Part 17 (2/2)

Bonnyboy, Grim Carpenter's son. It couldn't be possible. But the lumberman insisted that it was, and they had to believe him, though, of course, it was a disappointment. But where was Bonnyboy? He deserved thanks, surely. And, moreover, that gray colt was a valuable animal. It was to be hoped that it was not drowned.

The water had now subsided, though it yet overflowed the banks; so that trees, bent and splintered by the terrific force of the flood, grew far out in the river. The foul dams had all been swept away, and the tawny torrent ran again with tumultuous rapids in its old channel. Of the mills scarcely a vestige was left except slight cavities in the banks, and a few twisted beams clinging to the rocks where they had stood. The ruins of the village, with jagged chimneys and broken walls, loomed out of a half-inundated meadow, through which erratic currents were sweeping. Here and there lay a dead cow or dog, and in the branches of a maple-tree the carca.s.ses of two sheep were entangled. In this marshy field a stooping figure was seen wading about, as if in search of something. The water broke about his knees, and sometimes reached up to his waist. He stood like one dazed, and stared into the brown swirling torrent. Now he poked something with his boat-hook, now bent down and purled some dead thing out of a copse of shrubbery in which it had been caught. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the red vapors were scattered. But still the old man trudged wearily about, with the stony stare in his eyes, searching for him whom he had lost. One company after another now descended from the hill-sides, and from the high-lying farms which had not been reached by the flood came wagons with provisions and clothes, and men and women eager and anxious to help. They shouted to the old man in the submerged field, and asked what he was looking for.

But he only shook his head, as if he did not understand.

”Why, that is old Grim the carpenter,” said someone. ”Has anybody seen Bonnyboy?”

But no one had seen Bonnyboy.

”Do you want help?” they shouted to Grim; but they got no answer.

Hour after hour old Grim trudged about in the chilly water searching for his son. Then, about noon, when he had worked his way far down the river, he caught sight of something which made his heart stand still. In a brown pool, in which a half-submerged willow-tree grew, he saw a large grayish shape which resembled a horse. He stretched out the boat-hook and rolled it over. Dumbly, fearlessly, he stood staring into the pool.

There lay his son--there lay Bonnyboy stark and dead.

The cold perspiration broke out upon Grim's brow, and his great breast labored. Slowly he stooped down, drew the dead body out of the water, and tenderly laid it across his knees. He stared into the sightless eyes, and murmuring a blessing, closed them. There was a large discolored spot on the forehead, as of a bruise. Grim laid his hand softly upon it, and stroked away the yellow tuft of hair.

”My poor lad,” he said, while the tears coursed down his wrinkled cheeks, ”you had a weak head, but your heart, Bonnyboy--your heart was good.”

THE CHILD OF LUCK

I.

A sunny-tempered little fellow was Hans, and his father declared that he had brought luck with him when he came into the world.

”He was such a handsome baby when he was born,” said Inga, his mother; ”but you would scarcely believe it now, running about as he does in forest and field, tearing his clothes and scratching his face.”

Now, it was true, as Hans's mother said, that he did often tear his clothes; and as he had an indomitable curiosity, and had to investigate everything that came in his way, it was also no uncommon thing for him to come home with his face stung or scratched.

”Why must you drag that child with you wherever you go, Nils?” the mother complained to Hans's father, when the little boy was brought to her in such a disreputable condition. ”Why can't you leave him at home?

What other man do you know who carries a six-year-old little fellow about with him in rain and s.h.i.+ne, storm and quiet?

”Well,” Nils invariably answered, ”I like him and he likes me. He brings me luck.”

This was a standing dispute between Nils and Inga, his wife, and they never came to an agreement. She knew as well as her husband that before little Hans was born there was want and misery in their cottage.

But from the hour the child lifted up its tiny voice, announcing its arrival, there had been prosperity and contentment. Their luck had turned, Nils said, and it was the child that had turned it. They had been married for four years, and though they had no one to provide for but themselves, they scarcely managed to keep body and soul together.

All sorts of untoward things happened. Now a tree which he was cutting down fell upon Nils and laid him up for a month; now he got water on his knee from a blow he received while rolling logs into the chute; now the pig died which was to have provided them with salt pork for the winter, and the hens took to the bush, and laid their eggs where n.o.body except the rats and the weasels could find them. But since little Hans had come and put an end to all these disasters, his father had a superst.i.tious feeling that he could not bear to have him away from him. Therefore every morning when he started out for the forest or the river he carried Hans on his shoulder. And the little boy sat there, smiling proudly and waving his hand to his mother, who stood in the door looking longingly after him.

”h.e.l.lo, little chap!” cried the lumbermen, when they saw him.

”Good-morning to you and good luck!”

They always cheered up, however bad the weather was, when they saw little Hans, for n.o.body could look at his sunny little face without feeling something like a ray of sunlight stealing into his heart.

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