Illustrations.
| Page. | |
| Clinton’s Home | [FRONTISPIECE]. |
| Map of Brookdale | [14] |
| The Boat Aground | [38] |
| The Fire in the Woods | [69] |
| Oscar in Jail | [84] |
| Clinton at the Fire-side | [117] |
| Haymarket Square | [143] |
| Sea-Sickness | [162] |
| The Snow Image | [177] |
| The Log House | [199] |
| The Loggers’ Camp | [219] |
| The Settle | [248] |
| Bouncer’s Tail | [264] |
| The Reform School | [269] |
CLINTON.
CHAPTER I.
CLINTON, AND HIS HOME.
Most people on entering the little village of Brookdale for the first time, are struck with the beauty of its location. Those who were born there, and who have always lived in sight of its green hills, and pleasant valleys, and frolicsome rivulets, probably do not think so much of these things as does the stranger who happens to come among them, and who has an eye for the beauty of nature. Beautiful objects often lose their attractions when they become familiar to us. If a man were permitted to behold the splendors of a clear evening firmament but once in his life-time, he would be almost enraptured with the sight; but give him the opportunity of gazing at the stars every cloudless night in the year, and he will seldom notice them.
A range of high hills skirt the eastern side of Brookdale, and stretch away to the north, as far as the eye can reach. Towards the west, in a clear day, can be seen the shadowy form of a distant mountain, looking like a dim cloud on the horizon. Near the centre of the village is one of those beautiful little lakes, so common in the State of Maine. Several rivulets, fed by springs in the hills, flow through the village during the greater portion of the year, and empty their sparkling waters into this lake, or pond as it is generally called. It is from this circumstance that the town is called Brookdale.
It was near the foot of one of the hills in this pleasant little village, in a snug farm-house a story and a half high, that Clinton lived. Mr. Davenport, his father, had formerly been a carpenter in another part of the State; but having a taste for farming, he gave up his trade after he had accumulated a little property, and bought the place of which we are speaking. He brought with him, however, a great variety of carpenter’s tools, and had a room fitted up for a workshop, where he often did little jobs for himself or some neighbor, when a rainy day kept him indoors. This room was in the rear of the house, adjoining the pantry, so that it was not necessary to go out of the house to reach it. Clinton spent a great many happy hours in this shop; for though he was only thirteen years old, he had considerable mechanical skill, and could handle the plane, the saw, the bit, and most of the other tools, in quite a workmanlike style. As he was careful not to injure the tools, his father allowed him to use them whenever he wished.
There were some very creditable specimens of Clinton’s skill at carpentry about the house, which he took no little pride in showing to visitors, as well he might. For instance, there was the martin-house, on a tall pole in the garden, which was a complete miniature model of the farm-house itself, including the long “kitchen-end” in the rear. To make the resemblance as close as possible, Clinton gave this bird-house two coats of white paint, and also painted imitation windows in black. On the barn there was another tall, straight staff, with a vane representing a prancing horse, all the work of Clinton’s own hands. The trellises on each side of the front door of the house which supported the climbing roses and honeysuckles, were likewise his handiwork.
Clinton did not like to have any one show him how to do a thing, if he could possibly get along without it. I suppose it was for this reason that he never wanted others to know what he was at work upon, until it was completed. His father would sometimes laugh at him on this account, and repeat to him the saying of Doctor Franklin, that the man who depends on teaching himself will have a fool for his master. But this did not move Clinton in his resolution. It is a good plan to profit as much as we can by the experience and advice of others; but after all, there are many things to which this rule will not apply. The boy who works out a hard sum alone, and refuses to let any one show him how to do it, will derive much more benefit from the exercise than though he had been assisted by others. So, no doubt, Clinton owed no little of his skill in carpentry to the fact that he did not run to his father for advice and assistance every time he met with a little difficulty.
Clinton had one sister, but no brothers; her name was Annie; and she was seven years younger than her brother. She was a beautiful child, with large, blue eyes full of confidence and love, a fat, rosy face, and hair that hung in golden curls about her white shoulders. She was all gentleness and affection, and was the pet and favorite of the household. No boy of his age ever loved a sister more than Clinton did his. Though she was so much younger than himself, he spent much of his time with her, joining in sports in which she could take a part, or making playthings for her amusement. It was very rarely that he allowed himself to use an unkind or impatient word toward her; and when he did, he was sure to repent of it, for he could not bear the silent and sorrowful reproach of those eyes. Annie, for her part, was proud of her brother, and returned, with interest, all the affection he bestowed upon her. She was sure that no other little girl in Brookdale had such a brother; and when this subject was talked about after school one day, she was not a little offended with Susan Lovering, because she persisted in maintaining that her brother Herbert was just as good and as ingenious a boy as Clinton Davenport. Annie thought the idea absurd, and it was some time before she could forgive Susan for making such a remark.
The only other inmate of the house I have described, was Clinton’s mother. Mrs. Davenport was an excellent woman, gentle and lady-like in her manners, and extremely fond of her children. Mr. Davenport employed one or two hired men on his farm a portion of the year, but they did not live with the family.
“Father,” said Clinton one day, on coming home from the mill, and before he had alighted from the wagon, “Father, may I keep some ducks?”
“Ducks! what do you want of them, Clinty?” inquired his father.
“Why, I’ve just seen Jerry Preston, and he’s got some real handsome ones, and he says I may have four of them for a dollar.”
“Yes, but that isn’t answering my question. No doubt Jerry would be glad to sell his ducks, but what do you want of them, and what will you do with them? We must always think of these things before we buy anything. I am not so sure but that if you had the ducks you would be almost as badly off as the man who came into possession of an elephant, which he could not keep, sell, nor give away.”
“Why, father,” replied Clinton, “I can build a little house to keep them in, down by the side of the brook, and Jerry says they will lay more than eggs enough to pay for their keeping. They don’t need so much grain as hens do. They look real handsome, too, sailing on the water.”
“Well, if you are willing to pay for them out of your own money, and will provide a suitable place for them, I don’t know as I shall object to your keeping a few. But it seems to me you might make a better bargain than you propose. Won’t Jerry sell you some eggs?”
“I don’t know as he has any, yet, for he has just begun to keep ducks; but I will ask him.”
“Do so,” said Mr. Davenport, “and if he will sell you a dozen, at a reasonable price, you may buy them.”
“But of what use will the eggs be, father, without a duck to hatch them?” inquired Clinton.
“Never mind about that now,” replied his father, “you get the eggs first, and then we will see what we can do with them.”
Clinton was already somewhat largely interested in the poultry line. When he was nine years old, his father gave him all the fowls belonging to the farm, on condition that he should assume the whole charge of them, and take good care of them. There were in all about twenty hens and chickens, and half a dozen young turkeys. Mr. Davenport agreed to pay Clinton for all the eggs and poultry they needed for the table, but Clinton must purchase with his own money whatever was necessary for the subsistence of the fowls. Clinton was much pleased with this arrangement; and as he knew that when men engage in business they usually keep account books, in which they record all the sums they spend or receive, he procured a few sheets of paper, with which he made a little blank book, for this purpose. His first entry was simply an enumeration of his fowls, with an estimate of their value; or, as the merchant would call it, a schedule of his stock in trade. It was as follows:—
Commenced this account July 18th, 1847, with the following fowls:—
| 1 rooster and 8 hens, (old), worth 30 cts. each, | $2,70 |
| 10 pullets, ” 40 ” | 4,00 |
| 6 turkeys, ” 75 ” | 4,50 |
| Total value, | $11,20 |
Whenever he sold any eggs, he entered the date, the number sold, and the price, on a page which he reserved for this purpose. On the opposite page, he set down the sums which he paid his father for the corn and meal consumed by his fowls. At the end of the first year, he struck a balance, to use a mercantile expression; that is, he added up the various sums he had received and spent, and ascertained how much he had made by the year’s operations. His account stood thus:—
| Dr. | |
| Value of fowls on hand one year ago | $11,20 |
| 12 bushels corn, at 75 cts. | 9,00 |
| 6 ” meal, at 80 cts. | 4,80 |
| 4 ” barley, at 60 cts. | 2,40 |
| 2 ” potatoes, at 40 cts. | 80 |
| Meat | 92 |
| Total cost | $29,12 |
| Cr. | |
| Now on hand, 2 roosters and 32 hens and pullets, worth 36 cents each | $12,24 |
| 9 turkeys, worth 75 cts. each | 6,75 |
| 150 dozen eggs sold | 22,50 |
| 10 hens and chickens sold, 36 cts. each | 3,60 |
| 6 turkeys sold at 83⅓ cts. each | 5,00 |
| 2 loads manure | 2,50 |
| Total value | $52,59 |
| Expenses | 29,12 |
| Profit | $23,47 |
Of this profit, $18,99 was in the shape of hens and turkeys, and $4,48 in ready cash, safely deposited in the old bureau drawer, in Clinton’s bed-room.
The second year, Clinton made a much larger profit on his poultry, his father having given him a patch of ground, where he raised with his own hand a crop of corn sufficient to carry his fowls through the year. At the end of this year, he had about $30,00 in money, which his fowls had earned for him; and as he continued every year to raise his own grain, when he was thirteen years old, he had about $75,00 in cash, which, at his request, his father had deposited in a bank in Portland, where it earned him interest. In addition to this, he had about $25,00 worth of hens and turkeys; so that the $11,20 worth of fowls which his father gave him, had, by his own industry and prudence, swelled into $100 in four years.
The same afternoon on which the conversation upon ducks was held, Clinton managed to run over to Jerry’s again, to see if he could procure the eggs. Jerry told him he had not now got enough for a litter, but would be able to supply him in a few days. Clinton therefore engaged the first dozen he should have, for which he agreed to pay 25 cents.
“Now, father,” said Clinton a few days after, as he uncovered the box of eggs for which he had bargained, “now I am ready for you.”
“You don’t need any assistance,” replied Mr. Davenport; “all you have got to do, now, is to give the eggs to Specky, and she will do the rest.”
Specky was one of Clinton’s hens, and this name was given to her, on account of her speckled feathers. She had recently taken it into her head that she wanted to raise a family of little Speckies; but as Clinton did not happen to coincide with her in this matter, she had done nothing but make herself miserable for several days. Every chance she could get, she would jump into the nest, and commence setting, as though she were determined to bring a chicken out of the chalk nest-egg. When Clinton approached to take her off the nest, she would scream and cluck with all her might, which I suppose was her way of scolding; and when he put her down, she would squat upon the ground, and refuse to budge an inch. He was obliged to shut her up alone in a little coop, to reform her bad manners; but she had not got over her stubbornness, at the time Mr. Davenport told Clinton to let her take charge of the ducks’ eggs.
“But,” said Clinton, on receiving this direction, “will she set on those eggs?”
“Yes,” replied his father, “she will set on any thing that looks like an egg, and be glad of the chance, too. And besides, she will make a better mother to the little ducklings than their real mother would prove. The duck is so fond of the water, that when she once gets into it, she is apt to forget all about her eggs, until they get cold, and are spoilt. And if she should not fall into this blunder, and hatches her brood successfully, the first thing she does is to give the poor, weak things a cold bath, no matter how chilly or stormy it is. They can’t stand this rough treatment very well, and for this reason it is better to let hens do the setting and hatching, when there are any ducks to be raised.”
All this was new to Clinton, as he had never had any experience in the management of the duck family. He followed his father’s directions, however, and as madame Specky seemed delighted with the arrangement, he was satisfied. The next day, he set about building a house for the expected new comers, down in the meadow, by the side of the brook. This was something of an undertaking, for a boy of his age, but he took hold with a right good will, and by devoting to it all the time he could spare from his other duties, he had it completed, and ready for the ducks to move into, long before they had begun to show their heads.
At this time Clinton was not attending school, for the very good reason that there was no school in the place. The law of the State only required that every town should support a public school three months in the year; and as Brookdale had but a small and scattered population, the people did not think it advisable to continue their school any longer than the winter term, which lasted from the first of December to the first of March. During this season of the year, the lads and lasses of all ages, from six or seven years up to eighteen or twenty, turned out and attended the same school, and made the most of their brief opportunities for acquiring knowledge.
But though there were nine months of every year that Clinton did not attend school, he was not allowed to neglect his studies, during these long vacations. Both of his parents had received good educations in their youth, and they knew too well the value of the benefits thus secured, to allow their children to grow up in ignorance. Mrs. Davenport had once been a teacher herself, and it was now but a pleasant task to give Clinton and Annie their daily lessons, and to listen to their recitations. Mr. Davenport, too, had taught a school for one or two terms, when a young man. The branches which Clinton was now studying, were reading, writing, arithmetic, and grammar. He was required to devote two hours to his studies, each day, no matter how much work he had to do, or how much he wanted to play. In the evening his mother heard him recite, and gave him such assistance as he needed. In this way, he made considerable progress in his studies, though perhaps he did not learn as fast as he could had he enjoyed school privileges all the time. During the portion of the year he attended school, he always ranked above other boys of his own age, and was considered one of the best scholars in town.
Clinton also performed a good deal of work for his parents, when he did not attend school. In the spring he used to drive the ploughing team, while his father or the hired man guided the plough through the soil. He likewise made himself very handy in planting season; and in mid-summer he could rake the hay or hoe the corn and potatoes, almost as well as a man. He knew how to build a stone-wall, or to make a compost-heap, or to litter and feed the oxen, or to chop wood; for all these things, and many others, he had been taught to do. He was not required to labor too hard, or too long at one time; but his father wished him to learn to work while young, believing he would be happier if he had some useful employment for a portion of his leisure time. And Clinton found this to be true. He not only learned a great many useful things, from his daily labors, but he found that after working a few hours, he could enjoy his sports with much more zest than if he had idled away all his time in trying to amuse himself. Besides, it was no little satisfaction to know that he could be of some service to his parents, to whose care and affection he was so greatly indebted.
It was thus between work, study and play, that Clinton divided his time. He was an intelligent, kind-hearted, good-natured, and well-meaning boy, but——well, we will for the present drop the vail of charity over the unpleasant truth which belongs to the other side of that “but.”
CHAPTER II.
JERRY AND OSCAR.
After Clinton had finished his duck-house, he noticed that the water was getting quite low in the brook. It was the month of August, and the season had been very hot and dry, so that the springs in the hills, which fed the brook, had almost given out. While he was thinking what his ducks would do for water if the brook should dry entirely up, it occurred to him that he might make a little pond, to be filled from the brook, which would afford a good place for his ducks to swim, and might also prolong the supply of water. Having obtained his father’s consent, he set about the job at once. He was busily at work, digging out the peat or mud for this pond, one warm afternoon, when he happened to look up and saw two boys by the side of him. As their eyes met, one of them exclaimed,—
“An’ faith, Patrick, what are ye after doin’ now? Is it for goold ye are diggin’, sure? or are ye goin’ to make a river of the brook? Why don’t ye spake, ye bogtrotter, hey?”
Clinton laughed at this rough salutation, but perhaps he felt that there was a slight tinge of unkindness in the joke, as he turned his eye from the neat dress of the speaker, to his own heavy boots loaded with mud, and his coarse and well-worn pantaloons, the bottoms of which were tucked into his boots.
“But you do look just like a Paddy, Clin, I’ll leave it to Jerry if you don’t,” continued the speaker, who was a cousin of Jerry Preston’s, and was named Oscar.
Jerry agreed that it was so. “But,” he continued, “what are you trying to make, Clin? I should really like to know.”
“Wait a few days and you will see,” replied Clinton.
“The same old story,” said Oscar, “‘wait and you’ll see;’ you needn’t think you can get anything more than that out of him, Jerry.”
“I guess he has taken a contract to dig a cellar for somebody,” continued Jerry. “See him put in!” he added, as Clinton resumed his work.
“And I guess,” said Oscar, “that he isn’t making anything in particular, but is only digging for amusement. What capital fun it must be to dig mud this warm day!”
Clinton made no reply to their bantering, but kept on digging. After a minute’s pause, Jerry resumed the conversation by saying,—
“Clin, you are the queerest fellow I ever saw.”
“How so?” inquired Clinton.
“Why, I never come over here but I find you hard at work about something or other. You must love to work better than I do.”
“Yes, and such work, too,” chimed in Oscar; “you’re making a complete clodhopper of yourself. You’ll be an old man before you are a young one, if you don’t mind. Why doesn’t your father make his men do this hard drudgery, instead of putting it upon you?”
“My father doesn’t make me do this work,” replied Clinton, with some spirit; “I’m doing it for myself, and of my own accord.”
“I suppose your father doesn’t make you work at all,” said Oscar, with a sneer in his look and voice, which Clinton could not fail to observe.
“Yes, he does require me to work,” replied Clinton, “but no more than I ought to. I have plenty of time for play, besides having a little left for study, too, which is more than some boys, that I know, can say.”
“Yes,” resumed Oscar, “when you aint hard at work, digging like an Irishman, your father makes you sit down in the house, and mope over your books. I’m glad I havn’t got such a father to stand over me; aint you, Jerry?”
“I am so,” replied Jerry. “I don’t believe in making slaves of boys. It is time enough to go to work when we get to be men. I mean to enjoy myself while I am young, if I don’t any other time. But come, Oscar, we’ve stopped here long enough,—let’s be going.”
“Well, I’m ready,” said Oscar, and they began to start. Clinton, seeing that they were not directing their steps homeward, inquired where they were going.
“Over to the pond,” replied Jerry, “to have a swim. Come, wont you go too, Clinton?” he added.
“Yes, come with us, Clin,” said Oscar; “we shall have a first-rate time; and as you say you can play as much as you please, there’s nothing to prevent your going.”
Clinton did want to go with them, but his parents and Annie had gone away that afternoon, leaving the house in his charge, and he thought it would not be right to leave the premises. It was true, he was not expressly told not to go off; but Clinton knew his father expected him to remain about the house until their return, as he had left a message to be delivered to Mr. Hardy, the blacksmith, who was to call at Mr. Davenport’s that afternoon. So, after a moment’s hesitation, Clinton answered,—
“I should like to go, but I don’t see how I can to-day.”
“Why not?” both Oscar and Jerry inquired, at the same instant.
Clinton did not like to tell them his reason, for fear they would laugh him out of it. He could not bear to be ridiculed, and these boys knew it; for whenever they wished to persuade him to do anything he was not inclined to do, they generally resorted to this weapon to effect their object. Accordingly, they began to try its virtues in the present case. They asked him if he was afraid to go out of sight of the house without his father’s leave, and how long he expected to be tied to his mother’s apron-strings. They had proceeded in this strain but a few moments, when Clinton’s’ resolution began to give out. He at first warmly denied that he was afraid to go; and a moment after, as if to convince them that it was not fear that kept him at home, he threw down his shovel, and exclaimed,—
“I don’t care,—I believe I will go, too.”
So, exchanging his thick boots for a light pair of shoes, he started for the pond with the other boys. It was not a very long walk,—taking the shortest path through the fields,—and they were soon tumbling and plunging about in the cool water, in high glee. Judging from their shouts of laughter, and the merry splashing they made in the calm lake, you would have supposed they were a happy set of boys. But Clinton, at least, was not quite so happy as he seemed. Something in his breast told him that he had done wrong in yielding to the solicitations of his comrades. The louder he laughed, the more plainly did he hear the voice within, saying, “Ah! Clinton, you have made a false step; you have yielded to a foolish temptation; you have disobeyed your father; you have betrayed his confidence,—and all for a few moments’ gratification.” He tried to drive these unpleasant thoughts from his mind, but they would not leave him. He was careful, however, not to let his companions see any traces of his uneasiness.
When they had been in the water nearly an hour, Clinton proposed returning home; but neither Oscar nor Jerry seemed inclined to do so. After waiting a little longer, Clinton concluded to go home alone, and proceeded to dry and dress himself. The other boys were so absorbed in their sport, that they scarcely noticed what he was doing.
Just as Clinton was about to start for home, Oscar took it into his head to have a sail on the lake. There was a sail-boat anchored a little way from the shore, near where they were bathing, which belonged to Squire Walcott. Oscar proposed to take possession of this boat, and Jerry readily fell in with his plan. The water where the boat lay was so shallow they could wade out to it; so they proceeded to dress themselves, preparatory to their excursion. Clinton knew that the Squire was very obliging, and was always willing to lend his boat to any one who knew how to manage it; and he was sorry that the boys were going to take it without leave. Indeed, he even remonstrated with them about it. But the only reply he got, was this from Oscar:—
“Who cares for old Walcott? Besides, he needn’t know anything about it, unless you go and tell him. You may go home, if you choose, but I’m bound to have a sail.”
Clinton got home before his parents returned; and, fortunately for him, Mr. Hardy came along soon after, and the message was delivered, so that this burden was removed from his conscience. He did not, however, feel exactly right in his mind; for though no harm had resulted from his absence, he had been guilty of something like a breach of trust, and his conscience continued to reprove him.
Jerry and Oscar amused themselves on the pond, for an hour longer; but though both of them attempted to act the skipper, neither knew much about managing a boat, and the result was, they run themselves aground, at a place where the bottom was soft mud, and were unable to get afloat again. It was half a mile from their starting place, and they did not know how they should get the boat back to its anchoring ground. They got into the water, and tried to push it off, but it refused to go. At length, wearied with their exertions, and with their clothes wet and dirty, they concluded to wade ashore, and leave the stolen boat to take care of itself. In going home, they avoided the road, as much as possible, and skulked through the woods, lest they should be seen; but after they had reached their home, and considered themselves beyond the danger of discovery, they began to treat the affair as a joke, and laughed to think how mad “old Walcott” would be, when he found his boat aground, half a mile from the place where it belonged. They did not seem to realize that they had acted meanly and wickedly, in taking possession without leave, of Squire Walcott’s boat, and in leaving it aground, without informing him of its whereabouts. If they could escape detection, it mattered little to them whether their conduct had been right or wrong.
These two boys were unlike Clinton, in many respects. Jerry,—or, to give, him his full name, Jeremiah Preston,—lived in the nearest farm-house to Mr. Davenport’s.[1] There was more than half a mile’s distance between the two families; but as there were no nearer neighbors, they were on pretty intimate terms. Jerry was but a few months older than Clinton, and the two boys had been playmates almost from the cradle. Mr. Preston was engaged in the logging and lumbering business, which required him to be away from home, in the forests, a large portion of the year. As Jerry’s mother did not succeed very well in governing her household, the long and frequent absences of Mr. Preston from his family were unfortunate for the children, especially for Jerry, who was the eldest child, and the only son. During the few months of each year the father spent at home, he was more inclined to humor his children, than to train them to obedience. Sometimes, it is true, in a moment of passion, he would punish Jerry severely, for some offence; but at another time, he would entirely overlook a much more serious fault. Under the influence of this bad training, it is not strange that Jerry was getting to be an ungovernable and mischievous boy.
Oscar Preston was a cousin to Jerry, who had recently come from Boston, to spend a few months in Brookdale. He was about a year older than Jerry, in age, but was several years his senior in bad habits. He had in fact become almost unmanageable at home, and it was on this account, as well as to get him away from the evil influences of the city, that his father sent him into the country. He had never been taught to labor, and as he now had nothing to do, and there was no school to attend, and no one to restrain him, he did not seem to grow much better by his banishment from home. It is said that idleness is the mother of mischief, and Oscar furnished daily proof of the truth of the saying. His adventure with the boat is but a specimen of the way in which he amused himself.
The influence of Oscar Preston upon the other boys in the village, and especially upon Jerry, from whom he was seldom separated, soon became very perceptible. He had seen more of the world than they, and never wearied of telling of the wonders of the city, often exaggerating his stories, to make them the more marvellous. In addition to this, he was naturally bright and intelligent, and was more genteelly dressed than the village boys; but the qualities that contributed most to his influence over his associates, were his daring spirit, and his imperious, commanding bearing, which seemed to mark him for a leader. But he had been permitted to have his own way so long at home, that he had become headstrong and unmanageable; and his evil passions were daily growing stronger, while the voice of conscience within him was as rapidly becoming weaker. It is sad, indeed, to see a youth growing up in this manner, for he is like the sailor who should go to sea in a frail boat, without anchor, rudder, or compass. He may be delivered from early destruction, through the mercy of Providence, but he will not escape many struggles and losses.