Then Plet indulged in charming smile and pout—
That she was "papa's darling" none could doubt.
She was his all upon life's pilgrimage,
A golden letter saved from vanished page,
The promised solace of his closing years,
A hope that came from out a time of tears:
Of children born to him the first and last,
The image of her well-loved mother passed.
Such Plet—whose noble, sympathetic heart
Had others caused to live a better part;
A petticoated, pranksome, daring scamp,
The dainty hoyden of a mining camp.
PART SECOND.
IV.
Jo was pure-minded. He possessed a force
That kept him always from the low and coarse;
If ugly vice and sin upon him frowned,
With head erect he firmly held his ground.
When siren Pleasure spread her silken net
He was not caught, nor made a conscience debt.
They found he was not of their kind—those men,
Who sought the brothel, drink-shop, gambling-den.
No goody-goody—it was known at length
His action came from courage and from strength,
And those who make a test were sure to find
His virtues were not of the meaner kind,
They came from purity and clean desires.
Not lack of passions strong, nor manly fires.
'Twas on a bright and noble summer day,
When fast the winter snow-drifts ebbed away;
The cloudless sky was like a crystal dome,
When Plet and father stood within "Our Home."
All nature blended in one vast, grand hymn
What time their nags came o'er the hollow's rim.
We saw them coming from our perch on high—
How quick the love-light sprang in poor Jo's eye!—
We hastened downward, Jo well on before,
And met them ere they reached the cabin door.
Their nags were hitched beneath a mighty spruce—
One grizzled, storm-worn arm stretched out for use—
And then—Oh! great, indeed, was Plet's delight,
When first she gazed upon the Babel height!
No less the gloom, the aged savageness,
Impressed her fancy than the gorgeous dress,
Brief summer lends to that high altitude
Between the fierce assaults of winter rude.
The solitude upon her senses wrought,
Each novel sight some exclamation brought!
We showed her "Dead Man's Corner," where was found
A hapless miner dead and wrapped around
With the same chilly shroud as on the day,
The ridge he tried—by snow was swept away.
Yet this—although it brought a pretty sigh—
But for a moment put her gay mood by.
The wonders of "Our Home" the girl beguiled
And made her buoyant as a happy child.
Then came a banquet. After that steep ride—
Plet's skill equestrienne none in camp denied—
What better than a tempting dish of fruit,—
So true the wild our mood did try and suit.
The visit to "Our Home" was timely sure,
Those strawberries were fit for epicure.
Among the creviced rocks the plants were spread,
The just ripe berries hanging rich and red;
And these were gathered. At their friendly board,
In every cheer and rich abundance stored,
We often sat. So now we gave our mite,
Their many pleasant favors to requite.
And yet to our desires how poor and mean,
How all inadequate the gift did seem.
And then came out—they seemed to think it sport—
Our two tin plates, it was our only sort.
But Plet's deft fingers quick transition made,
With fresh green leaves in starry pattern laid—
And while she praised the wild fruit's luscious taste
We thought how she our rustic dwelling graced.