“And why?”
“Don’t you know? Why, Martha’s baby had fits, and she accused good old Mother Martin of working a spell on the child, because Mother Martin was over there when the spell came on, and you know then Martha tried to put a spell on Mother Martin, and she could only get it off by borrowing something if she had been a witch.”
“And was Mother Martin really a witch?”
“No, of course not. No one believed it of her. She is a good old woman, and the minister said it was but spleen and ignorance that made Martha Mackin think so. But it didn’t distress Mother Martin any the less.”
With such chatter did the girls pass the day as the boat floated down the river. Well wrapped in furs they kept fairly comfortable, yet they were not sorry when their journey was ended and they started for the new lands, the girls full of talk, but the men silent and watchful. They had little to begin the world with, for their ruined cabins had held most of their belongings, but with an axe and a rifle the frontiersman felt himself sufficiently well equipped to face his future.
The settlement to which they were going was much larger than the one they had left, and there were willing hands to help them, therefore a new log-cabin was not long in being erected. Then came the question to Agnes of what would be best for her and her father. It was hard to arouse him sufficiently to take an active interest in their affairs, and Agnes, too proud to be dependent upon their good friends, at last determined to strike out for herself and discover how matters stood with reference to her grandfather’s land. She had mentioned the subject once or twice to Mr. M’Clean, but he had replied, “Plenty of time yet,” and the girl felt that she ought not to expect him to leave his own important work to attend to her affairs. The country around was well cleared, and she would herself make inquiries and go to find out about this land. She would make her plans before she told any one. It hurt her that her father should be so indifferent, and yet she was vaguely aware that he could not help it. For this very reason she yearned to get him off to a home of their own, and then send for her mother. Together they could take the helm and could protect him from any outside criticism till he was well again.
“That’s what mother would tell me to do,” she told herself. “Father will do anything he is told, but he cannot think for himself, poor father.”
It was with this thought on her mind that she made her inquiries concerning her grandfather’s farm. It was to old Dod Hunter that she put her questions. He was the earliest settler in the neighborhood, and knew every one. He was always on hand to welcome a newcomer, and was not slow in making the acquaintance of the M’Cleans and the Kennedys.
He was starting for home one day when Agnes waylaid him on the edge of the wood. “I want to talk to you, Mr. Hunter,” she said; “can you stop a minute?”
He leaned his rifle against a tree, folded his arms and looked her up and down. “I reckon I kin spare ye a few minutes,” he made answer. “What’s the talk?”