Part 15 (1/2)

”Often the boys would see through the darkness a pair of fiery eyes glaring at them, and seizing their rifles they would shoot; but if they missed aim, the bears or wolves would have been sufficiently alarmed by the noise to make their escape whilst they could. Boys accustomed to a pioneer's life feared nothing; such adventures were as great sport to them in the woods, as they are to you, Gabrielle, while listening to them safely housed.”

”But in novels, and books of travel in new countries, auntie,” said Gabrielle with a dissatisfied shake of her pretty head, ”when you fire at a bear or other wild animal and do not kill him, he instantly turns and kills you. Were the bears and wolves of Pennsylvania less ferocious than those of other countries?”

”They did not often seem bloodthirsty,” replied mamma, ”for the reason, I suppose, that the woods were full of smaller animals on which they could prey, and consequently they did not need to attack human beings for sustenance. I remember, however, one incident that may perhaps satisfy your desire for more thrilling adventures.

”An old woman living near what was called 'the Carter settlement,' some six miles from us, started to pay a visit to a friend in the next 'clearing.' To reach her destination she had to pa.s.s through the densest part of the forest, with no indication of a path to guide her: but she never thought of danger as she started upon her long, lonely walk.

”Several days elapsed before it was fairly realized that the old lady was missing; and then the neighbors started en ma.s.se through the forest with tin pans, tin horns, and stalwart lungs, to look for her. Their shouts met with no response, but after a long search they met a pack of wolves who fled rapidly past them. Fairly alarmed now lest the old woman should have perished from fatigue and exposure, they pursued the search with desperate haste, and not far from the spot where they had met the wolves, found some sc.r.a.ps of a dress that was recognized as hers, a few bones, and her feet, which, encased as they were in stout boots, the wolves had disdained to devour. Whether the old woman had fallen a live victim to the wolves, or had died of hunger and fatigue and then furnished a repast to them, we never knew; this latter supposition, however, seemed hardly probable, for she could have found in the woods wild berries, succulent roots, and water sufficient to subsist upon for several days.”

A s.h.i.+ver of horror went around our little circle, and even Gabrielle's love for the terrible was satisfied.

After a short pause, Marguerite said:

”You must often have felt lonely, mamma, did you not, living so far away from all places of amus.e.m.e.nt, lectures, and the like? Indeed, I suppose that buried as you were in the woods, you did not even have the excitement of going to church.”

”No,” said mamma; ”we were dependent for entertainment entirely upon our own resources and the few books we had brought with us from Vermont; but we children were never conscious of a lonely hour, and if dear mother felt sad and weary of our uneventful life, we never knew it.

”We worked hard all day, every one of us, even little Margaret having something to do; but in the evening we had a change of occupation. At twilight, when father and brother Barnes had come home, and our early supper was over, father would say:

”'Mary, what have you to read to us to-night?'

”Immediately fresh logs would be piled up in the great open fireplace, the candles lighted, we girls would draw up to the table with our knitting or sewing, Barnes would throw himself down before the fire, and mother would take up a book for the evening's reading. This reading was as much a part of the routine of the day as dinner or supper, and was indeed our only means of culture that winter, distant as we were from schools and all other educational advantages. Mother always monopolized the position of reader; indeed, until after her death, father seldom read a book, but contented himself with being a listener.”

”And was he a good listener, mamma?” I inquired, ”or did he stop grandmamma from time to time to comment upon the author and the events?”

”Father's intentions were the best in the world,” replied mamma smiling, ”but you must remember that he would sit down to listen, completely exhausted from a day's work that had commenced with the first tinge of dawn, and before very long, soothed by mother's musical voice, his breathing would become more and more audible, and his head commence to nod. Quite patiently mother would continue her chapter, feigning not to be conscious of the heavy breathing that proceeded from the arm-chair, and often from the boyish figure stretched before the fire, until their slumber would become _too_ apparent, when, closing the book, she would call them severely to task for their inattention.

”Rubbing his eyes, father would rouse up, and indignantly refuting the accusation, declare that he had heard every word.

”Instantly putting him to the test, mother would inquire what she had been reading about?

”After a moment of deep reflection, father would say penitently:

”'Well, Mary, if you will just read back a page or two, I will remember all about it.'

”Very indulgently mother would turn back, but often before she had reached the former stopping-place, father's breathing would announce that he was again resting from the hard day's toil.

”Barnes was somewhat better as a listener, but he, like father, worked hard, and it was often difficult for him to keep awake during the reading of history or novels; but we three girls were a most interested audience, and somewhat compensated for masculine inattention.

”But father was not always drowsy; at times he would listen with keen interest to the evening reading, and very much vexed he would be if the arrival of any neighbor should put a stop to it.

”'My wife is reading something extremely interesting to us,' he would artfully say; 'perhaps you would like to listen to it also?'

”'By all means,' the unsuspecting visitor would reply, and not another opportunity would he have to speak until it was time to take leave.”

”What books did grandmamma read to you?” inquired Marguerite. ”You have mentioned both history and novels, but without giving any names.”

”Your uncle,” replied mamma, ”supplied us with light literature from the resources of the _Spectator_ office--newspapers, pamphlets, periodicals, etc., and mother's own little library was sterling in its quality as her own old-fas.h.i.+oned ballads; it was quite varied, too, considering how few volumes it contained.

”One of the books that I remember was Butler's 'History of the United States;' a ponderous tome that I presume you children have never seen.