Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: John Norton]
HOW
JOHN NORTON THE TRAPPER
KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS
BY
W. H. H. MURRAY
BOSTON:
DE WOLFE, FISKE & CO.
364 AND 365 WASHINGTON STREET.
COPYRIGHT, 1890,
BY DE WOLFE, FISKE & CO.
HOW JOHN NORTON THE TRAPPER
KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS.
I.
A cabin. A cabin in the woods. In the cabin a great fireplace piled
high with logs, fiercely ablaze. On either side of the broad
hearth-stone a hound sat on his haunches, looking gravely, as only a
hound in a meditative mood can, into the glowing fire. In the centre
of the cabin, whose every nook and corner was bright with the ruddy
firelight, stood a wooden table, strongly built and solid. At the
table sat John Norton, poring over a book,--a book large of size, with
wooden covers bound in leather, brown with age, and smooth as with the
handling of many generations. The whitened head of the old man was
bowed over the broad page, on which one hand rested, with the
forefinger marking the sentence. A cabin in the woods filled with
firelight, a table, a book, an old man studying the book. This was the
scene on Christmas Eve. Outside, the earth was white with snow, and in
the blue sky above the snow was the white moon.
"It says here," said the Trapper, speaking to himself, "it says here,
'Give to him that lacketh, and from him that hath not, withhold not
thine hand.' It be a good sayin' fur sartin; and the world would be a
good deal better off, as I conceit, ef the folks follered the sayin' a
leetle more closely." And here the old man paused a moment, and, with
his hand still resting on the page, and his forefinger still pointing
at the sentence, seemed pondering what he had been reading. At last he
broke the silence again, saying,--
"Yis, the world would be a good deal better off, ef the folks in it
follered the sayin';" and then he added, "There's another spot in the
book I'd orter look at to-night; it's a good ways furder on, but I
guess I can find it. Henry says that the furder on you git in the
book, the better it grows, and I conceit the boy may be right; for
there be a good deal of murderin' and fightin' in the fore part of the
book, that don't make pleasant readin', and what the Lord wanted to put
it in fur is a good deal more than a man without book-larnin' can
understand. Murderin' be murderin', whether it be in the Bible or out
of the Bible; and puttin' it in the Bible, and sayin' it was done by
the Lord's commandment, don't make it any better. And a good deal of
the fightin' they did in the old time was sartinly without reason and
ag'in jedgment, specially where they killed the women-folks and the
leetle uns." And while the old man had thus been communicating with
himself, touching the character of much of the Old Testament, he had
been turning the leaves until he had reached the opening chapters of
the New, and had come to the description of the Saviour's birth, and
the angelic announcement of it on the earth. Here he paused, and began
to read. He read as an old man unaccustomed to letters must
read,--slowly and with a show of labor, but with perfect contentment as
to his progress, and a brightening face.
"This isn't a trail a man can hurry on onless he spends a good deal of
his time on it, or is careless about notin' the signs, fur the words be
weighty, and a man must stop at each word, and look around awhile, in
order to git all the meanin' out of 'em--yis, a man orter travel this
trail a leetle slow, ef he wants to see all there is to see on it."
Then the old man began to read:--
"'Then there was with the angels a multitude of the heavenly
host,'--the exact number isn't sot down here," he muttered; "but I
conceit there may have been three or four hunderd,--'praisin' God and
singin', Glory to God in the highest, and on 'arth, peace to men of
good will.' That's right," said the Trapper. "Yis, peace to men of
good will. That be the sort that desarve peace; the other kind orter
stand their chances." And here the old man closed the book,--closed it
slowly, and with the care we take of a treasured thing; closed it,
fastened the clasps, and carried it to the great chest whence he had
taken it, putting it away in its place. Having done this, he returned
to his seat, and, moving the chair in front of the fire, he looked
first at one hound, and then at the other, and said, "Pups, this be
Christmas Eve, and I sartinly trust ye be grateful fur the comforts ye
have."
He said this deliberately, as if addressing human companions. The two
hounds turned their heads toward their master, looked placidly into his
face, and wagged their tails.
[Illustration: The two hounds turned their heads toward their master.]
"Yis, yis, I understand ye," said the Trapper, "Ye both be comfortable,
and, I dare say, that arter yer way ye both be grateful, fur, next to
eatin', a dog loves the heat, and ye be nigh enough to the logs to be
toastin'. Yis, this be Christmas Eve," continued the old man, "and in
the settlements the folks be gittin' ready their gifts. The young
people be tyin' up the evergreens, and the leetle uns be onable to
sleep because of their dreamin'. It's a pleasant pictur', and I
sartinly wish I could see the merrymakin's, as Henry has told me of
them, some time, but I trust it may be in his own house, and with his
own children." With this pleasant remark, in respect to the one he
loved so well, the old man lapsed into silence. But the peaceful
contentment of his face, as the firelight revealed it, showed plainly
that, though his lips moved not, his mind was still active with
pleasant thoughts of the one whose name he had mentioned, and whom he
so fondly loved. At last a more sober look came to his countenance,--a
look of regret, of self-reproach, the look of a man who remembers
something he should not have forgotten,--and he said,--
"I ax the Lord to pardin me, that in the midst of my plenty I have
forgot them that may be in want. The shanty sartinly looked open
enough the last time I fetched the trail past the clearin', and though
with the help of the moss and the clay in the bank she might make it
comfortable, yit, ef the vagabond that be her husband has forgot his
own, and desarted them, as Wild Bill said he had, I doubt ef there be
victuals enough in the shanty to keep them from starvin'. Yis, pups,"
said the old man, rising, "it'll be a good tramp through the snow, but
we'll go in the mornin', and see ef the woman be in want. The boy
himself said, when he stopped at the shanty last summer, afore he went
out, that he didn't see how they was to git through the winter, and I
reckon he left the woman some money, by the way she follered him toward
the boat; and he told me to bear them in mind when the snow came, and
see to it they didn't suffer. I might as well git the pack-basket out,
and begin to put the things in't, fur it be a goodly distance, and an
early start will make the day pleasant to the woman and the leetle uns,
ef vict'als be scant in the cupboard. Yis, I'll git the pack-basket
out, and look round a leetle, and see what I can find to take 'em. I
don't conceit it'll make much of a show, fur what might be good fur a
man, won't be of sarvice to a woman; and as fur the leetle uns, I don't
know ef I've got a single thing but vict'als that'll fit 'em. Lord! ef
I was near the settlements, I might swap a dozen skins fur jest what I
wanted to give 'em; but I'll git the basket out, and look round and see
what I've got."
In a moment the great pack-basket had been placed in the middle of the
floor, and the Trapper was busy overhauling his stores to see what he
could find that would make a fitting Christmas gift for those he was to
visit on the morrow. A canister of tea was first deposited on the
table, and, after he had smelled of it, and placed a few grains of it
on his tongue, like a connoisseur, he proceeded to pour more than half
of its contents into a little bark box, and, having carefully tied the
cover, he placed it in the basket.
"The yarb be of the best," said the old man, putting his nose to the
mouth of the canister, and taking a long sniff before he inserted the
stopple--"the yarb be of the best, fur the smell of it goes into the
nose strong as mustard. That be good fur the woman fur sartin, and
will cheer her sperits when she be downhearted; fur a woman takes as
naterally to tea as an otter to his slide, and I warrant it'll be an
amazin' comfort to her, arter the day's work be over, more specially ef
the work had been heavy, and gone sorter crosswise. Yis, the yarb be
good fur a woman when things go crosswise, and the box'll be a great
help to her many and many a night beyend doubt. The Lord sartinly had
women in mind when he made the yarb, and a kindly feelin' fur their
infarmities, and, I dare say, they be grateful accordin' to their
knowledge."
A large cake of maple-sugar followed the tea into the basket, and a
small chest of honey accompanied it.
"That's honest sweetenin'," remarked the Trapper with decided emphasis;
"and that is more'n ye can say of the sugar of the settlements,
leastwise ef a man can jedge by the stuff they peddle at the clearin'.
The bees be no cheats; and a man who taps his own trees, and biles the
runnin' into sugar under his own eye, knows what kind of sweetenin'
he's gittin'. The woman won't find any sand in her teeth when she
takes a bite from that loaf, or stirs a leetle of the honey in the cup
she's steepin'."
Some salt and pepper were next added to the packages already in the
basket. A sack of flour and another of Indian-meal followed. A
generous round of pork, and a bag of jerked venison, that would balance
a twenty-pound weight, at least, went into the pack. On these, several
large-sized salmon-trout, that had been smoked by the Trapper's best
skill, were laid. These offerings evidently exhausted the old man's
resources, for, after looking round a while, and searching the cupboard
from bottom to top, he returned to the basket, and contemplated it with
satisfaction, indeed, yet with a face slightly shaded with
disappointment.
"The vict'als be all right," he said, "fur there be enough to last 'em
a month, and they needn't scrimp themselves either. But eatin' isn't
all, and the leetle uns was nigh on to naked the last time I seed 'em;
and the woman's dress, in spite of the patchin', looked as ef it would
desart her, ef she didn't keep a close eye on't. Lord! Lord! what
shall I do? fur there's room enough in the basket, and the woman and
the leetle uns need garments; that is, it's more'n likely they do, and
I haven't a garment in the cabin to take 'em."
"Hillo! Hillo! John Norton! John Norton! Hillo!" The voice came
sharp and clear, cutting keenly through the frosty air and the cabin
walls. "John Norton!"
"Wild Bill!" exclaimed the Trapper. "I sartinly hope the vagabond
hasn't been a-drinkin'. His voice sounds as ef he was sober; but the
chances be ag'in the signs, fur, ef he isn't drunk, the marcy of the
Lord or the scarcity of liquor has kept him from it. I'll go to the
door, and see what he wants. It's sartinly too cold to let a man stand
in the holler long, whether he be sober or drunk;" with which remark
the Trapper stepped to the door, and flung it open.
"What is it, Wild Bill? what is it?" he called. "Be ye drunk, or be ye
sober, that ye stand there shoutin' in the cold with a log cabin within
a dozen rods of ye?"
"Sober, John Norton, sober. Sober as a Moravian preacher at a funeral."
"Yer trappin' must have been mighty poor, then, Wild Bill, for the last
month, or the Dutchman at the clearin' has watered his liquor by a
wrong measure for once. But ef ye be sober, why do ye stand there
whoopin' like an Indian, when the ambushment is onkivered and the
bushes be alive with the knaves? Why don't ye come into the cabin,
like a sensible man, ef ye be sober? The signs be ag'in ye, Wild Bill;
yis, the signs be ag'in ye."
"Come into the cabin!" retorted Bill. "An' so I would mighty lively,
ef I could; but the load is heavy, and your path is as slippery as the
plank over the creek at the Dutchman's, when I've two horns aboard."
"Load! What load have ye been draggin' through the woods?" exclaimed
the Trapper. "Ye talk as ef my cabin was the Dutchman's, and ye was
balancin' on the plank at this minit."
"Come and see for yourself," answered Wild Bill, "and give me a lift.
Once in your cabin, and in front of your fire, I'll answer all the
questions you may ask. But I'll answer no more until I'm inside the
door."
"Ye be sartinly sober to-night," answered the Trapper, laughing, as he
started down the hill, "fur ye talk sense, and that's more'n a man can
do when he talks through the nozzle of a bottle.
"Lord-a-massy!" exclaimed the old man as he stood over the sled, and
saw the huge box that was on it. "Lord-a-massy, Bill! what a tug ye
must have had! and how ye come to be sober with sech a load behind ye
is beyend the reckinin' of a man who has knowed ye nigh on to twenty
year. I never knowed ye disappoint one arter this fashion afore."
"It is strange, I confess," answered Wild Bill, appreciating the humor
that lurked in the honesty of the old man's utterance. "It is strange,
that's a fact, for it's Christmas Eve, and I ought to be roaring drunk
at the Dutchman's this very minit, according to custom; but I pledged
him to get the box through jest as he wanted it done, and that I
wouldn't touch a drop of liquor until I had done it. And here it is
according to promise, for here I am sober, and here is his box."
"H'ist along, Bill, h'ist along!" exclaimed the Trapper, who suddenly
became alive with interest, for he surmised whence the box had come.
"H'ist along, Bill, I say, and have done with yer talkin', and let's
see what ye have got on yer sled. It's strange that a man of your
sense will stand jibberin' here in the snow with a roarin' fire within
a dozen rods of ye."
Whatever retort Wild Bill may have contemplated, it was effectually
prevented by the energy with which the Trapper pushed the sled after
him. Indeed, it was all he could do to keep it off his heels, so
earnestly did the old man propel it from behind; and so, with many a
slip and scramble on the part of Wild Bill, and a continued muttering
on the part of the Trapper about the "nonsense of a man's jibberin' in
the snow arter a twenty-mile drag, with a good fire within a dozen rods
of him," the sled was shot through the doorway into the cabin, and
stood fully revealed in the bright blaze of the firelight.
"Take off yer coat and yer moccasins, Wild Bill," exclaimed the
Trapper, as he closed the door, "and git in front of the fire; pull out
the coals, and set the tea-pot a-steepin'. The yarb will take the
chill out of ye better than the pizen of the Dutchman. Ye'll find a
haunch of venison in the cupboard that I roasted to-day, and some
johnny-cake; I doubt ef either be cold. Help yerself, help yerself,
Bill, while I take a peep at the box."
No one can appreciate the intensity of the old man's feelings in
reference to the mysterious box, unless he calls to mind the strictness
with which he was wont to interpret and fulfil the duties of
hospitality. To him the coming of a guest was a welcome event, and the
service which the latter might require of the host both a sacred and
pleasant obligation. To serve a guest with his own hand, which he did
with a natural courtesy peculiar to himself, was his delight. Nor did
it matter with him what the quality of the guest might be. The
wandering trapper or the vagabond Indian was served with as sincere
attention as the richest visitor from the city. But now his feelings
were so stirred by the sight of the box thus strangely brought to him,
and by his surmise touching who the sender might be, that Wild Bill was
left to help himself without the old man's attendance.
It was evident that Bill was equal to the occasion, and was not aware
of the slightest neglect. At least, his actions were not, by the
neglect of the Trapper, rendered less decided, or the quality of his
appetite affected, for the examination he made of the old man's
cupboard, and the familiarity with which he handled the contents, made
it evident that he was not in the least abashed, or uncertain how to
proceed; for he attacked the provisions with the energy of a man who
had fasted long, and who has at last not only come suddenly to an ample
supply of food, but also feels that for a few moments, at least, he
will be unobserved. The Trapper turned toward the box, and approached
it for a deliberate examination.
"The boards be sawed," he said, "and they come from the mills of the
settlement, for the smoothin'-plane has been over 'em." Then he
inspected the jointing, and noted how truly the edges were drawn.
"The box has come a goodly distance," he said to himself, "fur there
isn't a workman this side of the Horicon that could j'int it in that
fashion. There sartinly orter be some letterin', or a leetle bit of
writin', somewhere about the chest, tellin' who the box belonged to,
and to whom it was sent." Saying this, the old man unlashed the box
from the sled, and rolled it over, so that the side might come
uppermost. As no direction appeared on the smoothly planed surface, he
rolled it half over again. A little white card neatly tacked to the
board was now revealed. The Trapper stooped, and on the card read,--
JOHN NORTON,
TO THE CARE OF WILD BILL.
"Yis, the 'J' be his'n," muttered the old man, as he spelled out the
word J-o-h-n, "and the big 'N' be as plain as an otter-trail in the
snow. The boy don't make his letters over-plain, as I conceit, but the
'J' and the 'N' be his'n." And then he paused for a full minute, his
head bowed over the box. "The boy don't forgit," he murmured, and he
wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "The boy don't forgit." And
then he added, "No, he isn't one of the forgittin' kind. Wild Bill,"
said the Trapper, as he turned toward that personage, whose attack on
the venison haunch was as determined as ever, "Wild Bill, this box be
from Henry!"
"I shouldn't wonder," answered that individual, speaking from a mass of
edibles that filled his mouth.
"And it be a Christmas gift!" continued the old man.
"It looks so," returned Bill, as laconically as before.
"And it be a mighty heavy box!" said the Trapper.
"You'd 'a' thought so, if you had dragged it over the mile-and-a-half
carry. It was good sleddin' on the river, but the carry took the stuff
out of me."
"Very like, very like," responded the Trapper; "fur the gullies be deep
on the carry, and it must have been slippery haulin'. Didn't ye git a
leetle 'arnest in yer feelin's, Bill, afore ye got to the top of the
last ridge?"
"Old man," answered Bill as he wheeled his chair toward the Trapper,
with a pint cup of tea in the one hand, and wiping his mustache with
the coat-sleeve of the other, "I got it to the top three times, or
within a dozen feet from the top, and each time it got away from me and
went to the bottom agin; for the roots was slippery, and I couldn't git
a grip on the toe of my moccasins; but I held on the rope, and I got to
the bottom neck and neck with the sled every time."
"Ye did well, ye did well," responded the Trapper, laughing; "fur a
loaded sled goes down-hill mighty fast when the slide is a steep un,
and a man who gits to the bottom as quick as the sled must have a good
grip, and be considerably in 'arnest. But ye got her up finally by the
same path, didn't ye?"
"Yes, I got her up," returned Bill. "The fourth time I went for that
ridge, I fetched her to the top, for I was madder than a hornet."
"And what did ye do, Bill?" continued the Trapper. "What did ye do
when ye got to the top?"
"I jest tied that sled to a sapling so it wouldn't git away agin, and I
got on to the top of that box, and I talked to that gulch a minit or
two in a way that satisfied my feelings."
"I shouldn't wonder," answered the Trapper, laughing, "fur ye must have
been a good deal riled. But ye did well to git the box through, and ye
got here in time, and ye've 'arnt yer wages; and now, ef ye'll tell me
how much I am to pay ye, ye shall have yer money, and ye needn't scrimp
yourself on the price, Wild Bill, for the drag has been a hard un; so
tell me yer price, and I'll count ye out the money."
"Old man," answered Bill, "I didn't bring that box through for money,
and I won't take a"--
Perhaps Wild Bill was about to emphasize his refusal by some verbal
addition to the simple statement, but, if it was his intention, he
checked himself, and said, "a cent."
"It's well said," answered the Trapper; "yis, it's well said, and does
jestice to yer feelin's, I don't doubt; but an extra pair of breeches
one of these days wouldn't hurt ye, and the money won't come amiss."
"I tell ye, old man," returned Wild Bill earnestly, "I won't take a
cent. I'll allow there's several colors in my trousers, for I've
patched in a dozen different pieces off and on, and I doubt, as ye
hint, if the patching holds together much longer; but I've eaten at
your table and slept in your cabin more than once, John Norton, and
whether I've come to it sober or drunk, your door was never shut in my
face, and I don't forget either that the man who sent you that box
fished me from the creek one day, when I had walked into it with two
bottles of the Dutchman's whiskey in my pocket, and not one cent of
your money or his will I take for bringing the box in to you."
"Have it yer own way, ef ye will," said the Trapper; "but I won't
forgit the deed ye have did, and the boy won't forgit it neither.
Come, let's clear away the vict'als, and we'll open the box. It's
sartinly a big un, and I would like to see what he has put inside of
it."
The opening of the box was a spectacle such as gladdens the heart to
see. At such moments the countenance of the Trapper was as facile in
the changefulness of its expression as that of a child. The passing
feelings of his soul found an adequate mirror in his face, as the white
clouds of a summer day find full reflection in the depth of a tranquil
lake. He was not too old or too learned to be wise, for the wisdom of
hearty happiness was his,--the wisdom of being glad, and gladly showing
it.
As for Wild Bill, the best of his nature was in the ascendant, and with
the curiosity and pleasure of a child, and a happiness as sincere as if
the box was his own, he assisted at the opening.
"The man who made this box did the work in a workmanlike fashion," said
the Trapper, as he strove to insert the edge of his hatchet into the
jointing of the cover, "fur he shet these boards together like the
teeth of a bear-trap when the bars be well 'iled. It's a pity the boy
didn't send him along with the box, Wild Bill, fur it sartinly looks as
ef we should have to kindle a fire on it, and burn a hole in through
the cover."
At last, by dint of great exertion, and with the assistance of Wild
Bill and the poker, the cover of the box was wrenched off, and the
contents were partially revealed.
"Glory to God, Wild Bill!" exclaimed the Trapper. "Here be yer
breeches!" and he held up a pair of pantaloons made of the stoutest
Scotch stuff. "Yis, here be yer breeches, fur here on the waistband be
pinned a bit of paper, and on it be written, 'Fur Wild Bill.' And here
be a vest to match; and here be a jacket; and here be two pairs of
socks in the pockets of the jacket; and here be two woollen shirts, one
packed away in each sleeve. And here!" shouted the old man, as he
turned up the lapel of the coat, "Wild Bill, look here! Here be a
five-dollar note!" and the old man swung one of the socks over his
head, and shouted, "Hurrah for Wild Bill!" And the two hounds,
catching the enthusiasm of their master, lifted their muzzles into the
air, and bayed deep and long, till the cabin fairly shook with the
joyful uproar of man and dogs.
It is doubtful if any gift ever took the recipient more by surprise
than this bestowed upon Wild Bill. It is true that, judged by the law
of strict deserts, the poor fellow had not deserved much of the world,
and certainly the world had not forgotten to be strictly just in his
case, for it had not given him much. It is a question if he had ever
received a gift before in all his life, certainly not one of any
considerable value. His reception of this generous and thoughtful
provision for his wants was characteristic both of his training and his
nature.
The old Trapper, as he had ended his cheering, flung the pantaloons,
the vest, the jacket, the socks, the shirts, and the money into his lap.
For a moment the poor fellow sat looking at the warm and costly
garments that he held in his hands, silent in an astonishment too
profound for speech, and then, recovering the use of his organs, he
gasped forth,--
"I swear!" and then broke down, and sobbed like a child.
The Trapper, kneeling beside the box, looked at the poor fellow with a
face radiant with happiness, while his mouth was stretched with
laughter, utterly unconscious that tears were brimming his own eyes.
"Old Trapper," said Wild Bill, rising to his feet, and holding the
garments forth in his hands, "this is the first present I ever received
in my life. I have been kicked and cussed, sneered at and taunted, and
I deserved it all. But no man ever gave me a lift, or showed he cared
a cent whether I starved or froze, lived or died. You know, John
Norton, what a fool I've been, and what has ruined me, and that when
sober I'm more of a man than many who hoot me. And here I swear, old
man, that while a button is on this jacket, or two threads of these
breeches hold together, I'll never touch a drop of liquor, sick or
well, living or dying, so help me God! and there's my hand on it."
"Amen!" exclaimed the Trapper, as he sprang to his feet, and clasped in
his own strong palm the hand that the other had stretched out to him.
"The Lord in his marcy be nigh ye when tempted, Bill, and keep ye true
to yer pledge!"
[Illustration: Clasped in his own strong palm]
Of all the pleasant sights that the angels of God, looking from their
high homes, saw on earth that Christmas Eve, perhaps not one was dearer
in their eyes than the spectacle here described,--the two sturdy men
standing with their hands clasped in solemn pledge of the reformation
of the one, and the helping sympathy of the other, above that
Christmas-box in the cabin in the woods.
It is not necessary to follow in detail the Trapper's further
examination of the box. The reader's imagination, assisted by many a
happy reminiscence, will enable him to realize the scene. There was a
small keg of powder, a large plug of lead, a little chest of tea, a bag
of sugar, and also one of coffee. There were nails, matches, thread,
buttons, a woollen under-jacket, a pair of mittens, and a cap of
choicest fur, made of an otter's skin that Henry himself had trapped a
year before. All these and other packages were taken out one by one,
carefully examined, and characteristically commented on by the Trapper,
and passed to Wild Bill, who in turn inspected and commented on them,
and then laid them carefully on the table. Beneath these packages was
a thin board, constituting a sort of division between its upper and
lower half.
"There seems to be a sort of cellar to this box," said the Trapper, as
he sat looking at the division. "I shouldn't be surprised ef the boy
himself was in here somewhere, so be ready, Bill, fur anything, fur the
Lord only knows what's underneath this board." Saying which, the old
man thrust his hand under one end of the division, and pulled out a
bundle loosely tied with a string, which became unfastened as the
Trapper lifted the roll from its place in the box, and, as he shook it
open, and held its contents at arm's length up to the light, the
startled eyes of Wild Bill, and the earnest gaze of the Trapper, beheld
a woman's dress!
"Heavens and 'arth, Bill!" exclaimed the Trapper, "what's this?" And
then a flash of light crossed his face, in the illumination of which
the look of wonder vanished, and, dropping upon his knees, he flung the
dividing board out of the box, and his companion and himself saw at a
glance what was underneath.
Children's shoes, and dresses of warmest stuffs; tippets and mittens; a
full suit for a little boy, boots and all; a jack-knife and whistle;
two dolls dressed in brave finery, with flaxen hair and blue eyes; a
little hatchet; a huge ball of yarn, and a hundred and one things
needed in the household; and underneath all a Bible; and under that a
silver star on a blue field, and pinned to the silk a scrap of paper,
on which was written,--
"Hang this over the picture of the lad."
"Ay, ay," said the Trapper in a tremulous voice, as he looked at the
silver star, "it shall be done as ye say, boy; but the lad has got
beyend the clouds, and is walkin' a trail that is lighted from eend to
eend by a light clearer and brighter than ever come from the shinin' of
any star. I hope we may be found worthy to walk it with him, boy, when
we, too, have come to the edge of the Great Clearin'."
To the Trapper it was perfectly evident for whom the contents of the
box were intended; but the sender had left nothing in doubt, for, when
the old man had lifted from the floor the board that he had flung out,
he discovered some writing traced with heavy pencilling on the wood,
and which without much effort he spelled out to Wild Bill,--
"Give these on Christmas Day to the woman at the dismal hut, and a
merry Christmas to you all."
"Ay, ay," said the Trapper, "it shall be did, barrin' accident, as ye
say; and a merry Christmas it'll make fur us all. Lord-a-massy! what
will the poor woman say when she and her leetle uns git these warm
garments on? There be no trouble about fillin' the basket now; no, I
sartinly can't git half of the stuff in. Wild Bill, I guess ye'll have
to do some more sleddin' to-morrow, fur these presents must go over the
mountain in the mornin', ef we have to harness up the pups." And then
he told his companion of the poor woman and the children, and his
intended visit to them on the morrow.
"I fear," he said, "that they be havin' a hard time of it, 'specially
ef her husband has desarted her."
"Little good would he do her, if he was with her," answered Wild Bill,
"for he's a lazy knave when he's sober, and a thief as well, as you and
I know, John Norton; for he's fingered our traps more than once, and
swapped the skins for liquor at the Dutchman's; but he's thieved once
too many times, for the folks in the settlement has ketched him in the
act, and they put him in the jail for six months, as I heard day before
yesterday."
"I'm glad on't; yis, I'm glad on't," answered the Trapper; "and I hope
they'll keep him there till they've larnt him how to work. I've had my
eye on the knave fur a good while, and the last time I seed him I told
him ef he fingered any more of my traps, I'd larn him the commandments
in a way he wouldn't forgit; and, as I had him in hand, and felt a
leetle like talkin' that mornin', I gin him a piece of my mind, techin'
his treatment of his wife and leetle uns, that he didn't relish, I
fancy, fur he winced and squirmed like a fox in a trap. Yis, I'm glad
they've got the knave, and I hope they'll keep him till he's answered
fur his misdoin'; but I'm sartinly afeered the poor woman be havin' a
hard time of it."
"I fear so, too," answered Wild Bill; "and if I can do anything to help
you in your plans, jest say the word, and I'm your man to back or haul,
jest as you want me."
And so it was arranged that they should go over the mountain together
on the morrow, and take the provisions and the gifts that were in the
box to the poor woman; and, after talking awhile of the happiness their
visit would give, the two men, happy in their thoughts, and with their
hearts full of that peace which passeth the understanding of the
selfish, laid themselves down to sleep; and over the two,--the one
drawing to the close of an honorable and well-spent life, the other
standing at the middle of a hitherto useless existence, but facing the
future with a noble resolution,--over the two, as they slept, the
angels of Christmas kept their watch.
II.
On the other side of the mountain stood the dismal hut; and the stars
of that blessed eve had shone down upon the lonely clearing in which it
stood, and the smooth white surface of the frozen and snow-covered lake
which lay in front of it, as brightly as they had shone on the cabin of
the Trapper; but no friendly step had made its trail in the surrounding
snow, and no blessed gift had been brought to its solitary door.
As the evening wore on, the great clearing round about it remained
drearily void of sound or motion, and filled only with the white
stillness of the frosty, snow-lighted night. Once, indeed, a wolf
stole from underneath the dark balsams into the white silence, and,
running up a huge log that lay aslant a ledge of rocks, looked across
and round the great opening in the woods, stood a moment, then gave a
shivering sort of a yelp, and scuttled back under the shadows of the
forest, as if its darkness was warmer than the frozen stillness of the
open space. An owl, perched somewhere amid the pine-tops, snug and
warm within the cover of its arctic plumage, engaged from time to time
in solemn gossip with some neighbor that lived on the opposite shore of
the lake. And once a raven, roosting on the dry bough of a
lightning-blasted pine, dreamed that the white moonlight was the light
of dawn, and began to stir his sable wings, and croak a harsh welcome;
but awakened by his blunder, and ashamed of his mistake, he broke off
in the very midst of his discordant call, and again settled gloomily
down amid his black plumes to his interrupted repose, making by his
sudden silence the surrounding silence more silent than before. It
seemed as if the very angels, who, we are taught, fly abroad over all
the earth that blessed night, carrying gifts to every household, had
forgotten the cabin in the woods, and had left it to the cold
hospitality of unsympathetic nature.
[Illustration: Running up a huge log that lay aslant a ledge of rocks]
Within the lonely hut, which thus seemed forgotten of Heaven itself,
sat a woman huddling her young--two girls and a boy. The fireplace was
of monstrous proportions, and the chimney yawned upward so widely that
one looking up the sooty passage might see the stars shining overhead.
A little fire burned feebly in the huge stone recess: scant warmth
might such a fire yield, kindled in such a fireplace, to those around
it. Indeed, the little flame seemed conscious of its own inability,
and burned with a wavering and mistrustful flicker, as if it was
discouraged in view of the task set before it, and had more than half
concluded to go out altogether.
The cabin was of large size, and undivided into apartments. The little
fire was only able to illuminate the central section, and more than
half of the room was hidden in utter darkness. The woman's face, which
the faint flame over which she was crouched revealed with painful
clearness, showed pale and haggard. The induration of exposure and the
tightening lines of hunger sharpened and marred a countenance which, a
happier fortune would have kept even comely. It had that old look
about it which comes from wretchedness rather than age, and the
weariness of its expression was pitiful to see. Was it work or vain
waiting for happier fortunes that made her look so tired? Alas! the
weariness of waiting for what we long for, and long for purely, but
which never comes! Is it the work or the longing--the long
longing--that has put the silver in your head, friend, and scarred the
smooth bloom of your cheeks, my lady, with those ugly lines?
"Mother, I'm hungry," said the little boy, looking up into the woman's
face. "Can't I have just a little more to eat?"
"Be still," answered the woman sharply, speaking in the tones of vexed
inability. "I've given you almost the last morsel in the house."
The boy said nothing more, but nestled up more closely to his mother's
knee, and stuck one little stockingless foot out until the cold toes
were half hidden in the ashes. O warmth! blessed warmth! how pleasant
art thou to old and young alike! Thou art the emblem of life, as thy
absence is the evidence and sign of life's cold opposite. Would that
all the cold toes in the world could get to my grate to-night, and all
the shivering ones be gathered to this fireside! Ay, and that the
children of poverty, that lack for bread, might get their hungry hands
into that well-filled cupboard there, too!
In a moment the woman said, "You children had better go to bed. You'll
be warmer in the rags than in this miserable fireplace."
The words were harshly spoken, as if the very presence of the children,
cold and hungry as they were, was a vexation to her; and they moved off
in obedience to her command.
O cursed poverty! I know thee to be of Satan, for I myself have eaten
at thy scant table, and slept in thy cold bed. And never yet have I
seen thee bring one smile to human lips, or dry one tear as it fell
from a human eye. But I have seen thee sharpen the tongue for biting
speech, and harden the tender heart. Ay, I've seen thee make even the
presence of love a burden, and cause the mother to wish that the puny
babe nursing her scant breast had never been born. And so the children
went to their unsightly bed, and silence reigned in the hut.
"Mother," said one of the girls, speaking out of the
darkness,--"mother, isn't this Christmas Eve?"
"Yes," answered the woman sharply. "Go to sleep." And again there was
silence.
Happy is childhood, that amid whatever deprivation and misery it can so
weary itself in the day that when night comes on it can lose in the
forgetfulness of slumber its sorrows and wants!
Thus, while the children lost the sense of their unhappy surroundings,
including the keen pangs of hunger, for a time, and under the tattered
blankets that covered them saw, perhaps, visions of enchanting lands,
and in their dreams feasted at those wonderful tables which hungry
children see only in sleep, to the poor woman sitting at the failing
fire there came no surcease of sorrow, and no vision threw even an
evanescent brightness over the hard, cold facts of her surroundings.
And the reality of her condition was dire enough, God knows. Alone in
the wilderness, miles from any human habitation, the trails covered
deep with snow, her provisions exhausted, actual suffering already upon
them, and starvation staring them squarely in the face. No wonder that
her soul sank within her; no wonder that her thoughts turned toward
bitterness.
"Yes, it's Christmas Eve," she muttered, "and the rich will keep it
gayly. God sends them presents enough; but you see if he remembers me!
Oh, they may talk about the angels of Christmas Eve flying abroad
to-night, loaded with gifts, but they'll fly mighty high above this
shanty, I reckon; no, they won't even drop a piece of meat as they soar
past," And so she sat muttering and moaning over her woes, and they
were heavy enough,--too heavy for her poor soul, unassisted, to
lift,--while the flame on the hearth grew thinner and thinner, until it
had no more warmth in it than the shadow of a ghost, and, like its
resemblance, was about to flit and fade away. At last she said, in a
softened tone, as if the remembrance of the Christmas legend had
softened her surly thoughts and sweetened the bitter mood,--
"Perhaps I'm wrong to take on so. Perhaps it isn't God's fault that I
and my children are deserted and starving. But why should the innocent
be punished for the guilty, and why should the wicked have enough and
to spare, while those who do no evil go half naked and starved?"
Alas, poor woman! that puzzle has puzzled many besides thee, and many
lips besides thine have asked that question, querulously or
entreatingly, many a time; but whether they asked it in vexation and
rebellion of spirit, or humbly besought Heaven to answer, to neither
murmur nor prayer did Heaven vouchsafe a response. Is it because we
are so small, or, being small, are so inquisitive, that the Great
Oracle of the blue remains so dumb when we cry?
At this point the poor little flame, as if unable to abide the cold
much longer, flared fitfully, and uneasily shifted itself from brand to
brand, threatening with many a flicker to go out; but the woman, with
her elbows on her knees, and her face settled firmly between her hands,
still sat with eyes that saw not the feeble flame at which they so
steadily gazed.
"I will do it, _I will do it!_" she suddenly exclaimed. "I will make
one more effort. They shall not starve while I have strength to try.
Perhaps God will aid me. They say he always does at the last pinch,
and he certainly sees that I am there now. I wonder if he's been
waiting for me to get just where I am before he helped me? There is
one more chance left, and I'll make the trial. I'll go down to the
shore where I saw the big tracks in the snow. It's a long way, but I
shall get there somehow. If God is going to be good to me, he won't
let me freeze or faint on the way. Yes, I'll creep into bed now, and
try and get a little sleep, for I must be strong in the morning." And
with these words the poor woman crept off to her bed, and burrowed
down, more like an animal than a human being, beside her little ones,
as they lay huddled close together and asleep, down in the rags.
What angel was it that followed her to her miserable couch, and stirred
kindly feelings in her bosom? Some sweet one, surely; for she shortly
lifted herself to a sitting posture, and, gently drawing down the old
blanket with which the children, for warmth's sake, had wrapped their
heads, looked as only a mother might at the three little faces lying
side by side, and, bending tenderly over them, she placed a gentle kiss
upon the forehead of each; then she nestled down again in her own
place, and said, "Perhaps God will help me." And with this sentence,
half a prayer and half a doubt, born on the one hand from that sweet
faith which never quite deserts a woman's bosom, and on the other from
that bitter experience which had made her seem in her own eyes deserted
of God, she fell asleep.
She, too, dreamed; but her dreaming was only the prolongation of her
waking thoughts; for long after her eyes closed she moved uneasily on
her hard couch, and muttered, "Perhaps God will. Perhaps"--
Sad is it for us who are old enough to have tasted the bitterness of
that cup which life sooner or later presents to all lips, and have
borne the burden of its toil and fretting, that our vexations and
disappointments pursue us even in our slumber, disturbing our sleep
with reproachful visions and the sound of voices whose upbraiding robs
us of our otherwise peaceful repose. Perhaps somewhere in the years to
come, after much wandering and weariness, guided of God, we may come to
that fountain of which the ancients dreamed, and for which the noblest
among them sought so long, and died seeking; plunging into which, we
shall find our lost youth in its cool depths, and, rising refreshed and
strengthened, shall go on our eternal journey re-clothed with the
beauty, the innocence, and the happiness of our youth.
The poor woman slept uneasily, and with much muttering to herself; but
the rapid hours slid noiselessly down the icy grooves of night, and
soon the cold morning put its white face against the frozen windows of
the east, and peered shiveringly forth. Who says the earth cannot look
as cold and forbidding as the human countenance? The sky hung over the
frozen world like a dome of gray steel, whose invisibly matched plates
were riveted here and there by a few white, gleaming stars. The
surface of the snow sparkled with crystals that flashed colorlessly
cold. The air seemed armed, and full of sharp, eager points that
pricked the skin painfully. The great tree-trunks cracked their sharp
protests against the frosty entrances being made beneath their bark.
The lake, from under the smothering ice, roared in dismay and pain, and
sent the thunders of its wrath at its imprisonment around the
resounding shores. A bitter morn, a bitter morn,--ah me! a bitter morn
for the poor!
The woman, wakened by the gray light, moved in the depths of the
tattered blankets, sat upright, rubbed her eyes with her hands, looked
about her as if to recall her scattered senses, and then, as thought
returned, crept stealthily out of the hole in which she had lain, that
she might not wake the children, who, coiled together, slumbered on,
still closely clasped in the arms of blessed unconsciousness.
"They had better sleep," she said to herself. "If I fail to bring them
meat, I hope they will never wake!"
Ah! if the poor woman could only have foreseen the bitter
disappointment, or that other something which the future was to bring
her, would she have made that prayer? Is it best for us, as some say,
that we cannot see what is coming, but must weep on till the last tear
is shed, uncheered by the sweet fortune so nigh, or laugh unchecked
until the happy tones are mingled with, and smothered by, the rising
moan? Is it best, I wonder?
She noiselessly gathered together what additions she could make to her
garments, and then, taking down the rifle from its hangings, opened the
door, and stepped forth into the outer cold. There was a look of brave
determination in her eyes as she faced the chilly greeting the world
gave her, and with more of hopefulness than had before appeared upon
her countenance, she struck bravely off along the lake shore, which at
this point receded toward the mountain.
For an hour she kept steadily on, with her eyes constantly on the alert
for the least sign of the wished and prayed-for game. Suddenly she
stopped, and crouched down in the snow, peering straight ahead. Well
might she seek concealment, for there, standing on a point of land that
jutted sharply out into the lake, not forty rods away, unscreened and
plain to view, stood a buck of such goodly proportions as one even in
years of hunting might not see.
The woman's eyes fairly gleamed as she saw the noble animal standing
thus in full sight; but who may tell the agony of fear and hope that
filled her bosom! The buck stood lordly erect, facing the east, as if
he would do homage to, or receive homage from, the rising sun, whose
yellow beams fell full upon his uplifted front. The thought of her
mind, the fear of her heart, were plain. The buck would soon move;
when he moved, which way would he move? Would he go from or come
toward her? Would she get him, or would she lose him? Oh, the agony
of that thought!
"God of the starving," burst from her quivering lips, "let not my
children die!"
Many prayers more ornate rose that day to Him whose ears are open to
all cries. But of all that prayed on that Christmas morn, whether with
few words or many, surely, no heart rose with the seeking words more
earnestly than the poor woman kneeling as she prayed, rifle in hand,
amid the snow.
"God of the starving, let not my children die!"
That was her prayer; and, as if in answer to her agonizing petition,
the buck turned and began to advance directly toward her, browsing as
he came. Once he stopped, looked around, and snuffed the air
suspiciously. Had he scented her presence, and would he bound away?
Should she fire now? No; her judgment told her she could not trust the
gun or her aim at such a range. He must come nigher,--come even to the
big maple, and stand there, not ten rods away; then she felt sure she
should get him. So she waited. Oh, how the cold ate into her! How
her teeth chattered as the chills ran their torturing courses through
her thin, shivering frame! But still she clutched the cold barrel, and
still she watched and waited, and still she prayed,--
"God of the starving, let not my children die!"
Alas, poor woman! My own body shivers as I think of thine, and my pen
falters to write what misery befell thee on that wretched morn.
Did the buck turn? Did he, having come so tantalizingly near, retrace
his steps? No. He continued to advance. Had Heaven heard her prayer?
Her soul answered it had; and with such feelings in it toward Him to
whom she had appealed as she had not felt in all her life before, she
steadied herself for the shot. For even as she prayed, the deer came
on,--came to the big maple, and lifted his muzzle to its highest reach
to seize with his tongue a thin streamer of moss that lay against the
smooth bark. There he stood, his blue-brown side full toward her,
unconscious of her presence. Noiselessly she cocked the piece.
Noiselessly she raised it to her face, and with every nerve drawn to
its tightest tension, sighted the noble game, and--_fired_.
[Illustration: The deer came to the big maple]
Had the frosty air watered her eye? was it a tear of joy and gratitude
that dimmed the clearness of its sight? or were the half-frozen fingers
unable to steady the cold barrel at the instant of its explosion? We
know not. We only know that in spite of prayer, in spite of noblest
effort, she missed the game. For, as the rifle cracked, the buck gave
a snort of fear, and with swift bounds flew up the mountain; while the
poor woman, dropping the gun with a groan, fell fainting on the snow.
III.