mind, I will leave it to you to settle.
*OUTSIDE THE BOOM.*
Mort Henshaw was a boy who had implicit faith in himself. He cherished
the firm conviction that whatever any other boy could do came within the
range of his capabilities. He had only to find out the way it should be
done in order to accomplish it.
This was a pretty large view to take of things in general, yet it must
be confessed that Mort was not without a fair degree of justification
for having what the Scotch would call so good a conceit of himself.
Blessed with a strong, symmetrical frame, a quick eye, a sure hand, a
perfect constitution, and abundant courage, he came easily by a mastery
of the different sports he entered into, and had few equals, and fewer
superiors, at cricket, football, lacrosse, baseball, swimming, rowing,
and the other amusements of the day.
There was one pastime, however, of which, although he had heard much, he
knew nothing, and that was sailing. The pretty little stream which ran
by his home afforded no facilities for this glorious sport, and the
pleasures of it he knew about only from the descriptions of his more
fortunate companions.
Great, then, was his delight when the spring that found him fifteen
years of age brought with it an invitation from one of his uncles to
spend the whole summer with him at his cottage on Lake Deschenes, a
splendid sheet of water not far from the city of Ottawa.
The invitation mentioned, as one of the attractions of the place, that
he would be able to have all the sailing that his heart could wish.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted Mort, capering about the room with a face
beaming like the sun. "All the sailing I want! Just think of it!
Won't that be grand? The very thing I've been looking for."
"It will be grand, Mort dear," said his mother, "provided you take good
care not to run any unnecessary risks. You must do exactly what your
uncle tells you, just as if he were your father."
"Oh yes, mother, I'll do that," quickly responded Mort, ready to promise
anything in the exuberance of his joy. "I'll be his crew, you know, and
obey orders just as if I were at sea with him."
Very impatiently did Mort await the coming of the day when he should set
forth for Deschenes. His uncle was principal of the Collegiate
Institute at Ottawa, and had three months' vacation, which he usually
spent at the lake in sailing, rowing, bathing, and fishing, until the
return of autumn recalled him to his duties.
It was the last week in June when Mort arrived at Lake Deschenes, and
his first question, after exchanging greetings with his uncle and aunt,
was,--
"Will you show me your boat, please, uncle?"
Smiling at his eagerness, Mr. Turner took him over to the boathouse,
where a number of boats and canoes lay upon the floor, or were suspended
upon racks against the wall.
Mort had never seen so many or such fine boats in his life before. They
were nearly all built of cedar, and were varnished instead of being
painted, the copper fastenings dotting their shining sides with regular
lines. The boy gave a great gasp of admiration, and it was some time
before he recovered himself sufficiently to ask,--
"And which is your boat, uncle?"
Mr. Turner pointed to one lying just in front of them.
"Oh, what a beauty!" cried Mort. "She's the best of them all."
His uncle smiled a complacent assent, for that was precisely his own
opinion. As to beauty of lines, perfection of finish, completeness of
outfit, and speed on any tack, he considered the _Gleam_ without a
superior on Lake Deschenes, and Mort's prompt recognition of the fact
pleased him as much as the cordial praise of her baby does a young
mother.
"You are not far from right, my boy," said he. "The _Gleam_ is both a
beauty to look at and a good one to go, as you shall see for yourself
very soon."
The _Gleam_ belonged to the class of boat known as the "St. Lawrence
skiff," the swiftest and safest boats of their size--when not
over-canvassed--that carry sails. She was about twenty-two feet long,
and had a half-deck all round, with a six-inch combing to keep out the
water. Two tall masts carried big bat-wing sails, which would have soon
toppled her over but for the heavy iron centre-board that kept her stiff
in an ordinary breeze. Everything about her was of the best, and Mort
thought her the most beautiful object his eyes ever beheld.
That afternoon he had his first sail in the _Gleam_, and as, responding
perfectly to every puff of the wind and turn of the tiller, she went
flying across the lake, his heart thrilled with delight, and became
filled with a passionate desire to master the art of handling such a
craft.
"O uncle, won't you teach me how to steer and to manage the sails before
I go back home?" he pleaded, looking earnestly into Mr. Turner's face.
"Certainly, Mort, certainly," was the kindly reply; "and I think you
ought to make a very apt pupil, too."
Mr. Turner was altogether as good as his word. He took much pains in
initiating Mort into the mysteries of sailing, teaching him the way to
tack, when it was permissible to jibe, how to run before the wind, and
so forth, until, by the end of the first month, Mort had become
tolerably proficient, and could be trusted to manage the _Gleam_ alone
in an ordinary breeze.
This special privilege he was then allowed to exercise, provided he did
not go outside the "boom"--that is, the long line of shackled logs which
enclosed the bay where the boathouse stood, and which was intended to
keep the saw-logs from stranding on the beach.
Inside the boom was a stretch of shallow water nearly a mile long by a
quarter of a mile wide, on which plenty of sailing might be had without
going out through the gap into the body of the lake.
For a time Mort was content with this enclosed space, and, whenever his
uncle permitted him, would get the boat out, and go tacking up and down
from end to end, feeling almost as proud of his newly-acquired skill as
if he had been discoverer of the science of sailing.
But of course it was not many days before he began to cast longing eyes
beyond the line of swaying logs, and to feel that the thing he most
desired in the world was to be allowed to sail the _Gleam_ across the
lake and back.
But when he hinted as much to his uncle he met with no encouragement.
"No, no, Mort. You must be content with staying inside the boom; for,
besides the chance of a squall, there is the danger of being caught in
the current and carried into the rapids, which would soon make an end of
both you and the boat."
Now it happened that one morning both Mr. and Mrs. Turner had to go into
the city, not to return until by the night train, and Mort was left
entirely to his own resources. Of course he turned to the _Gleam_ for
company, and as soon as the morning breeze came up, taking with him two
other lads about his own age, he launched the boat, and went skimming
from end to end of the bay.
"This is good fun," said Ted Day, "but it would be better still outside
the boom."
"Oh yes!" cried Charlie Lister. "Do go outside; just a little bit,
Mort."
Mort shook his head, and tried to look very decided. His own heart was
beating a lively response to the suggestions of his companions, but his
answer was,--
"No, Charlie; uncle does not allow me to go outside, you know."
Once the idea had been mooted, however, it refused to go to rest again.
The morning seemed a perfect one. There was a steady breeze from the
north-west, just the direction best suited for a slant across the lake
and back without having to tack at all.
[Illustration: "MORT CRAWLED UPON THE STAGE AND FASTENED TO IT THE
BOAT'S PAINTER."]
Ted and Charlie begged and coaxed Mort to make one trip out, any way.
Mr. Turner would never know anything about it, and they could easily be
back before mid-day.
Mort's resolution, which had been rapidly weakening, finally gave way
altogether.
"All right," said he, allowing a sudden spirit of reckless ambition to
submerge his compunctions at doing what he knew well enough was a mean
betrayal of his uncle's confidence in him. "We'll just make one trip
across. It does seem a pity to lose the chance this glorious morning."
So out through the gap the _Gleam_ darted, as if glad of her freedom,
and went flying over the blue water toward Blueberry Point.
"My, but this is grand!" exclaimed Charlie rapturously, as the boat
careened before the freshening breeze, so that the water lapped the
lee-combing.
"You are right; it is--eh, Mort?" echoed Ted, turning to Mort, who,
holding the tiller in one hand and the end of the main sheet in the
other, watched every move of the boat with feelings strangely divided
between anxiety and proud delight.
The passage across was quickly made, and then, being thirsty, Charlie
proposed that they land for a few minutes to get a drink at a spring
near the shore. After the drink Ted suggested a bathe; and thus an hour
slipped by, during which an ominous change took place in the weather.
The sky clouded over, the wind, which had been steady, began to come in
fitful gusts.
"I don't like the look of things," said Mort, in a tone of concern. "I
wish we were inside the boom."
"Well, let's hurry and get there as quickly as we can," responded Ted.
It was all well enough to say this, but with the change of weather had
come a change of wind, which was now against them, so that they would
have to tack all the way home.
By dint of careful sailing they had got about a third of the distance,
when suddenly the sky darkened, some large drops of rain, pattered upon
them, and the next moment a sharp squall struck the _Gleam_ full upon
her quarter.
In order to give his whole attention to the steering, Mort had asked
Charlie to hold the main-sheet, impressing upon him to take only one
turn around the cleat. But Charlie, who was of the lazy sort, finding
the sheet hard to hold, had taken two turns, and done it in such a way
that the rope had jammed. Consequently, when Mort shouted to him, as he
put the tiller hard a-port, "Let go the main-sheet instantly, Charlie!"
and he attempted to obey the order, he could not do so in time to meet
the emergency, and the next instant, amid simultaneous shrieks from all
three boys, the _Gleam_ went over on her beam ends.
Fortunately they were all good swimmers, and did not get entangled in
any of the ropes, so that, without much difficulty, they succeeded in
climbing up on the side of the boat, where it was easy enough to hold on
for a while.
There was no fear of the _Gleam_ sinking, as she bore no ballast to
carry her down, and had air-tight compartments in both bow and stern.
Nevertheless, the position of the boys was one of great peril, for the
boat was right in the channel leading to the rapids at the lower end of
the lake, in the direction of which the wind was now blowing. To get
into these rapids meant utter destruction for both boys and boat, yet to
keep out of them was impossible without help, while to swim ashore was
far beyond their powers.
They shouted and shrieked for aid, but there was no one in sight to hear
them, and soon the storm burst upon them in full fury, blotting out the
shore on both sides, and threatening to beat them off the boat as it
tossed up and down in the white-caps.
How bitterly Mort regretted having ventured beyond the boom, and how
fervently he vowed never to do so again if he could only be saved this
time!
When the squall passed and the air cleared, he saw that they were fast
drawing near the rapids.
"O Charlie," he groaned, "why did you make me go outside the boom?"
Charlie made no reply. He could think of nothing else but his imminent
danger.
Steadily and surely the _Gleam_ drifted downward. In another fifteen
minutes she would be in the remorseless grasp of the rapids. The wind
went down almost to a calm, but the current grew stronger, so that there
was no slacking of her speeding toward destruction.
The boys held desperately on to the keel, saying nothing to each other,
but praying as best each could.
On, on the boat moved. Oh, was there no chance of help? Must they go
down, to death in sight of so many homes?
A couple of hundred yards above the rapids was a floating stage,
strongly moored, which was used by the men looking after the saw-logs
that came down the river in great droves from time to time. As they
neared this a bright thought flashed into Mort's mind.
"Say, boys," he cried, "I've got it! Do you see that float? Let's push
the _Gleam_ over to it."
The others caught the idea at once. All getting on the same side of the
boat, they proceeded to push her toward the stage by swimming with their
legs.
It was exhausting work, but they were encouraged by seeing that they
were making headway, and they persevered until at last success crowned
their efforts, and with a glad cry of relief Mort crawled upon the stage
and fastened to it the boat's painter.
All actual danger was now over, and at once Mort regained his
self-possession. Under his directions the masts were taken out, the
boat righted and bailed dry, and everything stowed snugly aboard. Then
with the oars she was rowed back to Deschenes, not a whit the worse for
her wetting.
As soon as his uncle returned, Mort told him the whole story.
Mr. Turner was very sorry to learn of his nephew's breach of trust, and,
as a penalty therefor, withdrew from him for the rest of the summer the
privilege of taking the boat out alone, which was a sore deprivation;
but Mort felt that it was richly deserved, and it only strengthened his
resolution to be more obedient to orders in the future.
*FOUND AFTER MANY DAYS.*
"Edie! Edie!" rang out in a clear, strong voice from the door of a
farmhouse, where stood a comely, brown-faced woman, shading her eyes
with her right hand, as she swept the sunny space around in search of
her daughter.
"I'm coming, mother," was the prompt response.
And the next instant there appeared from behind the barn a little girl
not more than eight years old, who looked the very picture of health and
happiness.
"You know where your father's chopping to-day, don't you, Edie?" asked
Mrs. Hazen, with a glance of affectionate pride at the sturdy little
figure before her.
"Oh yes, mother," replied Edie, swinging around and pointing with her
plump forefinger, stained by the juice of the raspberries she had just
been picking, to the top of the hill that sloped upwards from the other
side of the road. "Father's over there in the back pasture, near the
blackberry patch."
"That's right, pet," said Mrs. Hazen, lifting up the bright face for a
hearty kiss. "And now wouldn't you like to take him his dinner?"
"Indeed I would," cried Edie, dancing around and clapping her hands.
"And may I stay with him until he comes home?"
"I suppose so--if he wants you," assented Mrs. Hazen. "But in that case
you must come in and have your own dinner first."
A half-hour later, with a well-filled basket on her arm, and her
mother's parting injunction not to loiter on the way in her ears, Edie
set forth full of joy on her mission.
"She's a little thing to send so far," mused the mother, following the
retreating figure with eyes full of tender concern. "But she does so
love the woods, and seems to make her way through them like an Indian."
With heart as light as any bird chirping by the wayside, Edie hastened
through the gate, across the road, between the lower bars of the pasture
gate, and then, climbing the hill behind which lay the back pasture,
entered the bush, in which her pink calico sun-bonnet soon vanished from
view.
Mr. Hazen's farm stood on the very edge of civilization, in the northern
part of New Brunswick. The most of his acres he had cleared himself,
and he never lost an opportunity of hewing his way further and further
into the mighty forest, whose billows of birch, pine, and hemlock rolled
away northward, eastward, and westward for uncounted leagues.
This day he was working at a bunch of timber a little beyond the eastern
edge of the clearing, called the "back pasture."
As mid-day drew near he began to feel hungry, and more than once paused
in his work to go to the edge of the clearing, to see if there were any
signs of an approaching dinner.
"I hope Esther hasn't forgotten me to-day," he thought, after doing this
for the third time to no result. "It's not like her to do it."
The great golden sun moved steadily on to the zenith, and then inclined
westward, but still no messenger appeared bearing the needed
refreshment.
Mr. Hazen felt strongly tempted to shoulder his axe and go home. But
the day was so favourable to his work that, after a good deal of
grumbling at what he supposed to be his wife's neglect, he decided not
to quit it. So, tightening his belt, he grasped his axe anew and strove
to forget his hunger in the ardour of his toil.
He did not, however, work as late as common that day, for in addition to
his hunger, there grew upon him a feeling of uneasiness, which at length
became so disturbing that he could not endure it. Accordingly, fully an
hour before his usual time, he shouldered his axe and strode off
homeward, saying to himself,--
"I hope nothing's gone wrong; but I don't know what gives me such an
apprehensive feeling."
When he approached the farmhouse, he caught sight of his wife coming up
the road that led to the nearest neighbour, about half-a-mile away.
Hurrying on to meet her, he asked in a tone not altogether free from
irritation at his needless fears,--
"Why, Esther, where have you been? And where is Edie?"
"I ran over to neighbour Hewett's for the paper," Mrs. Hazen responded.
"But"--and her face filled with sudden alarm--"Edie? Wasn't Edie with
you?"
"Why, no!" replied Mr. Hazen, while in his face was reflected the
expression of his wife's; "I haven't seen her since breakfast."
"Not seen her!" repeated Mrs. Hazen. "O Henry, what has happened? I
sent her with your dinner just before mid-day, and she asked me if she
might stay with you until you came home."
Mr. Hazen was a man prompt to action. Taking his wife's arm and fairly
pushing her along the road, he said,--
"There's not a moment to lose, Esther. Edie's lost her way, and we must
go after her."
Without returning to the farmhouse, they pressed up the hill and through
the back pasture into the forest.
Hither and thither they hunted, now one and now the other raising the
echoes of the leafy fastness by calls of "Edie! Edie!" but getting no
response save the cries of startled birds or the mocking chatter of a
squirrel.
As night drew on Mr. Hazen realized that a more organized effort was
necessary; and hastening home with harrowed hearts, his wife got ready
some food, while he rode over to Hewett's to obtain assistance.
Both Mr. Hewett and his eldest son returned with him. They hurriedly
snatched a meal, and then, provided with guns and lanterns, set off to
renew the search.
All that night they tramped through the gloom of the forest, meeting
from time to time to take counsel together, and then separating, to
cover as much ground as possible.
But the day dawned without bringing any comforting news for the haggard
woman who anxiously waited their return at the gate, and, when they came
without her daughter, sank down on the ground, half fainting with
uncontrollable grief.
As soon as possible the eager search was renewed, and continued from day
to day, until at last even the heart-broken parents had to give up all
hope, and strove to resign themselves to the awful conviction that their
darling Edith--their only one--had met her death all alone in the depths
of the great forest, having either died of hunger and exposure or fallen
a victim to the bears and wolves with which its solitudes abounded.
In the meantime, how had it fared with Edie, who had gone forth so
joyously to carry her father's dinner to him?
Her intention at the start was certainly to make a straight course to
her destination. But the attention of little folks is easily attracted,
and in this instance, just as she entered the edge of the forest, and
should have turned off to the left, a saucy little squirrel challenged
her on the right, and in trying to get near him Edie pushed further and
further into the forest, until presently she began to wonder if she had
not lost her way.
At once losing interest in the squirrel, she put down her basket to look
about her. With a pang of sharp dismay, the child realized that she had
lost her bearings, and did not know which way to turn.
Just at that moment her keen ear caught a sound that she immediately
recognized. It was the regular blows of an axe falling upon a
tree-trunk.
Her face lit up, and she clapped her hands for joy.
"That's father chopping!" she exclaimed. "Now I know which way to go!"
And picking up her basket, Edie trotted off in what she took to be the
direction from which the sound came.
On she trudged bravely for some distance, hoping each minute to come
upon her father, until, growing weary of her burden, she put it down to
rest a moment.
As she rested it seemed to her that the sound of chopping had grown
fainter--so much so, indeed, she could hardly make out which way it came
to her ears.
"Oh dear!" she sighed; "where can father be? I'll call for him." And
she made the place ring with shrill cries of "Father! father! Where are
you?"
But they evoked no response, and then, more alarmed than ever, Edie
picked up her basket again, and pushed on with all her little strength.
Unhappily every step increased the distance between Mr. Hazen and
herself; for it was not the real sound of the chopping Edie had followed
but the echo, and instead of making toward him, she had been going in
directly the opposite direction.
At the end of an hour she felt very tired, and throwing herself down on
a bank of moss at the foot of a forest monarch, gave way to the tears
that hitherto she had resolutely restrained.
"Oh dear!" she said, "I'm lost, I'm lost! and how ever will father find
me?"
After the first passion of tears had passed, Edie began to be conscious
of the pangs of hunger, and the thought came that she might as well eat
something out of the basket, as she could not find her father to give it
to him.
So she ate a little of the bread and meat, and took a sup out of the
bottle of milk, and then, feeling refreshed, renewed her tramp, first
listening eagerly, but in vain, for the sound of her father's axe.
All that afternoon the lost child alternately walked and rested, often
crying softly to herself, then drying her tears and seeking to take
heart from the hope of yet finding her father before darkness came on.
She was a brave little thing, accustomed to a good deal of outdoor life,
and to running through the woods; but when night closed around her and
the forest shade deepened into impenetrable gloom, poor Edie gave up the
struggle, and sank down in a mossy hollow, shivering with terror.
Yet so weary was she that presently she fell asleep, and did not awake
until dawn, when, though feeling very stiff and sore from the unwonted
exertions of the day before, she ate her breakfast out of the basket and
renewed her progress.
The following day she wandered about, only getting deeper and deeper
into the forest. Her basket was empty before evening, and she was fain
to make her supper of the berries, which fortunately were very
plentiful. They were not altogether satisfying, but they were better
than nothing.
Another day passed, the weather providentially continuing bright, clear,
and warm, and the little wanderer still kept on, not knowing whither she
was going. That night strange things began to happen. She was more
wakeful than usual, and as she lay at the foot of a tree, she saw some
large animals moving about in the dim light, and her bosom thrilled with
joy, for she thought they must be her father's oxen. So she called
out,--
"Buck! Bright! Come here!"
[Illustration: "HE LEVELLED HIS RIFLE IN READINESS TO FIRE."]
But at the sound of her voice they started as if greatly frightened, and
at once dashed off through the woods at the top of their speed; which
showed her that they must have been moose, such as her father sometimes
shot.
The following night two great, black, shaggy dogs, which she supposed
must be neighbour Hewett's, came near her; but when she called them by
their names they seemed more surprised than the moose, for they stood up
on their hind legs, looked very hard at her for a few moments, and then,
dropping down on all fours, hastened away into the darkness again,
where, as Edie thought, she heard them howling. In this, however, she
must have been doubly mistaken.