TOM'S VICTORY.
Tom retired to bed the night after his mother had confided to him the
history of his father's business trials, feeling that she had
conferred an honor upon him in thus sharing with him her life-secret,
and that he understood his parents as he never did before. He was
conscious, also, that she had put him under new obligation to be
always frank with her, as she had been with him; that she had, in
fact, made the obligation very sacred, for he realized that it was an
act of condescension in her thus to make him the repository of her
secrets, while to share his with her was but the duty of a child, and
for his own advantage. And he thought, "How can I now desert the
family for any imaginary good, and leave her to reproach me by her
patient cross-bearing for dear father and the children's sake?"
It cost him a bitter struggle to act in accordance with this view. In
the darkness of the night he wrestled long and hard to put down the
wish to free himself from the burden that was now laid upon his
conscience. He, the squatter's son, in his wretched life, had built up
a golden future for himself, as the ambitious young, of every
condition, are sure to do when once the heart is roused to wish, and
the mind to plan, for great things. And now, to give it all up, and
come down to the cheerless drudgery of home-service in _such_ a
home,--it could not be expected that he could do this, only after a
severe conflict with his own nature, if at all. It is true his mother
had exhorted him to wait for Providence to open the door before him.
But he could not help recalling, with an aching heart, through how
many long, weary years she had waited; and what door of relief had
been opened for her? And was she not a thousand fold more deserving of
such an interposition than he? He reflected on this point till his
brain was in a whirl; the more he pondered the matter, the darker it
seemed.
"I am called," he reasoned, "to keep by the family if I never see
brighter days--that's the meaning of her words, and the demands of my
lot. Am I ready to do this--to be true to duty, if it involves, as it
has to her, poverty, seclusion from privileges, toil, suffering,
obscurity?"
He knew that he ought thus to decide, and to decide cheerfully. But he
could not. He tried again and again to reach the decision only to
recoil from it. His will was powerless to calm the rebellion within.
Ah, the pioneer's ragged son had been precipitated into a solemn moral
crisis, which tested him, and showed him how weak he was! The tumult
of feeling, and sharpness of the battle, had, at length, cast him into
utter despair, when his mother's remark concerning his father's
mistake in setting about getting rich by the strength of his own will,
abruptly recurred to him.
"What did she mean by that?" he asked; and he sat bolt upright in bed
to consider the point.
He could not, however, quite master the idea, and wished his mother
was awake, that she might explain herself. Then his mind returned to
the subject, and lo, the mist rolled away, and the truth shone out.
"I see it: father should have sought direction and strength of God.
And that is just what I ought to do. He can give me grace to perform
my duty,--yes, even to choose it."
And Tom, under the inspiration of the light that was breaking in upon
his soul, resolved,--
"I'll ask God to enable me to do as mother has advised, and as I see
to be right in the circumstances."
And covering his face with his hands, he lifted up his heart in
prayer. As he prayed, a heavenly peace seemed to pervade his whole
being. It stole upon him so gently and unexpectedly, that he felt
like shouting praises to God; and at last, unable to keep his
marvellous happiness to himself, he called, softly,--
"Mother, mother!"
"What do you wish, my son?" she asked, always ready to answer her
children's calls.
"O, mother," he replied, "I have been struggling and praying, and I've
got the victory."
Instantly she was kneeling on the rough floor by his side,--she
understood him,--and tears of grateful joy ran down her face, and she
said,--
"It is as I would have it, Tom. God has taken you up, and all will be
well."
Next morning Tom arose with a peaceful, serious face. His mother did
not allude to the happy change that had transpired within him during
the night, but as she busied herself about breakfast, she would
occasionally wipe away the tears, for her heart was full.
"Mother," said he, as they finished their frugal meal, "I've been
thinking it would be a good plan to get up all the wood we can while
the weather is pleasant. Winter'll be coming along by and by, and
it'll be so nice to have a warm fire all the time then, and not have
to wade through the snow after something to burn."
"Yes," she replied, "we have not had our Indian summer yet; and while
that lasts we shall use but little fuel, and if you and the children
are smart, you can get quite a pile ahead."
"Why is the beautiful spell we have in fall called Indian summer?" he
asked.
"Because," replied his mother, "the Indians were in the habit of
attacking the white settlements then; they don't go on their war
expeditions after cold weather sets in. And," she added, sighing, "I
shall be glad when snow comes, for I shall feel that we are safe until
spring opens."
"The Allens are dreadful mad about their cattle," remarked Tom. "The
old man tracked them to a ravine in the woods, and found that his oxen
had been killed and dressed: the horns and hide lay on the ground, and
the blood was scarcely cold, but not an Indian was to be seen. He
couldn't even find a trail, and he's an old Indian-fighter, you
know."
"Have any Indians been seen near here, since?"
"Yes; Mr. Payson, the missionary, saw one the other morning as he was
going from Root River settlement to Slough Creek. He was passing the
Norwegian's cabin, near the grove, when suddenly a Sioux galloped by
on his pony, giving a loud whoop as he rode out of sight. And Mrs.
Pingry had a great scare. Her husband was away after supplies, and she
was alone about her work, when the door opened and an Indian stalked
in and took a seat. Pretty soon a second came, and did the same, and
then another; until a dozen sat round the room, silently smoking their
pipes. She says she knew by their manner and the way they were painted
that they intended mischief. She determined, however, not to appear
frightened, and went on with her work. Soon one of them got up and
broke open her husband's trunk, and then the rest fell to rummaging
the house, helping themselves to whatever they wished; and she was
expecting they would next assault her, when, to her relief, she heard
the barking of a dog, and the rumbling of wheels, at which the savages
took alarm, and in a moment were gone."
"And what," asked Mrs. Jones, "do the settlers think of this?"
"O, they only laugh about it. They don't expect any serious trouble.
They say that the chiefs have had a grand talk with the government
agent, and declare that they wish to be on good terms with us. But
some of our people do all they can to provoke the Indians, and say
they would like to have a brush with the red-skins!"
"But what's that?" he exclaimed, as loud shouts and the barking of
dogs broke on their ears. Mrs. Jones and Tom hurried to the door, and
saw some men and boys chasing a large animal across the prairie.
"A bear! a bear!" cried a neighbor, rushing breathlessly up to Tom,
saying, "Is your father at home? Tell him to come on, and we'll pepper
his carcass!" and without waiting for an answer, or explaining whose
carcass he meant, he hastened after the others.
The creature that they were pursuing was so fat that he did not run
very swiftly, and the dogs gained on him; aware of which, he was
making desperate efforts to gain the shelter of a small grove not far
off, while stringing along for quite a distance behind were his
pursuers. Some were hatless, a few had guns, but most were armed with
pitchforks or clubs; and one man, in his zeal, carried a piece of
rusty stove-pipe, although what use he proposed to put it to in
capturing Bruin, it was difficult to imagine, unless he intended,
should Bear gain the grove, to _smoke him out_ with it. The truth is,
he was putting up a stove in his cabin when the cry of "Bear, bear,"
interrupted his labors, and he joined the chase, forgetting that he
held anything in his hand. He was wiry, lank, and long-legged, with
sandy hair that came down straight and thin upon his shoulders, and
being without his coat, with pants that reached only half way between
his knees and ankles, he cut a ludicrous figure as he straddled on,
followed by a short, dumpy man, who, waddle as ambitiously as he
might, swiftly fell behind, without, however, seeming in the least
discouraged.
"There, they are surrounding the grove," said Tom, as the men and boys
spread out from the centre till they had encompassed Bruin's leafy
retreat.
Soon there was the report of guns, and not long after, the hunters
returned, looking tired and disappointed.
"The bear must have got away," said Mrs. Jones.
But Charley came rushing towards her, and, throwing up his cap,
cried,--
"O, isn't it fun! It wasn't a bear, mother; it was only Mr. Abbott's
black hog that he lost last fall, and thought was dead. He had run
wild, feeding on roots and acorns, and was awful fat. But they didn't
know 'twas a hog till they shot him, the dogs kept up such a yelping,
and the grass and bushes hid him so. They've gone after a wagon to
take him home."
But Tom was at work making an opening in the fence nearest the woods;
seeing which, Charley called out,--
"What you doing that for, Tom?"
"I've been thinking," answered Tom, pleasantly, "that we shall want
some wood near the cabin next winter, instead of digging it out of the
snow, and I'm fixing a place to drag it through."
"Yes, children," added the mother, "Tom and I have been talking it
over. Suppose you take hold together and see how big a pile you can
get up. It will be so nice to have plenty of wood to cook the
corn-cakes with, and keep us comfortable when it's freezing weather!"
The project pleased the youngsters, even to Bub, and, headed by Tom,
they began at once to put it into execution.
It is customary in new countries for the first comers to help
themselves freely to the trees on government land, for logs with which
to construct their cabins, and to rive into shingles and saw into
boards; and many a sinewy oak had fallen before the frontiersman's axe
in the woods near the Joneses, leaving the brawny limbs upon the
ground. There were also many dead trees still standing, and from these
sources dry, hard wood of the best quality could always be obtained.
Tom directed operations. The limbs and small dead trees were thrown or
dragged in piles a certain distance towards the field; from there
another took them to the opening in the fence, and from thence others
of the youngsters pulled them up to the house. The girls and boys had
a merry time of it, Sarah making the woods ring with her bird-like
voice as she sang at her task, while many a joke was exchanged by the
lively little company. But no one of them entered on the labor with
more zeal, and a higher appreciation of his own services, than Bub.
"That child is always under foot," said Eliza, as she stumbled over
him while tugging along a scrawny limb.
"You ought to go into the house," said Tom; "I'm afraid you'll get
hurt."
"No, I won't," answered the child, "tause I dot to tarry in the wood;"
and seizing a long branch under one dimpled arm, and a short, heavy
one under the other, to make good his words, with the will of an older
head, he started for the cabin.
Out from under his arm would be wrenched the long one by some bush
beside the path, and Bub would pick it up and pull at it until it had
cleared itself, when down would go the big piece from the other arm.
Then he would bravely lift it again, his baby frock going up with it;
and thus dropping his load and picking it up, with an occasional
tumble, which he would not cry about, he reached the house, dragging
his load in through the door, to the imminent danger of knocking over
the old stove. He now rested from his labors to eat a cold potato and
a piece of his mother's much-loved corn-cake, which, while disposing
of, he dropped asleep, his rosy cheeks crammed to their utmost
capacity.
"Pooh!" cried Charley, coming noisily in to see if dinner was most
ready, "why didn't you keep to work, like the rest of us?"
Bub resumed eating, and replied, dignifiedly,--
"Tause I found out that it wasn't fun."
The unexpected effect of his answer on Charley, who received it with
uproarious laughter, highly offended the child; and when Charley was
out of sight, he said to his mother,--
"I isn't never going to work no more."
"Ah, why not?" she inquired.
"Tause I don't like to work."
"Then," said she, "you'll never make a man."
"Do men have to work?" he asked.
"Certainly," she replied.
"Then I won't be a man," he answered, decidedly.
"Won't!" exclaimed his mother; "what, then, will you be?"
"I sail be a missernary, and walk wound, and wear dold dlasses!"