A SURPRISE.
"Can you tell me, sir, if I can find a conveyance for myself and
children to L----, Minnesota?" inquired a lady of the attentive clerk
at a hotel in the thriving young town of Dacotah, Iowa.
"There is no stage running to that point," he replied; "but we can
send a team with you, if you wish to go to so much expense."
"I would like," answered the lady, smiling, "to get there with as
little cost as I can. My husband is a missionary. I am on my way to
join him."
"I will see what I can do for you," returned the clerk, bowing
respectfully; and, stepping into the bar-room, he asked,--
"Is there any one here going to L---- to-day?"
"I shall go half way there," said a short, sharp-nosed, black-eyed
man, who sat reading an eastern paper.
"Could you take a passenger or two?"
"I'm pretty well loaded," he answered; "but I always find room for one
more, seeing it pays."
"It's a clergyman's wife and children," said the clerk, in a lower
tone.
"O, well," replied the other, rising to his feet, "they shall go
along, pay or no pay;" and he followed the clerk, who introduced the
parties to each other with,--
"Mr. Sawyer--Mrs. Payson. He will take you as far as he goes."
"And how far is that?" she inquired.
"About twenty miles."
"But how shall I get over the remainder of the distance?"
"Don't be concerned about that," replied the man, heartily. "I guess
there'll be a way to forward you all right."
And in a half hour his team was before the door, waiting to take her
farther into the wilderness. A pair of stout iron-grays harnessed into
a long, open wagon, affording space for a large variety of boxes and
packages, and three rows of cushionless seats, constituted the
conveyance. Its owner had been on a trading expedition, but, with an
eye to "the main chance," was prepared to catch some of the travel
going westward. The wagon was crowded with passengers; and, disposing
of the three children,--a delicate, intelligent little boy and his
two sisters--in the laps of those already seated, the teamster
assisted the mother to a seat at his side. Their presence, it was
evident, excited much interest; for the manner and dress of the little
family betrayed New England birth and culture.
"Your husband," said the owner of the conveyance, as his horses
trotted sturdily along, "rode up with me the other day. He had been
down to the Mississippi waiting for you a whole week, and the landlord
at McGreggor's Landing said he was the bluest man he ever saw, because
you did not arrive."
"I am sorry that he was anxious on my account," replied the wife, with
a merry laugh. "He didn't wish me to venture on the journey alone with
the children, and wrote that he would return for me if I could not
find suitable company; but, not wishing to take him from his labors, I
packed up, and took our darlings along."
"I hope you didn't meet with any accident on the way," observed a man
on the back seat. "You was pretty resolute."
"No; but I came near losing one of my little girls."
"How did it happen?" asked a motherly-looking woman.
"It was in the depot at Springfield. The children were thirsty, and,
charging them not to stir until I came back, I crossed the room for
water. There was a great crowd rushing here and there, trains were
coming and going, all was bustle and confusion, and I hurried, not
having been away but a moment; but little Fannie, my youngest girl,
was missing. Helen, the eldest, had been so taken up with the sights
and sounds about her, that she did not know that her sister was gone.
I was almost frantic with fear, she had so suddenly and completely
disappeared. So, throwing my bonnet back upon my shoulders to attract
attention, I cried at the top of my lungs,--
"My child! my child! I've lost my child!"
"Child lost! child lost!" shouted a number of voices, repeating the
description I gave of her. Nobody seemed to have seen her; and a
terrible dread that I might not find her wrung my heart, when, to my
joy, above the din, I heard some one exclaim,--
"She's found! she's found! Where's the mother?" and a gentleman,
holding her aloft, brought her to me. He was deeply agitated, and
said,--
"Your little girl, madam, came very near being killed. I found her
under the car between two of the wheels, playing with them, saying,
'Car may hurt a me; car may hurt a me.' The last bell had rung, and I
had barely time to drag her off the track when the train started."
"It must have been a great care for you," remarked a passenger, "to
bring your children on so long a journey."
"It was, indeed," she replied. "Generally the worst part of it was in
getting them into the trains: the children are so small, and the rush
of passengers so great, that they were in danger of being trampled on,
or prevented from getting aboard in season."
"Everybody looks out for Number One at such times," said a man. "I
often think that we see more of the selfishness of human nature while
travelling than under any other circumstances. I suppose you were left
to get along as best you could with your little ones."
"Usually," she replied. "Sometimes, however, a stranger, bound the
same way, would give us a helping hand; but often he would blunder so
as to make matters worse. Once I was both amused and frightened. I was
struggling to place my children on a train just starting, and, making
little headway. I called out, 'Will some one help my children into the
cars?' when one of the largest, fattest men I ever saw, who was
panting and puffing from his unusual efforts at hurrying, caught up my
little boy, and, trotting on like an elephant, he struck his foot
against a stone, and came down sprawling into the sand, uttering a
great, wild cry, and giving my little boy a throw at the same time. I
felt sorry for the man, but thought I should die laughing at the queer
figure he cut. And, ungrateful as it seemed, I was obliged, in going
for my boy, to pass around our huge friend, and ride off, leaving him
to pick himself up at his leisure."
There was much merriment at this recital, which was increased by a
portly Englishman behind her saying, in a jolly way,--
"Hi feel as if hi could happreciate that story, mem!"
"But how do you think you'll like living west?" asked the motherly
woman. "It seems to me that the likes of you won't know how to put up
with our rough ways."
"O," replied the clergyman's wife, with an enthusiasm which showed
what manner of spirit she was of, "I did not come out here for
enjoyment, but to cheer and help my husband in laboring for Christ."
"Well," answered the other, wiping a tear from her eye, "the land
knows we need such folks among us; and if we don't have things as nice
as you do your way, I hope you'll find us westerners ready to do what
we can for the good cause. Most of us have seen better times, and have
known what it was to go to meeting every Sunday, and do our mite
towards supporting preaching, and we are willing to do it again."
"See, mother," exclaimed little Helen,--a bright, wide-awake miss of
six years,--"what a large garden!"
The team had passed the irregular ridges of the bluffs extending
inland from the Mississippi, and had attained the summit of a gentle
swell of land commanding an extensive prairie view, and the whole
landscape was bedecked with flowers of every hue and shape. The
child's wondering eyes danced with delight, and she said,--
"Mother, isn't the man who owns this great garden very rich?"
"This don't belong to any one man, my dear," replied her mother,
smiling; "it is one of _God's_ gardens. He planted all these flowers,
and made them grow without anybody's help. All these are wild
flowers."
"O," exclaimed the child, "how good he is!--isn't he, mother? Has God
such a garden where our new home is?"
"I expect he has," she answered; "for out here, my child, it's almost
all garden. You might ride thousands of miles, and not see a stone, or
any sand--nothing but the green grass and the sweet blooming
flowers."
"O," cried Blue-eye, clapping her hands, "I'm so glad we've come
west!--aren't you, mother?"
The passengers were delighted with the prattle of the dear girl, and
the matronly lady who had her in charge could not forbear giving her a
kiss, and said,--
"I hope you will meet with nothing more unpleasant than prairie
flowers."
But just then the child's bright eyes caught sight of a settler
pursuing his lonely way with his gun on his shoulder, his tall figure
standing in bold relief against the sky, although he was several miles
in the distance, and she asked,--
"Mamma, is that a wild man?" And, later, seeing a cow grazing, she
inquired, "Is that a wild cow?"
The next night, about sundown, Mr. Sawyer deposited the missionary's
family at Mr. Lincoln's snug western cottage.
"Well," said Mrs. Lincoln, laughing, as she took her guest's things,
"you've stolen a march on your husband this time."
"Isn't he here?" asked Mrs. Payson, with a disappointed air.
"No," she replied. "He spent a week at the Mississippi, waiting for
you. And, fearing you might get carried by, or injured in leaving the
steamer,--for you know little ceremony is used towards passengers or
their goods,--he visited each boat as it arrived, and had the porter
at the hotel call him up at every boat through the night, inquiring of
the passengers if they had seen a lady of your description with three
young children; and hearing, since he returned, that one resembling
you had gone to the Landing higher up on the river, he went there
yesterday, hoping to meet you, and bring you back with him. He'll
probably get here late this evening; and won't we give him a
surprise?"
It was about nine o'clock when the missionary returned, alone,
anxious, and dejected.
"You don't look as if you found your lost wife and babies," said his
host, sympathizingly.
"No, and I don't know what to make of it. I inquired thoroughly. I
looked the papers over also, but did not find that there had been any
railroad accident of late. I am afraid she has been taken sick on the
way. It was barbarous in me to listen a moment to the idea of her
coming all the way alone, with three children, from Massachusetts to
Minnesota. I ought to have insisted on her remaining at home until I
could have gone for her."
"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Lincoln, "she thought it wasn't prudent to
venture on such a journey, and wrote you so, but the letter has
miscarried."
"I know her too well to think so," responded the minister. "She has
started on her way here. She had decided to do so as a matter of duty;
and, having made her mind up on that point, she would come right on if
she met with a railroad accident every other train--if she is a
delicate little body."
"Well, you look tired enough to drop," said Mrs. Lincoln, abruptly,
turning her head to conceal a smile. "I think you had better retire
early."
The clergyman was quite taken aback at this piece of advice; but Mr.
Lincoln relieved his astonishment by saying,--
"My wife, hoping that you might be cheered by the arrival of your
family, has been fixing up your room a bit, and I suppose she won't
rest to-night unless she sees how you like the improvements."
And Mrs. Lincoln opening the door into his apartment, the missionary
saw before him his three children, sleeping peacefully in their nice
beds, and his wife seated in a rocking-chair, exercising a world of
self-control, in order to carry out the plot of surprising him.