THE SWISS FAMILY ROBERTSON
The fact as was learned early in the morning, that there must elapse one
more day before relief came, was, it must be feared, absolutely a relief
to Colonel Livingstone. When Stafford told him the situation he beamed.
He was certainly at his best. He called upon the Man From Nowhere.
The title of The Man From Nowhere had been bestowed upon a quiet and
dignified gentleman who but smiled and listened all the time, but had
said very little. During the first stress of the imprisonment, he had
been one of the most energetic and helpful among those of the passengers
who had shown the quality of facing a situation. He had exerted himself
to some purpose from the beginning and had assisted in making more or
less comfortable those who did not seem capable of taking care of
themselves. He had been given the title of "The Man From Nowhere,"
because he had declared that he really had no home but was a wanderer
for pleasure, with no fixed place of abode. He was a man of about sixty
years of age, grey-mustached and affable. Now, as he came forward, with
an apparent degree of awakened interest in what was going on, he was
received with applause. It was the Colonel, as usual, who expressed
himself:
"Glad to see you aroused, sir. Are you, too, going to favor us with a
story?"
The Man From Nowhere laughed: "It's hardly a story," he said, "but, in
listening to the brief discussion as to the degree in which we are
appreciated in this world, I was involuntarily reminded of the bitter
experience of a young friend or rather of five young friends of mine.
They were not appreciated, and took steps accordingly. What they did was
merely to segregate themselves. You will readily perceive that by
segregating yourself you may avoid all the annoyance of
non-appreciation. That the experiment did not, in this instance, result
at once in a permanent remedy for all oppressive circumstances was, I
think, due, not to any lack of proper conception in the minds of my
young friends, but rather to their inexperience in certain matters of
detail. In some of its aspects it was a sad affair, but I will relate
the whole thing to you just as it was told me by the principal actor. It
is but the simple story of
THE SWISS FAMILY ROBERTSON
When I look back across the years--I am nearly thirteen now--the vision
which arises of trying adventure with my sister and three brothers seems
like what I have seen somewhere alluded to as the baseless fabric of a
dream, or, if not that, at least some freak of the waking imagination.
Yet certain it is that the five of us, John, Mary, Francis, Herbert and
Elwyn Robertson, aged respectively eleven, nine, eight and six
years--Herbert and Elwyn being twins--had such strange experiences in a
strange land as can never be forgotten by any of us. Hard indeed to
undergo were some of our vicissitudes, and always thankful am I, when
the memory of that time returns, that my greater age and possibly
greater force of character enabled me to become guide and mentor when
certainly a counselor was needed.
Strangely enough, all our adventures were the indirect result of an
earnest perusal of a most fascinating volume entitled The Swiss Family
Robinson, in which was related the story of a family named Robinson,
cast away upon a lone island in the Pacific Ocean. The family was a
remarkable one, and the character of the father I admired especially.
Not only was he a man of extended general information, but one who
regarded thoughtfully the circumstance that almost any condition may be
improved by the diligent, and who was truly grateful for something in
every chapter of the book. The mother and children each displayed traits
almost as admirable. The island, too, was as remarkable as the family,
since, though it was but a small place, the castaways were fortunate
enough to discover almost every useful plant, bird and beast known to
the torrid, temperate or frigid zones. Taken altogether, the tale was
such as to arouse a spirit of something nearly akin to envy in the minds
of all of us save the twins, who were, of course, too young to
understand. It was no wonder, since our great-great-grandfather on our
mother's side was said to have come from Switzerland, that the three
oldest of us called ourselves the Swiss Family Robertson and imagined
many things. There came a time when the fancy became a grave reality,
even to the twins.
It is with no little feeling and hesitation that I approach any
allusion to the causes which led to the practical expatriation of five
people--in the prime of youth, it is true, but inexperienced--and their
subjection to a manner of existence such as they had never imagined
could be real. Even now the matter so affects me that I must be pardoned
by the reader for not relating the unpleasant details. Suffice it to say
that occasions arose when the views of our parents unhappily failed to
coincide with those of Mary, Francis and myself, and that our conduct
was held, by those who had the power, to merit corporal punishment, a
punishment which, it has always seemed to me, was inflicted with far
more vehemence than any possible occasion could demand. Our spirits
revolted at what occurred, and the three of us, who, as explained, had
just finished reading The Swiss Family Robinson, held inflamed but
deliberate counsel together and determined resolutely upon a course
which should give us liberty of conscience and of action. I admit
frankly that, being of a self-respecting disposition, and it may be to
an extent a natural leader, I was foremost in these councils and mapped
out the general plan of action. Increasing years have given me more
philosophy and taken from my impulsiveness, but at that time I did not
hesitate. In short, under my inspiration we resolved to seek a more
congenial clime, where, if we did not luxuriate in all the so-called
advantages of a super-refined civilization, we should at least have the
more quiet and assured happiness which obtains where Nature is primeval.
Our resolution became fixed. That Herbert and Elwyn, the twins, became
of the emigrating party was but an incident, they having discovered our
plans for departure and insisting upon accompanying us. Their wish was
reluctantly granted lest the clamor they would inevitably raise in the
event of a refusal should reveal our plans.
* * * * *
Not only were we determined upon the new life, but we resolved to
isolate ourselves so completely from the unpleasant recent past as even
to change our names, it being decided that each should select a new one
for himself or herself. As for me, having lately read a story of the
Norsemen, I selected the name of Wolfgang; Mary chose that of Abyssinia,
and Francis, for what reason I cannot imagine, adopted that of Chickum.
The naming of Herbert and Elwyn was left to Abyssinia, who, after
looking over a newspaper, called one Krag and the other Joergensen. Then
began in earnest our preparations for departure.
It was, of course, necessary, as I endeavored to impress upon my
fellows--if Abyssinia may be included in such a term--to observe the
utmost secrecy and discretion in all our movements. This injunction was
observed faithfully by all save Krag and Joergensen, whose course was
frequently such as might, I feared, attract the attention of our
parents. Fortunately they appeared all unknowing of our designs.
* * * * *
The first thing to be accomplished was the getting together and bestowal
in a safe place of such stores as we could carry away and as would be
most serviceable to us in an uninhabited and possibly barren region. In
this difficult task Abyssinia, Chickum and I shared about equally. The
place of concealment finally decided upon was a small shed which had
formerly been a henhouse, and which stood against a board fence on the
eastern side of the kitchen garden. Here, beneath a heap of straw, we
concealed our accumulations. I pondered deeply over what the nature of
our stores should be, and I trust I may say, with a pride not
altogether unbecoming, that my selections were justified by the result.
Slowly but surely the material accumulated until there came a time when
we felt that we were fairly equipped for our departure. It was just
after the beginning of July, and the weather was sultry, but, with an
eye for the future, Abyssinia secured from the extra household supplies
four quilts, five large sheets and six jars of raspberry and strawberry
jam. She contributed also a bag of salt, pepper, some old knives and
forks, half a dozen tin plates and as many tin cups, a breadpan, a
frying-pan with a broken handle, and two tin pails. I added a light but
excellent ax, several boxes of matches, a great ball of stout cord, an
enormous slab of dried beef, two boxes of crackers, a box of candles,
some large potatoes, an old carving-knife, some fishhooks, a steel trap,
and at least half a barrel of flour in bags not too large to be carried
by Chickum or me. Chickum brought two jars of butter, another ax, and
his bow and arrow. Of course we had our pocket-knives, and Abyssinia had
needles and strong thread. The hour came when we only awaited an
auspicious occasion for departure.
It had become apparent that not a third of our stores could be removed
in a single journey, and, after considering the matter most
thoughtfully, I resolved that the only wise course was to determine upon
the site for our new home, complete it, and to it carry our goods from
time to time. Upon Chickum and me must necessarily fall the burden of
this initial labor, and we set about it at once. Our homestead sloped
from the roadway to the north and was bounded in that direction by a
grassy expanse through which flowed a small creek, crossed by a plank.
The creek separated this green area from a wild and comparatively
deserted region known as the Wooded Pasture. Some hundreds of yards
distant from the creek rose an extremely wide and dense growth of
willows, and in the midst of this miniature forest, as we had at one
time discovered, was a small open space, dry and bare of growth. Here,
after new exploration in company with Chickum, I decided should be
established our tranquil home. The site was not discernible from the
home of our parents, nor indeed from any part of the place we were
leaving except from an elevated point in a meadow to the west, and even
from this station the view was indistinct.
We bided our time impatiently now; but we did not have long to wait. A
day came when our parents were away upon a visit, the hired girl was
occupied in-doors, and the hired man busy in the cornfield where the
dense growth of the valued cereal prevented him from seeing us or being
seen. Quietly Chickum and I departed, burdened with the quilts, sheets,
our axes, and the ball of twine. Our journey to the willows was
uneventful and our labors there were unmolested.
* * * * *
The plan of our shelter had already been designed by me, and we lost no
time in trivial debating over details, Chickum submitting without
question to each suggestion of the stronger mind. Under my direction we
cut down eight small willows as straight as we could find, and cut from
each a length of nearly six feet, four of which we sharpened at one end.
These, one of us standing upon a dead uprooted stump which we rolled
about, we drove into the earth at distances of six feet apart, the
stakes, rising some five feet, forming the four corners of a square. The
remaining four poles we tied firmly so that they extended from the top
of one stake to another, and upon the frame so constructed we stretched
one of the sheets, cutting holes close to the hems and through them
tying the sheet to the cross-pieces. Our dwelling was now roofed. The
four remaining sheets, similarly tied, made the four sides of the
structure, one being left partly unattached so that it might be lifted,
thus serving for a door. Upon the grassy floor of the house one of the
quilts was spread, and there was our Tented Home! Chickum was wild with
delight and capered about hilariously, but I reminded him that the time
for an exhibition of such exuberance of spirit had not arrived. Much yet
remained to be accomplished. Days passed before all our stores were,
with exercise of the greatest caution, safely bestowed within the tent.
It was six o'clock one pleasant evening, when we had just finished
dinner, that our parents again absented themselves to make a call upon a
neighbor. Our time had come. Quietly all of us, including Abyssinia and
the twins, slipped down through the kitchen garden, across the creek,
across a part of the Wooded Pasture and into the Willow Grove. There was
what I may call a certain tremulousness, but no faltering. We reached
our place of refuge. "Welcome to this sylvan grove!" shouted
Chickum--quoting, I firmly believe, something he had read in a story,
for Chickum's ordinary mode of expression was not such as I could in
many respects desire--and all entered the tent and made themselves at
home. Here were peace and happiness at last! We chatted and planned
until darkness fell, and then, digging a hole with my knife into a
potato, I inserted one of the candles we had brought and found the place
illuminated finely. But we did not remain long awake. It had been a
season of labor and excitement, and a sense of drowsiness soon overcame
us all.
* * * * *
It was nearly midnight when I was aroused by an exclamation from
Abyssinia and the sobbing of the twins. "What is it?" whispered
Abyssinia, and as she spoke there came a strange, gulping cry from a
marshy strip beside the creek, and then, nearer us, one more musical but
quite as mournful. The creatures of the night were calling. From my
wider experience I recognized their harmlessness; I knew the voices of
the bullfrog and the whippoorwill, but with the others it was different.
Though my rest had been disturbed, I could not but explain all
graciously, and soon the three were sleeping again, though fitfully. As
for Chickum, he had not awakened. When we awoke, morning had come and
the birds were chirping all about us. We ate heartily of jam and
crackers, and felt the blood coursing in our respective veins as it had
never done before. How glorious the sense of freedom!
How unstable, too, are sometimes the happiest of conditions! Little did
I imagine that bright morning as I noted idly the performance of a
red-hooded woodpecker, _Melanerpes erythrocephalus_, who was eating a
long white grub in sections, little, I reiterate, did I imagine that
before nightfall all our hopeful plans would be disarranged, and that,
like some weakling tribe compelled ever to flee before an encroaching
power, we must decide, in self-protection, to risk all the dangers of a
wilder home.
It was noon when, looking to the southwest, I perceived far in the
distance our hired man working about a stump on the elevated spot in the
meadow from which could be obtained the only glimpse of our white home
amid the greenery. I have not, I hope, one of those minds ever open to
suspicion, but I may say that it is one somewhat more than ordinarily
keen in the formation of deductions. Why was the hired man there,
chopping about a huge stump which he could not possibly remove unaided?
Were we discovered? Could the man have been placed there to exercise a
distant surveillance over us? The idea grew upon me, and an apprehension
I could scarce explain--an apprehension shared by Abyssinia and Chickum,
with whom I at once consulted. Under the circumstances, with me to think
was but to act. "Come," I said to Chickum, "there is but one course to
pursue. We must face the issue as courageously as we can. Abyssinia and
the twins will remain here while you and I must venture farther in
search of a place where, no matter what may surround us, our isolation
will be complete." To this even the sometimes thoughtless Chickum
assented promptly. "I am ready, brother," was his answer. "Let us start
at once."
Little preparation was required. We provided ourselves with crackers and
dried beef and set forth immediately, I carrying one of the axes and
Chickum arming himself with the carving knife.
The country for quite a distance, as we found, was partly bare, though
there were occasional small oaks and tangles of hazel and blackberry
bushes. As we advanced, though, the trees became taller and grew more
closely together, and finally, as we ascended a gradually sloping ridge,
we found ourselves in what must have been almost the forest primeval. We
knew not what we should discover. The shadows were deep, and the wind
made a constant sighing overhead. Descending the ridge upon the other
side, and pursuing our course far to the northwest, we emerged at last
upon a small open glade through which tumbled a noisy creek and near the
centre of which grew a few small elms, four of them, as I noted, forming
the angles of a square. We advanced and looked about us. From the glade
there was an opening in but one direction, to the northeast, through
which could be seen far away part of a hillside field. My heart beat
fast. I recognized the advantages of the site at a single glance.
"Here," I said, "shall be our home!"
Chickum assented gladly and we took up our long homeward march, reaching
the tent in time for the evening meal. We were informed by Abyssinia
that the day had been uneventful save that Krag had stooped too closely
in examination of a bumblebee upon a clover blossom. One of his eyes was
closed, but he appeared in his usual spirits. I have ever admired the
wonderful recuperative powers of youth. Abyssinia told us, also, that
the twins had devoured one entire pot of our limited supply of jam.
* * * * *
For two days Chickum and I labored in the distant forest upon the
erection of our new and more substantial home. Sheets would no longer
suffice for roof and walls. We cut strong cross-poles and tied them from
tree to tree, and, finding great heaps of hemlock bark cut for the
tanneries in a small abandoned clearing some distance from our glade, we
brought all that we required of the great slabs and, leaning them
against our cross-poles, made sides to the dwelling which promised to be
wind and rain proof. The roof was constructed of the same material. We
now had a home solid and roomy and offering pleasant contrast to the
frail tent amid the willows. Laboriously our stores were carried in
repeated journeys over the long route, and three days later all of our
little company were contentedly at home in Hemlock Castle, a name
suggested by Abyssinia, who declared that, like the people on the
Pacific island, we should certainly have names for the objects and
localities about us. The open space in the forest was christened Haven
Glade, the creek received the title of Skelter Walter, and the deep,
wooded land about us was known as Darkland.
We were now most happily established. Our only possible anxiety, and
that as yet a light one, related to our food supply, which was gradually
diminishing. But we had plenty of flour, and Abyssinia now began making
bread.
Thoughtful and far-seeing as I had proved myself in the earlier
preparations for our flight, I had forgotten one thing. I shall never
cease to reproach myself with not having requested Abyssinia, while we
were still under the dominion of our parents, to ingratiate herself with
the hired girl and acquire at least some rudimentary idea of the art of
breadmaking. As it now appeared, she was, though hopeful, absolutely
unacquainted with the manner of preparation of this so generally popular
article of food. We elders held a council on the subject and each
expressed an idea. Abyssinia thought that to merely mix some of the
flour with water and then put the dough in the frying-pan was all that
was required for bread. Chickum asserted that he had seen the hired girl
mix a little salt in the dough. I, personally, was confident that butter
was added. It was resolved to experiment on a small scale, and
Abyssinia took up her household duties, I must admit, with bravery.
Some of the flour was mixed with water and salt and a little butter and
put into the hot frying-pan. It soon browned upon one side and was then
turned over with some difficulty because of its extraordinary
adhesiveness. When finally extracted it resembled nothing I had ever
seen before, but was certainly baked. It was buttered and we all ate.
The food was tenacious in quality and its flavor proved exceedingly
novel to us. Chickum, later, complained of pain. But we had no other
bread, and after I had reasoned calmly with all upon the merit of
resignation, we accepted the situation daily. What a wonderful organ is
the human stomach!
I am not exaggerating when I relate that the days now passed with
blitheness. To our food was added an almost unlimited supply of wild
gooseberries and blackberries, and the mandrake apples were ripening.
There were deep pools in Skelter Water, and there, with the hooks my
foresight had provided, we caught many of the fish known as the common
bull-head, which we wrapped in clay and cast into the open fire. When
the clay appeared well hardened, we drew it from the fire, cracked it
open, and therein found the fish, cooked to a turn, and even a delicacy
when eaten with butter and pepper and salt. How inevitably does
intelligence, when in stress, arise to the demands of circumstance!
One day Abyssinia came running in, jubilantly crying: "Bees! Bees! I've
found a hive of wild bees! Let us tame them, as the people did on the
island, and so have all the honey we can eat!"
This assuredly was glorious news, and we all accompanied Abyssinia to
the scene of her discovery. There were the bees and their home.
Suspended from the swaying end of a beech bough, hanging so low that it
was only four or five feet from the ground, appeared a great oval object
which looked as made of grayish paper. There were orifices in the bottom
about which the insects were humming in great numbers. They seemed
somewhat longer than domesticated bees, and had yellowish rings around
their bodies, the difference in appearance from the ordinary
honey-gatherer being, I assumed, due to their environment and different
mode of life. I at once resolved to secure the hive and bring it to
Haven Glade, where it would afford a most desirable addition to our
daily fare. I determined that the only way to accomplish this was to
come at night when the bees were at rest, cut off the limb above the
hive, and so carry it to our home. This was easily accomplished. The end
of the limb where it had been cut away was inserted in a hole made
through the bark of our rear wall, and there, on the outside, hung the
hive for the honey-making.
Some days passed and the bees appeared to be working industriously, no
one going very near the suspended hive lest they be disturbed. It
chanced, however, that we had one morning an exceedingly early
breakfast, and Chickum, who always had a taste for sweets, suggested
that, as the bees were not yet astir, he go out, cut a hole in the side
of the hive and secure a lump of comb for our delectation. Impelled by
curiosity, I followed, observing Chickum's operations from a distance.
Chickum, using a pocket knife, cut around a piece about six inches
square from the side of the queer hive, then removed to look within for
the honey. Never shall I forget what then occurred immediately. How
remarkable are some of the traits of the insect world! From the opening
that Chickum had made there burst, fairly in his face, a whirling,
venomously buzzing cloud of the great bees. He leaped backward and fled
along the creek. Very fleet of foot has Chickum always been, and I have
never felt it humiliating to be defeated by him in our friendly races,
but never before had I seen accomplished, even by him, such an amazing
burst of speed. His career, so far as I may infer from pictures I have
seen, resembled that of the antelope of the arid wastes, but the bees
kept pace with him. With each leap Chickum gave vent to the remarkable
cry of "Hep! Hep!" At first I thought him shouting instinctively for
help, but it was not that; it was, I have since concluded, but a
spasmodic exclamation, the result of his alarm and pain and of his
violent physical exertion. I followed, first calling to Abyssinia to
bring the twins from the house, for I knew the flight must be a brief
one. Suddenly, Chickum, in his desperation, plunged into one of the
pools of the creek and sank down until only his nose was visible. That
organ, as I could see, received at once most violent attention from the
hovering pursuers, but by splashing water Chickum finally drove the bees
away and they returned scatteringly to their desecrated home. When
Chickum emerged from the creek his appearance was such that had I not
been witness to the transformation I could scarcely have identified him.
Each eye was closed so that, as he walked, he was compelled to hold the
lids of one apart with thumb and finger, and his nose, but for its hue,
resembled some monster puff-ball of the fields.
That day our forest home was temporarily abandoned, and when night came
I removed the hive with the utmost care a long distance into the forest.
Days later I found it abandoned and, examining it, found breeding cells,
but not a trace of honey. I recognized at once and, as is always my way,
admitted to myself that I had erred. The hive was not that of the wild
honey bee, _Apis mellifica_, but of the aggressive tree wasp, _Vespidae_.
I could not understand why I had been so mistaken. I had been most
carefully instructed in natural history, and Miss Clitherose, my teacher
for several terms, had been kind enough to speak of my remarkable
aptitude in that direction. I had acquired not only the common but many
of the Latin names of the soulless creatures, and, indeed, rather
preferred the Latin. I well remember the day when I puzzled even Miss
Clitherose, who prided herself somewhat on her acquirements. I asked her
to give me the old Latin names for turkey and potato and she failed in
the attempt. Little did she comprehend how I had reasoned that as there
had been no turkeys nor potatoes in the Old World there could have been
no Latin names for them. But I digress.
[Illustration: "A DOZEN OR MORE NESTS WERE FOUND"]
Time passed and all went well until one afternoon, looking through the
one small opening to the glade which gave a view of the distant hillside
field, I saw distinctly the form of a man. He was chopping, and
something about the figure and its movements reminded me irresistibly of
our hired man, Eben Westbrook. What could it mean?
Happy am I to turn to a subject more exhilarating--to a novel incident
in our forest life. One day Chickum and the twins went berrying in the
direction of our former home, venturing--as we rarely did--even as far
as the wooded lot. They were in the midst of the hazel and blackberry
bushes when there was a sudden cackle and flutter in the undergrowth,
and a cry from Joergensen which brought Chickum hurriedly to the scene.
What he saw caused the impetuous youth to shout with joy. There, beneath
a bush, was the nest of a hen, _Gallina Americana_, and in it were no
less than seven eggs. Berrying was suspended promptly, and all the eggs
save one were transferred to the pail, and then began a wild search for
more. It was well rewarded. A dozen or more nests were found, the spoil
of which was added to that already secured. It was a great discovery.
A prouder trio than entered Hemlock Castle that evening, bringing their
burden of eggs, could not be conceived by any sort of person, nor could
any imagine a more enthusiastic reception than was accorded them. Not
only were we now relieved from immediate danger of a food famine, but
the variation in diet was good for all of us. There was a most riotous
consumption of eggs for days, until a startling tendency toward
biliousness, exhibited by little Krag, induced me to counsel greater
moderation. So many eggs, coupled with Abyssinia's bread, were
necessarily trying to the system. It was now that Chickum developed a
great idea. He proposed to capture a number of the fowls, bring them to
Haven Glade, and there establish a hennery.
The proposition was received with general approbation, and next day the
construction of the hennery was begun. It was not a difficult task
which faced us. Since the fowls must have gravel and water, it was
decided that the hennery should extend a little into the creek, and
close beside its sloping bank the structure was erected. There but
remained the capture of the fowls, and Chickum was riotous over the
prospect. He announced his ability to catch a dozen chickens in a single
day, and with the assistance of Krag and Joergensen he made good his
boast, the three running down into the bushes and bringing home just the
number of hens he had promised.
Our life continued in its placid way until one night, when a tremendous
commotion in the chicken-house caused both Chickum and me to rush out to
the rescue. Chickum had seized the carving-knife as usual, and I a handy
bludgeon. As we neared the place some dark-colored animal clambered
hurriedly up the side of the enclosure, and as its head appeared through
a hole in the roof I dealt it a heavy blow and it fell stunned. Chickum
descended through an opening in the roof and the animal was put out of
its misery. It resembled a miniature bear, save that its color was
grayish and that it possessed a long and remarkably ringed tail. I at
once recognized the common raccoon, _Procyon lotor_, and made an
address to the others upon its many curious traits and habits of life.
One of the hens was found killed. A day or two later there entered from
the water side an enemy which we saw on two or three occasions but could
not destroy nor capture. It proved to be the fur-producing animal known
as a mink, _Putorius vison_. Within a week we had not a single fowl
alive. All had fallen before the rapacity of this bloodthirsty creature.
Hunger stared us in the face!
How nearly am I approaching now to the end of this narrative of trial
and adventure! How vividly recall themselves to me the scenes of one
fateful afternoon! There had not been a storm since before our occupancy
of Hemlock Castle, and almost a drought prevailed throughout the
country. But a change was near at hand. There came an afternoon,
airless, close and heavy until near evening. Then white clouds appeared
in the west, growing rapidly into woolly mountains. Soon these assumed a
darker hue, and a great wind arose before which the sturdiest trees were
bent, while an awful roar resounded through the forest. A darkness came
upon everything, and we huddled in the shelter of Hemlock Castle, even
Chickum alarmed, Abyssinia crying, and the twins in an agony of terror.
The rain began to fall in such torrents as I had never known before. Now
the wind increased almost to a hurricane, and a sudden blast carried
away the roof of our house as if it had been a thing of paper. In a
moment we were wetted to the skin. The creek became a spreading torrent
which swept away the ruins of our house just as we had barely escaped
from it. In the darkness we clambered blindly toward the ridge, when I
heard a loud shout near us and recognized the voice of Eben Westbrook.
Never did human voice sound sweeter! "Hurry!" he shouted, "Hurry home!"
and came rushing up to seize the hands of Krag and Joergensen and take
the lead. Wet and bedraggled we hurried on, over the ridge, into the
open, across the hazel country, across the Wooded Pasture, across the
creek, up through the kitchen garden, and into the house by way of the
kitchen door. A fateful moment had arrived.
I felt something in my throat, but I did not shrink. I had decided what
I would say. I would naught extenuate, but would fall back upon the
theory of the sacredness of human rights. My address was not to receive
a hearing.
Our parents were about sitting down to the evening meal, and, to my
surprise, our plates lay all in their accustomed places, as if we had
not been absent for a day. My father looked up and nodded cheerfully and
mother only said: "You'd better all go up and get dry clothes on before
you eat." The hired girl peeked in from a side of the kitchen door and
drew her head back suddenly with a gulp. Eben Westbrook maintained what
I have heard called in relation to others an impassive countenance. We
went up, changed our clothes, and all came downstairs together. What a
meal it was! There was not much conversation, though father mentioned
something about the beginning of the school term. How Krag and Joergensen
did eat! But oh, the incomprehensible apathy of Parents!