SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE TROUBLES
Mogridge’s sneers went to bed with the squire and arose with him in the morning. The thought that a man whom he had befriended was opposing him rankled deeply. And while in this irritable condition one of the first persons the squire met was David Allison, who had come early to work on the accounts.
“Good morning, Allison,” was the squire’s greeting, spoken gruffly.
“Good morning, Squire Danesford,” replied the Scotchman. “I thought I wad coom early an’ ha’ the work oot o’ the way.”
“So as to have time for carrying on your treasonable mischief, I suppose.”
“Excuse me, Squire, but I dinna think I understand.”
“D’ye think I don’t know that you go about preaching the pernicious doctrines of Patrick Henry and Tom Jefferson, who sports on his seal that sentiment of the demagogue: ‘Resistance to tyrants is obedience 13 to God.’ Who’s the tyrant? Why, our most gracious sovereign! That sort of talk is nothing short of treasonable. The purpose of it is revolution. Oh, I know!”
Allison looked at the squire in wonderment, which apparently served to further excite the squire’s rage, for he, without waiting for reply, exclaimed: “There soon will come a time when the traitors will have to eat their words. When she was ready, England put her powerful hand on the Indies, and they became hers. She reached out into Canada and, taking France by the coat collar, marched her out. When she feels like it, she’ll devote some spare half hour to knocking your heads together.”
The bent figure of the Scotchman straightened as he looked full in the face of his employer. “You misunderstand me, Squire; I only ask that England shall treat the colonists as she would treat Englishmen, for that is what we are. But for us she wad na’ found the task o’ running France out of Canada an easy one. I fought for England in that war as surely as I did for the colonies an’ I dinna intend to make talk that a self-respecting man should not.”
“That sounds well, but it means treason; and I for one will not harbour or support traitors,” was the angry response.
“And I,” replied Allison, with dignity, “will permit no man to control my thoughts or call me a traitor to the country for which I fought.”
Thus the kindly relations between the two men, 14 who in their hearts held warm regard, each for the other, were abruptly ended in mutual ill will. At a window looking out stood Henry Mogridge, with the same disagreeable smile his face had worn the previous evening.
How like a chill fog stealing in and shutting down, shrouding a place, is trouble in a household!
The squire was uneasy all the morning and then, calling for his horse, mounted him and rode away. Elizabeth eluded her cousin, who, left to amuse himself, heartily wished himself back in London.
At the home of the Allisons the trouble was of a very serious nature. David’s intention to keep from his wife and family what had occurred that morning, failed. Mrs. Allison knew that something serious had happened and, in her quiet way, finally learned what it was. Rodney, too, learned of it and that night went to his bed feeling that other boys fared better than he. There was his cousin, Dick Tawbee, with horses and dogs and servants to care for them, while he––well, there was no lad he knew who had so much of trouble.
It might have contributed to Rodney’s peace of mind that evening could he have seen the predicament of a boy, about his own age, who, to escape abuse, had run from his cabin home and huddled down behind a stump in the clearing around the cabin. He lived on the frontier of the colony of Pennsylvania, and, though a rather uninteresting little fellow, had troubles of his own and was bearing them without a murmur, and, 15 instead of thinking about them, was considering the pleasures the day had afforded him.
The Vuysens with whom he lived, because after the death of his parents he could not find a better home, had been abusing him for running away in the morning, leaving his duties because he had wished to see a beaver colony at work. He had not intended to do anything wrong, but the temptation had been too great. That morning the world seemed overflowing with the alluring promises of spring, and the birds were singing in the forest. He thought of the beaver colony he had discovered the winter before when it was locked in ice. The ice would now be gone. Surely here was his opportunity.
He had approached very cautiously so as not to alarm the little animals, and finally found a place where he had a good view of them at work, cutting down trees with their chisel-shaped teeth and building dams with a skill which causes men to wonder.
While trying to get into a comfortable position he had stepped on a dry twig that snapped under his feet. A big beaver slapped his broad tail on the water. Splash! and they disappeared in a twinkling. But Conrad, that was the boy’s name, was a patient little fellow and after a time his patience was rewarded by seeing the beaver resume their tasks. Some cut down the trees, cutting them so they fell just where the beaver wanted them, woodsmen could have done no better. Some were piling brush among the branches of the trees while others brought earth to fill in the 16 network of brush, patting it down with their broad tails, as masons would use their trowels; others were rolling a stone into the dam they were building. Seemingly they had the work as carefully planned as men could have done.
Conrad was fond of the woods and animals, his only friends, for the Vuysens looked upon him as a sort of slave and treated him unkindly. It was rare pleasure for the lad to watch the beaver colony, and, now that he had been turned out of the cabin supperless, he sat down by the stump to think over his pleasure, rather than his trouble, and soon fell fast asleep. While Conrad slept, a small band of Indians was approaching along a spotted trail leading through the forest.
When awakened, Conrad thought he was dreaming; but, after rubbing his eyes and collecting his senses, he realized that the yelling and commotion were being caused by savages. His instinct prompted him to steal away, but, when he saw them leading the horse from the stable shed and one Indian cruelly beat it, he forgot himself and rushed to interfere. The horse was the best friend Conrad had known since his mother died.
A half drunken savage seized the boy by the hair, but others interfered, and so it happened that, instead of being killed on the spot, he found himself, together with the horse, a prisoner and hurried along the trail in the forest.
Conrad made no complaint but quietly went with 17 his captors. He recalled that Vuysen had said there was peace with the Indians but had added, in the words of an old chief, “The rogues on both sides always make trouble.” Perhaps, after all, this was but a thieving expedition and they might adopt him as a member of the tribe, a thought which strangely enough brought comfort to the boy’s heart. He loved the woods and did not love the Vuysens. The savages could not know this and so, though he had no thought of trying to escape, they bound him. Although his bonds were uncomfortable he slept soundly, while Rodney, down in Virginia in his comfortable bed, passed a restless night; all of which helps to prove that it does not always depend so much on what one has, as on what one thinks about it.
When Rodney came down to breakfast the next morning he was resolved to urge his father to make a pioneer home in the wonderful West he had heard so many tales about, out where there was plenty of big game and where there were broad acres to be had for the taking.
Not until he had nearly finished his breakfast did he screw up his courage to the point of carrying out his resolve. Then he said: “Father, I’ve heard you say there is land out on the Ohio River which you can have because of your service in the last war. Why don’t we settle on it? This place has nothing for us with the squire for an enemy, and not much at best.”
“You little know of the perils, my lad. Surely ye wouldna’ ha’ the mother an’ little one killed by the 18 savages? But I’m minded to say that a venture into the western part o’ this colony is much to my liking this morning. From all I can learn a poor man in those parts is not so hedged aboot as here.”
Neither father nor son thought of the generally observed fact that when a poor man began to seek a home where land was cheap he usually became a pioneer with his face turned toward the West, the great longing for a better home luring him toward the richer lands said to lie beyond the mountains. 19