The Young Emigrants; Madelaine Tube; The Boy and the Book; and by Susan Anne Livingston Ridley Sedgwick

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The ground was soon covered with the victims, and the sportsmen still
seemed intent on killing, as if they thought only of destroying as many
as possible of the crowded birds, when Mrs. Lee called to them to
desist.

"There are more of the pretty creatures already slain," she said, "than
we can eat,--it is a shocking waste of life!"

"And see, Tom," cried his sister, "the poor things are not dead, only
wounded and in pain!"

They all instantly ceased firing, and Mr. Lee looked on the bleeding
birds scattered around, with the regretful feeling that he had bought a
few minutes' amusement at a great expense of suffering. Uncle John and
Tom, however, only thought of pigeon-pies, and went to work to put the
sufferers out of their misery, and prepare them for cooking.

A few days after this memorable morning, the children and Uncle John set
out for a regular nutting excursion; Annie had made great bags for their
gatherings, and Mrs. Lee provided a fine pigeon-pie for their dinner;
Tom took charge of it, his sister of Georgy, and Uncle John carried his
constant companion on a ramble--his good rifle. By noon they had gone
more than three miles into the depths of the forest; their bags were
nearly filled, and Tom began to grumble at the weight of the pie, so
that when they reached a pleasant open spot near a spring, it was at
once decided that they should dine there. They spread their little store
on the ground, adding to it some bunches of grapes from the vines
around, and then sat down with excellent appetites and the merriest of
tempers.

"I am never tired of watching the squirrels!" cried Annie, who had been
looking for some time at the lively little animals scampering in the
trees; "just look what funny little things those are!"

"The young ones are just old enough now to eat the nuts and berries,"
replied Uncle John; "see how they are feasting!"

"Where do they live, uncle; in a hole?" asked George.

"Oh, George! where are your eyes!" cried his brother; "look up there;
don't you see the little mud and twig cabins at the very top of the
tree! those are their nests!"

"I once read an interesting story," remarked Uncle John, "of a squirrel
that tried to kill himself; would you like to hear it?"

"Oh yes, uncle!" they all cried in a breath.

"Well, this squirrel was very ill-treated by his companions; they used
to scratch and bite him, and jump on him till they were tired, while he
never offered to resist, but cried in the most heart-rending manner. One
young squirrel, however, was his secret friend, and whenever an
opportunity offered of doing it without being seen, would bring him nuts
and fruits. This friend was detected one day by the others, who rushed
in dozens to punish him, but he succeeded in escaping from them by
jumping to the highest perch of the tree, where none could follow him.
The poor outcast, meanwhile, seemingly heart-broken by this last
misfortune, went slowly to the river's side, ascended a tree which stood
by, and with a wild scream jumped from it into the rushing waters!"

"Oh, uncle! what a melancholy story," cried Anne, quite touched by the
squirrel's sorrows.

"But wait, dear; our wretched squirrel did not perish this time, he was
saved by a gentleman who had seen the whole affair, and who took him
home and tamed him. He was an affectionate little creature, and never
attempted to return to the woods, although left quite free. His end was
a sad one at last; he was killed by a rattlesnake!"

"Oh, horrid!" cried George, "that was worse than drowning."

"So I think, Georgy. But isn't it time for us to move homewards? Wash
the dish, Annie, at the spring, and Tom shall bag it again."

It was nearly dark when they reached the log-house, tired with their
long walk, and the weight of their full bags, but in great spirits
nevertheless, for they brought back a prize in an immense wild turkey,
which Uncle John had shot on the return march. They had seen a great
many of these beautiful birds during the day, but none near enough to
shoot; at last a gang of some twenty ran across the path close to them,
and the ready rifle secured the finest. Uncle John carried it by the
neck, slung over his shoulder, and so stretched, it measured full six
feet from the tip of the beak to the claws. The plumage of its wings and
spreading tail was of a rich, glossy brown, barred with black, and its
head and neck shone with a brilliant metallic lustre.

The nutting party were very glad to get to bed that night, especially
George, who was more foot-sore than he liked to confess. Before saying
good-night, they agreed to rise very early the next morning, to spread
their chestnuts in the sun, as Uncle John had told them it would improve
their sweetness exceedingly, besides making them better for storing
during the winter. A great change in the weather took place, however,
during the night; a cutting north-easterly wind and rain set in, and
continued with little intermission for nearly a week. When bright, clear
days returned, the country showed that winter was approaching rapidly.
Uncle John took advantage of a call Dick Watson made at the log-house
with his team, to accompany him to Painted Posts to buy glass for the
windows. On their return, Dick stayed a couple of days to help with the
job, which was not finished before it was needed, for they had begun to
feel the cold very sensibly, notwithstanding the great wood fire they
kept up.

* * * * *

The Indian summer--a delightful week in the beginning of November, when
the air is mild and still, and a beautiful blueish mist floats in the
atmosphere, through which the landscape is seen as through a veil of
gossamer--had come and gone, and a slight flurry of snow had covered the
ground with a white mantle, when one morning a great squealing was heard
from the pen in which the pigs were now kept.

"What can be the matter there?" said Mrs. Lee, "they are not fighting, I
hope."

[Illustration]

"I'll go and see, mother," said Tom, running out. A moment after his
voice was heard shouting, "a bear! a bear!" and he was seen running
towards the prairie, armed with a rail which he had picked up in the
yard. When Mr. Lee and Uncle John rushed after him with their rifles, he
was gaining fast on a huge black bear, which had just paid a visit to
the hog-pen, and was now trotting off to the woods with a squalling
victim. "Stop, stop, Tom!" cried his father; but Tom was too excited to
hear or see anything but the object of his pursuit; he ran on, and soon
got near enough to make his rail sound on the bear's hard head. But
though Tom was a strong, big fellow for his years, he was no match for
an American bear, which is not so easily settled, and so Bruin seemed
determined to let him know; he immediately dropped the pig with a growl,
and erecting himself on his hind legs, prepared to give battle. Tom
tried to keep him off with the rail, but a bear is a good fencer, and a
few strokes of his great paws soon left the boy without defence. The
deadly hug of the angry animal seemed unavoidable, when a shot from
Uncle John, which sent a bullet through the left eye into the very
brain, stretched the bear lifeless on the snow.

"If it hadn't been for you I should have had a squeeze, uncle!" cried
Tom, laughing.

"You're a thoughtless, foolish boy, Tom!" said his uncle; "who but you,
I wonder, would have run after a bear with nothing but a rail!"

"He is indeed a thoughtless boy," said his father, "but I hope a
grateful one; you have most probably saved his life!"

"Uncle knows I am grateful, I'm sure," said Tom, "I needn't tell him!"

"It's a fine beast, and fat as butter," remarked Uncle John, feeling its
sides as he spoke, "yet he must have been hungry, fond as a bear is of
pork, to venture so near a house by daylight!"

"What a warm fur!" observed Mr. Lee, "just feel how thick the hair is!"

"But what can we do with such a mountain of flesh and fat?" asked Tom.
"We can't eat it, and we've no dogs."

"O, we'll eat it fast enough!" replied his uncle; "a bear ham is a
delicacy, I assure you."

"I think we may as well set about skinning and cutting it up for curing
at once, as we have little to do to-day. What say you, John?"

"Yes, we had better; but we must do the business here, for the skin
would be quite spoiled were we to attempt to drag the carcase into the
yard, though it would be more convenient to have it there. We can take
the hams and fur, and leave the rest."

"What a busy day this has been," said Tom, that evening, when he and his
sister had finished the reading and writing lessons their father gave
them every night; "what with helping to catch the bear, and then to skin
and cut him up, and dinner and tea, and reading and writing, I've not
had a spare moment."

"As to helping to catch the bear," said his father, laughing, "you may
leave that out of the catalogue of your occupations."

"Not at all, father; for, if I hadn't gone to see what was the matter,
he would have walked off with the pig, and no one the wiser."

"Oh, certainly, Tom helped!" cried his uncle; "and his mother helped,
too, for, you remember, she wondered what was the matter in the
hog-pen!"

"I don't mind your fun, uncle," said Tom; "I shall shoot a bear myself
some day."

"I'm glad that, if the poor bear was to come, it came to-day rather than
to-morrow, for to-morrow will be Sunday," remarked Annie; "the week has
seemed so short to me!"

"So it has to me," said her brother; "the weeks seem to fly fast."

"Because you are always occupied," observed Mr. Lee; "time is long and
tedious only with the idle. What a blessing work is; it adds in every
way to the happiness of life!--it is good for the mind, and good for the
body!"

"I used to think it very disagreeable, I remember!"

"You have grown wiser as well as older, Tom, during the past year," said
his mother.

"If I only do so every year, mother!"

"If you do, Tom, you will indeed be a happy man, for the ways of wisdom
are ways of pleasantness;--but it must be time for your usual wash."

"Aye, so it is! I believe I like the Saturday night wash almost as well
as the Sunday rest. One seems to feel better, as well as cleaner, after
it!"

* * * * *

Sunday, in the family of the emigrants, was generally happy; even the
very youngest seemed to be influenced by the spirit of peace that
breathed around on that holy day. No loud boisterous voice, no jeering
laugh was ever heard; a subdued, composed, yet cheerful manner, marked
the enjoyment of rest from the fatigues of the past well-spent six days
of labor, while the earnest remembrance of their Maker, the eager desire
and striving to learn and to do their duty to Him and to each other,
made the commencement of each new week as profitable as it was welcome.
The recollection, too, of the land they had left was more tender on this
quiet day, and past joys and trials were often recalled with a kind of
melancholy pleasure, sometimes with an almost regretful feeling that the
scenes in which they had laughed and toiled should know them no longer.
The green fields--the hawthorn hedges--the cottages and the little
gardens, gay with the rose and the hollyhock--the ivy-grown village
church--all were remembered and talked of in love--seeming ever more
beautiful as memory dwelt on them. They acknowledged with thankfulness
the blessings of their present lot--they looked forward hopefully to the
future--but, oh! how deeply they felt that the far-off island, the land
of their birth, could never be forgotten!

Here in the woods, where no church was near, when the never-omitted
morning prayer was ended, Mr. Lee read aloud some good plain discourse,
and explained those passages the children had not perfectly understood;
the evening was spent in listening to interesting portions of the sacred
history, and in instructive and pleasant conversation. Before retiring
to rest, all voices joined in some sweet hymn of praise, and then, with
hearts softened by the touching sounds, and purified by the blessed
influences of a day so passed, they slept the calm, untroubled sleep of
innocence, to awaken on the morrow strengthened and refreshed, to obey
once more the Divine command--"Six days shalt thou labor."

CHAPTER V.

STRIVING AND THRIVING.

Ten years after the settlement and incidents related in the preceding
chapters, it would have been difficult to recognise the log-cabin in the
substantial farm-house that occupied its place. The forest which once so
nearly enclosed it was gone, or only to be traced here and there in a
few decaying stumps, or the gray ruins of girdled trees which yet
resisted wind and weather. The meadow land was covered with grazing
sheep and cattle, the yard filled with stacks of hay and fodder, and
large convenient barns and stables stood where the little out-houses,
which once sufficed to accommodate all the emigrants' gear, had formerly
been; corn fields, and orchards of peaches and apples surrounded the
dwelling, which, with its flowergrown piazza and gay garden, presented a
pretty picture of peace and plenty.

But these changes had only been wrought by slow degrees and hard work,
nor had they been unaccompanied by many trials and disappointments.
Crops had failed, or been destroyed, when promising a bountiful harvest,
by fierce storms of rain and wind; and once the woods had caught fire,
and spread desolation over the country. Prompt exertions saved the
house, but the labors of the year had been lost, and the corn-fields
ready for the harvest, and the rich pastures left black and smoking.

Nor was the neighboring country less changed and improved: the narrow
blazed tracks which had formerly led to Mr. Watson's and to Painted
Posts had widened into well-travelled roads; and clearings visible on
hill-sides in the distance, and frequent columns of curling smoke rising
above the far-off tree-tops, gave evidence of the habitations of men,
and that our emigrants were no longer alone in the wilderness.

Change had also been busy with the family, as well as with their home
and its surroundings. Mr. and Mrs. Lee showed least its power; for
though ten years older, the time had passed too prosperously on the
whole to leave many wrinkles on their cheerful, contented faces. But
some of the children were children no longer. Tom, now a fine young man
of twenty-two, had married Jem Watson's sister Katie, and settled on a
small lot which lay on the banks of the river just below the Fall that
had once been so nearly fatal to him. Taking advantage of the facilities
offered by the situation for a mill, he had raised one near the rapids,
and as the neighborhood became more populous, he found increasing
profit, as well as employment, and was quickly becoming a thriving
miller. Uncle John, still good-natured and light-hearted, had
established himself near him on a comfortable farm, with a wife he had
brought from Cincinnati, and who was as cheerful as himself, and the
cleverest housewife of the whole country round. They had a little son
and daughter, one four, the other two years old, who were the delight
and pride of their parents. "Bub," or "Bubby," as boys are familiarly
called in the United States, could already mount a horse, call in the
pigs, and sing Yankee Doodle as well, his father declared, as he could
himself; while "Sissy" nursed her rag-doll, and lulled it to sleep, in
her tiny rocking-chair, with as much tenderness and patience as a larger
woman. They were wonderful children! Uncle John said.

The kind and gentle Annie had grown up, beloved by all who knew her, and
Jem Watson had often thought what a good wife she would make, and what a
happy house that would be of which she was mistress, before he summoned
courage to ask her to be his. When she consented, he believed himself
the most fortunate man in Ohio. But she would not leave her mother quite
alone, with her many household cares, and therefore it was determined
that though the marriage should take place in the autumn, she should not
move to Jem's house until George, who had taken his elder brother's
place in helping his father, should be old enough to bring home a wife
to undertake his sister's duties. Jem, meanwhile was to cultivate and
improve the eighty-acre lot his father had purchased for him within six
miles of Painted Posts, a place which was rapidly increasing, and
already offered a profitable market to the neighboring farmers, more
especially as a railway now passed within two miles.

We shall have mentioned all our old friends when we add that the baby
Willy had become just such another thoughtless daring boy as Tom had
been at his age, and that Dick Watson was established in Cincinnati, now
called the "Queen of the West," as a pork merchant, and was getting rich
very fast.

The maize, or Indian corn, had attained its ripest hue, and been plucked
from the dry stems, which had been deprived of their leaves as soon as
the ear was fully formed, that nothing might screen the sun's hottest
rays from the grain, and the golden-colored pumpkins which had been
planted between the rows, that no land might be wasted, even left to
ripen alone amid the withering corn-stalks. The neighbors from far and
near had visited each other's houses in turn, for the "Husking frolic,"
when all joined to strip from the ear the long leaves in which it was
wrapped, and which were to be stacked as fodder for the sheep and
cattle. The apples had been sliced and dried in the sun, and then strung
and suspended in festoons from the kitchen ceiling, the pumpkins had at
last been gathered in and stored in great piles in the barn--all
provision for winter pies,--and the fall, as the Americans call the
autumn, from the falling of the leaf, was drawing to a close when
Annie's wedding-day arrived.

The Watson and the Lee families were so much respected by their
neighbors, that when Tom was married, a year before, and now, also, all
seemed to think that they could not sufficiently show their good will,
unless they overwhelmed them with whatever might be thought most likely
to please in the way of dainties. For a day or two before, the bearer of
some present might have been seen each hour at the Lees' door.

"Please, Mrs. Lee, mother sends her compliments, and a pot of first-rate
quince preserves," said one.

"I've just run over with some real sweet maple, Mr. Lee," cried another.
"I reckon it's better sugar than you've tasted yet!"

Annie and her mother began to wonder how such an abundance of good
things as poured in upon them could ever be disposed of.

Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the morning of the appointed
day, when Tom and Katie came trotting to the door in their light wagon.
They had scarcely alighted when Uncle John arrived, driving up with his
wife and children. "Only just ahead of us, Tom!" he cried, as he jumped
out, and ran up the steps to kiss Annie. "Bless you, my girl!"

"I am so glad you are all come," said Annie, with a smiling, blushing
face. "Mother is so busy, and wishing so for Aunt Abby and Katie!"

"Aye, they're two good ones for setting things to rights!" cried Uncle
John; "but I say, Annie, we met a party of red ladies and gentlemen
coming here."

"What do you mean, uncle?"

"Why, half a dozen Indians, with their squaws and papooses are on the
road, and I told them to stop here, and I would trade with them--so get
something for them to eat, will you?"

The travellers soon made their appearance; a strange-looking set of
red-skinned, black-eyed Indians, wrapped in dirty, many-colored
blankets. The men were hard-featured, and degraded in their bearing, not
at all resembling the description we have received of their warlike
ancestors, before the fatal "fire water," as they call rum, had become
known to them; but some of the women had a soft, melancholy expression
of countenance, which was very pleasing. They carried their babies,
which were bandaged from head to foot, so that they could not move a
limb, in a kind of pouch behind; the little dark faces peeped over the
mothers' shoulders, and looked contented and happy.

The party stopped at the gate, and all the family went out to inspect
the articles of their own manufacture, which the Indians humbly offered
for sale. These consisted of baskets ornamented with porcupine quills,
moccasins of deer-skin, and boxes of birch bark. Mrs. Lee's and Aunt
Abby's heart bled for the way-worn looking mothers and their patient
babes; they relieved their feelings, however, by making them eat as much
as they would. Uncle John and Tom were glad to buy some of the pretty
toys for wedding presents, and after an hour's stay the party resumed
their march.

"Those Indians always make me feel sad," remarked Uncle John when they
were gone; "a poor disinherited race they are,--homeless in the broad
land which once belonged to their fathers!"

"It is a melancholy thought at first, certainly," replied Mr. Lee; "but
if you reflect awhile you will find consolation. There are many towns
which were founded by persons still living, whose inhabitants already
outnumber all the hunter tribes which once possessed the forest; and
surely the industry of civilization is to be preferred to the wild rule
of the savage!"

"You are right," said Uncle John, with a sigh; "but still I must be
sorry for the Indians!"

The Watsons arrived shortly after, and every one was busy, though, as
Mrs. Lee often said laughingly, no one did anything but Aunt Abby, and
she was indefatigable. Soon after dinner the neighbors began to
assemble, and when the minister from Painted Posts arrived, the ceremony
which united the young couple was performed in the neat little parlor of
the farm-house. At six o'clock an immense tea-table was spread with all
the luxuries of the American back-woods;--there were huge dishes of hot
butter-milk rolls, and heaps of sweet cake (so called from its being in
great part composed of molasses)--and plum cakes, and curiously twisted
nut-cakes--and plates of thin shaven smoked beef, of new made cheese and
butter--and there were pies of pumpkin, peach, and apple, with dishes of
preserves and pickles. The snow-white table-cloth was scarcely visible,
so abundant was the entertainment which covered it. After this feast,
the evening passed in merry games among the young people, while the
elders looked on and laughed, or formed little groups for conversation,
of which, indeed, the remembrance of former weddings was the principal
subject.

Mr. Watson and Mr. Lee, now doubly connected through their children, sat
together a little apart, recalling, as they talked, the various trials
of their first experience of the wilderness, and comparing the present
with the past.

"Who would have anticipated such a scene as this," remarked the latter,
"when you and Dick came to help us build the log-house?"

"And yet it has come to pass by most simple means," replied Mr.
Watson,--"industry and perseverance. These qualities, as we are now old
enough to know, will gain a home and its comforts in any part of the
world,--in our native land as well as here, although too many doubt the
fact. Yet there are times when a man in the crowded communities of
Europe sees no refuge but in emigration. When such is the case, he must
make up his mind to leave behind the faults and the follies which have
there hindered his well-being. If he cannot do this he will be as poor
and discontented here as in England. You and I have reason, my friend,
to be grateful that the Providence which guided us hither, gave us
courage to bear patiently the dangers and privations which must be
conquered before a home and prosperity can be won by the Emigrant."

MADELAINE TUBE

and Her Blind Brother

A Christmas Story for Young People

[Illustration: "May God give you a happy Christmas."]

CHAPTER I.

THE BROKEN CUP.

"Come! boys," said Master Teuzer, a potter of Dresden, to his work
people, who had just finished their breakfast, consisting of coffee and
black bread, "Come! to work."

He stood up; the work people did the same, and went into the adjoining
work-shop, where each of them placed himself at a bench.

"Who is knocking at the door?" said the Master, interrupting the silence
which reigned. "Come in there!" he added in a rough tone. The door
opened, and a little girl entered, saluted him timidly, and remained
standing on the threshold. The clock had not yet struck five,
nevertheless the fair hair of the little girl, who was about ten years
old, had already been nicely combed, and every part of her dress,
although poor, was neat and in order, her cheeks and hands were of that
rosy color which is produced by the habit of washing in cold water.

Master Teuzer observed all this with secret satisfaction, he looked
kindly at the timid child. "Ah, my little one, so early, and already up,
are you then of opinion that the morning is best for work? It is well,
my child, and appears to agree with you--you are as fresh as a rose of
the morning. Well; what have you brought me?"

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