Chapter 11

As soon as Pat Honan drew near the shore, where many of them were standing watching the boat, he shouted out that Peter was dead. Forthwith they set up a fearful howl, in which others as they came up joined them, till the whole party were howling away in concert, led by Pat, who cried out, "Ah, it was drink--the cratur,--'twas drink, drink that did it."

Rob and Susan had arrived safely with the sleigh. As soon as the ground hardened, Rob set off in the canoe, and brought the luggage-sleigh home by the snow road formed through the woods, along the borders of the lake.

STORY THREE, CHAPTER 7.

Though most out-of-door work comes to a standstill in winter, chopping can still be carried on, fallen trees cut up and fresh trees cut down. One of the customs of the country is to form a bee when any particular piece of work has to be done in a hurry. Such as a log hut or a barn raised, or some ground cleared.

The bees are the neighbours who come from far and near; they receive no wages, but are fed well, and whiskey is served out too well while they are at work. The more industrious among the settlers employed the time in the house in making household furniture, mending their tools, and in many other ways--not forgetting reading the Bible to their families.

The winter was already some way advanced when most of the inhabitants of Thornhill were invited to chop trees and to put up a log hut, by a gentleman, a Mr Sudbury, who had bought land about three miles off and wished to get in some crops as soon as the snow was off the ground.

Michael Hale, and Rob, and John Kemp, and Mr Landon, and many others went. They expected to clear half an acre of ground, and to get the walls and roof of the log hut up in one day. Most of the settlers in Thornhill were well, in spite of the cold, except Mrs Kemp. She had for some time been ailing, and expected soon to give birth to another child, Mrs Hale had gone in to have a chat with her, and to help her in some household matters, when Tommy came running in breathless.

"What's the matter, Tommy; eh boy?" asked Mrs Hale.

"A big tree has come down at Mr Sudbury's clearing, and killed, or pretty nigh killed, some one. Nobody knows who it is, but I hope it's not father, nor Mr Hale either."

These words frightened both the wives, who wanted to set off at once.

"No, no, I'll go," said Mrs Hale. "You stay quiet at home, Mrs Kemp. It's the only fit place for you."

Just then, one of the Miss Landon's came in to see Mrs Kemp. She said, if Tony, who had come up with his mother, would go with her, she would set off at once, with such things as were likely to be of use to the sufferer, whoever he might be.

"You, Mrs Hale, stay and take care of Mrs Kemp," she said.

This Mrs Hale promised to do, for Mrs Kemp was looking very ill.

Mary Landon was a young girl of much sense. She hurried home, and collected all the articles she might require.

Tony said that he knew a short cut, but as it was not beaten down it could not be passed except on snow-shoes. His own he had brought with him. Mary had lately learned to walk in them, and had a a pair ready. They were wooden frames in shape something like an egg flattened out, only sharp at both ends. The centre part was net-work of leather thongs, like a very coarse sieve. They are fastened to the feet by thongs of leather. From covering so much space, they do not sink into the snow. On their feet, people in winter wear in the country soft leather socks, called mocassins, with one or two pairs of thick worsted socks inside. Mary's were made by an Indian woman, a squaw, as the natives call their wives and daughters. They were worked prettily with coloured porcupine-quills and beads.

Quickly putting on her snow-shoes, Mary set off with Tony. Both had long sticks in their hands. They had got about half way, when Tony looked up, and said, "I hope, Miss Landon, that you are not afraid of bears."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I see the fresh marks of one on the snow," he answered. "We may meet the gentleman; if we do, we must attack him with our sticks, and shout, and he will go off; but if we attempt to run, he'll gain courage and follow."

Mary said that she would follow Tony's advice; but as she walked on, she looked anxiously on one side and on the other, expecting to see the bear appear. As to running away in snow-shoes, that she could not, and she was afraid that, in attacking the bear, she might topple over, and he might set on her.

"No fear, Miss Mary," said Tony, as he saw her looking about; "if he does come, I'll give him a taste of the tip of my stick, and he'll soon turn his tail to us; he is not far off, I see by his marks; he'll show himself presently. Now don't run, Miss Mary, but shout out like a man, as if you wasn't afraid."

Scarcely had Tony given this advice, than a brown, shaggy-coated bear was seen moving along the snow between the trees. He soon caught sight of the travellers, and sat up, watching them as they passed.

"I told you he wouldn't hurt us," said Tony; "we used to see plenty of them where we were last." They had not, however, gone far, when Tony, looking over his shoulder, cried out, "Here he comes though; but don't fear, there's a rise a little farther on, and from the top of it we can see Mr Sudbury's clearing." Still the bear followed, and got closer and closer. Tony kept facing him every now and then. At last he cried out, "Now's our turn, Miss Mary, turn round and shout as you never shouted before." Mary did as she was advised, and Tony at the same time setting up a loud shriek and hallo, and shaking his stick, the bear was so astonished that he turned round and waddled off. Once or twice he looked back, but Tony's shout made him hasten away faster than before. Thus it will be seen, that though there are bears in Canada, they are not much to be dreaded.

In a short time Mary and her companion arrived at the clearing. She inquired anxiously who was the sufferer, for she knew that it might be her own father as likely as any one else.

"It is John Kemp, he is there in the hut," was the answer.

"Bless you, Miss Mary," said Michael Hale, when he saw her come to assist his friend; "but I'm afraid that help comes too late. The best surgeon in the land couldn't cure him."

Poor John Kemp lay in a corner of the unfinished hut on a bed of spruce fir tops, a fire lighted near to give him some warmth. He was moaning and complaining of the cold. He had been cut by his axe as the tree fell, which at the same time crushed one of his legs and hurt his side. Mary bound up the wound more carefully than it had been done, and fomented his side; but she saw that she could do no more, and advised his being carried home at once. No surgeon was to be found nearer than forty miles. One had been sent for, but it was very doubtful if he could come. A litter of boughs was at once formed, and poor John, wrapped up in buffalo robes, was at once placed on it, and Michael and Rob Hale, and other members of the bee, undertook to carry him home. He thanked his friends, and Mary in particular, but told them that he was sure he should never get there. He did, however; but those who carried him saw, as they drew near his cottage, that something was wrong. Michael sent Tony on to ask. Tony came back shaking his head: some one had told Mrs Kemp, in a hurry, that her husband was killed. The shock was too great for one in her weak state. Just before her husband was brought home, she had died, giving birth to a tenth child, "God's will be done," whispered John Kemp, when he heard of his wife's death, "He will take care of our poor orphan children."

Before the night was over John himself had rejoined his wife in another world. His prayer was heard, and his faith in God's love rewarded. A meeting of all the settlers was called. Mr Landon proposed raising a subscription for the orphans. "That is not wanted," said Michael Hale, "I will take charge of two of them, and more, if the rest do not find homes--Fanny and Tommy shall become my children."

"And I will take another girl then," said Mr Landon; "and the poor infant, my daughter will nurse it."

"I will take a boy," said Mr Sudbury.

Thus the children were quickly disposed of among some of the kindest and best of the people in the settlement. The orphans became really and truly their children, and were treated in no respects differently. There was nothing uncommon in this. The same thing is done in all parts of the province, and those who thus protect the orphans seldom fail to receive a blessing on their homes. Fanny and Tommy soon learned to look on Mr and Mrs Hale as their parents, and to render them the same obedience and affection that they would have done had they really been so.

STORY THREE, CHAPTER 8.

No one finds settling in a new country all smooth work; and if a man cannot look ahead and think of what his labour is sure to produce, he will often be very much down-hearted. Some people give up when, if they had held on, they would have succeeded at last. Michael Hale was not one of the give-in sort. The winter in Canada lasts a long time, but most people who have plenty to do like it very much. Michael Hale's public room was a good large one, and as soon as the day's work was over, and supper eaten, he set everybody to doing something or other. The girls had always plenty to do to spin and knit and sew. The boys, too, learned to knit, so that they could knit their own stockings. There was a hand-loom weaver among the settlers, and from him David learned to weave what his sisters spun. From this time, except a little calico, there was very little in the way of clothing the family had to buy. Tony learned cobbling, and, in time, to make shoes. Rob was a first-rate carpenter. The younger boys helped their brothers. Those were pleasant evenings, as they sat round the blazing fire which made amends for the poor light of the tallow lamps.

One evening Rob and David had to go out to look after one of the cows which was sick. They did not much like leaving the cozy fireside for the freezing night air. "It must be done though," said Rob; "come along, David." No sooner did they open the door than they heard a strange squeaking from the pig-sty, which, they had wisely built at some little distance from the house. It was a bitter night. They stopped an instant to listen, and in that instant their hair and eyebrows and eyelashes were frosted over. The squeaking went on. "Some creature must be among the pigs," cried Rob. "Run back for the gun, David, I'll go and see."

While David went in to get the gun, Rob, with a thick stick and a lantern in his hand, hurried down to the pig-sty. One fine porker lay bleeding on the ground, and another was not to be seen. A faint squeak from the forest on one side showed where he was gone. Rob calling on David to follow, ran on in the hopes of catching the thief. He hadn't got far when the light of the lantern fell on the back of a shaggy-haired beast, which he at once knew to be that of a bear. In its fore-paws it carried the missing porker, which still sent forth a piteous cry for help. Rob soon overtook the bear and gave him a no gentle tap on the back of his head. Bruin, not liking this, dropped the pig and turned round to face Rob, while piggie, having still the use of his legs, ran off towards his sty. The bear seemed resolved to vent his rage on Rob, who stood ready to receive him with his thick stick, flourishing it before his face. With a loud growl the angry bear sprang on Rob. "Fire! fire!" cried Rob, "he is biting my shoulder."

David was afraid of hitting his brother, he did not therefore fire till he got close up to them, and then, putting the gun to the bear's head, he pulled the trigger. Over rolled the creature, and Rob was set free. He was much hurt, but his thick coat had saved him from a worse wound. The snow was hard, so that they were able to drag the carcase over it to the house. One of the pigs was so much hurt that Rob was obliged to kill it, while the other, which had been carried off, escaped without much damage. After doctoring the cow they appeared at home with their prize. It made more than amends for the loss of the pig; for in Canada, in winter, it matters not how much meat is in store, as once frozen it will keep till the warm weather returns. Often people have a dozen turkeys and twice as many fowls, and small animals, and fish hanging up in their larders, at once. In the markets, fish, flesh, and fowl are also sold in a frozen state. The bear was quickly skinned and cut up, but he was frozen almost hard before the work was finished.

The next day Rob's shoulder hurt him so much that he was obliged to stay at home. Susan and his mother doctored it as best they could, but he did not get better. At last they went up to Mr Landon's house, to ask what they ought to do. Though it was one of the coldest days, Mrs and Miss Landon hurried down to the hut. They soon saw that, without great care, the matter might become serious. Having left a lotion and some medicine, with directions how to treat Rob, they were on their way, home when they saw a thick smoke curling up into the sky above where their house stood. Mary hurried on till she could see the house itself. Fire was coming out of the roof.

"Oh, mother, do you go back to the Hales and ask for help, and I will run on and see what can be done at once," she exclaimed.

As soon as Mrs Landon reached the Hales, Tommy ran to call Michael and his two boys, and Pat Honan, who was working for them. Mr Landon and his only son, George, was away. Mary found Biddy McCosh, the servant-girl, wringing her hands and running about not knowing what to do, while her youngest sister was asleep, and the next was crying, seeing that something was the matter but not knowing what it was, Mary's first thought was to place her little sisters in safety, the next was how to put out the fire and save the furniture. The children she carried, with some bedding, to an outhouse, and wrapped them up warmly. While doing this, she sent Biddy in search of a ladder. By it she bravely mounted to the roof. Biddy had made up too large a fire in the stove and heated the flue. This had set fire to the wooden roof. No water was to be had; every drop around was frozen.

"Biddy, a shovel!" cried Mary. With it she shovelled the snow over the roof, but it did little even in checking the flames. While she was so employed, her mother and Mrs Hale and Susan arrived. Rob followed-- nothing would stop him. Susan climbed, up to the roof, with her, and the two girls worked bravely together. Rob said that he must go up and help them, but his mother held him back.

"It will be his death if he goes up there," said Mrs Landon. "If you must work, Rob, help us to get out the furniture."

While they were thus employed, Michael Hale and his two sons and Honan and other neighbours arrived. The two girls came down from their post of danger and the men took their places, but they could not with the snow alone stop the flames. There seemed every chance of Mr Landon's house being burnt down.

"I've seen salt melt snow. If there is in the house a cask of meat in brine that may help us," exclaimed Rob.

There was one. It was brought out, the head knocked in, and the brine poured out in small quantities on the snow. Wherever the brine dropped the snow melted, and the fire was put out. It was some time, however, before all danger was passed. A large part of the roof was damaged and the house made unfit to be inhabited.

"Oh, Mrs Landon, ma'am, I hope that you will honour us by coming down and taking up your abode with us till the roof is on again," said Mrs Hale in a kind voice. "Susan will take care of Miss Mary and the little ones, and Mr Landon and your son George will be sure to find lodgings with other friends till the house is set to rights again."

Mr Landon had suffered so many ups and downs in life that when he arrived he was not very much put out at the injury done to his house. He was only thankful that his wife and children had escaped injury.

A bee was formed, and in a couple of days the roof was replaced, and in less than a week the house again habitable.

STORY THREE, CHAPTER 9.

The winter was drawing to an end. It had not appeared very long, after all--everybody had been so busy. Michael and his sons were now at work cutting-out troughs for sugar making. In Canada the maple yields a sap which, when boiled, turns into sugar. A number of maple-trees together is called a sugar-bush. The troughs are made of pine, black ash, or butter-nut, and each holds three to four gallons of sap.

The snow was still on the ground, when early in March, Michael and his sons, and Susan and Fanny and Tommy set off with their sugar kettles, pails, ladles, big store troughs, small troughs, and moulds, to the sugar-bush two miles from the house. They first built huts for the kettles and for themselves; fixed the store trough and cut a supply of fuel for the fires. They next tapped the maple-trees on the south side, with an auger of an inch and a half. Into this hole a hollow spile was driven. Under each spile a trough was placed. As soon as the sun grew warm the sap began to flow and drop into the troughs. The girls and boys had soon work enough to empty the troughs into a large cask on the sleigh. This, when full, was carried to the boiling-sheds and emptied into the store trough. From this the kettles are filled and kept boiling night and day, till the sap becomes a thin molasses. It is then poured into pails or casks, and made clear with eggs or milk stirred well into it. The molasses are now poured again into the boilers over a slow fire, when the dirt rises to the top, and is skimmed off. To know when it has boiled enough, a small quantity is dropped on the snow. If it hardens when cool it has been boiled enough. It is then poured into the moulds, when it quickly hardens and is ready for use. Very good vinegar can be made by boiling three pails of sap into one, and then adding some yeast, still better is made from the sap of the birch; beer is made both from maple and birch sap, and a flavour given by adding essence of spruce or ginger. Boiling the sap and molasses requires constant attention, as there is a danger of their boiling over.

While Michael and Rob attended to the boiling, David and Tommy drove the sleigh, and the rest took care of the troughs. They had a large number of troughs, and some were a long way from the boiling-sheds.

Michael and his son had filled the kettles, which they did not expect would boil for some little time, when Tommy came running up to say that the sleigh had stuck fast between two stumps, and that he and David could not clear it, while one of the oxen had fallen down and hurt itself against a log. On bearing this, Michael and Rob, thinking that there would be plenty of time to help David, and to get back before the sugar boiled, ran to assist him. They found the sleigh firmly fixed, and it took them longer to clear it than they had expected it would. They had just got it clear, when a loud bellow reached their ears from the direction of the boiling-sheds. Leaving David and Tommy to manage the oxen, Michael and Rob ran back to their charge. They arrived in time to see one of their cows, with her muzzle well covered with molasses, galloping off through the bush, followed by her companions, while the kettle lay upset, the contents streaming out on the fire, and burning away, and threatening to set all the sheds in a blaze. The cows had found their way into the bush, and being fond of sugar, one of them had put her muzzle into the boiling liquid, little expecting to have so warm a greeting.

"I hope it will teach her not to steal sugar for the future," observed Michael, as he and his son righted the kettle. They had to pull down some of the shed before they could put the fire out; but such trifling events were too common in the bush to disturb their tempers, and they were thankful that matters were no worse.

Just before this, a neighbour's cow had got into his sugar-bush and drank so much cold molasses that she burst and died. Michael determined another year to enclose his sugar-bush to prevent any such accidents.

In two weeks enough sugar was made to last the family all the year, to make all sorts of preserves, besides a good supply of beer and vinegar. With the vinegar they could pickle onions, and all sorts of vegetables, for winter use. Vegetables are also preserved during the winter in cellars, dug generally under the fire-place, in a log hut. A trap-door leads to the cellar. Here potatoes, carrots, turnips, and other roots are stored, and kept free from frost.

The snow at length melted, and spring came on as it were in a day. From sunrise to sunset every man and boy was now hard at work, chopping, burning, and clearing the ground to put in the spring crops. Not an hour was to be lost, for the sun shone bright and warm, the grass sprang up, the leaves came out, and flowers burst forth, and it seemed as if the summer had begun as soon as the winter had ended. The summer was hot, and soon ripened the crops, and the harvest was good and plentiful.

STORY THREE, CHAPTER 10.

Four years had passed away, and Michael Hale and his family had began to reap the fruits of their industry. They had forty acres of land cleared, enough to bear crops. Two acres were planted with apple-trees, which already yielded a large supply of fruit. The apples were packed in casks, and were then fit to be sent off to distant markets. Some were peeled, cut in slices, dried in the sun, and hung up for home winter use.

They had several cows and oxen, and a flock of sheep, and pigs, and poultry. As they frequently killed oxen, and sheep, and pigs, for their own use, they were able to form a store of fat for making candles and soap at home. Indeed, Michael was rapidly becoming a substantial farmer. He was not, however, without his sorrows and trials.

Susan had never completely recovered, and the year after he settled at Thornhill she had died of consumption. Fanny Kemp watched over and attended her as a sister to the last, and now so completely filled her place, that no one would have thought that she was not a daughter.

Rob, indeed, hoped to make her one ere long. He had loved her for many years; but, like a good son, felt that he ought not to marry and set up for himself till he had helped his father to settle comfortably. He now opened the matter to his father. "There's one thing, however, I want to do first, that is to see you and mother in a well-plastered house," he said, after he had got Michael's consent to his marriage. "We'll get that put up during the summer, and this old log-house will do for Fanny and me for another year or two. There's only one thing I ask. Don't tell mother what we are about. It will be a pleasant surprise to her. She was saying, only the other day, that she wished that she had a house with another floor."

When Mr Landon heard that Rob was going to marry Fanny Kemp, he called him aside one day, and said, "If your father will give you twenty acres of his land, I will give you another twenty acres alongside it, and will, besides, stand the expense of a bee, and have a house put up for you in no time. Your father was kind to me when I was burnt out of my house, and has given me much good advice, by which I have profited. His example made me work in a way I do not think I should have otherwise done."

Rob thanked Mr Landon very much, but told him of his wish first to help his father build and settle in a comfortable plastered house.

"You set a good example, Rob; and I hope other young men will follow it. A dutiful son will make a good husband, and little Fanny deserves one."