Fes. 16, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



63 



After supper the meat was hung up in a tree, and a lot 

 Of wood gathered. It was raining a little, and the wind 

 moaned in the trees with an ominous sound. It looked, 

 in fact, as if it were "fixing for a storm." but it was 

 hoped that they might have one more day of fair weather 

 so as to reach their comfortable main camp before the 

 storm set in. Yu. 



he jtgortmiian %owint. 



SAM LOVEL'S CAMPS— VI. 



SOON after his visit to Sam and Antoine at then' trap- 

 ping camp, Pelatiah had returned to Lakelield and 

 taken service for the season with Friend Bartlett. The 

 smiles of the pretty hired girl, the memory of which had 

 almost as great a share as the wages offered in luring 

 him from his mountain home, had thus far continued to 

 brighten his life and make his faithful toil light, since it 

 was rewarded morning, noon and night by the sight of 

 the face that had become to him the most beautiful, by 

 the sound of the voice that was the sweetest in all the 

 world. 



One Sunday morning iu June the peace and quietness 

 of the day seemed to have reached their fullness in and 

 about the Quaker homestead. Pelatiah sat whittling on 

 the platform of the well with his back against the pump, 

 |ust breathing "Old Hundred" through his puckered lips. 

 Near him stood the fat and sedate old horse which he had 

 just harnessed to the "shay," and by his side lay the fat 

 old dog, who, in semblance of sleep, was waiting to ac- 

 company his master and mistress to meeting. He could 

 hear hardly a sound coming from the open doors and 

 windows of the house. The buzz of a bumble bee im- 

 prisoned by the raised sash of the kitchen window was 

 loud enough to well nigh drown the almost noiseless 

 footsteps of Friend Rebecca Bartlett as she moved to and 

 fro in preparation for departure, though occasionally 

 above these was heard the cautious long-drawn clearing 

 of Friend John Bartlett's throat, accomplished with care 

 that it should he thoroughly though not too loudly done, 

 partly as practice for the same performance during the 

 stillness of meeting, and partly as a reminder to his wife 

 that he was waiting for her. The hens in the dooryard 

 cluckei and crated in subdued tones, and the old red 

 rooster, though his gay feathers were sadly "out of plain- 

 ness," kept decorously "in the quiet" as if he was a mem- 

 ber of his owner's sect. Two or three frivolous swallows 

 twittered and swooped in pursuit of floating feathers, but 

 the great body of the tenants of the eaves were holding a 

 silent meeting on the barn roof. The bobolinks in the 

 meadow, beyond the influence of the First Day atmos- 

 phere of the staid homestead, withheld not a note of their 

 merry songs meant perhaps only for world's people and 

 naughty strawberry pickers, but the robins in the apple 

 frees were as voiceless as the unstirred leaves, and the 

 catbird skulked in silence along the row of currant 

 bushes. Pelatiah wondered if the pump would utter its 

 usual discordant shriek, and was almost tempted to raise 

 the handle. Then through forgetfulness or impatience 

 he whistled aloud a few notes of the old Psalm tune, and 

 Rebecca came to the door tying the strings of her "sugar 

 scoop" bonnet. 



"Peltiah," she said in a mildly severe tone, "thee 

 needn't whistle for Bose, he's right' there by thee! Thee 

 may bring up the horse now." 



While Pelatiah pocketed his knife and arose, brushing 

 the shavings from his trousers, she went back to free the 

 bumble bee from its glass prison, brushing it down the 

 lowered sash with a folded handkerchief which exhaled 

 the faint odor of dried rose leaves. "Now, get off with 

 thee, thee foolish thing!" she said, as the bee blundered 

 away into its regained paradise of out door June. 



The chaise lumbered up to the horse-block, and the 

 good couple got on board, Bose soberly wagging his tail as 

 he superintended their embarkation. 



"Don't thee think thee'd better go to meeting, Peltiah?" 

 Rebecca asked, getting the young man within the narrow 

 range of her deep bonnet. She asked him this question 

 every First Day morning, and was regularly answered, 

 "Wal, no, marm, I guess not this mornin'." 



They slowly got under way, and when they were out of 

 earshot of the hired man, Rebecca remarked, "Peltiah 

 seems like a steady young man, but it is a pity he isn't 

 more seriously inclined." 



"He's a master hand with a hoe," her husband said, 

 looking down the even rows of his young corn where not 

 a weed was to be seen among the green sprouts that regu- 

 larly dotted the mellow soil, "and I do' know as I ever 

 see a better milker." 



Pelatiah was anticipating a day of perfect happiness, 

 for the girl, whose name was spelled Louisa and pro- 

 nounced Lowizy, had as good as asked him to go to the 

 woods with her for young wintergreens. That morning 

 when he brought in the milk and they were alone in the 

 cheese room, she had said there were "lots of 'em up in 

 the maountain" — the rocky hill which Lakefield folk 

 honored with that name, for a mountain they must have, 

 and this of all the hills in town came nearest being one — 

 "lots an' sacks of 'em, an' anybody might git a snag of 

 'em if they was to go up there naow. She w isn't she 

 had some, but she dasn't go alone, for she knew she 

 should git lost, an' the' was an ugly toro in Austin's 

 pastur'." Pelatiah felt that he would brave all the bulls 

 in Lakefield to gather a handful of aromatic leaves for 

 her, but he had not the courage to tell her so, and only 

 said he would get them for her if he knew where to find 

 them. Whereupon she giggled and said that she would 

 go and show hioi where they grew, and that then, if 

 there was time enough and she could "stan' ifc," they 

 might go to the Pinnacle, where they "could see all cre- 

 ation an' part o' York State." So it seemed settled that 

 when chores were done and the old folks had gone to 

 meeting, they should go "a-browsin'," as Pelatiah inele- 

 gantly termed it. 



Now he was waiting for her, while he conned gallant 

 phrases and neat compliments, and thought just how he 

 would tell her that he "liked" her. How easy it all was> 

 now, as he rehearsed it to his heart, but he knew thai 

 opportunity would frighten away all utterance, and he 

 reviled himself for a bashful booby. Yet he felt himself 

 brave enough in the face of real danger, and if the 

 terrible bull that kept all the berry pickers out of Austin's 

 pasture would but attack them he would show his devo- 



tion, how he would defend her even at the cost of his 

 life. If the bull was put to flight then she would faint, 

 as in such cases young ladies always did in the stories he 

 read, and he would bear her in his arms to the nearest 

 brook and bathe her face till he brought her out of her 

 swoon. He had never carried a young lady in his arms; 

 Lowizy was a buxom maiden, no light weight certainly, 

 but he thought he could manage such a precious burden, 

 though it would be more easily done if site could be 

 induced to ride pickaback, which, however, would not be 

 in accordance with the established usage of the stories. 

 AYhen she was restored to consciousness, opened her eyes 

 and saw him bending over her, what if he could not help 

 pressing bis hps to her pale cheek? He blushed to think 

 of it, and wondered if she would ever forgive him. If 

 he should be badly hurt, who but she would nurse him ; 

 and if he died how could she help but grieve for him? 

 The thought of it almost made him shed a tear for him- 

 self. But then it was very likely that the bull was a 

 harmless bugbear whose viciousness was an invention of 

 the owner of the field, and would give Pelatiah no chance 

 of heroic deeds. So he drifted back to imaginary com- 

 monplace opportunities, till Lowizy came to the door 

 more bewitching than ever, in a pink calico dress and a 

 white apron with two little pockets stuck upon it like 

 swal'ow's nests made of snow, useless but pretty. 



Just then a young fellow, seated in a square-boxed 

 wagon of amazing height, drove up at a pace which 

 seemed reckless, considering how far above the ground 

 he was perched; and as recklessly he sprang down to the 

 ground, endangering the straps of his trousers, the long 

 swallow tails of his blue coat streaming upward and the 

 brass buttons flashing. He drew near to Lowizy, who 

 greeted him too warmly and with too great a display of 

 her best manners, Pelatiah thought, as he stood aloof 

 glowering at the new comer, while the two conversed 

 earnestly, though in a tone too low for any word to reach 

 his ear. Then she ran into the house; and Pelatiah's 

 heart grew sick with a foreboding of disappointment. 

 He tried to whistle in token of indifference, but his sullen 

 pout wouldn't be utilized as a pucker, and though defiant 

 and attempting to fortify himself with the inward assur- 

 ance that he was as good as the finest dandy of the low- 

 lands, he could not help feeling mean and awkward as he 

 contrasted his suit of sheep's gray, new though it was, 

 and as much too long for him as all former clothes had 

 been too short, with the gay and fashionable apparel of 

 his till now unsuspected rival. It was exasperating to see 

 the fellow take out a cigar, and having decided which 

 end to light, begin to puff it; and then with liis thumbs 

 in the arm holes of his waistcoat, strut back and forth 

 beside the wagon "Tew high an' mighty tu take a. noticte 

 on me, haint ye, for all the top o' your darned shiny hat 

 haint so high as the seat o' yer wagon box!" Pelatiah in- 

 wardlv addressed him. "Oh! you're a gol buster, haint 

 ye? I'll bate a cooky I c'ld heave ye ov' the top o' yer 

 darned ol' waggin!" 



All unconscious of such disparagement and of every- 

 thing but the fine figure he must be making, the rustic 

 little dandy strutted in his pride, till Lowizy reappeared 

 with some new finery added to her attire and a useless 

 little parasol in her hand. When he had gallantly assisted 

 her to scale the steps of the wagon and the "boost," as 

 Pelatiah to himself termed the feat, had been accom- 

 plished, he climbed in. Not till the fine equipage began 

 to tu n in perilous haste did Lowizy bestow a word or 

 glance on Pelatiah. Then as she spread her parasol she 

 looked back and said: "Mi-. Gove, when the folks return, 

 tell 'em that my maw is quite sick an' I've got to go hum 

 —ahem — go home an' see her." 



"I guess her maw haint turri'ble bad off, "Pelatiah said 

 bitterly, when a few moments later he heard her laugh 

 ringing down the road as merry and care free as the song 

 of the bobolinks. So sick at heart that his knees were 

 weak, he leaned on the door-yard fence and watched them 

 out of sight. So the stories he had read of the fickleness 

 of women were not fictions, but simple truth, were they? 

 It was hard to learn it by actual experience, hard to lose 

 the simple faith that all things are as they seem, that 

 affection may be no more than an outward show and kind 

 words have no meaning. His honest heart was so sorely 

 hurt that the counter-irritant of anger could not cure it 

 now; there was no present cure for it, but he bethought 

 him that there might be a balm for it in the sanctuary of 

 the woods, to which he had often fled when assailed by 

 lesser ills. He would not go to that contemptible little 

 mountain of Lakefield, to be continually reminded there 

 of the happy hours he had been cheated of, but to the 

 great woods westward, deep and dark enough to hide him 

 from the false, hateful, wicked world. 



He cast the unaccustomed summer burden of his thick 

 sheep's gray coat on the nearest plum tree of the door- 

 yard and in the regained freedom of shirt sleeves, felt his 

 heart somewhat lighter as he pushed toward the Slang. 

 On a fallen tree he crossed its narrow upper channel 

 where the border of the green marsh was gay with the 

 purple blossoms of flags, where a lonely heron stalked in 

 fancied seclusion, and where a bittern, perhaps his last 

 spring's acquaintance, startled him almost off his balanced 

 foothold, with her affrighted squawk and sudden upris- 

 ing to her labored flight. 



Breasting the undergrowth of the bank he was soon in 

 the midday twilight of the ancient forest where brooded 

 a solemnity greater than within any temple built by 

 hands, a silence deepened rather than broken by the 

 summer note of a chickadee, the chimes of a woodthrush 

 and the sigh of the unfelt breeze in the tops of the great 

 pines and hemlocks. 



Pelatiah took his way along an old lumber road, where 

 sled tracks and footprints of oxen, made in the latest of 

 last spring's sledding, were almost overgrown with forest 

 herbage, and every mossy cradle knoll was starred with 

 the -white flowers of dwarf cornel or glowed with the blood 

 red drops of the partridge berry. 



It made his recent wound twinge again when he came 

 upon a patch of wintergreen, the "young-come-ups" 

 showing the tender tints of the first unfolded leaves 

 among the rusty and dark green leaves and plump crim- 

 son berries of the old plants. What happy moments he 

 had thought to spend gathering the freshest and tenderest 

 for the girl who had so cruelly forsaken him. He could 

 not taste nor touch one now, and was sure he never could 

 again, for even the sight of them made him sick. 



' On either side of the way stood old friends to weclome 

 him — great hemlocks, maples, whose sweets only the 

 Indians and squirrels had tasted, poplars shivering with 

 the memt y of a century's winters, towering elms and 



basswoods, and all the graceful birches. He saw also a 

 few great pines which had thus far escaped the lumber- 

 man, hickories with sharded trunks and noble white oaks, 

 all strangers to him, in the woods of Dan vis; but he 

 missed his familiars, the spruce and balsam firs, their 

 songs and the odor of their breath. A shrewish jay came 

 to scold him, a squirrel to scoff at him, a shy wood bird, 

 some constant dweller in the forest's heart, flitted near 

 and watched him with timid curiosity; a mother pari 

 ridge made a fluttering pother almost at his feet, while 

 her callow brood dispersed like a sudden spatter of fluffy 

 yellow balls and magically disappeared. 



With no purpose of reaching any particular point he 

 wandered on, holding his way along the dim woodland 

 aisle till it led where sunlight and blue sky si ion e from 

 the outer world through the green-gold leaves and netted 

 branches of the marsh's palisade of water maples. 



Passing under these he saw the creek, the bold bluff at 

 its mouth, and beyond a broad blue strip of the lake. 

 When his eyes became used to the sunshine he saw figures 

 moving beneath the bluff on the further shore, and heard 

 voices that somehow seemed familiar. There was no 

 mistaking Sam Level's voice when presently he loudly 

 called Autoine's name, nor the Canadian's when he 

 answered. 



Pelatiah hastily mounted a huge fallen tree that 

 reached well out into the marsh, and shouted Instil v, 

 "Hello, Sam! An twine! whoop! Come over here. It's 

 me, Peltier." 



The figures became motionless in attention, then drew 

 together in brief consultation, then one detached itself 

 from the group, a paddle banged against a boat's side, a 

 canoe drew out from the landing, came swiftly up the 

 channel and swished into the wide marsh in front of him. 



"I never was so glad tu see anybody in all this ever- 

 lastiu' world," said the heartsick and homesick big boy 

 as his friend Sam stepped on shore and shook hands with 

 him. "Of all folks I never hed no thought 6* seem' you, 

 an' me on'y shoolin' raound in the woods jest tu kill 

 time." 



"If you'd ha' c'ome yist'd'y you 'Id hed a good chance 

 tu kill Time, for he was a-fishin' with us. That feller, 

 you know," he explained, answering Pelatiah's inquiring 

 look, " 'at come a-spearin' in our camp las' spring. His 

 real name is Joe suthin'-er-nuther, but Ms pardner called 

 'im Time 'cause he favors Time in the primer an' so we 

 du not tu git him mixed up wi' Joe Hill. He's a clever 

 cretur', but lazier 'n a fattin' hawg an' slower 'n col' 

 m'lasses. Wal, Peltier, haow be you gittin' along? Like 

 your place?" Sam asked, seating 'himself on a log and 

 making ready for a smoke, deferred since he left the 

 camp landing. 



"Wal, yes," Pelatiah said, slowly considering his ans- 

 wer, "Yes, I hev liked it, fust-rate." 



"Hev liked it? You haint hed no fallin' aout wi' the 

 folks, I hope." 



"No, not no fallin' aout wi' them. Do : know haow 't 

 I could, for they're the cleverest folks in all creation." 



"Wal, that pretty gal haint gigged back on ye?" 



No answer but a look of woebegone sheepishness. 



"Oh. shaw, Peltier, nev' mind a gal's tantrums. You 

 an' her'll be thicker 'n tew hands in a mitten, t' rights." 



"No, sir! not never no more!" Pelatiah replied with 

 spirit. "I won't stan' bein' fooled by nob'ddy, if they be 

 harnsome." 



"My!" said Sam, "she was harnsome as a pictur!" and 

 then, doubtful whether he was quite loyal to Huldali in 

 such admiration of another, qualified it by adding, "but 

 the's them 'ats jist as harnsome." 



"If she's harnsome as a pictur, she's decaitful as a 

 snake, an' I won't stan' bein' fooled!" 



"O, yes, you will, Peltier. They'll fool a feller agin an' 

 agin till he gits so's 'at he likes bein' fooled. She's jest 

 begun on you an' you haint got useto 't, but-you will, 

 see 'f you don't. But come, le's go over an' see' the rest 

 on 'ern. They ben a talkin' an' surmisin' baout you all 

 the mornin'. Come, I'll git you 'raound by kyovv'time." 

 And Sam, leading the way to the canoe, shoved it afloat 

 and stepped in. 



Pelatiah took his place and was surprised at the little 

 trepidation he felt on finding himself fairly embarked 

 on the broad channel. 



"Why, Peltier, you keep the tarve o' the canew lots 

 betterii you did last spring," Sam said approvingly. 

 "Guess you ben a practizin', haint yer" 



"Haint ben in a boat sence," Pelatiah said. "Guess 

 it's 'cause I don't care 'f I be draounded." 



"O shaw! Peltier. 'F you was tu git spilt aout you'd 

 claw for shore an' holler like a loon. Folks 'at's gqt your 

 ail is alius a wantin' tu die, but they enj'y dyin' so milch 

 'at they haint in no hurry tu hev the job finished up. 

 You'll wanter live forever when you git t' eatin' the fish 

 Antwme's a cookin'. Pike an' pick'ril 'at 'ould make a 

 man's maouth water tu see, though the's more fun for 

 me in the ketchin' an' in the eatin'. But I du eat 'em to 

 make a good excuse fur ketchin' more." 



Pelatiah was warmly welcomed by his friends, and 

 almost forgot his misery while he listened to the news 

 they told of folks and affairs at Danvis. The fish were 

 as good as freshly canght and nicely cooked fish could 

 be. When they had eaten he was taken along the bluff 

 to see something of the wonders and beauty of the lake, 

 which impressed him even more than they had Solon and 

 Joseph. 



Antoine, with the air of its chief proprietor, expatiated 

 on the immensity of its waters and its commerce, but 

 more on the numbers, variety and excellence of its fish. 



"More as t'ree 'bonded tousan of it, prob'ly, an ail de 

 kan dat ever was hear of it, 'cep' whale an' dry codfeesh 

 Ah guess. Ah'll lak dat lake, me, cause he'll gat so much 

 feesh, an' 'cause one en' of it steek raghtin Canady! Yes, 

 sah! wennort' win' blow he'll breeng wave from Canady, 

 where Ah'll was baun, w'en Ahil was leetly boy, where 

 Ah'll married my Ursule an' where Ahil faght w'en Ah'll 

 growed up for be hugly!" 



They urged Pelatiah to get a day off during their stay 

 and spend it with them, which he' promised to do, if pos- 

 sible, even though it cost him the glories of the Fourth of 

 July at Vergennes. 



In good season to get him home by chore time, Sam 

 embarked with him in the log canoe and paddled up 

 stream and into the East Slang. Such a change had sum- 

 mer wrought here that he hardly recognized the scene of 

 last spring's exploits. Where then the wide water 

 stretched from shore to shore, was now a green, rushy 

 level, divided only by a narrow channel that crept with 

 many turns on its sluggish way to the creek as if any other 



