The next morning was bright and clear, and when Emma and Mary went out,
attended by Alfred, to go and milk the cows, although the cold was
intense, every thing looked so brilliant and sparkling in the sunshine
that they regained their spirits. The lake was still unfrozen, and its
waters, which were of an azure blue, contrasted with the whole of the
country covered with snow, and the spruce firs with their branches
loaded presented an alternate layer of pure white and of the darkest
green. Birds there were none to be seen or heard. All was quiet, so
quiet that as they stepped along the path which had been cleared away to
the cow-house, they almost started at the sound of their own voices,
which the atmosphere rendered more peculiarly sonorous and ringing.
Alfred had his rifle on his shoulder, and walked in front of his
cousins.
"I have come to prove that all your fears are groundless, my dear Emma,
and that you need not have any alarm about a skulking, cowardly wolf,"
said Alfred.
"Well, that may be," replied Emma, "but still we are very glad of your
company."
They arrived at the cow-house without any adventure, let loose Sancho,
who had been tied up, as it was decided that the dog should remain at
home with the others, and proceded to milk the cows. Having finished
that task and supplied them with fodder, Mary Percival observed, as they
were retracing their steps,
"I must say that it would not only be more convenient but more agreeable
if the cows were kept nearer to the house."
"It would be certainly," replied Alfred. "It is a pity that there is not
a cow-shed within the palisades; but we have no means of making one at
present. Next year, when my father has purchased his horses and his
sheep, which he talks of doing, we are to build a regular yard and sheds
for all the animals close to the house, and palisaded round as the house
now is, with a passage from one palisade to the other. Then it will be
very convenient; but 'Rome was not built in a day,' as the proverb says;
and we must, therefore, wait another winter."
"And be devoured by the wolves in the mean time," replied Emma,
laughing.
"Why, you are getting over your fright already, Emma."
"Yes; I feel pretty bold, now I think there is nothing to be afraid of."
The remainder of the week was passed away in practicing upon the
snow-shoes by the males of the party, the women scarcely ever venturing
out of doors, as the cold was very severe. Mary and Emma were
accompanied by Alfred for the first three or four days; and after that,
notwithstanding that the howling of the wolves was heard every night,
they took courage when they found that the animals never made their
appearance by daylight, and went as before to milk the cows by
themselves. On the Saturday, they were in the hopes of seeing old
Malachi Bone, but he did not make his appearance, and John, who could
now get on very well in his snow-shoes, became very impatient. Alfred
and Martin were also very anxious to see the old man, that they might
ascertain if he had made any discoveries relative to the Indians.
Sunday, as usual, was a day of rest from labor; the services were read
by Mr. Campbell, and the evening passed in serious conversation. Mr.
Campbell, although usually in good spirits, was certainly not so on that
evening: whether it was that the severity of the winter which had set in
and the known long duration of it which they had to encounter had an
effect upon his spirits, he was melancholy as well as serious. He more
than once referred to the former residence when in England, which was a
very unusual thing for him to do, and by degrees the conversation was
turned in that direction, and, although no one said so, they all felt
what a change there was in their present position from that which they
had been forced to leave. Mrs. Campbell, who perceived that a gloom was
gathering over the whole party, made several remarks tending to
reconcile them to their present lot, and, after a time Mr. Campbell
observed--
"Perhaps, my dear children, it may be a divine mercy which has sent you
here to this wilderness; true it is that we are removed from
civilization, and shut up here by a severe winter, deprived of the
enjoyments and pleasures which are to be found in the society which we
were compelled to leave; but let us also bear in mind that we are
removed from the many temptations which might have there assailed us."
"But still, papa, you would be very glad if circumstances would permit
us to return to England; would you not?" said Percival.
"Yes, my child, I should, and even if I had remained here so long as to
have become attached to the place and to the isolation which at first is
felt so irksome, I would still return to England and to society, if I
had the means. As Christians, we are not to fly from the world and its
temptations, but to buckle on our armor, and putting our trust in Him
who will protect us, fight the good fight; that is, doing our duty in
that state of life to which it shall please God to call us."
"But if ever we were to return to England, there would be no chance of
our living as we did before we left it, would there, papa?"
"I see none, my dear boy; but we never know what is in store for us.
Should any of us ever return, I presume it would be to live in a more
humble way; and for my part, I should prefer that it were so, for
although I trust I did not greatly misuse that wealth which I so long
supposed to be mine, I should not be sorry to have much less, and
therefore less responsibility."
"Indeed, my dear Campbell, imperfect as we all are, I do not believe
that many could have made a better use of it than you did."
"I thought so at the time, my dear," replied Mr. Campbell, "but since it
has been lost to me, I have often thought that I might have done more
good with it. But the fact is, my dear children, there is nothing so
dangerous to our eternal welfare as great wealth; it tends to harden the
heart by affording the means of constant self-indulgence:--under such
circumstances, man is apt to become selfish, easily satisfied with his
own works, and too proud to see his errors. Did you observe in the
Litany, which I read at this morning's service, how very appropriately
is inserted the prayer, for deliverance under the perils of wealth?--
"'In all time of our tribulation, in all time of our _wealth_, in the
hour of death, and in the day of judgment, good Lord deliver us.'
"Examine this, my dear children: in all time of our tribulation,--that
is in poverty and distress, and perhaps famishing from want (and in few
positions are people so incited to crime), _then_ in all time of our
wealth, evidently and distinctly placing wealth as more dangerous to the
soul's welfare than the extremest poverty and its accompanying
temptations; and observe, only exceeded by the most critical of all
dangerous positions, when all has been done and nothing can be
undone,--the hour of death, followed by the day of judgment."
Mr. Campbell ceased speaking, and there was a pause for a minute or two
in the conversation, when Mary Percival said, "What, then, my dear
uncle, do you consider as the most enviable position in life?"
"I consider a moderate independence as the most enviable; not occupied
in trade, as the spirit of barter is too apt to make us bend to that
which is actually fraud. I should say, a country gentleman living on his
own property and among his own tenants, employing the poor around him,
holds a position in which he has the least temptation to do wrong, and
the most opportunities of doing good."
"I agree with you, my dear Campbell," said his wife; "and yet how few
are satisfied even with that lot."
"Because the craving after wealth is so strong, that every one would
have more than he hath, and few men will be content. The desire of
aggrandizement overcomes and masters us; and yet what can be more absurd
than to witness the care and anxiety of those to gain riches, who have
already more perhaps than is necessary for their wants,--thus 'heaping
up riches, not knowing who may gather them,' and endangering the soul to
obtain that which they must leave behind them when they die. Others
amass wealth, not actuated by the avarice of hoarding it up, but by the
appetite for expending it; who collect unjustly that they may lavish
profusely; these are equally foolish, and how important is that lesson
given in the Scriptures." Mr. Campbell opened the Bible which lay before
him and read--
"And he spake a parable unto them. The ground of a certain rich
man brought forth plentifully.
"And he said, What shall I do? because I have no room where to
bestow my fruits.
"And he said: This will I do; I will pull down my barns and build
greater, and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.
"And I will say to my soul: Soul, thou hast much goods laid up
for many years, take thine ease; eat, drink, and be merry.
"But God said unto him: Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be
required of thee."
After a short silence, Mrs. Campbell observed, "I have often reflected
since I have been here upon what might have been our position had we
decided upon remaining in England. We might at this moment have been in
the greatest distress, even wanting a meal; and I have, therefore, often
thanked God that He left us the means of coming here and providing for
ourselves as we have done, and as I have no doubt shall, with His
blessing, continue to do. How much better off are we at this moment than
many thousands of our countrymen who remain in England! How many are
starving! How many are driven into crime from want! while we have a good
roof over our heads, sufficient clothing and more than sufficient food.
We have, therefore, great reason to thank God for the mercies He has
vouchsafed to us; He has heard our prayer, 'Give us this day our daily
bread.'" "Yes," continued Mr. Campbell, "'Give us this day our daily
bread,' is all that we are taught to ask for; and it comprehends all;
and yet how heartlessly is this pronounced by many of those who do
repeat their daily prayers. So is the blessing asked at meals, which is
by too many considered as a mere matter of form. They forget, that He
who gives can also take away; and in their presumption, suppose their
own ability and exertion to have been the sole means of procuring
themselves a daily supply of food; thanking themselves rather than the
Giver of all good. How many thousands are there who have been supplied
with more than they require from their cradle down to their grave,
without any grateful feeling toward Heaven; considering the butcher and
baker as their providers, and the debt canceled as soon as the bills are
paid. How different must be the feeling of the poor cottager, who is
uncertain whether his labor may procure him and his family a meal for
the morrow, who often suffers privation and hunger, and, what is more
painful, witnesses the sufferings of those he loves. How earnest must be
his prayer when he cries, 'Give us this day our daily bread.'"
This conversation had a very strong effect upon the party, and when they
retired to rest, which they did shortly after, they laid their heads
upon their pillows not only with resignation, but with thankfulness for
the mercies which had been vouchsafed to them, and felt that in the
wilderness they were under the eye of a watchful and gracious
Providence.