped the fresh sand away until he came 
 to litter again. Patiently and carefully then he 
 removed the top litter from a wide space, noticing 
 from which direction the sand had been thrown, 
 and in a moment he was standing where the 
 heap had been, which Charlie and Bub had 
 shovelled away. Stooping down now, he saw 
 where the earth had been fretted by the stone as 
 it had been pulled out and in ; then he placed his 
 ear to the ground, and listened intently ; instant 
 ly he glided from the cellar, and stood with 
 folded arms before Captain Manly. 
 
 "Well, what luck?" asked the captain. 
 
 " Long Hair find pappoose." 
 
 There was a general excitement at this, and a 
 number arose, as if eager to follow the captain 
 and the Indian ; but Long Hair stirred not, say 
 ing, angrily, 
 
 "Too much sojer; scare pappoose." 
 
 "That is sensible," said the captain ; "you and 
 I will go alone, Long Hair." 
 
 The Indian led him at once to the place in the 
 wall where Bub was concealed. 
 
284 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 "Pappoose in dere," said the Indian, pointing 
 to the stone. "Take stone out." 
 
 The captain drew it forth, got down on his 
 hands and knees, and peeped in, and saw Bub s 
 bright eyes looking into his ; and, taking hold 
 of Bub s chubby hand, he said, soothingly, for 
 Bub now began to cry, 
 
 " Don t be afraid, my little fellow ; we are all 
 your friends, and have come to take you to your 
 mother." 
 
 "Won t Injun kill me?" asked Bub, glancing 
 apprehensively at Long Hair. 
 
 "No," said the officer; "it s Long Hair; he 
 came to keep the bad Indians from killing you." 
 
 When Captain Manly appeared with Bub in 
 his arms, the air was rent with the joyful shouts 
 of the soldiers ; and Bub suddenly found himself 
 a hero, as he was borne about and caressed by 
 them a joy that was suddenly intensified to a 
 wild pitch of excitement, as word was brought 
 that dear, brave, romantic Charlie had revived. 
 He was not dead. Aroused by the shouts of the 
 soldiers over Bub s appearance, he had opened 
 his eyes, and, imagining that the Indians were 
 assailing the cabin, murmured, in a clear, distinct 
 voice, 
 
 " Pull the string, Bub ! " 
 
TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. 
 
 MR. COWLES farmer, grocer, postmaster, 
 and money-lender drew his chair to the fire. 
 The large, old-fashioned stove had an open front, 
 and it was pleasant, on such a piercing day, to 
 see the flames leap, and hear the wood crackle, 
 and sit in the genial warmth. 
 
 The table was neatly set for supper. There 
 was a platter of cold prairie chicken, a glass dish 
 containing wild-plum sauce, and a plate of bis 
 cuit ; while on the stove hearth stood a white 
 tureen, holding a few slices of hot toast. 
 
 Mrs. Cowles, having been informed by her liege 
 lord that her presence was not desired at that 
 particular hour, had gladly improved the oppor 
 tunity to take a cup of tea with her friend Mrs. 
 Barker, and learn the particulars concerning the 
 accident that happened to Bill Walker and Maria 
 Hobbs the night before, who, while returning 
 from a log-house dance, six miles away, were 
 upset from the wagon into Slough Creek. Mrs. 
 Cowles dearly loved a dish of gossip, which, 
 
286 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 smoking hot and seasoned to one s taste, was 
 always to be had at Mrs. Barker s. 
 
 The Cowles were a money-loving and money- 
 getting race, from the least of them to the great 
 est; and Mr. Charles Cowles was not a whit 
 behind the shrewdest of them in this respect. 
 
 It was a stormy afternoon in March, and the 
 winds, which, like troops of wild horses, came 
 careering across the prairies, and charged upon 
 the ifioney-lender s "framed" house, furiously 
 whirled the snow, and made shrill, wintry music. 
 Mr. Cowles added more fuel to the fire, reseated 
 himself, put his feet into a chair, and fell into a 
 deep study. 
 
 He w r as the moneyed man of the place, and, 
 although comparatively a new comer, was the 
 autocrat of the settlement. His first visit to the 
 town, "prospecting," caused considerable com 
 motion ; for if the groves and prairies had been 
 arranged on the plan of a vast whispering-gallery, 
 the fact that he had a golden purse could scarcely 
 have circulated more rapidly. Many prophesied 
 he would not condescend to dwell in so small a 
 town a surmise that seemed the more probable 
 from his haughty, overbearing carriage. And 
 when it was certain that he had bought out the 
 best of the two stores, and carpenters were set to 
 work building a large addition to the grocery, 
 and teams arrived from the Mississippi loaded 
 
TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. 287 
 
 with barrels and boxes of goods, there was gen 
 eral congratulation. The town will go ahead 
 now, the settlers said ; men of capital are begin 
 ning to come in, and land is sure to rise. 
 
 But Mr. Cowles did not pitch his tent there for 
 the benefit of the public, as the public soon had 
 reason to know. He invested nothing in "im 
 provements," but simply kept his stock replen 
 ished, selling at the high frontier prices, giving 
 credit when wanted, but always taking ample 
 security, and letting money in the same way, at 
 five per cent, per month. 
 
 The settlers had met with the usual financial 
 disappointments of the frontier, and then a busi 
 ness revulsion at the east caused a fall in the 
 value of land, and a diminution of immigration ; 
 and, having expended the little they had on their 
 arrival, they were compelled to do as best they 
 could. In this extremity it became common for 
 them to get trusted at the store for groceries, and 
 hire money of its proprietor ; and in an astonish 
 ingly short space of time, the sharp grocer held 
 mortgages on most of the farms in the neighbor 
 hood. He was inexorable when pay-day came ; 
 and if the money was not ready, he foreclosed, 
 deaf to all appeals. But of this he invariably 
 gave each one who applied for a loan an offen 
 sively plain warning. He was a middle-sized, 
 broad-chested, black-eyed man, muscular, pas- 
 
288 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 sionate, blasphemously profane, heavy-voiced, 
 had a remarkable command of language, and 
 when angered his eyes seemed to shoot light 
 ning, and he would gesticulate with great energy. 
 There was no respect of persons or station with 
 him ; high and low were served alike. When 
 credit or money was asked for, he would say, 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; but, mind you," with a fearful 
 oath, "if you don t pay according to agreement, 
 I shan t wait a moment. Everybody that deals 
 with me has to be on the square. O, yes ; you 
 expect to pay, but you won t. And don t you 
 come whining and crying round me then ; it won t 
 make any sort of difference. I ve put my grip on 
 your land, and I tell you now that I shan t let go. 
 Don t you say, then, that I didn t tell you before 
 hand just how it would turn out." 
 
 The money-lender of the young village was 
 feared, hated, and fawned upon. His bearing 
 was imperious and sneering towards all. He had 
 a vigorous intellect, however, was uncommonly 
 well-informed, and would discourse to the groups 
 in his store, sitting with his stout legs hanging 
 over the counter, with a coarse brilliancy, origi 
 nal and sagacious, from which the more cultured 
 might cull gems of thought, fresh and striking, 
 despite the terrible swearing, which would startle 
 even bad men. 
 
TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. 289 
 
 Was there "a well in the rock" of this man s 
 hard heart? We shall see. 
 
 The lines of the money-lender s face were 
 bitterly hard ; but on this afternoon his features 
 worked as if strong conflicting emotions were 
 striving for mastery. Something unusual was 
 stirring his brain ; he sat thinking, thinking, un 
 easily shifting his position, and at length arose, 
 and passing through a dark hall, entered the 
 shop, and said, 
 
 "Ah, Tom, is that you?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the young man, diffidently; 
 " Mr. Payson said you wished to see me." 
 
 "Yes, walk in this way;" and Mr. Cowles 
 returned to the home-room, followed by Tom. 
 
 "Do you know why I sent for you?" asked 
 the grocer. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 tc Well, I had a little private matter that I 
 wished to talk with you about ; but I m hungry 
 as a bear, and if you ll do me the favor to drink 
 a cup of tea with me, I ll try to explain." 
 
 Tom had ever shrunk from contact with this 
 man, and marvelled much at finding himself his 
 guest. Yet a cosy sitting down together they 
 had, Tom s host being singularly attentive to 
 him, while they partook of the nice edibles. 
 
 " Tom," said the grocer, as they sat back from 
 the table, " I ve heard good accounts of you ; " 
 
 19 
 
THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 and his voice grew soft and tremulous ; ?? and 
 I m really glad of it. And I ve had an eye on 
 you myself quite a while ; and, bad as they say 
 old Cowles is, I like to see others do well. You 
 stuck by your folks when you wished to go oft ; 
 that s right. You made the most of your school 
 ing ; that s in your favor. You are an honest, 
 right-minded lad, aiming to be, I suspect, some 
 such a man as that missionary." 
 
 Tom s surprise grew apace. How did this 
 rough, swearing, covetous dealer ferret out his 
 heart s secrets? 
 
 " You wished to go from home to study, but, 
 like a true son, staid by to help the family. 
 That must have been a great self-denial to you ; 
 was it not?" 
 
 "Yes," faltered Tom. 
 
 " Of course it was. But how did you manage 
 to give it up so bravely ? " 
 
 " Mother advised me to pray about it, and 
 I did." 
 
 " Do you think it does any good to pray ? " 
 asked the grocer. 
 
 " O, yes, indeed. I couldn t live without 
 prayer, it helps me so much." 
 
 " But," objected his questioner, " do you imagine 
 that the great God cares enough about our little 
 affairs to answer the trifling requests we may 
 make of him?" 
 
TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. 2pl 
 
 " I do, sir," replied Tom, with glowing cheeks 
 and tearful eyes ; " I have known him to do so 
 many and many a time." 
 
 " Perhaps you were deceived." 
 
 M O," cried Tom, "if you had been in the mis 
 sionary s family as much as I have, and heard 
 him pray for things, and then see just what he 
 asked for come into the house almost before he 
 arose from his knees, you could not doubt that 
 God had heard him. Why, sir, how do you 
 suppose he has managed to get along on the 
 little that the settlers have paid him, unless it has 
 been in answer to prayer?" 
 
 " I am sure he must have been pinched," an 
 swered the money-lender, moving uneasily. 
 
 " I would like to relate an instance or two," 
 continued Tom, "if it would not be " 
 
 " No, no, it won t be disagreeable to me ; but I 
 have not time to hear it now. I believe all you 
 say. I tell you what it is, young man," he added, 
 rising and pacing the floor, deeply agitated, " I 
 know more about these matters than folks think. 
 There s my brother ; he s a Methodist minister, 
 just like this missionary about praying. He s 
 often prayed for me, and says he has the evi 
 dence that I shall be converted, and become a 
 preacher." 
 
 " Perhaps you will," earnestly remarked Tom ; 
 
THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " you have ability enough to do a great deal of 
 good." 
 
 " So he says. What if it should come about ! 
 How strange it would seem for a cursing old 
 sinner like me to preach and pray as that mis 
 sionary does ! They call me a hard man. But 
 what can I do? Don t I inform every soul that 
 asks me for money that he s a fool, and that I 
 shall hold him to the writing? I get their lands, 
 it is true ; but if I did not, somebody else would. 
 Why, they mortgage all they have, and then buy 
 the highest priced goods in the store. I ve no 
 patience with such folks, and they don t get much 
 mercy from me." 
 
 "But," bluntly said Tom, "I can t see how 
 another s wrong-doing justifies ours." 
 
 "That s so," he returned, gloomily. "But 
 I ve a different sort of business to transact with 
 you, than to defend my misdeeds. That mis 
 sionary has been making me a pastoral visit, and 
 he took it upon himself to inform me that the Lord 
 has called you to preach the gospel, and that it 
 is my duty to furnish money to send you off to 
 college, or some such place, where they grind 
 out ministers." 
 
 " Me ! " exclaimed Tom, rising to his feet. 
 
 "Yes, you; sit down, sit down, young man, 
 and be calm ; " and the grocer, in his own ex- 
 
TOM AND THE MONEY-LENDER. 
 
 citement, gesticulated violently with both arms 
 at once. " He says that I m the only man here 
 that has the money to do this. Pretty cool 
 isn t it? to dictate to old Cowles, the miserly 
 money-grabber, in that way. I just turned on 
 my heel, and left him in the middle of his order 
 ing ; but, you see, I couldn t help thinking about 
 it night and day. I wouldn t wonder if that med 
 dling missionary had been praying about it all the 
 while ; and the result is, the old money-lender is 
 going to give you a lift, my boy. We, hackneyed, 
 hopeless old reprobates, need just such preachers 
 as the missionary s famous seminary is going to 
 make out of you ; and I invited you here to say 
 that you can depend on me for two hundred dol 
 lars in gold to start with, and as much more each 
 year, till you graduate, as the missionary says you 
 need. When old Cowles begins to do a thing, 
 mind you, he never does it by halves." 
 
 " But," said Tom, choking with joy and won 
 der, " how shall I pay you? " 
 
 " Pay ! pay ! " roared the grocer, his eyes 
 shooting flame ; then, suddenly waxing tender, 
 the tears extinguishing the fire-flashes, " if you 
 will pray for a poor old rebel like me, it is all the 
 pay I want." 
 
 Then, going into the entry, he called, 
 
 "Johnson ! Johnson ! " 
 
294 THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 " Here, sir," said a voice ; and the dapper little 
 tailor, who rented a window in the store, made 
 his appearance. 
 
 " Measure this young man for a suit of clothes," 
 said the grocer; "and mind and give him a 
 genteel fit, that will do for him in the best 
 circles east." 
 
AN ENCHANTING SCENE. 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AN ENCHANTING SCENE. THE PARTING. 
 
 "The hearth is swept, the fire is made, 
 The kettle sings for tea." 
 
 IT was the clear, honest voice of Deacon Pal 
 mer that fell on Tom s ear, and which he now 
 heard for the hundredth time. Year in and out, 
 at morning and night, the good man had sung 
 this, his favorite song, bachelor though he was, 
 with silver-streaked hair, as if his heart yearned 
 for the wifely waiting, and the sweet home-joys 
 it pictured. Why were they not his ? Do all have 
 their longings for something brighter and better 
 than the present brings ? something for which they 
 must wait and wait, and perchance never attain? 
 
 Tom knocked modestly at the storekeeper s 
 door. A moment, and the money-lender opened 
 it, saying, heartily, 
 
 w Walk in; walk in!" 
 
 "No, I thank you," answered Tom ; "I called 
 to say, that as I am to start on Monday to begin 
 study at the east," and the young man s tones 
 grew tremulous, " General and Mrs. McElroy 
 
THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 and mother are to be at the missionary s to-day, 
 and they desire the pleasure of your company at 
 dinner." 
 
 "Well, well, young man, you have brought a 
 message haven t you?" exclaimed the grocer, 
 fidgeting about. "A pretty mixed-up company 
 that would be wouldn t it? Old Cowles sitting 
 down to table with a minister of the gospel, and 
 a student for that sacred calling, and such like 
 folks. No, no ; that wouldn t be consistent. Tell 
 them that I am much obliged, but " 
 
 "Now, Mr. Cowles," exclaimed Tom, seizing 
 his hand, "you must come. I shall feel dread 
 fully hurt if you refuse, and they all want you 
 to so much. And, you know that if it was not 
 for your kindness " 
 
 " There, there, boy," interrupted the store 
 keeper, his black eyes flashing through, tears, 
 " don t talk in that way. All is, if it will please 
 you, I ll come. But how do you go to the river, 
 Monday?" 
 
 " O, the missionary is to get a team." 
 
 " Well, just say to him that my horses are at 
 his service." 
 
 We will not dwell upon the dinner in the log- 
 cabin parsonage, during which "irrepressible" 
 Bub his clerical tastes sharpened by Tom s 
 example took clandestine possession of the 
 attic study, and, constituting himself preacher, 
 
THE PARTING. 
 
 audience, and choir, undertook to conduct divine 
 service. Having given out the first hymn, he 
 drowned the missionary s words, as the latter said 
 grace, by stoutly singing, 
 
 " I want to be an angel, 
 An angel with a stand." 
 
 Neither may we linger amid the tender, solemn 
 scenes of the Sabbath following, the last Tom 
 was to spend in the rude frontier sanctuary. 
 
 It was evening of a beautiful day in May, when 
 the money-lender s capacious carnage, drawn by 
 his trusty grays, deposited its passengers at the 
 landing, to await the steamer. What a lifetime 
 of thought and emotion seemed crowded into that 
 interval of waiting, as Mrs. Jones stood with Tom 
 clasped closely, whispering words of mingled 
 foreboding, hope, and caution ! 
 
 " To be a good minister of Jesus Christ, how 
 glorious, how sublime!"" said she. "There is 
 nothing I so much desire for you. But you are 
 going into scenes very different from those in 
 which you have been reared scenes which will 
 have their peculiar and insidious perils. I foresee 
 that you will rise to distinction in your studies. 
 But do not seek high things for yourself. Be not 
 anxious to become what is called a great preacher, 
 nor aspire to a * brilliant settlement. Sacrifice 
 not conscience for place and power and the ap- 
 
THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 plause of sect. Keep humble. Keep Christ ever 
 before you ; and may he watch between me and 
 thee while we are separated from each other ; " 
 and she kissed him a fond farewell. Tom stepped 
 aboard the steamer, which rapidly bore him 
 away, carrying in his heart the images of the 
 godly missionary, fair-haired Alice, and his 
 mother the little group that stood on the shore 
 gazing so lovingly after him. The young man 
 wept freely as they faded from sight. But, hap 
 pily, the magical splendor of night on the Missis 
 sippi broke in on the tumult of his feelings. 
 Hundreds of lights gleamed from the shore in 
 every direction ; from village, and city, and town ; 
 from cottage and homestead ; while steamer after 
 steamer, illuminated within and without, came 
 sweeping, sounding, thundering on, like some 
 monster leviathan spouting fire. It was as a 
 dream of enchantment to him, and soon stirred 
 his brain wonderfully. With singular vividness 
 the eventful past of his pioneer life flitted be 
 fore his mental vision, and again he experienced 
 the terrible anxieties and thrills of horror and of 
 heroic resolve connected with the Indian uprising. 
 And now his tears flow as he revisits in imagination 
 the lonely grave of his father on the far-off prairie. 
 Would the dear ones that survived the fearful 
 outbreak be long safe? Might they not soon 
 need his aid once more? And the glowing future 
 
THE PARTING. 299 
 
 for which he had so panted, would it be to him all 
 he had fancied ? Would he pass safely the dan 
 gers his far-seeing mother had sketched? Would 
 he realize her ideal? And the kind missionary 
 and the eccentric money-lender, they had high 
 expectations of what he should become. Would 
 he disappoint their hopes? Tom, wearied with 
 thought, sought his state-room, and fell asleep, 
 dreaming that he was hearing, as on the morning 
 of his first visit to the fort, the bird-like notes of 
 the song that then floated through the open win 
 dow, and that fairy Alice looked out and said, 
 "Don t forget me, Tom, while you are away." 
 Thus does divine and human love ever inter 
 twine. How strange, how unvarying the ex 
 perience ! Farewell, Tom ! Farewell, Charlie ! 
 Good by, Bub ! Perhaps we may meet again. 
 
Tie only Original Illustrated Juvenile Magazine published Once a Week. 
 
 OLIVER OPTIC S MAGAZINE, 
 
 OUR BOYS AND GIRLS, 
 
 EVERY WEEK. EDITED BY OLIVER OPTIO, 
 
 Wlio writes for no other Juvenile Publication, and who contributes 
 
 Four Serial Stories Every Year, 
 
 The cost of which, in book form, would be $5.00, double the subscription 
 price of the Magazine. Every number contains part of a new Story by 
 Oliver Optic, illustrated by designs from the best artists, headed by Thomaf 
 Nast, the great American Artist. Then follow 
 
 Poems and Stories 
 
 By other well-known authors, who know how to write for Young Folks. 
 
 The Orator, 
 
 A department exclusively in charge of Oliver Optic, gives every other week 
 a selection for Declamation, marked for delivery according to the most ap 
 proved rules of elocution ; 26 MARKED DECLAMATIONS EACH YEAR. 
 
 Original Dialogues. 
 
 Some of the best writers find a place under this head every other week, 
 giving the subscriber 26 ORIGINAL DIALOGUES EVERY YEAR. 
 
 Head Work, 
 
 Containing Geographical Rebuses, Puzzles, Syncopations, Geographical 
 Questions, Proverbial Anagrams, Enigmas, Charades, and Numerical Puz 
 zles, contributed by I He subscribers, and rendered unusually attractive by 
 original features NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OTHER MAGAZINE. 
 
 In addition to the above-mentioned departments, there are regular 
 tributiop.B on Natural History, History, the Sciences, Facts and Figui 
 from some of the most learned men iii the country. 
 
 OLIVER OPTIC S MAGAZINE contains more reading matter ft 
 any other juvenile publication, and is the CHEAPEST and the BBS 
 f eriodical of the kind in the United States. 
 
 Any boy or girl who will write to the publishers shall receive a sped 
 copy by mail, free. 
 
 TERMS, IN ADVANCE. Single Subscriptions, One Year, f 2. 
 
 One Volume, Six Months, $1.25; Single copies, 6 cents. Three copi 
 $6.50; five copies, $10.00; ten copies (with an extra copy free), $20.00. 
 
 LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston; 
 
LEE & SHEPARD S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 OLIVER OPTIC S BOOKS. 
 
 RIVERDALE STORY-BOOKS. 
 
 Six volumes, profusely illustrated from new designs by 
 Billings. In neat box. Cloth. Per vol., .45. 
 COMPRISING 
 
 Little Merchant. Proud and Lazy. 
 
 Young Voyagers. Careless Kate. 
 
 Dolly and I. Robinson Crusoe, Jr. 
 
 These little volumes arc very interesting and attractive, and they carry a 
 moral with them, which, if heeded, there is no doubt will set Youth in the right 
 direction for its own benefit. 
 
 FLORA LEE STORY BOOKS. 
 
 Companions to the above. Six volumes, profusely illus 
 trated from new designs by Billings. In neat box. 
 Cloth. Per volume, .45. 
 
 COMPUISIXG 
 
 Christmas Gift. The Picnic Party. 
 Uncle Ben The Gold Thimble. 
 
 Birthday Party. The Do- Somethings. 
 
 These stories are written ia "Oliver Optic s" best style, and all are in 
 teresting and attractive. 
 
 OUR STANDARD BEARER ; Or, The Life of Gcn l 
 Ulysses S. Grant : His Youth, His Manhood, His Cam 
 paigns, and his eminent Services in the Reconstruction 
 of the Nation his Sword has redeemed. As seen and 
 related by Captain Bernard Galligaskcn, Cosmopolitan, 
 and written out by Oliver Optic. Illustrated by Thos. 
 Nast. IGmo. Cloth. $1.50. 
 
 "This is a book for young men to read; forboj 8 to rend; and old men will 
 find their dull blood stirred by its graphic descriptions, its thrilling narrative, 
 and its hearty enthusiasm." New Hertford Mercury. 
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 By William T. Adams (Oliver Opticj. 12mo. $2.00. 
 
 "This excellent writer for children has here tried his hand at writing for 
 grown people, and has succeeded admirably." Times. 
 
 "It is long since we have read a more interesting book." Gazette. 
 
 "The "Way of the "World is a popular story of the intense class, fill of 
 thrilling incidents ai;d exciting scenes, such as boys delight to read." Con- 
 yregationalist. 
 
 Sold by all book-sellers and news-dealers, and sent by mail, post-paid, ca 
 receipt of price. 
 
 LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 
 
LEE & SHEPARD S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SOPHIE MAY S BOOKS; 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY STORIES, 
 
 Six volumes. Illustrated. In Sets or separate. Per 
 volumCf ?.> cents, 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY. 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY S Sister Susy. 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY S Captain Horace. 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY S Cousin Grace. 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY S Story Book. 
 
 LITTLE PRUDY S Dotty Dimple. 
 
 DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES, 
 
 By the author of " Littlo Prudy Stories." 
 
 Si& volumes. Illustrated. In Sets or separate. Per 
 volume, 73 cents. 
 
 DOTTY DIMPLE at her Grandmother s. 
 DOTTY DIMPLE at Home. 
 
 DOTTY DIMPLE out West. 
 
 DOTTY DIMPLE at Play. 
 
 DOTTY DIMPLE at School. 
 
 DOTTY DIMPLE S Flyaway. 
 
 Read the liiijh commendation of the Iforth American Revieiv, which 
 places Sophie May s Books at the 
 
 Head of Juvcnilo Literature. 
 
 " Gcniua comes in with Little Prudy. Compared with her, all other 
 book-children are cold creations of Literature only; she alone is the real 
 thing. All the quaintness of childhood, its originality, its tenderness and its 
 teasing, its infinite, unconscious drollery, the serious earnestness of its 
 fun, the fun of its seriou.sne.ss, the natural religion of its plays, and the delic 
 ious oddity of its prayers, all these waited for dear Little Trudy to embody 
 them. Sam Weller is not more piquant; Hans Anderson s nutcrackers and 
 knitting-needles are not more thoroughly charged with life. There arc six 
 little green volumes in the scries, ami of course other dramatis persona: 
 must figure; but one eagerly watches for every reappearance of Prudy, as 
 one watches at the play for Owens or Warren to re-enter upon the stage.! 
 "Who is our benefactress in the authorship of these books,, the world knows 
 not. Sophie May must doubtless be a fancy name, by reason of the spelling, 
 and we have only to be greatt ul that the author did not intlict on us the 
 customary alliteration in her pseudonymc. The rare gift of delineating 
 childhood is hers, and may the line of Little Prudy go out to the end of the 
 earth To those oversaturatcd with transatlantic traditions we recom 
 mend a course of Little Prudy," 
 
 Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail, post-paid, on 
 receipt of price. 
 
 LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 
 
LEE & SHEPARD S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 OLIVER OPTIC S BOOKS. 
 
 WOODVILLE STORIES, 
 
 Handsomely Illustrated. In sets or separate. 
 
 RICH AND HUMBLE; or, the Mission of Bertha 
 Grant. $1.25. 
 
 " No author is more welcomed by the young, and no books can be more 
 eafely placed in their hands. His writings, as in this volume of Rich and 
 Humble, inspire the reader with a lofty purpose. They show the wrong 
 courses of life only to present, by contrast, the true and right path, and 
 make it the way which youth will wish to walk in, because of its being the 
 most pleasant and inviting." Mass. Teacher. 
 
 IN SCHOOL AND OUT ; or, The Conquest of Rich 
 ard Grant. $1.25. 
 
 " Oliver Optic is as well known and as highly appreciated among the 
 young people of our land as Charles Dickens is among the older folks. la 
 School and Out is equal to anything he has written. It is a story that will 
 deeply interest boys particularly, and make them better." Notices of the 
 J ress. 
 
 WATCH AND WAIT : or, The Young Fugitives. 
 $L25. 
 
 The author has used, to the best advantage, the many exciting incidents 
 that naturally attend the career of-a fugitive slave, and the seeds that he may 
 sow in youthful hearts will perhaps bear a hundred-fold. 
 
 WORK AND WIN; or, Noddy Newman on a Cruise. 
 
 $1.25. 
 
 * A nautical story of adventure and endurance, written to delineate the 
 apward progress of a boy whose moral attributes were of the lowest ordcr^ 
 in consequence of neglected education, but in whom high religious princi 
 ples were afterwards .developed." Notices of the Press. 
 
 HOPE AND HAVE ; or, Fanny Grant among the 
 
 Indians. $1.25. 
 
 " This is a story of Western adventure and of peril among the Indians, 
 .and contains the experience of Fanny <Grant, who, from a very naughty girl, 
 became a very good one, by the influence of a pure and beautiful example 
 exhibited by an erring child, in the hour of her greatest wandering from the 
 path of virtue." J hiladeljjhia Age. 
 
 HASTE AND WASTE ; or, The Young Pilot of 
 Lake Champlain. $1.25. 
 
 " This is a story of boyish daring and integrity upon Lake Champlain, 
 and older heads than those of sixteen may read and profit by it." 
 
 The stories in the " Woodville" series are hinged together only so far as 
 the same characters have been retained in each. 
 
 gold by all booksellers, and sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. 
 
 LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 
 
 c. 
 
The 
 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY