BESSIE AMONG THE MOUNTAINS
THE BESSIE BOOKS.
I. BESSIE AT THE SEASIDE. 16mo $1.25
II. BESSIE IN THE CITY. 16mo 1.25
III. BESSIE AND HER FRIENDS. 16mo 1.25
IV. BESSIE AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 16mo 1.25
"Bessie is a very charming specimen of little girlhood. It
is a lovely story of home and nursery life among a family of
bright, merry, little children."--_Presbyterian._
"A lively entertaining series, which picture child-life to
perfection."--_Standard._
"We owe to the authoress perhaps the most delightful
conception of child-character, under Gospel influences, in
all modern juvenile literature."--_American Presbyter._
"The author evidently understands how to write of and for
children. There is a simplicity and naturalness of style and
incident and religion, of the most attractive and healthful
kind."--_Christian Instructor._
[Illustration: Bessie among the Mountains. FRONTISPIECE.]
BESSIE
AMONG
THE MOUNTAINS.
BY
JOANNA H. MATHEWS,
AUTHOR OF "BESSIE AT THE SEASIDE," "BESSIE IN THE CITY," AND
"BESSIE AND HER FRIENDS."
"Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good."
NEW YORK:
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,
530, BROADWAY.
1872.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
CAMBRIDGE:
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
TO
RICHARD HOWLAND HUNT,
The Dear Little Boy,
WHO "NEARLY KNOWS HOW TO READ, AND THINKS COUSIN JOSIE'S STORIES HAVE
NOT A BIT OF STUPIDNESS IN THEM."
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE.
I. UP THE MOUNTAIN 9
II. THE SQUIRRELS AND THE ICE GLEN 33
III. A VISIT TO AUNT PATTY 55
IV. LEM AND DOLLY 74
V. THE GARDENS 98
VI. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL 113
VII. THE SILVER CUP 128
VIII. A KIND WORD FOR LEM 147
IX. DOL'S REVENGE 163
X. THE BANANAS 183
XI. "GOOD FOR EVIL" 203
XII. UNCLE RUTHVEN'S WORK 220
XIII. A RIDE ON THE SHEAVES 236
XIV. BLACKBERRYING 255
XV. A FRIEND IN NEED 276
XVI. LEM'S SORROW 299
XVII. DOLLY GOES HOME 317
XVIII. GOOD-BY TO CHALECOO 336
[Illustration: (decorative)]
BESSIE AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.
I.
_UP THE MOUNTAIN._
UP, up! What a height it was, and how the horses toiled as they
drew the heavy wagons up the mountain side. Whenever they came to
a very steep place, the boys and all the gentlemen, except Colonel
Rush, would jump out and walk, so as to lighten the load. Aunt Annie
and Aunt Bessie, who was really Aunt Bessie now, for she was Uncle
Ruthven's wife, also tried this; but they soon tired, and were glad to
take their seats in the wagon again.
Maggie thought she must take her turn too, and asked papa to lift her
out. Papa consented, warning her, however, that she would find it
harder work than she imagined to clamber up these steep ascents on her
own two small feet. But Maggie thought she would like to be "a relief
to the horses," so papa took her out.
Then Bessie's sweet little voice piped up from the snug corner, where
she sat nestled between Colonel Rush and his wife.
"Mamma, bettn't I walk a little too, on 'count of the poor horses?"
At which Mr. Porter who walked beside the wagon, holding the reins,
and now and then chirruping to the willing creatures who needed no
whip or harsh command, turned his head towards the tiny figure with a
merry twinkle in his eye.
"I think not, darling," said mamma; "by the time we are at the Lake
House you will be more than tired enough with this long day's journey."
"I do not wish to walk, mamma," said Bessie, "only for the horses."
"The horses don't make much account of your weight, I reckon," said
Mr. Porter, good-naturedly, "and though this seems mighty hard work
to you, they are used to it, and don't mind it so much. Besides, they
know that every pitch takes them nearer to their stable, where they'll
have a good rest and a feed of oats. They'd rather go up than down any
day."
"How do they know it?" asked Bessie, who had already made friends with
Mr. Porter.
"Well," said Mr. Porter, taking off his hat and fanning himself with
it, "I can't just say how; certain it is they do know it."
"Maybe it's their instinct," said Bessie.
"That's about it," he answered, with a smile.
"These are fine teams of yours, Mr. Porter," said Colonel Rush.
"You may say that, sir," answered the old man, looking with pride at
the noble beasts, "and this is the best of the lot. These are Vermont
horses, sure-footed as goats, as they need to be on these mountain
roads; strong as elephants, and wiser than many a creature that goes
on two feet. Why, I could tell you stories of this fellow," and he
nodded towards the horse nearest him, "that maybe you'll find it hard
to believe. I named him 'Solomon,' thinking it suitable; but the boys
they shortened it to 'Sol,' and that's what he goes by. I tell you, he
knows a thing or two, that horse."
Mr. Porter paused for breath, and Bessie, after waiting a moment or
two in hopes of the stories of old Sol, said,--
"We'll believe you, Mr. Porter, if you tell us those stories."
"So I will," he answered, "but not now. It takes the breath out of a
man trudging up these hills, and I can't tell you long stories now.
But you come into the kitchen some evening, and I'll tell you a bushel
full."
Maggie had found that "trudging up the hills" took the breath out of
a little girl, and papa's words soon proved themselves true; but she
plodded along perseveringly, flushed and panting, holding to papa's
hand, and happy in her belief that she was sparing the horses by her
own exertions.
And now they came to a level spot where all might rest. A beautiful
resting place it was, a perfect bower of the wild clematis, rock ivy
and briar rose, the latter now in full flower. The long, slender
sprays flung themselves from tree to tree, or ran climbing over the
rocks, while the delicate pink blossoms hung, many of them, within
the children's reach. Uncle Ruthven's warning checked Maggie's too
eager fingers until he could cut them carefully with his knife, and
place them in her hands stripped of their sharp little thorns. Maggie
thanked him for his thoughtful kindness when she saw the misfortune
which had happened to Hafed; for the little Persian, always anxious to
please his "Missys," had grasped too heedlessly the tempting branches,
and was now wringing his fingers as he danced about, half laughing,
half crying, and saying,--
"Prettys no good, no good."
Maggie and Bessie were quite distressed for him, until his master,
having taken out the thorns, bade him wash his bleeding fingers in
the brook which ran by the roadside. Bessie had been taken from the
wagon that she might rest herself by running about a little after her
long ride, and now she and Maggie, as well as Hafed, forgot pricks
and scratches in the pleasure of watching the brook, and feeling
its cool, clear waters trickle through their fingers. What a noisy,
merry, frolicksome stream this was, gurgling and splashing, rushing
and tumbling in its rocky bed; now leaping gracefully in a miniature
waterfall over some narrow ledge, now rippling and singing about the
roots of the trees and over the pebbles that lay in its course, now
flashing in the sunlight, and now hiding in a crevice of the rocks as
if it were playing at Bopeep.
"What a fuss it makes about nothing," said Harry, as he dipped his
fingers into the water, and carried some of the clear, sparkling
drops to his lips, "One would think it was doing a wonderful lot of
work."
"So it does," said Maggie, following her brother's example.
"What work does it do?" asked Harry, always ready to listen to any of
Maggie's new ideas.
"Sometimes it gives a thirsty boy a drink, and he is very ungrateful,
and says it makes a fuss about nothing," said Maggie, mischievously.
Harry playfully sprinkled her with the drops which hung from his
fingers. "And what else?"
"It waters the flowers and mosses and trees," said Maggie; "and the
birds and squirrels can come and take a drink too, if they like."
"And it makes a pretty waterfall for us to see, and a nice, pleasant
noise for us to listen to," said Bessie.
"All that is no better than play," said Harry.
"And it helps to make the sea," said Bessie. "Mamma said so."
"Ho!" said Fred; "much this little brook does towards filling the sea,
Queen Bess."
"But _it helps_, and does all it can, Fred."
"Yes," said Maggie; "one little brook runs on until it finds another
little brook, and then they join, and run on together, and then they
meet another and another till they all make a small river, and that
joins other little rivers and brooks, till there is a very large one
like that we sailed on this morning, and that runs into the great,
great sea that we used to see at Quam Beach last summer."
"Hallo, Midge!" said Fred; "where did you find out so much?"
"It's not my own finding out," said Maggie; "the other day my
geography lesson was about rivers, and mamma told me all that, and
Bessie heard too; so when we first saw this brook farther down the
mountain, we remembered what mamma said, and Aunt May said a very nice
thing."
"What was it?" asked Harry.
"She said little children might be like the brooks and springs. Not
one could do a great deal by himself, but every little helped in the
work God gave his creatures to do for him, just as every brook helped
to fill the great sea to which it ran; and if we were good and sweet,
it made everything bright and pleasant about us, just like a clear and
running stream. But cross and naughty children were like the muddy
brooks and dull pools, which no one could drink, or make of any use. I
hope I won't be like an ugly, muddy pool that does no good to any one,
but just stands still, and looks disagreeable all the day long, and
has toads and things in it."
The boys laughed at the ending of Maggie's speech, so like herself,
and Uncle Ruthven as he dipped a drinking cup into the flashing
stream, said,--
"I do not think we need fear that, little Maggie."
"No," said Harry; "there is rather too much sunshine and sparkle
about Maggie to think that she would become a stagnant pool, full of
ugly tempers and hateful faults, like 'toads and things.'"
"Yes," laughed Fred, "and she could not stand still with nothing to
do; could you, Midget Fidget?"
Maggie was in too sunny a humor to be teased by anything Fred could
say, though she did not like the name he called her, and she answered
with good temper,--
"No, indeed, I could not, Fred; but if I am naughty I suppose I do
not run just the way I ought to, and perhaps I grow a little muddy
sometimes."
"It don't last long then, I'll say that for you," answered Fred,
touched by his little sister's sweet-tempered honesty.
"No, it does not," said Bessie, who had been listening to the last
few sentences with a sober face, "and my own little brook Maggie is
the best and brightest brook of all the family. No, thank you, Uncle
Ruthven," as her uncle offered her a drink from his cup; "the water
tastes better this way;" and she dipped her tiny hand again in the
stream.
"But it would take you till sundown to satisfy your thirst out of that
make-believe hand, Princess," said Mr. Stanton, "and Mr. Porter is
ready for a fresh start."
So Bessie took a drink from her uncle's cup, and the other children
were glad to do the same, since they were now forced to leave this
pleasant spot.
Mamma said she thought Maggie had walked far enough, so she once more
took her seat in the wagon, and as Mr. Porter said they had passed the
steepest part of the ascent, the gentlemen and boys all did the same.
The scene did not grow less beautiful as they went on upward. They
could see to a great distance, and the view was very lovely. Behind
and below them lay hills and forests, with here and there a break or
clearing where some cozy home farm nestled, with the smoke from its
chimney curling lazily up into the quiet summer air. Still farther
down, the valleys with their glistening ponds and streams, and the
villages clustering here and there, their houses and churches looking
from this height almost as small as toys; while far in the distance,
flashing in the sunlight, rolled the noble river up whose waters they
had come that morning.
Around them and above them lay great swells of land, over which they
had yet to pass, rising one above another till they were crowned with
the lofty summit of the mountain. Here stood out sharply against the
sky a gray, bare mass of rock, with a tuft of pine-trees growing on
the very top. By some people this was called "The Point," by others,
"The Chief's Head," because they fancied it looked like an Indian's
head wearing a plume of feathers. It could be seen for many miles, and
long before our party began to ascend the mountain, Mr. Bradford had
pointed it out to the children. The boys at once imagined they saw the
Indian's head plainly. Maggie sometimes thought she did, sometimes
thought she did not, and was very eager about it; but now as the road
took a sudden bend, bringing the great rock into nearer view, she
declared the likeness was to be seen distinctly, nose, mouth, chin and
all.
Bessie could not see any resemblance, and since Maggie could, was
rather distressed; but mamma and the Colonel consoled her by saying
that they, like herself, could see nothing but a huge, gray stone,
crowned by a few lonely-looking trees.
"There's more fancy than anything else about it, I believe myself,"
said Mr. Porter; "if it was not for the old story probably no one
would see any resemblance."
"What story?" asked Harry, eagerly.
"Why," answered Mr. Porter, "it is said that a tribe of Indians once
lived among these valleys and mountains, whose chief died. He left
twin sons, both famous warriors, and it was doubtful which would be
chosen by the tribe to be their chief or king in the father's place.
One of the brothers was very anxious for this honor. He was a proud
and selfish man, who seemed to care for no one in the world but his
beautiful young wife, whom he dearly loved. His brother was more of a
favorite with the people, and he feared that their choice would fall
upon him, so he determined to kill him that he might be out of his way.
"The brother was fond of climbing to the mountain top, and sitting
there to look out over the broad lands which had belonged to his
fathers for so many years. One night when the wicked chief was
returning from the hunt, he saw, as he thought, in the dim moonlight,
his brother sitting in his usual place. This was very near the edge of
the rock, where a slight push might throw him over, and it came into
the bad man's heart to climb up softly behind him, and, with a sudden
shove, to send him down upon the rocks below. He gave himself no
time to think, and in a few moments he had reached the quiet figure
which was half concealed by a clump of trees, and, with a push of his
powerful hand, sent it whirling over into the valley below."
"Oh, the bad, bad man!" said Bessie. "He was just like a Cain, and his
poor brother who never did him any harm! I think that is a bad story."
"Probably it's not true, but just a fable," said Mr. Porter.
"Then they oughtn't to say it about the poor Indian," said Bessie,
indignantly. "If he didn't do it, they ought not to make it up about
him."
"And likely enough the man himself never lived," said Mr. Porter.
"Then they oughtn't to say he did," persisted Bessie; "And to make
him so wicked too. There's enough of bad people without making up any
more."
"Well, what was the end of it?" asked Fred.
"Just as the poor lost one went over the edge, a scream rang out on
the night air, and the Indian knew it was the voice of his beloved
wife whom he had thus sent to her death. The story goes on to say
that he was so stricken with horror and grief when he found what he
had done, that he wished the earth might open and swallow him, which
it did, all but his head, which was turned into stone, and so has
remained to speak of the punishment of his wicked deed."
"That tribe of Indians must have been giants then," said Harry,
laughing as he looked up at the enormous mass of stone.
"Now I know that story never was," said Bessie. "People don't be
turned into stone because they are bad, and nobody ever had such a big
head, and people ought not to say it."
Bessie had heard many a fairy tale, many a fable, and had never
objected to them, though she always preferred to listen to stories
which were, or might be, true; but somehow, no one could tell why,
this fancy about the rock seemed to shock her sense of truth, and
from this time she could never be persuaded to call it the "Chief's
Head." Her mother also noticed that when she was out of doors, she
always sat or stood with her back towards it if she could possibly do
so.
But they were by no means to mount so far as this before they came to
their resting-place. Chalecoo Lake lay a good way below the "Point,"
nestled in a beautiful basin among the hills, and here the road ended.
Those who wished to go higher must do so by a rough mountain path
which led to the very summit.
The children were delighted to see what a quantity of birds and
squirrels there appeared to be in the woods. The former were hopping
about all over the trees, singing among the branches, and seeming
scarcely disturbed by the approach of the wagons.
As for the squirrels, they were as saucy as possible, waiting and
watching with their sharp, bright eyes till the travellers were close
upon them, then gliding ahead to a short distance and looking back,
or perhaps leaping from one to another of the old fallen trunks which
lay by the roadside almost within arm's length.
Once as the party, who were all growing somewhat tired, were rather
quiet, they suddenly heard a long, loud chirrup; and looking round
to the side whence the noise came, there, upon a heap of stones, sat
a large gray squirrel, with his tail curled gracefully over his back
like a plume, and seeming to call attention to himself by his song.
Not in the least alarmed by the eager delight of the children, or the
whistling and shouts of the boys, he sat still till all the wagons had
passed, when he darted ahead of the foremost one, and seating himself
this time on an old rail fence, began his pretty call again, and took
a second close look at our friends. This he did five or six times in
succession, to the great amusement and satisfaction of the little
ones, who were beginning to hope he would go with them all the way
to the house, when with a pert, defiant whisk of his bushy tail, he
leaped down the bank, and was lost to sight in the thick trees of the
ravine.
At another time a rabbit ran across the road, but he was by no means
so sociable as Bunny, and scampered away as if his life depended on
hiding himself among the bushes as fast as possible.
"You wait till to-morrow morning," said Mr. Porter, as Bessie said how
sorry she was that the squirrel had not kept on with them; "You wait
till to-morrow morning and you'll see squirrels enough for the asking.
Tame as your little dog there, they are too."
"Oh, Mr. Porter!" said Bessie, "do you shut the poor little squirrels
up in a cage?"
"Not I," answered Mr. Porter. "I would not allow it on any account,
and never did. You'll see how my boy Bob manages them."
And now they came to the lake itself. What a wild, curious place it
was, such as none of the children had ever seen, not even Harry,
who was considered by his brothers and sisters quite a travelled
young gentleman, because he had at one time gone with his father to
Washington, and at another to Niagara.
Great masses and blocks of granite lay piled one above another round
three sides of the lake, here and there poised in such a manner that
many of them looked as if the slightest touch must send them headlong
into the waters below. And yet thus they had remained for hundreds,
perhaps thousands of years, held firmly by the Almighty Hand which had
given to each its place. Mosses and lichens, of all shades of gray,
green and brown, covered their weather-beaten sides, while their tops
were crowned with oaks, maples, pines and firs.
Around the southern side, and close to the mountain, which here rose
still farther up, up, steep and rugged, to the Point, or Indian's
Head, wound the road; and a dangerous road it looked, with the deep
waters of the lake on one side, the rough mountain on the other where
the huge boulders overhung the travellers as they passed on. But with
sure-footed, steady horses, and a careful driver, Mr. Bradford said
there was no danger, for the road was good and strong, "built upon a
rock," and kept in capital order by Mr. Porter and his industrious
sons. Still, more than one of the ladies drew a breath of relief when
it was safely passed.
Away at the eastern end, where there was a break in the rock, and a
little back from the lake, stood Mr. Porter's house, a long, low,
pleasant-looking building, painted white, with green blinds, wide
piazzas, and magnificent shade trees. Garden, orchard and fields lay
behind on the slope of the hill where it fell gently away to the
valley below, and the whole place told of order and industry, showing
in beautiful contrast to the wild grandeur of the other sides of the
lake.
So here Maggie and Bessie were at last, at the long-talked-of Chalecoo
Lake; and glad enough they, as well as the rest of the party, were to
be at their journey's end, pleasant though it had been. Ten hours of
steady travelling was tiresome work for little people.
In the wide-open doorway stood Mrs. Porter, waiting to welcome them.
"What a jolly-looking old lady!" exclaimed Fred. "I shall like her, I
know. She looks as if she belonged to this dear old place."
"That's so," said Mr. Porter, putting his head on one side, and gazing
admiringly at his wife; "She's as jolly as she looks, and as good as
she's jolly. My! but she'll spoil your children, Mrs. Bradford."
Mrs. Bradford smiled, and did not look as if she thought the
"spoiling" would hurt her children very much; and now, with a loud
"whoa," Mr. Porter drew in his horses, and his wife with her two
daughters came down to help unload.
"You see I have brought you a large family, Mrs. Porter," said Mrs.
Bradford, "but you have room for all, I believe?"
"Yes, and heart room too," was the answer, as the old lady took baby
from her nurse, and covered her with kisses. Miss Baby looked for a
moment as if she had half a mind to resent this liberty, but thought
better of it, and presently was crowing and smiling in the kind old
face, which looked so pleasantly at her. Indeed, not one of the
children could resist the cheery, coaxing voice and tender manner; and
in five minutes they were all crowding about her, as she told of all
the treats she had in store for them; and even shy Maggie had summoned
up courage to ask a question which had long been troubling her.
"Mrs. Porter," she whispered, pulling the old lady's head down towards
her, "may I ask you a secret?"
"To be sure, my lamb, a dozen if you like," answered Mrs. Porter.
"Do you have trundle beds?" whispered Maggie again.
"Trundle beds? Well, I believe there is an old one up garret," said
Mrs. Porter, "but I'll have it down for you, and put to rights if you
like."
"Oh, no!" said Maggie, "please don't. I _do hate_ them so, and I had
to sleep in one all last summer at Quam."
"Oh! that's it," said Mrs. Porter, "well, you shall sleep in no
trundle bed here, since you don't like it. Come along up-stairs, and
you shall see what nice little cottage beds we have for you young
ones."
So this trouble was at an end, and Maggie felt quite free to enjoy all
the new pleasures about her, without fear of the dreaded trundle bed.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
II.
_THE SQUIRRELS AND THE ICE GLEN._
MAGGIE would have liked very well to run about a little on that
first evening of their arrival at Chalecoo; but Bessie was so tired
that her mother wished her to keep quiet; and as Maggie would not go
out without her sister, they both contented themselves with making
acquaintance with the house and the people who belonged there. And a
delightful house it was to make acquaintance with,--full of all kinds
of odd nooks and corners, with two or three steps here leading up
to one room, two or three there going down to another; queer little
pantries and cupboards and crooked passages, and altogether unlike
any other house the children had ever seen. Through the centre was a
wide, cool hall with a green blind door at either end, a capital place
for a play-room on a rainy day; and around three sides ran a broad
piazza, well shaded with vines and the noble old trees among which the
house stood.
From the front, one looked out upon the lake and rocks; from the back,
far away over hill and valley, mountain and river. Green fields and
meadows lay below, with here and there an orchard or a lovely piece of
woods. Then the rooms were so large and pleasant, with so many doors
and windows that not a breath of air could stir but a breeze must
sweep through them, while nothing could be more neat, clean and fresh.
Not a speck or spot was to be seen anywhere, not a thing was out of
place, and Bessie looking gravely about her as she noticed these signs
of care, said anxiously to Mrs. Porter,
"Are you very particular about your nice house, ma'am?"
"Well, yes," answered Mrs. Porter, looking around with an air of some
pride and satisfaction, "don't it suit you?"
"Oh! yes, ma'am," said Bessie, "it suits me very much, but you know
sometimes children make a little disorder when they play, and I only
meant would you mind if we mussed up your nice house just a very
little bit?"
"Not I," said Mrs. Porter, "there's plenty of hands to set to rights
any disorder you may make. Just you play away and don't trouble your
head about that."
The measure of Maggie's content was full when she followed the old
lady up stairs and saw the two neat, small, white beds intended for
Bessie and herself.
"Bessie," she said, a little later, "don't you think this place is
nicer than Quam Beach?"
They were standing together in the lower hall, looking out upon the
lake, while the rays of the setting sun came flickering through the
vine leaves, and dancing over the two little figures standing in the
doorway, as if it were bidding them a friendly good night, and giving
them a promise of a fair day for tomorrow's rambles.
"I think it is very nice," answered Bessie.
"But don't you think it _nicer_ than Quam, Bessie?"
"No, Maggie, for the sea is not here."
"But the lake is," said Maggie.
"But the lake is not the sea," said Bessie.
Maggie could not contradict this, but she did not feel satisfied that
Bessie should not be as well pleased as she was herself, and she said
wistfully,--
"But don't you think you could be a little contented here, Bessie?"
"I can be much contented here, Maggie," answered the little girl.
"Why, dear, do you think I would be so ungrateful of this very nice
place, and the kind people that are here as not to be contented? Oh! I
like the mountains very much, but not quite so very much as the sea."
"Oh, ho!" said Mr. Porter, who had just come up behind them and heard
what Bessie had said last, "so you do not like the mountains as well
as the sea? Well, I shall make you change that tune. Why, you don't
know all the things there are to see here. Before you've been here
a week you'll tell me you like the mountains a heap better than the
ocean."
But Mr. Porter was mistaken. He never heard Bessie say that. She
spent a very happy summer, and was well satisfied with all the new
pleasures she found among the mountains, but they never could make her
forget her beloved sea, nor could the old gentleman persuade her to
acknowledge that she liked the one as well as the other.
Bessie might well say they were nice people in this house. Besides Mr.
and Mrs. Porter, who have already been introduced, were their five
sons, "the boys," Mr. Porter called them. Queer "boys," Maggie and
Bessie thought them; all, save the youngest, great, sturdy men with
sunburned faces and toil-hardened hands. But though their hands were
hard, their hearts were not, and seemed to have a particularly soft
spot for all these little ones. Mr. Porter's family were all fond of
children, and never seemed to think anything too much trouble which
could possibly give them pleasure. Next to these grown up "boys," came
Fanny and Dolly, two lively, good natured young women; and last of
all, Bob, a boy about fourteen, quite ready to make friends with the
children, and to show them all the wonders of the place.
The first thing to be thought of after breakfast the next morning was
the squirrels. Bob was as anxious to show them to the little strangers
as they were to see them; and followed by the whole troop, he led the
way to their haunt. This was a great black-walnut tree, which stood at
a short distance from the house, and threw its green branches far and
wide, casting a delightful shade below, and furnishing a cosy home and
leafy play-ground for the squirrels. About half way up the trunk was a
hole which was the entrance to their nest. At this hour of the day,
Mr. and Mrs. Bunny and their family were generally to be seen frisking
about all over and among the boughs, waiting for the nice breakfast
which was sure to be provided for them by the kind young master who
had chosen them for his pets. If the squirrels could have reasoned
about it, they would probably have said that Bob Porter was a capital
master to belong to. He fed them and played with them, never shutting
them up or asking any work in return; their love was all he wanted,
and that he had gained in a way curious to see.
They were usually ready enough to welcome his approach; but now,
startled by the unaccustomed sight of so many strangers, every
mother's son and daughter of them scampered away to hide themselves
in the nest. In half a moment not the end of a tail or the tip of a
nose was to be seen, and the children feared that they were to be
disappointed.
But telling them to stand at a little distance from him, yet not so
far but that they could see all that passed, Bob sat down upon the
end of a log and began calling gently, "Bunny, Bunny."
Presently a black nose, two cute little ears, and a pair of sharp,
bright eyes appeared at the opening in the tree. The nose sniffed
about in a very suspicious manner, and the eyes wandered from Bob to
the group beyond, and then back again to Bob, as if they would ask,
"Who are all these strange people? Are they friends or foes? and why
have you brought them here?"
But at last, as if satisfied that the new faces were friendly ones,
Papa Squirrel, for it was he, put forth his whole head, next his gray
body appeared, and then his beautiful, feathery tail. Running along
a branch he curved his tail over his head, and sitting down, gave
a cheerful, chirruping call, which perhaps meant that there was no
danger; for in a moment the whole tree seemed to be alive with the
rest of the family. Eleven squirrels in all, large and small, were
counted by the delighted children. But although they watched their
young visitors from among the branches, they still seemed too timid to
come nearer and take the tempting breakfast which Bob had provided for
them; till Mrs. Bunny, either more hungry or less cautious than her
mate and children, came whisking down the trunk of the walnut-tree,
and in another moment was seated upon Bob's shoulder, holding in her
fore-paws the almond he had given her, and opening it with her sharp,
pointed teeth. This was too much for the others, and one after another
they descended the tree and received their breakfast. There sat Bob, a
squirrel upon each shoulder, one on his head, others on his knees and
hands, while one little fellow perched upon the toe of his boot, and,
with a very contented air cracked and ate his almond.
It was a pretty sight, and a proud boy was Bob, as he sat thus
surrounded by his pets, and listened to the exclamations of delight
and wonder uttered by the other children in a low tone, lest they
should again startle the little creatures. They were particularly
amused by the antics of one saucy rogue, who, not satisfied with the
share which had fallen to him, crept under Bob's arm, and actually
began thrusting his nose into his pocket in search of more almonds.
Not finding any, he became indignant, and raced off to the tree, where
he seated himself on the end of a bough, and chattered away as though
he were scolding at Bob for not having provided more.
"He is the greedy one of the lot," said Bob, "and I have to watch him,
or he eats his own share and then robs those that are weaker than
himself, if he gets the chance."
"But how did you do it, Bob?" asked Harry. "How did you tame them so
when they were not in a cage?"
"Oh! it's not so hard," said Bob, a little boastfully. "You see father
will never let me shut up any animal or any bird that is used to being
free; and I was set upon having a tame squirrel. This old fellow
here," and Bob pointed to the largest of the squirrels which sat upon
his shoulder; "this old fellow and his mate lived in the walnut, and I
was wild to catch them. But, as father said no, I thought I would hit
upon a plan by which they would learn to know me, and come at my call.
So one day I left two nuts here on the log, and went away. When I came
back some time after, the nuts were gone. This I did the next day and
the next, always keeping about for a while first. Then I put down the
nuts and went off yonder to that maple, where I waited. It's not so
far but that the squirrels could see me, but after watching me for
a few moments as if they thought I might be laying a trap for them,
they whisked down after the nuts, and then whisked back again in a
terrible hurry. Every day I came a little nearer than the day before,
and they soon learned to know me; I could even see that they watched
for me. At last one day I laid a couple of almonds on one end of the
log, and sat down on the other. It was a good while before they would
come down that day, but at last they did, and after that I had no more
trouble. When they found I did not try to touch them, they came nearer
and nearer, till at last they took the nuts from my hand, and now as
you see, they are as tame as squirrels could be, and have taught their
young ones to have no fear of me. It is two years this summer since I
tamed the old pair, and now the rest all know me as well as they do."
"It's jolly fun to see them," said Fred.
"And it's a great deal jolly funnier than if you caught them and shut
them up in a cage, is it not?" said Bessie.
The boys laughed.
"Yes, indeed," answered Bob. "Hi, hi! what ails the fellows?" as all
the squirrels sprang from him and whisked up the walnut tree. What
"ailed the fellows," was soon seen, for even as he spoke, Flossy,
who had been left shut up in the house lest he should frighten the
bunnies, came tearing round a great rock, and rushed to the foot of
the tree, where he commenced a great barking. But the squirrels were
all safe in their green house, and as if they knew this, peeped down
from among the leaves at Flossy with the greatest unconcern.
Flossy was followed by papa, Uncle Ruthven and the Colonel; and Uncle
Ruthven confessed himself the guilty person who had let Flossy escape
out of his prison.
"The poor fellow thought it hard he should not have his share of fun,
and was making a pitiful whining and whimpering," said Mr. Stanton,
"so I let him out on the promise that he should be good."
"But how could he promise when he can't speak?" said Bessie.
"I asked him if he would be quiet and good like a well brought up
puppy if I let him out, and he said 'wow,' which in dog language means
yes, does it not?" asked Uncle Ruthven.
"And it means no, and thank you, and if you please, and I love you,
and everything else he wants to say," said Maggie, catching up her
frisky pet in her arms and giving him a hug, which he returned by
putting his cold nose in her face, after which he struggled to be put
down again, for so glad was he to be free this pleasant morning that
he wished to show it by frolicking about on his own four feet.
And now papa proposed they should visit the Ice Glen, to which the
children, who had had enough of the squirrels for the present, readily
agreed. This Ice Glen was a very wonderful place, interesting even to
grown people, and the whole party were anxious to visit it; so they
stopped at the house that mamma and the other ladies might join them.
The last part of the walk was rather rough, and it was as much as the
Colonel, with the help of his cane and Mr. Bradford's arm, could do
to make his way over the rocks and fallen trees. Uncle Ruthven helped
the ladies, and lifted the little girls over such places as were too
hard for them. But Maggie would not have much help, and scrambled and
climbed almost as if she had been a squirrel herself. As for Flossy,
if he had made that promise of which Uncle Ruthven spoke, he certainly
did not keep it.
Bessie said she thought that "wow" had meant no, not yes.
First, the mischievous puppy started a little black and white rabbit,
and sent it scampering away as fast as its feet could carry it,
rushing after it among all the underbrush and briars, and never
heeding the coaxing calls of his little mistresses or the louder and
sterner voices of their brothers; then coming back he rushed into a
brook which ran by the way, and after rolling himself in it till the
water was dripping from his silky coat, he shook himself and sent a
shower of drops over the clean white dresses of the little girls; and
then finding the hole of a wood-chuck, he began scratching and burying
himself in the earth in a frenzy to find the poor creature; so that,
his hair being wet, he was a sight to behold when Harry pulled him
out, covered with mud from head to foot, and had to be sent behind in
disgrace.
The Ice Glen was truly a curious spot. A narrow pathway led through
it, on one side of which was a wall of rock, so steep that not even
nimble Fred could have climbed it; on the other was a shelving bank
covered with tall pines and firs. It was a gloomy place where the sun
never shone, and our party felt the chill from it before they entered,
so that mamma said she was half afraid to have Bessie go in, so great
was the change from the warm summer air without. But Mr. Bradford said
there was no danger if they did not stay too long, or sit down in the
glen. At the foot of the wall of rock lay great stones piled one over
another; and looking through the spaces between these, the little
girls saw masses of ice hard as the rock above, which lay there all
the year round. How far below the surface they reached, no one knew;
but there must have been a great quantity of ice there, since summer
or winter, it never disappeared. Little rills and springs, cold as the
ice itself, and delicious to drink, slowly trickled from each end of
the glen, but though they ran all summer long, they never seemed to
make any difference in the great mass which lay within. The children
thought it wonderful, as indeed it was, and were very unwilling to
come away when mamma said they had stayed there as long as she thought
safe. They were forbidden to go there without some grown person, but
this command was scarcely needed by the little girls, since Bessie
could not have made her way alone without the help of some stronger
hand; and though Maggie thought the glen a great curiosity, she did
not like the chill and gloom of the place, and was glad to come out
once more into the bright sunshine which met them at the entrance.
And here there was another thing which interested her and Bessie very
much. Directly over the little stream which ran from the glen, was a
small, neat, wooden building, carefully closed. The children had asked
what it was when they passed it the first time, but papa said he did
not know; it had been put up since he had been there last. But now
they saw Fanny Porter unlocking the door, and Maggie and Bessie ran
eagerly forward to ask the use of the little house.
"I'll show you," said Fanny, good-naturedly, and she threw open the
door and window shutters, letting in the light and air. "This is our
new dairy, Mrs. Bradford," she continued, as the older people came
nearer. "Will you not walk in with the other ladies and gentlemen?"
The whole party were well pleased to enter the neat, pleasant-looking
dairy. The floor was paved with large flat stones, sloping from the
front and back of the building towards the middle, and through the
channel thus formed was led the clear, cold stream which ran from the
glen. In the icy water stood several great earthen pots, carefully
covered. Around the room ran a broad shelf, also of stone, and on this
were placed the bright tin pans, most of them now full of milk, and in
one corner were two or three churns. The whole dairy was as neat as
hands could make it, so it was quite a pleasure to think of milk and
butter which should come from such a place.
"Father thought he would make the Ice Glen useful as well as curious,"
said Fanny Porter. "See, Mrs. Bradford, what this cold water does for
our butter;" and taking the cover from one of the stone pots, she
handed a wooden spaddle to the lady. Mrs. Bradford pressed it upon the
butter, which she found almost as firm and hard as the rock.
"Do you make butter here?" asked Bessie.
"Indeed we do," said Fanny. "I am going to churn now, and if your
mother will let you stay, you may see how I do it."
Permission was given, and the grown people went away, leaving Maggie
and Bessie with the good-natured Fanny.
"Could you let us help you a little?" asked Bessie.
"Help me?" repeated Fanny, looking with a smile at the tiny figure she
was just lifting upon a high stool, the only seat the dairy contained.
"I guess you do not know what hard work churning is, do you?"
"Oh, we are accustomed to it," said Bessie. "We have a little churn at
home, and we churn water, only it never makes butter."
"No, I suppose not," said Fanny. "And now would you like a drink after
your walk?"
The children said they would, and taking down a dipper from the wall,
Fanny gave them a drink of the rich, cold milk. After this she poured
into the churn a quantity of thick, yellow cream, and putting on the
cover, she told Bessie to stand upon the stool and go to work.
But Bessie found churning water in her own little churn at home, was
a very different thing from trying to make the butter come with that
heavy dasher; she could scarcely stir it, and in a moment she was
quite satisfied. Maggie being stronger, pulled the dasher up and down
a few times, and did not give up until she was red in the face, and
her little hands were smarting with the hard work they were not used
to.
The butter did not come by any means as quickly as the children
expected, even when Fanny took hold; and, tired of waiting for it,
they presently began to amuse themselves with sailing the acorn cups
which they had picked up in their walk, in the stream which ran
through the dairy. It was great fun to launch them at the upper end,
and watch them as they floated down, now driven against a butter pot,
now passing round it, and at last carried out at the farther end of
the dairy.
By the time they had had enough of this amusement, the kind Fanny
said the butter had come, and taking off the cover of the churn, she
dashed in a quantity of cold water from that convenient little stream,
having first lifted Maggie and Bessie upon the shelf, so that they
might be high enough to look down into the churn. The butter which
was floating about in tiny lumps, instantly collected together, and
bringing a dish, Fanny scooped it out with a wooden ladle, and laid it
in a rich, creamy mass. Then she threw in a little salt, and having
worked and pressed it till it was free from every drop of water, she
packed it away in a stone pot, and set that with the others in the
running water. The children watched her with great interest until all
was done, and were still standing by while she skimmed the cream from
some of the many pans of milk, when Jane came to tell them their mamma
wished them to come back to the house.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
III.
_A VISIT TO AUNT PATTY._
MR. BRADFORD had brought from the city a famous rockaway, or carryall,
large enough to hold all his own family and one or two persons beside;
light but strong, and just the thing for these mountain roads. The
first use to which it was to be put was to take them all for two
visits that afternoon, one to Aunt Patty, the other to the homestead
where Cousin Alexander lived. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, yet
not too warm to be pleasant, the air was gay with the hum of bees and
butterflies, the blue sky, dappled with fleecy clouds, was reflected
in the clear water, mingled with the shadow of the rocks and trees;
swallows skimmed over the surface of the lake, chasing the myriads of
insects which hummed in the summer air; and as the carriage drove
along the road which lay between the water and the great overhanging
rocks, more than one fish was seen to dart swiftly away from the shady
pool where he had been snugly lying till disturbed by the rumble of
the wheels.
They did not go down the mountain by the road up which they had come
the night before, but struck into another which led in an opposite
direction. It ran through the forest for a long distance, and was not
so steep, and more shady, which was no objection on this warm day.
"Stop at Todd's cottage, if you please, Mr. Porter," said Mr.
Bradford, as they came out of the forest and saw before them a small
farm-house, with half a dozen out-buildings about it.
"Who is Todd, papa?" asked Maggie.
But before Mr. Bradford could answer, all curiosity about Todd, or why
they were to stop at his house, was set at rest. As they turned the
corner they saw, standing in the porch of the farm-house, a woman with
a baby in her arms; while hanging over the gate and whistling as he
looked up the road, was a boy about the size of Fred. They were Mrs.
Richards and Willie, no longer "blind Willie," the sightless little
child whose sad face and patient, waiting manner, had so touched the
hearts of all who looked upon him. A delicate looking boy Willie was
still, though two weeks' stay in this fresh, pure, mountain air had
done wonders for him. It was a pretty sight to see his delight in all
about him, in the sunshine and clouds, in the blue sky and the bright
water, in the grass and flowers, in birds and animals, and above all
in the dear faces which had been shut out from his poor eyes for so
many weary months.
A light flush mounted to his pale cheeks as he caught sight of his
friends in the carriage, the good, kind friends to whom he owed so
much; and calling to his mother, he sprang from the gate, as Mr.
Porter drew in his horses, and hastened to open it.
"Never mind, Willie," said Mr. Bradford; "we cannot come in this
afternoon. Some other day, perhaps; but now we only stopped to ask how
you are coming on? How do you do, Mrs. Richards?"
"Bravely, sir," answered the smiling Mrs. Richards; "and as for Willie
and the baby, they are improving wonderfully, thanks to your kindness."
"It is my little girls you must thank, Mrs. Richards," said Mr.
Bradford.
"But we don't want to be thanked," said Bessie, quickly. "We quite
liked to have you come up here, Mrs. Richards, and we felt very much
thankful ourselves when Uncle Ruthven gave us the money to send you."
"Willie," said Maggie, "do you enjoy being _disblinded_ just as much
as you did at first?"
"Oh, yes," answered Willie, laughing at Maggie's new word; "and
everything looks so much nicer than it did before I was blind.
Somehow, I think the world _did_ grow prettier while I could not see
it, though mother says it only seems so to me."
"Ah, that is often the way, Willie," said Mr. Bradford. "God sometimes
has to teach us the worth of the blessings He has given us by taking
them from us."
After a little more talk with Willie and his mother, they bade
good-by; kind Mr. Porter first saying he would send down for Willie
some day and let him come up to his place.
They drove on till they came to the more open country, and saw before
them Aunt Patty's house, and beyond that, the grand old homestead of
which they had heard so much, and of which papa was so fond.