out in a twinkling, back side of the meadow. The gentle creature
observes him, and still is not afraid. He approaches nearer, and the
fawn makes slowly for a corner, then, fearing captivity, it tries to
escape between the rails. "Attempt that again, my beauty," says
Fabens, "and I'll have you in my arms." Again goes its head between
the rails, and Fabens clasps it, struggling and panting like a captive
bird, to his breast, and bears it in triumph to Julia in the house.
"Beautiful creature!" "lovely lamb of the greenwood!" are the
exclamations that go round, as the family stand and view it.
"It has strayed from its dam," says one; and, "How it must feel at this
moment!" "How soft and sleek its speckled coat!" adds another. "And
how mild are its little eyes, and gentle as a sperit's," exclaims
Mother Fabens.
"Will they kill it?" do you inquire. Kill it? No! How could they lay
a knife on that delicate throat? Its tender looks would soften a heart
of stone, and insure its safety. But what will they do with the
panting prisoner? Not let it go! Little Clinton would put in his
decided "No, no!" if they motioned to do such a thing. See how he
dances and jabbers around it; touching its cool dewy nose with his
little fat palms, clasping its velvet neck, soothing it, kissing it,
and driving old Jowler out of the house, lest he may have a savage
heart, which he proudly disdains, and offer to bite the beauty. A
darling prize is that trembling fawn, as ever graced a dwelling. "And
we must keep it," say they all. Some warm milk is offered it; but it
turns its head from the basin. It is placed in a roofless corn-crib,
on a bed of hay, with food before it; and Fabens works briskly for half
a day, building a house for it. The time now is of leas value, as no
crop is suffering, and he had designed a leisure day of this. About
one o'clock the house is completed, and the lovely captive is removed
to its new home, as gently as you would lay a meek babe in its bed.
They sat down to dinner, and the fawn was the subject of all
conversation. "It shall be Clinton's pet and playmate," said Julia;
"and it shall have a bell on its neck, and eat bread and berries
shortly out of his hand. I wish little Fanny was big enough to notice
the pretty thing, and put her hand on it."
"Dear thing!" said Mother Fabens, "it would seem like my pet lamb, in
Cloverdale, and I should love it, myself, as I would a child, I'll
warrant. But there, it does seem too hard to keep its nimble feet from
the wild woods, whore it was made to caper?"
"So I think," added the Major. "I go for giving all their liberty. I
would not keep a saucy squirrel shut up in a cage; it would be better
to kill it."
After a hasty dinner had been taken, they all went out again to see the
pretty captive, and found it lolling in the hot sun, and looking sad
and forlorn. A fresh dish of milk was placed before it, and crumbs of
sweet Indian bread were offered, but it laid down its poor head on the
ground, and refused all food and comfort. Fabens was melted to a tear
of pity by the sight.
"The poor thing is too sad to eat, I suppose," said he, "and longs for
a frolic in the forest."
"I would say, down with the bars, and let it away, if it was not
Clinton's," replied Julia. "It looks really hard to see it shut up
here, when its very life is liberty. But how can we spare it now?"
"See how meek and wishful it looks up to Clinton, when he pats and
strokes its neck," said Major Fabens. "I'd like to have the pretty
fellow around well enough; but it is not right to keep it from the
woods. There, it seems to sink into the ground as if all hope was gone
from its heart."
"The flies buzz about its milk, and bite its tender sides, and still it
don't mind 'em at all. It is too hard to keep it, so there!" added
Matthew.
"But, wouldn't it be better for it to keep it with us, than let it go
into the dangerous woods to be killed?" asked Julia.
"We div it more to eat," said Clinton, "and I'll tum and seep with it,
and cuddle up to its back, and Dowler shan't touch it."
"Do what you think best," said Julia; "but I _should_ like to keep it
for Clinton!"
"But how should we like to be in its place?" asked Matthew, "away from
our family, confined from our native sports, shut up from the free air
and hills, though they would feed us well and fuss over us? I want to
let down the bars now, and see how quickly it will scamper from its
prison."
"I feel for it as much as you can," answered Julia. "I feel for its
poor mother; and what would I do if Clinton had strayed like the fawn,
and we knew not where he was? But do keep it one day longer. Its
gentle looks may make Clinton more tender. I'll pull fresh clover, and
make its bed softer, and it shall be shaded more coolly from the sun."
"Let it away," said Major Fabens. "It looks so sad, may be it'll die
before morning if you keep it penned up here;" and down went the bars,
and into the house they hastened, and turned, and looked to see it leap
to the woods. But it was not away in such a hurry. It rose, and
walked gently into the house after them, so tame had it become already,
and remained a few moments, looking thanks for their kindness; Clinton
patted its soft shoulders, and kissed it tenderly, and then it walked
gently away, and vanished in the woods; leaving the beholders more
tender and kind for the visit, more in love with liberty, and more
admiring the beautiful creatures of God.
VIII.
A LAMB LOST.
The autumn time had come, and fields, and woods, and waters were lit
with its yellow beams. The blooms of spring, the splendors of summer
had departed, or were sobered for the dust. Still a beauty was on the
world. A pure, ethereal mildness breathed as from heaven, and the sun
was so kindly and glad as he rode on in glory, he gave a sweet glance
to every suppliant, whether plant or flower, or tree or man; and you
could have looked into his warm face and felt regaled by his gracious
smile. And the holy sky seemed now to stoop down and poise its breast
on the bending hills, and again in majesty retire to a loftier archway
of the fair blue Infinite, and glimmer and glow like a sea of glass.
Eloquent type of the face of that Father whose glory lights the
heavens, whose spirit breathes, and whose love abounds in every world.
The year had not been all sunlight or joy. Clouds had gathered and
dissolved, and disappointments now and then occurred to our manly
farmer, and called for more faith and courage. In the summer, the
rains were so frequent, and superfluous, his crops were damaged, and
the slopes on his fallows were cut into gullies, and swept of their
soil. Premature frosts had nipped his corn slightly, and his buckwheat
was not worth harvesting. A tolerable crop of wheat and other grains;
and a harvest of loves, and lights, and strengths, however, were
yielded him, to supply all his natural and spiritual needs, and the
Lord was praised for his gracious care.
Fabens was now advanced to years of more grave reflection, and every
object in Nature and Life addressed his mind with more suggestive and
serious words. His religious impressions were deepened; and his
religious sentiments, active and susceptible. He had studied a few
fine books, and transferred their wisdom to his heart; he had studied
Nature and Scripture; and he walked in light and peaceful ways. He
relied on God as the Infinite Friend; and never a cloud was brought
over the earth, whether of storm or grief, but he called to mind the
promise of the Father, "the bow shall be seen in the cloud."
A few frugal comforts were added to his stores, and though he labored
early and late at tasks that demanded strong arms and rusty raiment,
where a gentleman in straps and ruffles would have met mortifications
without number, still he was happy; and like the man of faith described
in the Scripture, he abounded in blessings.
His parents remained to bless him. His wife responded to all his
sympathies, and rendered his home a perennial joy. Clinton had been
told of his fourth bright birthday, and the gladness of life budded on
his heart, and bloomed on his face. Fanny unfolded the graces of
childhood as you have seen water-lilies unfold leaf after leaf. Fabens
tore himself away from his lambs at seven in the morning, and taking
his luncheon in a basket, he proceeded to a distant clearing to work
till night. At ten o'clock Clinton was presented a new coat and
trowsers, which his mother had just finished, and he bounded about as
proudly as a young deer with his first pair of antlers. Nothing would
do but he must trip away to the clearing and show them to his father.
It would be something of a venture to permit him; but he had been there
several times with his father, and knew the way, and he was allowed to
go. A kiss to sweet mother, and a kiss to Fanny were given, and one
left for grandmother when she returned with her basket of green corn
for dinner, and away he glided, and Julia looked after and smiled on
his glee, little suspecting what might spring up and harm him on the
path. Hour after hour expired, and Julia's mind ran after the boy; and
she asked her mother again and again if anything would be likely to
befall him. A slight fear occasionally rose, to be suppressed on a
second thought; and evening advanced while yet their hearts were
cheerly and at rest.
A fair and jocund day departed, and suddenly a dark cloud mantled the
heavens, and the moonless night was falling dismal and drear. Fabens
was expected by sunset, and at the usual hour, Julia tripped to the
wood-path with a light heart to meet him, and take his swinging hand in
her own, as she was accustomed to do, and talk all the way to the
house. Hastening on half a mile or more, she spied her husband rising
over a distant eminence, but he came alone! Her fears were all roused
in a moment; she hurried, out of breath, to meet him, and approaching
him, called in a broken voice--"Where is Clinton? where have you left
him?"
"Clinton?" replied Fabens in surprise; "I have not seen him since
morning."
"Not seen him?" ejaculated Julia; "O dear, he started to go to you this
forenoon. I'm afraid he's lost, or the wild beasts have caught him!"
"Started to come to me this forenoon?"
"Yes, I finished his new clothes, and he was so pleased, he wanted to
go and show them to you. 'Twas all done without thinking a moment of
any danger."
"Mercy, Julia! what shall we do? He is gone; here it is coming dark as
pitch,--what _shall_ we do?"
"What can we do? O Lord, help us!--help us!--Dear me, I can never
forgive myself if he's lost or hurt!--Why _did_ I let him go?"
"Hurry home, Julia, and tell father and mother, and I'll run over to
Troffater's; he may be there; Tilly is always teasing children and
coaxing 'em; he may have seen Clinton and coaxed him home with him. He
was chopping by the road when I went along this morning, he may have
coaxed him home: but O, if he is not there!"
Fabens started on a run for Troffater's, and met two neighbors who had
just come from his house; they had seen no Clinton; and assured him
Clinton could not be there. They all hastened to Fabens', and met
Julia and the parents; but no Clinton could be heard from. Darkness
extinguished the last gleam of heaven, and they shuddered and wept in
agonies of grief for the lost boy.
"How can we let the night pass without our lamb?" cried Mother Fabens.
"Dear, dear boy!--why _did_ I let him go, when I cannot bear to have
him out of my sight? Why _did_ I let him go?" sobbed Julia frantically.
"Will not God be gracious? O will he not be gracious?" cried Fabens.
"There! I thought that little fawn was a forerunner of something!"
exclaimed Mother Fabens. "That little fawn that came here last June.
It has haunted my mind ever since. O I fear it did not come here
without a warning?"
"But we let it go again," cried Julia; "and will not my pretty, pretty
fawn be given back to his mother again? O! O!"
"An Indian shot a fawn the same day we let that go, and in the same
direction he went. I always thought it was that handsome fellow," said
Major Fabens.
"Mercy! it cannot be the fawn was a forerunner! O it cannot be that I
shall not get my Clinton again!" cried Matthew, looking as if ready to
reel to the ground. "O friends, do rouse the neighbors! if he's only
lost, I'm afraid the wolves or panthers will catch him. You know how
the wolves have howled of late; and I heard a panther scream last
night, I thought. Do rouse the neighbors to advise and help!"
The friends seized torches and were away to the first dwelling. The
news flew around as fast as distance would permit; and by nine o'clock
the whole neighborhood were together with throbbing hearts and anxious
looks.
"I fetched my horn and cow-bell," said Mr. Waldron; "I made a noise on
the way. Horns will scare off painters, and wolves don't like tootin'
or clatter a mite."
"And I brought mine," added Uncle Walter.
"And I mine," added Teezle.
"We'll blow horns and ring bells," said Teezle; "and you, Colwell and
Troffater, go and call out the Indians. They're dreadful good to scare
off animals and look for lost children."
"Do, for Heaven's sake,--do what you can, if it is dark!" ejaculated
Julia fainting with grief.
"O, I know you'll not leave a thing undone!" added Matthew,
beseechingly. "God give us strength to bear our trouble! It is
hard--it is hard to bear trouble like this!"
Colwell and Troffater started for the lake to call up the Indians from
their wigwams on the shore. But they were hardly out of sight before
an ominous change passed lowering over the scene. A low moaning wind
swept through the woods and fields, and round the house; and the leaves
rustled, and the well-sweep swayed and creaked in the blast. Then a
drearier dusk succeeded; a fierce and freezing gust from the lake shot
by; and a long and rending roll of thunder announced the rising of a
violent storm. A fleet of ghastly vapors sailed over the zenith; and
feathery clouds floated after, opening and shutting with the thunder
and silence, and showing and hiding the stars as they flew. Then a
long rift of lightning leaped forth and trailed its blazing banners of
white, red, and purple in loops and festoons round the sky; and the
thunder redoubled its might, and closed in, and labored and roared, as
if wrestling down the world. Flame after flame, and peal on peal,
succeeded, and the storm halted over the lake and ran along its course,
as if bridled for a time, and struggled, and rolled, and roared; then a
wild thunder rent the rein, and it ran and rested over the settlement,
and spent its fury, and spun its fire. The wind blew a hurricane; the
rain dashed in cataracts; and every electric bolt seemed to shiver the
cisterns of heaven, and empty rivers of rain. Then the lightning was
uninterrupted, and you could have read a book, or counted the trees, or
viewed the lake by its constant blaze; while now and anon a wilder
volley exploded, and a more furious flash flew its zigzag flight from
the zenith to the ground.
It lasted a long hour, and you may imagine the terror and gloom it
poured on hearts already faint with grief. You may imagine the shrieks
and cries of the household; how they called on God to guard and save;
how the wild, wailing mother rushed out into the storm to recover her
precious boy, and was beaten back by the wind and flood; what were
their thoughts of his situation; what were their sobs and sighs.
At last the storm rolled away, and Colwell and Troffater returned, and
led in a band of Indians. Counsel was had, and arrangements were made
for the night. Horns were sounded; bells were rattled; tin pans and
hammers were clashed together; and the dark woodlands wailed with the
echoing sound. Fires were kindled, and torches flamed on every hand;
and for one long night, sleep sought no pillow in the settlement. And
to thrill all hearts with keener agony, and strain each nerve and cord
to its utmost tension, a little before daybreak, not a mile from the
desolate home, the fierce, wild scream of a panther was heard,
startling the very air to a violent shudder, and receiving angry
answers from the low lakeshore.
IX.
SEEKING THE LOST LAMB IN VAIN.
Darkness retired. The twilight glimmered on the tallest trees.
Morning, so wearily watched-for, came. The clouds broke in masses, and
rolled tardily down the sky. Day gilded the heavens, and the tranquil
bosom of the low Cayuga mantled in his beams, and reflected the glory
of his face. But to the Waldron Settlement that smiling day brought
little hope, and no enjoyment. A favorite child was lost from a goodly
family, and ill feelings were agitated, and all hearts ran after him
through thicket and field, over hill and valley, like shepherds after a
lost lamb. Comfortless and faint, the family assembled at the morning
altar, and one general sob of grief, and one leaping pulse of anxiety
went round. They kneeled for prayer; and the venerable father bore
their petitions before the Lord. He prayed for grace to sustain them
in the trial. He acknowledged their errors; but bending at the feet of
Infinite Kindness, he was encouraged to ask for a Father's blessing.
He prayed for more faith in Providence. He prayed that they might have
resignation, and that comfort might come to their hearts in the
recovery of their little boy.
Grief brooded not over that altar alone. It sat upon every face; it
occupied every home; it assailed every heart in the settlement. Tilly
Troffater even seemed to share somewhat of the general sorrow, though
seldom shedding a sympathetic tear.
"I never tuck a great likin' to childern," said he; "but I kindy liked
little Clint; his cheeks was so soft, and smooth, and his eyes snapped
sich funny fire; and he was olers so full o' his cunnin' jabber. I
hope the painters haint ketched him. They yelled despotly last night;
but I hope they haint ketched him yit. I'd like to see him agin, and
baird his dimple face for him; the pretty mischief."
"He's worth a long hunt," said Colwell, "and my farm won't suffer if I
search a month."
"I did not see how I could leave my work," said Wilson; "but I must
give one hunt for Clinton; I must."
"We mustn't give him up yet. O, we can't give him up," added Uncle
Walter; "we couldn't spare a soul from the settlement; we couldn't
spare the leastest of your little brats, Troffater! But where are
Matthew and the Major?"
"They followed Julia to the woods, very early, to see if they could
find a trace of the boy," replied Mother Fabens.
"Then we must follow them in a trice," said Uncle Walter; and a general
council was had, and it was agreed that they should form a line of all
the men and women, four rods apart, and sweep the woods for a distance
round; and with horns and bells to give salutes, and luncheon to
refresh them when hungry, they marched through the moaning woods.
Night overtook them while they looked still for day, and they returned
heavy-hearted and weary to their homes. Large and diligent had been
the search, and all the kind Indians were out with them, but no trace
could be found of the lost boy. The Indians shook their heads
dolefully, and gave signs of despair, though little was said in
discouragement, and all volunteered to continue the search the next
day. No fires were kindled that night, and only once, in an hour, the
horn was sounded, from each house, to give signs of watchfulness, and
keep the wild beasts in their distant dens. Morning returned, and
another council convened to compare suggestions, and commence another
search. Mother Fabens related a dream of the last night, and all
gathered around, to hear it. She dreamed that Clinton was passing near
the sugar camp, and a creature standing on his hind legs, rushed upon
the boy, and bore him off to a multitude that looked like the creature,
and let him go free among them. That Clinton wept at first, and tried
to get away, but after awhile he looked cheerful again, and stayed with
them till she awoke.
"Dreadful!" cried poor comfortless Julia; "can it, say, can it be true?"
"But that does not show he's killed; and I will not give him up yet,"
said Uncle Walter.
"The wolves hev muttoned him afore this, you may depend," said
Troffater.
"I don't believe that," said Colwell.
"And I don't believe you do aither," said Mr. Waldron, to Troffater.
"There's a good 'eal in that dream, I say now; and it gives me hope.
Come, let's give another good hunt."
"Hugh!" groaned an Indian, dolefully; "he gone, he dead; we no find
'im."
"So I b'lieve," added Troffater. "I dremp las night tew, as wal as
Granny Fabens; but then our dreams don't agree azackly. I dremp a
shaggy wolf ketched 'im.--O, _don't_ cry so, Miss Fabens!--as I was
goin' to say--I dremp a shaggy wolf ketched 'im, and craunched the
little feller down, as ye'd eat a tender quail. Miss Fabens, _don't_
cry now!--he was all out o' misery perty quick. I dremp he was dead
afore he was stript, or his little dimple hands was chanked to
mince-meat; don't cry _now_."
"You good-for-nothing torment, hold your lying tongue!" said Uncle
Walter, in a rage; "who wants to hear your dream? I'd call for a
polecat's dream as quick. Shut your lips. _You_ talk about crying!
Why, your very words tear open the woman's heart. I'm struck with what
Mother Fabens tells."
"It seemed as if I must be awake," resumed Mother Fabens, "it was all
so plain and natural. How I did feel when the creature sprung and
catched little Clinton in his paws!--Awful! But then, I've a little
more hope from the dream."
"So've I, Miss Fabens," responded Uncle Walter, in a tone of great
animation. "So've I. Come on, boys, let's look awhile longer. Come,
Wilson, come, Colwell and Teezle. Come, Uncle Mose, your eyes are keen
for a look as they were when you hunted Hessians in the Jarsies. But
Troffater may step out, we can very well spare him."
Three or four gave over, and went home. Troffater winked and crossed
his black and blue eyes, took in a quid, spit through his teeth, struck
up a whistle, and departed; and the Indians manifested less zeal than
yesterday; but a large company took up the march and searched a day
longer. As night returned once more with its first faint shadows,
while yet there was light on the thin carpet of newly-fallen leaves to
discern colors plainly, a cry of "here's blood!" rang out in a fearful
shriek on their ears, and they halted, and gathered at the spot to
which attention was directed. "It is blood!" said another; and "here's
more!" cried another. "See, it is sprinkled all around here!" "And
there! see there, it looks as if there had been a scuffle!" added
another.
A cold thrill of horror ran around from heart to heart, and it was well
for the Fabenses that they did not arrive, or hear the cry, until a
glance before the grieving company showed them the remains of a deer,
and reserved a faint hope for the morrow.
To-morrow came and went, with no tidings of poor Clinton. Another and
another day was spent by several, who still insisted that the boy must
be alive. Mother Fabens' dream made a strong impression, and it held
them up from utter despair; while the Indians added a little more to
their courage by denying that the captive fawn was killed by them; for
they had not killed a fawn in a great while. The white people all
believed more or less in portents, warnings and dreams; and trusting a
little to their vaticination now, they could not yield the lingering
hope that he was still alive. But when they came to reason, that hope
was quite extinguished. Had he been alive, and within any reasonable
distance, he would have been discovered. But no trace of him could be
found even by the sharp-sighted Indians; and then the screams of those
panthers, on the first dismal night, increased the probability of his
awful fate. Still a search was continued by three or four, and on the
fifth day, they discovered a hat about a mile from the path he was
pursuing, and it was found to be Clinton's, and a present to him from a
cousin in Cloverdale. Again was the settlement set in commotion, and
again many surmises and opinions were expressed regarding the poor
boy's fate.