LONG POINT FARM.
Owensett Bay, at the head of which the town of Afton stood, was a
beautiful sheet of water. It was six or eight miles long, and three
to four miles broad, and for the most part comparatively regular in
the curvature of its shores. On the east side, however, there was one
marked exception, as about five miles down the bay a point of land,
nearly a mile long, and half as broad, jutted directly out into the
water. This point of land was owned by Mr. George Woodhull, and formed
what was known in the neighborhood as "Long Point Farm."
Mr. Woodhull had inherited the property from his father, but through
an untiring industry and indomitable thrift, had gone on making change
after change, and adding improvement to improvement, until the place
was now regarded as in many respects "the model farm" of the locality.
Ray Branford, as on the morning of his arrival there he accompanied Mr.
Woodhull about the place, thought nothing more could be added to it,
either in convenience or usefulness.
On a pleasant knoll, and commanding a fine view up and down the bay,
was the farmhouse, spacious in size, and neat and tasteful in all
its appointments. Back of this, and a little to the right, was the
horse barn, with its carriage shed, harness room, and granary. To the
left, but farther away, was the huge cattle barn, fitted with every
modern appliance for the convenient and systematic care of a noble
herd of Jerseys. Beyond this, and on a line with the farmhouse, was
the tenement house for the hired man and his family. Then, arranged
in near proximity, were the hennery, the sheep barn, and the other
out-buildings so necessary to a well-ordered farm. Every building was
in thorough repair, the walks and drives running between them were
neatly kept, the walls and fences of the meadows and orchards and
pastures exhibited a similar care, and the whole appearance of the farm
spoke of the thrift and thoroughness for which its owner was noted.
"I have found," said Mr. Woodhull, as he showed Ray what there was to
be done at each building, "that the animals on a place do a great deal
better under one person's care, and when one person is held responsible
for them. They are more systematically cared for, the food goes
farther, and the cattle thrive better. It is on this account I have
hired you. Mr. Smith, my hired man, and his two grown sons will look
out for the farmwork. You are simply to look out for the live stock,
to take the produce to market, and go up town on the errands that may
be necessary for the house. Sometimes you will use the horses to do
this; at other times, when the wind is favorable, you will go by boat,
as that is the shorter and quicker way to town. On Sundays you are to
have a horse to go up to the morning service and to the Sunday-school
at Afton, if you so choose. Sunday evenings you will, on account of the
chores, have to be back here at the farm. Friday nights if you care,
after your work, to take a boat and go over to the prayer meetings, I
have nothing to say. When I am not at home, Mr. Smith will see that
the folks are taken over to our little church. We understand the
arrangement now; so come on to the house and get acquainted with the
women folks, for you are to be one with us."
Ray found that the immediate household at Long Point Farm consisted of
Mr. Woodhull, his wife, their three children, Georgie, a boy of eight,
and twin girls of three, and Mrs. Berray, the mother of Mrs. Woodhull.
He was so cordially welcomed by them all that he at once felt at home.
Mrs. Berray, the mother, when she shook hands with him, looked long and
searchingly into his face, and then said:
"They tell me thou hast chosen that good part, like Mary of old, which
shall not be taken from thee. Never forget to daily thank the Master
for that great gift; and may thy coming to this house be a blessing to
us and to thee."
When shown to his room, Ray found it was a large one on the second
floor, and so chosen that he could look from its windows off over the
bay toward Afton, and when the weather was fair he could plainly see
the spire of the First Church pointing heavenward.
The room was well furnished, and in one corner was a bookcase well
filled with books. Every convenience for writing and for study was on
the open desk, and the boy's heart was filled with thankfulness toward
God and his new friends, as he realized that there was nothing now to
prevent his spiritual and intellectual advancement. Before he retired
that night, he wrote out a set of rules which should now govern him as
he began his new life. These he placed where each morning and evening
he could readily behold them, and each rule was followed with the
Scriptural reason for adopting it. He always said they were of great
help to him in his Christian life; and that they may possibly be of
some help to other young Christians, I give them here:
RULE I.--I will ever remember whose I am and whom I serve.
"Ye are not your own, for ye are bought with a price."
RULE II.--I will do all things thoroughly and well, and to the
glory of God.
"Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to
the glory of God."
RULE III.--I will daily look to God for wisdom, strength, and grace.
"If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all
men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him."
RULE IV.--I will give one-tenth of every dollar that comes into my
hands unto the Lord.
"Of all that thou shalt give me, I will surely give the tenth unto
thee."
RULE V.--I will use every possible opportunity to win others for
Christ.
"He that winneth souls is wise."
The days now glided swiftly by. Ray soon mastered the routine of his
work, and found his duties neither onerous nor exacting; he also proved
to his employer that he was both willing and capable. It was soon
evident, moreover, that his outdoor life agreed with him. For some
months before he left the mill all had noticed that he was growing thin
and pale, exceedingly nervous, and unable to sleep well at night. Now
he ate heartily and slept well, while the sun browned his cheeks, and
the fresh air filled out his frame. His daily intercourse with refined
and Christian people gave new tone to his own walk and conversation;
his study and his reading improved his mind; the spiritual influences
thrown around him elevated his soul. He had told Mr. Carleton and Miss
Squire, on the first Sunday he went up to the village, of the change he
had made in his occupation and home, and they now noted the changes in
him, and silently thanked God for them.
He had been at Long Point Farm but a short time when Mrs. Woodhull had
asked him about his studies. She had proposed to him when at Afton to
call on the principal of the town school and ascertain what studies it
would be necessary for him to make up, in order to enter the school the
next fall in the classes with those of his own age. He had done this,
and came home with a pile of books that was absolutely appalling to any
one with a less indomitable courage than he possessed. Mrs. Woodhull
had found some of the studies beyond her ability to teach him, and,
while she offered to help him with such as lay within her power, she
proposed that he should go up to Mr. Carleton once a week and receive
help on the others. Mr. Carleton readily consented to the arrangement,
and so every Friday night Ray went home with Mr. Carleton from the
prayer meeting and spent an hour on his Latin and geometry. It made him
late home at the farm, but as he was always up in time for his morning
work, Mr. Woodhull made no objection to the plan.
The boy's life was a busy one now. From early in the morning until dark
he kept at his farm duties. For three hours every evening he read or
studied. On Sundays he always attended the morning preaching service
and Sunday-school at Afton. On Friday evenings he rowed or sailed over
to the village for the prayer meeting and his recitations; or if the
weather did not permit his going by water, he walked the whole distance
of seven miles around the road to the village, and then walked back to
the farm. He did this a number of times until Mr. Woodhull interfered,
saying: "I did not mean, Ray, you should not take a horse on Friday
nights, when I told you you could go by boat. I never once thought of
your going when you couldn't cross the bay. After this, if you can't go
by boat, and must go, take one of the horses."
Before three months had passed away Ray had so fully gained the
confidence of his employer by his fidelity and industry, that that
gentleman hardly knew how he could get along without him. "Uncle
Jacob," he said one day as he was talking with him about the boy, "you
needn't pay that extra five dollars on the boy's monthly salary; he
earns every bit of it, and I can better afford to give it to him than
I can to have him go. He is the best help, without exception, I ever
hired; and do you know he is serving the Master as faithfully as he is
serving me. There is Smith, my hired man, and his two sons; they were
good moral fellows, but not a bit religious when Ray came. Now all
three are reading their Bibles and praying daily, and when they related
their experiences last week each one admitted it was something that boy
said to them that first started him on the heavenly road. Every animal
on the place loves him, and he can do almost anything he wants to with
them; and as for the children, any one of them will go to Ray sooner
than to their mother or to me. After this, Uncle Jacob, you may pick
out my help for me, if you will guarantee that they will all turn out
as well."
The old gentleman shook his head slowly: "I can't do it, George, for to
my mind, not one in ten is so thoroughly converted as he was; and to
think so many of us were afraid the Lord hadn't done it. Guess it will
be some time before the First Church people make another such mistake."
Then there came an incident in the Long Point Farm life long to be
remembered, and which so endeared Ray to Mr. and Mrs. Woodhull that
from that hour they regarded him as their son.
George and the twins had gone out to play. For a time they ran about
the lawn in front of the house, but the gate into the lane had been
left open, and the children soon discovered it. Though they had been
told again and again not to go out of the yard, the temptation was
great, and their little memories were short, and a bright idea crept
into Georgie's brain. So he proposed to the twins: "Ray has gone up to
the town, and will be back soon; let us go and meet him." The twins
were nothing loth, as a ride after Old Jim, the horse, was the height
of their childish ambitions, and away the three trudged down the lane.
Before a great while they grew tired and sat down to rest by a gate
opening into one of the pastures. Some bright flowers in the field
attracted the attention of one of the twins, and, clapping her tiny
hands, she cried:
"Pitty flow's! pitty flow's! Me get 'em for mamma."
"All right," said the undaunted Georgie; "I'll get them for you." And
he began to climb over the gate.
"Me come, too!" both twins screamed, and managed to squeeze their
little bodies between the bars of the gate, and the three children were
soon busy picking the flowers that grew in such profusion at their feet.
Now, it happened that Mr. Woodhull had arrived home but a few days
before with a drove of half-wild steers, and they were turned into this
pasture. The children, accustomed to the sight of cattle daily, had
thought nothing of the presence of the steers, though they saw them at
no great distance away. To their childish minds they were no more to be
feared than the good, kind cows Ray drove back and forth from the other
pasture every day.
But one of the steers, wilder and fiercer than the rest, had caught
sight of the little ones, and, possibly attracted by the bright
garments they wore, now came pawing and bellowing down toward them.
The children cried out in their fright, and ran for the gate. But they
had unconsciously wandered some distance from it, and before they had
reached it the steer was upon them.
Meantime, the mother had missed the children, and had come out to the
lane to look for them. She heard their screams, and at once surmised
their cause. With a swiftness such as only a mother who realizes the
danger that threatens her children can know, she sped down the lane
toward the pasture. But swift as she went, she would not have arrived
there in time to save her darlings; they must have been gored and
trampled to death had there not been providentially one nearer than
she. Ray, from up the lane, had seen the children get through the gate
into the field. He realized the danger that threatened them even before
it appeared, and, whipping up his horse, he drove rapidly toward them.
When the steer rushed for the children he was nearly to the gate,
and driving close up to it he sprang over into the field, grabbing
the broad leather strap to which the hitching weight was attached as
he went. Swinging this over his head, he rushed between Georgie, who
had manfully turned to defend his little sisters, and the steer, and
brought the weight full down upon the furious animal's head. The beast
was stunned for a moment, and Ray shouted to Georgie to take his little
sisters and run into the lane.
The steer now turned his attention to Ray, and the children easily
reached the gate, just as their mother arrived there also. She helped
them up into the wagon, and then breathlessly watched the conflict
between the heroic lad and the infuriated beast. As the steer rushed
for him, Ray once more swung the weight with both hands, and brought
it down upon his bellowing antagonist. It struck one of his horns,
and breaking it off, sent a stream of blood over the animal's face.
Disconcerted, bewildered for a moment, he paused and tore up the turf
in his agony and fury.
Ray took advantage of this, and, turning, he ran for the lane, but
before he reached the fence the steer again charged upon him. So sudden
was the attack that the lad only had time to make a short whirl with
his weapon, which, as it came around, swung over the animal's neck
and down under his fore feet. There was force enough in it, however,
to trip the beast, and he fell heavily forward, breaking a leg. Ray,
breathless with his severe exertion, now crawled over the gate and into
the wagon, just as Mr. Woodhull and Mr. Smith came running up with
pitchforks in their hands to his rescue.
As modestly as possible the boy explained the circumstances under
which he had found the children, and how he had rescued them; but Mrs.
Woodhull did not hesitate to call his act heroic, and thanked and
complimented him in turn, until the lad's cheeks fairly burned with
embarrassment. From that hour his position at Long Point Farm was more
that of a son than a servant; and it was well, indeed, that he had such
friends, for the time was near at hand when he was to stand in sore
need of them.