in that district, being, attracted by the berries; and the howling, of
course, was done by wolves, which, luckily, seemed afraid to attack her.
On the fourth afternoon, Edie, by happy chance, came across the deserted
shanty of an early pioneer, standing in the middle of a clearing that
was thickly overgrown with raspberry bushes.
Here she remained for three days, feeding upon the berries during the
daytime, and sleeping in the shanty at night. The nights were so warm
that she needed no fire, and inside the shanty she was safe from the
attacks of bears or wolves. It was dreadfully lonely, yet still she
hoped that her father would come and find her.
A whole week thus passed away. Edie had been given up for lost by her
heart-broken parents, and the neighbours who were assisting in the
search had returned to their homes, when a gentleman--Mr. Barker by
name--had an experience such as no sportsman surely ever had before.
He had been out on a hunting expedition for a fortnight, and that day
came to the banks of Bear Creek.
He was preparing to cross on a fallen log almost spanning the stream,
when his keen ear caught the sound of soft footsteps, accompanied by a
continuous rustling movement in the thicket of wild raspberries that
covered the opposite bank.
At once with a tremor of delight he suspected the approach of a deer, or
possibly a bear, and dropping behind a bush, he levelled his rifle in
readiness to fire.
The next moment, as his eager eyes intently scanned the raspberry
bushes, his sportsman's feeling of delight suddenly changed to a thrill
of horror when a tiny brown, berry-stained hand was quietly raised to
pull down a loaded branch of fruit.
"Well, of all things!" cried the hunter, as his finger fell from the
trigger that had so nearly sent the bullet upon its fatal mission.
"What an awful mistake I almost made!"
Throwing down his rifle he sprang across the log, to catch in his arms a
little girl not more than eight years old, whose torn garments, tangled
locks, soiled hands, and thin, pale face, told in a glance the story of
many days' hapless wanderings.
Oh, how glad poor Edie was to see him, and how artlessly she told the
story of her wonderful adventures! And how thankful to Providence the
hunter was that he had chanced to find her ere it was too late!
Forgetting all about his hunting, her rescuer now applied himself to the
task of getting her home. They were far from the nearest house, and the
poor child was so weak from lack of proper food that he had to lift her
up on his broad shoulders.
But Mr. Barker was as strong as he was kind-hearted, and he pushed
resolutely on, guiding himself by his compass, until at last, just as
dusk was closing around them, and he began to fear they would have to
pass another night in the forest, they came upon a clearing, at the far
side of which stood a neat log house.
Edie shouted her joy at the sight. It meant that all her perils were
over; and the hunter, putting on a big spurt, dashed across the clearing
at a run and deposited her on the doorstep, exclaiming in a tone of vast
relief,--
"There now, my child, that's the end of your wanderings!"
The good people of the house gave them both a warm welcome. Edie
received every attention; and the following morning, looking altogether
a different girl, with dress mended, hair neatly brushed, hands free
from berry-stains, and face radiant at the prospect of returning to her
parents, she took her seat in the farmer's waggon to be driven home.
How shall the joy of the Hazens be described when the little daughter
they had mourned for as dead came back to them, looking thin and worn,
it is true, but otherwise not a whit the worse for her thrilling
experience!
Mr. Barker watched them with brimming eyes, murmuring, as he fondly
patted the stock of his Remington,--
"The best day's work you ever did was when you didn't go off at all. A
lucky chance, indeed!"
*MRS. GRUNDY'S GOBBLERS.*
Mrs. Grundy (or, as the boys disrespectfully called her, Mrs. Grumpy)
was certainly not a favourite with the young people of Westville. In
the first place, she did not like children. The fact that she had never
been blessed with any of her own no doubt had a great deal to do with
this dislike for other people's, which she manifested by vigorous use of
hand and tongue at the slightest provocation.
Many a sharp speech and stinging slap did Mrs. Grundy inflict--and not
always upon those who deserved it most, either; for so hot was her
temper, so hasty her action when irritated, that she would visit her
wrath upon the first youngster she could reach, without waiting to
investigate the extent of her luckless captive's guilt.
Another reason why Mrs. Grundy was not popular was that, although she
owned the finest orchard and garden in all Westville, not one crimson
strawberry, purple plum, or golden apple was she ever known to bestow
upon boy or girl; and woe betide the adventurous urchin that dared to
take one unbidden, even though it be a half-spoiled windfall, if he fell
into her strong hands! Forthwith he was marched off, amid a storm of
slaps and scolding, despite his sobs and vows of penitence, into the
awful presence of Squire Hardgrit, and, his alarmed parents having been
duly summoned, was in their presence condemned to that most appalling of
punishments--a whole day in the house of detention!
This method of dealing with the would-be or actual fruit-filchers had
one advantage, so far as Mrs. Grundy was concerned--it gave her a sharer
in the burden of her unpopularity, which perhaps might otherwise have
proved insupportable; for so hard, cold, and unsympathetic was Squire
Hardgrit, and such evident pleasure did he take in imposing his
penalties, that if the Westville boys hated anybody as cordially as they
did Mrs. Grundy, it was certainly the stern, severe squire.
For some time past the relations between these two worthies and the boys
had, as the newspapers say about the great Powers, been more than
usually strained. Not content with fiercely defending her garden and
orchard from juvenile depredation, Mrs. Grundy had asserted her right to
keep everybody off the broad, smooth plot of grass that lay between her
cottage and the road, and had been upheld in her claim by the squire, to
the profound disgust of the boys, who had long made it their
gathering-place in the summer evenings; for although too small to play a
game of baseball upon, it was big enough for pitching and catching,
chase, leap-frog, and that sort of thing.
This appropriation of the grass plot, which had hitherto been regarded
as public property, was quite too much for the boys. It was the last
drop in the cup of bitterness, and in desperation they called a meeting
to be held in Thompson's barn on Saturday night to consider the
situation.
Saturday night came, and a dozen of the brightest boys of Westville
gathered in solemn conclave around a lantern to see if some way could
not be devised of getting even with Mrs. Grumpy and the squire.
As the barn belonged to his father, Charlie Thompson was chosen
chairman, and he promptly opened the meeting as follows:--
"Now, fellows, we can't stand this sort of thing any longer. Something
must be done, if we perish in the attempt. The honour of the country
demands" (Charlie, whose memory was particularly good, had not yet
forgotten the last 4th of July oration) "that measures should be taken
to show to our oppressors that we are not slaves and cowards. The
meeting is now open, and the chair will be pleased to receive
suggestions."
And amid a vigorous round of boot-heel applause Charlie sat down,
feeling that he had proved himself quite equal to the occasion.
For a few moments there was a dead pause, all having some sort of a
scheme, more or less hazy, in their heads, but none wishing to speak
first.
At last little Tommy Short, the youngest in the group, piped out,--
"Let's tar and feather 'em. Father has lots of tar in his back shop,
and I know where there's a big pot."
A roar of laughter greeted this suggestion, the impracticability of
which was exceeded only by its absurdity, could it have been carried
out.
Dame Grundy and Squire Hardgrit would certainly have made a most
mirth-provoking sight, done up in suits of tar and feathers.
The speech served its purpose, however, in loosening the other tongues,
and plans and projects now poured in thick and fast.
"S'pose we burn their barns down," said Dick Wilding, who was a great
reader of cheap-novel literature.
But all the rest shouted "No" at once.
"What do you say to ham-stringing their horses?" asked Bob Henderson, in
rather a dubious tone, as if he had not much confidence in the wisdom of
his scheme, which, in fact, just occurred to him because he had read
that that was the way the Arabs treat their enemies' horses when they
get the chance.
"Stuff and nonsense!" cried the chairman. "That's not the sort of thing
we mean at all. We're not hankering after the penitentiary."
"Give us your plan, then, Mr. Chairman," said Dick Wilding.
"Well, fellows, I'll tell you what I was thinking of. Let us hook the
old lady's gobblers, and hide them until she thinks they're gone for
good. You know what a heap she thinks of them, and it will worry her
awfully to lose them."
"Capital! capital!" shouted the rest of the boys "The very thing!"
"But where shall we hide them?" asked Sam Lawson. "It'll have to be a
pretty safe place, for Mrs. Grumpy will turn the town upside down
hunting for her precious turkeys, you may be sure."
While all this talk was going on, Harold Kent had been sitting on an
upturned box which served him as a chair, without opening his mouth.
Now, however, taking advantage of the pause which followed Sam's
question, he said quietly,--
"Why not hide the gobblers in one of the empty rooms in Squire
Hardgrit's building? You know, the squire's been trying to get these
Bronze Gobblers from Mrs. Grumpy for ever so long, and she won't let him
have them; and if they're found on his premises, she'll be sure to think
that he had something to do with hooking them."
It was just like Harold to propose something so original and daring in
its conception as to fairly take his companions' breath away, and they
now looked at him with feelings divided between admiration and
amazement.
The chairman was the first to speak. Bringing his hand down upon his
knee with a crack that made the others jump, he cried,--
"Magnificent! Boys, we'll do it, or perish in the attempt."
Whereat the others shouted in chorus,--
"Hoorah! We'll do it!"
"Since we're all agreed, then," said Charlie, "the next business before
the meeting is to plan how to do it."
As before, all sorts of wild suggestions were put forward, and again it
was left for Harold Kent to advance the most practicable scheme.
This was it: the shed in which Mrs. Grundy's famous flock of turkeys was
carefully secured at night stood at some distance to the back of her
house, and as she slept in one of the front rooms, there was slight risk
of her seeing or hearing anything. What Harold proposed was, that,
slipping out of their rooms after everybody was asleep, they should meet
behind the turkey-shed, bringing with them three gunny sacks and a dark
lantern. Having got the gobblers safely into the sacks, they would then
creep round the back way to the building in which the squire's office
was situated, climb in through a lower window, and so upstairs to the
room in which the turkeys were to be left.
"You've a great head, Hal," said Jack Wilding admiringly, when all this
had been detailed, "and you can count on us every time--can't he, boys?"
"You bet he can," chorused the crowd.
A satisfactory plan of campaign having thus been settled upon, the
meeting was adjourned until Monday midnight, then to assemble behind
Mrs. Grundy's turkey-shed. The eventful night came; and as midnight drew
near, one by one the boys gathered with throbbing hearts at the
rendezvous.
At length all but Tommy Short, whose courage had failed him, and Bob
Henderson, whose father had nabbed him in the act of slipping out, and
sent him back to bed with a spank, turned up.
[Illustration: "THEY WERE TOO BEWILDERED BY THE BLAZE TO MAKE ANY NOISE.
_Page_ 227"]
It was an intensely dark night and blowing half a gale. all of which was
in favour of the enterprise. The shed door was found to be simply
secured with a wooden latch, and lifting this the conspirators tip-toed
inside; and then Charlie Thompson, who carried the dark lantern,
suddenly turned its glare full upon the startled gobblers as they nodded
solemnly side by side upon their roost.
They were too bewildered by the blaze to make any noise, and before they
could recover their self-possession sufficiently to exclaim at so
extraordinary an apparition, the other boys had stepped behind them, and
with quick, deft movements slipped the big sacks over their heads, thus
reducing them at one bold stroke to helpless captives.
The poor turkeys struggled and "gobbled" a good deal in their narrow
quarters, but all to no purpose; and full of terror, no doubt, at their
strange treatment, were hurried out of the shed into the lane, and
thence through dark and silent ways to the rear of the squire's
building. Here the conspirators paused for breath and consultation.
"Now, fellows," whispered Harold Kent, "we needn't all go inside, you
know. I'll take the lantern, while the three biggest of you carry the
gobblers, and the rest will stay here until we come back."
Somewhat reluctantly this was assented to, for all wanted to share the
danger as well as the fun; and then Harold, lantern in hand, followed by
Dick Wilding, Sam Shaw, and Frank Cushing, each bending beneath a bag of
struggling, "gobbling" turkey, climbed in through the low window, crept
softly in stocking feet along the narrow hall and up the creaking
stairs; while their companions, with hearts beating like trip-hammers,
shrank close together in the darkest corner outside and anxiously
awaited their return.
It was no easy task that the four boys had in hand. True enough that the
building was uninhabited at night, but there were people living next
door, and any unusual noise could hardly fail to be heard through those
thin wooden walls; while, late as the hour was, the sound of footsteps
on the plank side-walks would ever and anon send a chill of terror
through the anxious watchers below.
Moreover, to carry three big turkeys up a flight of stairs and deposit
them in an empty room without filling the whole place with their noise
was the hardest part of all. Nevertheless they succeeded admirably.
Five minutes after they disappeared they rejoined their companions,
trembling but triumphant, having left their captives in good order and
condition in the front room, just across the room from Squire Hardgrit's
office, where they would be certain to make themselves seen and heard in
the morning.
This done, the boys scattered to their homes, creeping back noiselessly
to their beds, in which, being thoroughly tired out, they slept as
soundly until morning as if they had not been up to any mischief
whatever.
The great gathering-place of the Westville boys was the blacksmith's
forge, which stood across the road from Mrs. Grundy's, and thither the
conspirators came one by one the following morning in expectation of
seeing the fun.
Nor were they disappointed. Their enemy thought too much of her
precious turkeys to intrust any person else with the duty of feeding
them, and so every morning carried them a big dish of corn-meal mush
after she had finished her own breakfast.
"There she goes!" exclaimed Dick Wilding presently, as the boys were
laughing and talking somewhat nervously together.
And, sure enough, Mrs. Grundy's portly figure emerged from the house and
went slowly toward the shed.
Soon after a sharp cry of "Susan! Susan!" cut the still morning air,
and the prim maid-servant was observed to hurry to her mistress.
A moment later the two women could be observed running hither and
thither through the garden and orchard, calling, "Turkey! turkey!
turkey!" at the top of their voices.
Great indeed was Mrs. Grundy's concern, and soon the whole neighbourhood
was made aware of her loss.
"It's those rascally gipsies, sure's I'm alive," she cried. "Who else
would steal my beautiful gobblers, that I wouldn't sell even to the
squire? I'll have every one of them sent to jail, see if I don't. Just
wait till the squire comes!"
And so she stormed while awaiting the arrival of the squire at his
office.
The moment he appeared she poured her woful tale into his ears, while a
curious crowd gathered outside, eager to see what the majesty of the law
could effect.
Most prominent in the crowd were, of course, the boys, who alone held
the clue to the mystery, and were now eagerly expecting the grand
_denouement_.
It was not long in coming. Mrs. Grundy had only about half finished her
confused recital of facts, suspicions, and theories to the gravely
listening squire, when a vigorous "Gobble-gobble-gobble!" was distinctly
heard coming from somewhere near at hand, just as a shout broke in from
the street of,--
"There they are--up in Squire Hardgrit's room! Look at them!"
Before the squire could take in the situation, his excited client sprang
to her feet, rushed out of the office, across the hall, threw open the
door into the opposite room, and there, behold! as large as life, and as
cross as three gobblers could be, were her missing turkeys, who, the
instant the door was opened, charged straight through it, almost
upsetting their mistress, and went flapping violently downstairs and out
into the street, where they were greeted with a shout of laughter from
the surprised spectators.
It would be impossible with either pen or pencil to give an adequate
conception of the old lady's countenance as she returned to the squire's
office, and met that worthy magistrate just rising from his chair.
Surprise, suspicion, indignation, and wrath chased one another swiftly
across her features, and, once her feelings found utterance, there was
poured upon the amazed squire such a torrent of reproach and contumely
that he was fairly stunned into silence; and before he could recover
himself sufficiently to make his defence, his accuser, with a scornful
swing of her ample skirts that was simply magnificent, flounced out of
the office, while he sank back into his chair, the very picture of
helpless bewilderment.
That he, Squire Hardgrit, the incorruptible guardian of the people's
rights, should be suspected of having stolen, or causing to have stolen
for him, the turkeys of a neighbour, whose situation as a lone widow was
such as to make the crime seem particularly heinous--that any person
should for one moment suspect anything so abominable; and not only
suspect it, but charge him to his face with his supposed guilt before
the whole village (for the squire was well aware that Mrs. Grundy's
shrill utterances had been audible clear across the street), it was
awful, perfectly awful, and not to be borne for a moment! He must see
Mrs. Grundy immediately, and compel her to listen to him.
Accordingly, away he posted to the widow's cottage, where he arrived
just in time to check the poor dame from going off into a fit of
hysterics.
Her turkeys being once more safely in her yard, and her anger pretty
well abated, Mrs. Grundy was quite willing to listen believingly to the
squire's indignant denials, and graciously accept his assurance that no
pains would be spared to ferret out the real delinquents.
The former harmony was restored, and an alliance, offensive and
defensive, sealed with a glass of gooseberry wine, for both were
strongly of the opinion that "those wicked wretches of boys" were at the
bottom of the whole mischief.
Thanks to those same boys holding their tongues, however, neither Mrs.
Grundy nor the squire could ever get hold on any evidence more solid
than their own suspicions, and they both had too much sense to take any
action upon them.
But the nocturnal travels of the turkeys were not in vain; for their
mistress, realizing that the boys, if pressed too far, might do
something worse next time, thought it wise to mitigate her severity
toward them, and even softened to the extent of calling a lot of them
into her orchard that very autumn to fill their pockets with the
windfalls.
This stroke of diplomacy was not lost upon the boys, who reciprocated
after their own fashion: and thus matters went smoothly on, until at
length most harmonious relations were established, and in all the
countryside no creatures were safer from the youngsters' mischief than
Mrs. Grundy's gobblers.
*ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE SNOW-RIDGE.*
One of the Fur Commissioners of the Hudson Bay Company at Winnipeg was
entertaining a number of the factors and other officials at Christmas
dinner, and after the successive courses had received appreciative
attention, the guests settled themselves at ease about the table to
enjoy the excellent cigars and one another's conversation.
Made up as the gathering was of men who had for ten, twenty, thirty
years or longer, in the pursuance of their vocation, experienced most
moving adventures by flood and field, good stories followed fast. One
told of a thrilling trip through the dangerous rapids of the Portage of
the Drowned; another, of the narrow escape from meeting death at the
hands of a grizzly among the foot-hills of the Rockies; while a third
held the attention of all as he graphically described the fearful
struggle that he had with a wounded bull bison in the valley of the Bow
River.
Thus the story-telling went around until it reached Hugh M'Kenzie, one
of the oldest officials in the active service, who, in response to a
unanimous demand, spun the following interesting yarn of mountain-sheep
hunting.
"It was in the third year of my clerkship, and they had sent me away out
to Fort George, right in the heart of the Rockies. I would rather have
stayed on the plains, where the buffalo were in plenty; but you're not
asked as to what you'd like best in the company. You're just told to
go, and there's an end of it. I found it very dull at Fort George, and
to while away the time I did all the hunting I could. To help me in
this I had two fine dogs, of whom I was extremely proud. They were
half-bred collies, not particularly handsome creatures, but full of
pluck, and as knowing animals as ever wagged tails.
"Having had pretty good luck with bear and other game to be found in the
neighbourhood of the fort, I became possessed of a strong desire to
secure the head of one of those Rocky Mountain sheep which have their
home high up among the peaks, and are as difficult animals to hunt as
there are in the world.
"Again and again I went out without success, although my dogs, Bruce and
Oscar, seemed as eager to get sheep as I was myself; but instead of
becoming disheartened, I grew all the more determined, and longed for
the winter to come, when the snow, by covering their higher pasturing
grounds, would drive the sheep lower down the mountain, and thus make
them more getatable.
"The winter began with a series of heavy snowfalls which shut us all up
in the fort for several weeks, and it was early in December before I
thought it safe to have another try after the sheep.
"Then one fine, bright morning I started off, feeling very hopeful that
I would return with my much-coveted prize. The dogs, of course, went
with me, but I had no other companion, nobody else having sufficient
sporting ardour to share in the risks of my expedition; for it certainly
was full of risks, and had I been older and wiser I would never have
undertaken it. But I was young and strong and full of spirit, and my
eagerness to obtain a set of horns had become a bit of a joke against me
with the fellows; so that I was not in the mood to soberly weigh the
pros and cons of the matter.
"Thinking it possible I might be out all night, I rolled up some
provisions and matches in my thick plaid, and strapped it on my
shoulders. With hatchet and hunting-knife in my belt, a full
powder-horn at my side, snowshoes on feet and rifle in hand, I set out
amid the good-humoured chaffing of my fellow-clerks.