AUTUMN'S breath was growing frosty, reminding us that Winter was on
his way, and our house was still unfinished; the floors were yet to be
laid, and the roof boarded and shingled. The neighbor who volunteered
to "draw the minister's lumber," had taken long journeys with that
object in view, but without accomplishing his purpose, for the mills
could not supply the demand, so great had been the immigration. So I
resolved to go for it myself.
But every thing available, biped and quadruped, was over-busy, and as
I had no "team," a further delay seemed inevitable, when relief came
from an unexpected quarter. A Norwegian—a semi-Americanized, good man,
hearing of my situation, called to offer the use of his cattle. He
had them with him, a yoke of young, sharp-horned brindles, trim and
muscular, with bright, undaunted eyes.
Now, within the year, I had landed, an invalid, in Minnesota.
Forbidden, by my physicians, to preach for at least two years, I had,
after the first few weeks, farmed, carpentered, felled trees, split
rails, quarried stone, practiced medicine, taught school, &c., besides
performing usual Sabbath labor. Having resolved to "take things by the
smooth handle," I had found no little happiness in my many-sided life,
but the prospect of a long journey with oxen did not look attractive I
confess.
"Why, my friend," said I to the Norwegian, "it is twenty-seven miles to
the nearest mill! I haven't patience to go that distance with cattle,
they are so slow."
"Mine are fast enough," he replied. "I will match them against the best
horses about here. I always trot them when they haven't a heavy load.
You'll find them nimble, I'll warrant!"