THE NEW HOME.
When Fanny had finished her breakfast, she put on her best clothes, and
started for New York with Mr. Grant, who, perhaps, was more desirous of
assisting the mother of Jenny than of confirming the story to which he
had just listened with so much interest and sympathy. We need not say
that the narrative of the returned wanderer was found to be true in
every respect, or that Mr. Grant destroyed the poor woman's note of
hand, by which she promised to pay the sums Fanny had expended in her
behalf.
Mrs. Kent, while she condemned and regretted the misdeeds of Fanny, was
enthusiastic in the praise she bestowed upon her kindness to the dying
girl, and of her tenderness and devotion in those last trying hours.
Mr. Grant could not doubt that a great change had come over Fanny; that
she earnestly intended to lead a true and good life. Whether she would
persevere, and in any degree realize her present high aspirations,
remained yet to be demonstrated; but he was hopeful. The solemn and
impressive scene through which she had passed had left deep impressions
upon her mind and heart, which he hoped would prove as lasting as they
were strong.
Mr. Grant called with Fanny to see Dr. Porter; and the benevolent
physician gladdened his heart by the warm commendations he lavished
upon Fanny; and, without knowing of her misdeeds, he declared she was a
treasure in whom her friends ought continually to rejoice. It was not
necessary that he should know what evil she had done, for he might
never see her again, and Mr. Grant's business with him related solely
to the future comfort of the soldier's family. The doctor had done
everything that could be done for Mrs. Kent, and his family were so
deeply interested in the poor woman that she was not likely to suffer
in the future. Mr. Grant promised to see him again, and coöperate with
him in doing what might be needed for her comfort and happiness.
Mr. Grant and Fanny returned to Woodville by the noon train. The
penitent girl felt that she had been forgiven, and the kindness of her
friend made her all the more determined to be faithful to the
resolutions she had made. She had not hoped to escape the punishment
she merited, and had not been prepared for the tender words which had
been addressed to her when it was evident that her penitence was real.
"Fanny," said Mr. Grant, as they entered the library, on her return, "I
shall, as I said before, be obliged to send you to your uncle in
Minnesota."
"I am willing to go, sir," replied she, humbly.
"I understand you have frequently declared that you would not go."
"I have, but I am sorry I said anything of the kind."
"But I do not intend to send you there as a punishment for what you
have done. I freely forgive you."
"You are very kind to me, Mr. Grant, and I will do anything you wish
without complaining."
"I am glad to see so excellent a spirit in you, which makes me sorry to
send you away at this time. If your conduct had warranted it before, I
might have made different arrangements; but it is too late now. I have
written to your uncle, informing him that you would be with him next
week. I promised him and your aunt, when I brought you here, that you
should be returned to them in two years; and that time has now expired.
We shall be absent in Europe about six months; when we return, if your
uncle is willing, I should be very glad to have you come back to
Woodville. I hope you will like your aunt better than you used to like
her."
"I shall, sir."
Mr. Grant did not think it necessary to indulge in any long lectures.
He had forgiven Fanny, and he hoped her future conduct would justify
his clemency. Mrs. Green and the servants saw that she was a different
being. She was no longer rough, disobedient, and impertinent, for she
entered at once upon her effort to be kind and obliging to all in the
house. In the afternoon Mr. Grant went up to Hudson, where he had left
Bertha and Fanny. When he had gone, the reformed girl paid a visit to
Ben the boatman, still confined to his bed with the rheumatism. She
surprised him by offering to read to him from the Bible--an offer which
he gladly accepted.
The next day she went to school, carrying a note to the teacher, which
Mr. Grant had written for her. She expected to be reproached and
reproved here, but the teacher did not allude to her past conduct,
prompted in this course by the note; her companions were astonished and
awed by her quiet dignity, and even Kate Magner said less than might
have been expected. Fanny told her what had happened after the
separation at Pennville, and solemnly assured her that she intended
always to be a good girl in the future.
Fanny spent Saturday afternoon with Ben, seated by his bedside till
dark, reading and singing to him, giving him his medicine, and
supplying all his wants. She told him the story of her wanderings in
New York, of the death and the funeral of Jenny, all of which the
kindness and tenderness of Fanny to himself made real. He commended her
good resolutions, and hoped that, in her new home in the West, she
would be able to carry them out.
On Monday the family returned from Hudson, and Fanny repeated her story
to Bertha and her sister. They were moved to tears by her narrative. It
had seemed to them that nothing short of a miracle could reform the
wayward girl; but the miracle had been wrought, as was fully proved
during the remainder of Fanny's stay at Woodville. It did not seem
possible that the gentle and obliging girl, who was a blessing to all
in the house, had ever been the grief and the sorrow of her friends, a
thorn and a torment to all who came in contact with her.
When the time for Fanny to leave for Minnesota arrived, it was hard for
the family to part with her. Miss Fanny begged that the arrangements
might be altered; that she might be permitted to remain at Woodville,
or even to go to Europe with them; but her father thought it best that
the original plan should be carried out; he believed that it would be
better for Fanny herself. There were many tears shed when they parted.
Miss Fanny was sorry to lose her _protégée_ just as her teachings,
quickened into life by her visit to the city, were beginning to bear
their fruits.
Mr. Grant had decided to attend the young traveller to her new home,
for he was unwilling to trust her to the care of any chance friend who
might undertake the charge of her, fearful lest the good impressions
which were beginning to take root in her soul might be weakened during
the long journey. They travelled leisurely, and at the end of a week
reached Mankato, at the great bend of the Minnesota River, in the
southern part of the state.
John Grant, Fanny's uncle, lived at a settlement near the southern line
of the state, about seventy miles from Mankato; and thither Mr. Grant
and Fanny proceeded in a wagon, hired for the purpose. They were warmly
welcomed by the settlers, who seldom saw any one from the busy walks of
civilization. Mr. Grant remained but one day, which he used mainly in
informing the future guardians of Fanny in regard to her moral, mental,
and spiritual needs. He told them of the change which had come over
her, and hoped they would do all they could to foster and encourage the
growth of her good principles. When he had faithfully discharged his
duty to his late charge, he took an affectionate leave of her, and
departed for his home, returning to Mankato in the wagon by which he
had come.
Fanny now entered upon her new life, and had an opportunity to take a
survey of her future home. The settlement consisted of about fifty
persons, most of whom had emigrated from states east of the
Mississippi. Among them were a few Germans, Swedes, and Norwegians. The
country was a perfect garden by nature, and the rich, deep soil
produced the most abundant crops. The settlement was located on one of
those beautiful lakes for which Minnesota is distinguished, whose
bright, clear waters abound in fish. The lake was eight miles in
length, with an average width of about three miles. From it flowed a
small stream, and after receiving other tributaries, discharged its
waters into the Watonwan, which in its turn entered the Minnesota.
John Grant was one of the most important persons at the settlement. He
had cleared up a large farm on the border of the lake, and, with more
means at the beginning than most of his neighbors, had realized a high
degree of prosperity. As he had no children of his own, he was glad to
have Fanny as a member of his family, especially since he had learned
of the improvement in her conduct.
About one third of the population of the settlement were children, and
a school had been established for their benefit. The instructor, Mr.
Osborne, a young man, brother of one of the settlers, had lost his
right leg and his left arm by a terrible railroad accident. He was a
graduate of an Ohio college, and had been engaged in preparing himself
for the ministry when the calamity occurred which rendered him unfit
for the active duties of life. From choice rather than from necessity,
he remained with his brother at the settlement, being both teacher and
preacher.
Fanny immediately entered his school, and devoted herself with great
earnestness to her studies. She soon became a favorite of Mr. Osborne,
who had learned a portion of her history, and felt a strong interest in
her welfare. She was a good scholar, and her progress was entirely
satisfactory to her teacher.
In the home of her uncle, Fanny found, on her arrival, a boy of her own
age. His name was Ethan French; and he had come from Illinois with Mr.
Grant to work on the farm. He had no parents living, and was expected
to remain with his employer till he was twenty-one. He was an uncouth
fellow, and though he could read, write, and cipher, he seemed to be as
uncultivated and bearish as the wild Indians that roamed through the
country. Fanny tried to be his friend, and never neglected an
opportunity to do him a kindness; but the more she tried to serve him,
the more the distance between them seemed to be increased.
"I don't want nothin' to do with gals," was a favorite maxim with
Ethan; and Fanny found it impossible to be very sociable with him. He
did not repel or resent her well-meant advances; but he edged off, and
got out of the way as fast as he could.
Fanny had made up her mind, before she came to her uncle's home, to be
contented and happy there; and she was surprised to find that she liked
her new residence very much. Her aunt was by no means the person her
former experience had taught her to believe she was. Fanny was docile
and obedient, and Mrs. Grant was no longer unjust and tyrannical. They
agreed together remarkably well, and during the short period they were
permitted to be together, no hard thoughts existed, and no harsh words
passed between them.
Though Fanny had not been accustomed to work at Woodville, she readily
adapted herself to her new station. There were no servants at the
settlement; people did their own work; and Fanny, true to the good
principles she had chosen, did all she could to assist her aunt.
Let it not be supposed that Fanny had no temptations; that the new life
upon which she had entered was free from peril and struggles. She was
tempted from within and without; tempted to be unjust, unkind, wilful,
and disobedient. We cannot even say that she did not sometimes yield to
those temptations; but she prayed for strength to resist them. She
labored to be true to her high purpose. The anchor which she always
wore on her breast frequently reminded her of her short-comings--frequently
recalled the memories of the dying angel who had spoken peace to her
troubled soul.
"HOPE AND HAVE," she often said to herself; and the words were
a talisman to keep her in the path of duty. Continually she kept before
her what she hoped to be, and continually she labored to attain the
high and beautiful ideal of a true life.
She was happy in her new home, and her friends were happy in her
presence there; but not long was this happiness to continue, for even
then was gathering in the distance the storm which was to overwhelm
them with woe and desolation. An experience of the most awful and
trying character was in store for Fanny, for which her growth in grace
and goodness was the best, and indeed the only preparation.
By treaty and purchase the United States government had obtained vast
tracts of the lands of the various sub-tribes of the Sioux and Dakotah
Indians. By the original treaty the natives had reserved for their own
use the country on both sides of the Minnesota River, including a tract
one hundred and fifty miles in length by twenty in breadth. When the
Senate of the United States came to act upon the treaty, it was made a
condition of the approval that this reservation should also be ceded to
the whites. The Indians assented to the condition, but no lands being
appropriated for their use, as agreed, they had moved upon the
reservation, and their right to it was recognized.
A portion of this reservation was subsequently acquired by purchase,
but the Indians continued to occupy the rest of it. By the various
treaties, the Indians were paid certain sums of money every year, and
supplied with quantities of goods, such as blankets, clothing, tools,
and arms. But the money was not paid, nor the goods delivered, when
due. The Indians were cheated by traders, and the debts due the latter
were taken from the money to be paid the former. The neglect of the
government,--fully occupied in suppressing the rebellion at the
South,--and the immense frauds practised upon the simple natives,
roused their indignation, and stirred up a hatred which culminated in
the most terrible Indian massacre recorded in the annals of our
country.