ON THE BANKS OF THE WONDERFUL RIVER
It was a busy fortnight that followed. The boys visited every farmer
within six miles of the landing to secure whatever freight he might be
willing to furnish. They picked and barrelled all of Lampson’s apples,
dug and bagged and barrelled all the potatoes in that neighborhood, and
got together many small lots of onions, garlic, dried beans, and the
like, including about ten barrels of eggs. These last they collected in
baskets, a few dozen from each farm, and packed them at the landing. Of
course every shipper’s freight had to be separately marked and receipted
for, so that the proper returns might be made.
During all this time the boys had lived in a camp of their own making at
the landing, partly to guard the freight against thieves, partly to get
used to cooking, etc., for themselves, partly to learn to “rough it,”
generally, and more than all because, being healthy-minded boys, they
liked camping for its own sake.
Their little shelter was on the shore, just under the bank. They
occupied it only during rains. At other times they lived night and day
in the open air. They worked all day, of course, leaving one of their
number on guard, but when night came, they had what Homer calls a “great
bearded fire,” built against a fallen sycamore tree of gigantic size,
and after supper they sat by it chatting till it was time to sleep.
They were usually tired, but they were excited also, and that often kept
them awake pretty late. The vision of the voyage had taken hold upon
their imaginations. They pictured to themselves the calm joy of floating
fifteen hundred miles and more down the great river, of seeing strange,
subtropical regions that had hitherto been but names to them, seeming as
remote as the Nile country itself until now.
And as they thought, they talked, but mainly their talk consisted of
questions fired at Ed Lowry, who was very justly suspected of knowing
about ten times as much about most things as anybody else in the
company.
Finally, one night Irv Strong got to “supposing” things and asking Ed
about them.
“Suppose we run on a sawyer,” he said. Ed had been telling them about
that particularly dangerous sort of snag.
“Well,” said Ed, “we’ll try to avoid that, by keeping as nearly as we
can in the channel.”
“But suppose we find that a particularly malignant sawyer has squatted
down in the middle of the channel, and is laying for us there?”
“I doubt if sawyers often do that,” said Ed, meditatively.
“Well, but suppose one cantankerous old sawyer should do so,” insisted
Irv. “You can ‘suppose a case’ and make a sawyer anywhere you please,
can’t you?”
Everybody laughed. Then Ed said: “Now listen to me, boys. I’ve been
getting together all the books I can borrow that tell anything about the
country we’re going through, and I’ll have them all on board. My plan is
to lie on my back in the shade somewhere and read them while you fellows
pull at the oars, cook the meals, and do the work generally. Then, when
you happen to have a little leisure, as you will now and then, I’ll
tell you what I’ve learned by my reading.”
“Oh, that’s your plan, is it?” asked Phil.
“Yes, I’ve thought it all out carefully,” laughed Ed.
“Well, you’ll find out before we get far down the river what the duties
of a flatboat hand are, and you’ll _do_ ’em, too, ‘accordin’ to the
measure of your strength,’ as old Mr. Moon always says in experience
meeting.”
“But reading and telling us about it is what Ed can do best,” said Will
Moreraud, “and that’s what we’re taking him along for.”
“Not a bit of it,” quickly responded Phil. “We’re taking him along to
make him well and strong like the rest of us, and I’m going to keep him
off his back and on his feet as much as possible, and besides--”
“But, Phil, old fellow,” Ed broke in, “didn’t you understand that I was
only joking?”
Ed asked the question with a tender solicitude to which Phil responded
promptly.
“Of course I did,” he replied. “You always do your share in everything,
and sometimes more. But I don’t think you understand. You know we
started this thing for you. I don’t know--maybe you’ll never get well if
we don’t do our best to make you--” but Phil had choked up by this time,
and he broke away from the group and went down by the river. A little
later Ed joined him there and, grasping his hand, said:--
“I understand, old fellow.”
“No, you don’t; at least not quite,” replied the boy, who had now
recovered control of his voice. “You see it’s this way. You and I are
_twins_. You’re some years older than I am, of course, but we’ve always
been twins just the same.”
“Yes, I understand all that, and feel it.”
“No, not all,” persisted the younger boy. “You see I’ve got all the
health there is between us, and it isn’t fair. If you should--well, if
anything should happen to you, I’d never forgive myself for not finding
out some way of dividing health with you--”
“But, my dear brother--” broke in Ed.
“Don’t interrupt me, now,” said Phil, almost hysterically, “because I
must tell you this so that you will understand. When we made up this
scheme and you fellows chose me captain, I got to thinking how much
depended on me. There was the cargo, representing other people’s money,
and I was responsible for that. There was the safety of the boat and
crew, and that depended upon me, too. But these weren’t the heavy things
to me. There was your health! That depended on me in a fearful way. I
felt that I must find out what was best for you to do and then _make_
you do it.” He laughed a little. “That sounds funny, doesn’t it? The
idea of my ‘making’ you do things!--Never mind that. I went to Dr.
Gale--”
“What for?” asked Ed, in astonishment at this new revelation of the
change in Phil’s happy-go-lucky ways.
“To find out just what it would be best for you to do and not to do, in
order to make you well and strong like me.” He choked a little, but
presently recovered himself and continued. “I found out, and I mean to
_make_ you do the things that will save you, even if you hate me for
my--”
He could say no more. There was no need. Ed, with his ready mind and
big, generous heart, understood, though he wondered. He grasped his
brother’s hand again and said, between something like sobs:--
“And I’ll obey you, Phil! Thank you, and God bless you! Be sure I could
never hate you or do anything but love you, and you must always know
that I understand.”
Then the two turned away from each other.
On their return to Vevay a few evenings later, Ed said to his mother:--
“You were right, mother; responsibility has already worked a miracle in
Phil’s character.”
“No, you are wrong,” said the wise mother. “It is only that you have
never quite understood your brother until now. Nothing really changes
character--at least nothing changes it suddenly. Circumstances do not
alter the character of men or women or boys. They only call out what is
already there. Responsibility and his great affection for you have not
changed your brother in the least. They have only served to make you
acquainted with him as you never were before.”
“Be very sure I shall never misunderstand him again!” said the boy, with
an earnestness not to be mistaken.
[Illustration: LOADING THE FLATBOAT.
“They worked like beavers getting cargo aboard.”]