CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BOY IN THE TREE.
Charlie was a boy who naturally loved adventure. He was excitable, and yet had a reserved power, which, in great emergencies, made him cool and brave. He was fertile in expedients, and, when aroused, experienced a rollicking enjoyment in danger. In the little settlement he came across an old copy of Robinson Crusoe, and, charmed with its romantic descriptions, conceived the idea of becoming another Crusoe. But there was a serious obstacle in his way. He could not convert a prairie into an ocean, and get shipwrecked. Yet if he lacked salt water, there was many a man Friday at hand,–for he mentally promoted every friendly Indian to that office,–and there were plenty of cannibals in the shape of disaffected Indians who were already threatening the settlements with depredation and carnage. Now, Charlie, to enjoy his book under congenial circumstances, and where he would not be interrupted by his mother saying, “Charlie, bring some wood,” and “Charlie, get some water,” 238 and the various et-ceteras of domestic duty to which boys of his age and active habits are liable, looked about for some safe retreat, and chanced to find, one day, in the woods near at hand, a large, hollow tree. Many a time had he passed it, and not discovered the welcome fact. The entrance was effectually concealed by a tangled clump of bushes. Had they taken it specially in hand to grow in such a way as to hide the hole in the tree, they could not have done it more thoroughly; and nobody but a prying young Crusoe of Charlie’s qualifications would have spied out the entrance. Having discovered it, he would creep slyly in, and, by means of the light let in through a hole higher up in the trunk, would pore over the haps and mishaps of the Juan Fernandez hero, and imitate his achievements as well as he could.
It got to be a great mystery what became of Charlie through the long hours of the day. He could hear and see much of what passed around him, and, with imperturbable gravity, would sit in his sly retreat, making no answer, while his mother would come to the cabin door, and call, in silvery treble,–
“Charlie! Charlie! Where are you, Charlie?”
And then, in turn, the father would make his appearance, and shout, in masculine bass,– 239
“Charlie, Charlie, your mother wants yer. Why don’t you come?”
After a while Sarah would be despatched to search for him, and her girlish voice would repeat the parents’ calls as she looked everywhere in vain.
Then, when he returned to the house, to the accustomed inquiry, “Why, where have you been? We’ve been calling you, and hunting everywhere for you,” he would reply, with the utmost nonchalance, “O, only out here;” at which Sarah would retort, impatiently, “I know better than that; for I hunted all round for you, and you wasn’t anywhere to be seen;” and Charlie respond, with compassionate condescension, “Pooh! girls are great at hunting!”
Now, it was very wrong in Charlie to be so dumb when his parents wanted him, and to cause them so much concern by his unexplained absence; but he justified it to his own conscience on the ground that it was in keeping with his character as second Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe, in his estimation, was the greatest and most glorious man that ever lived. Charlie had taken him for his model in life; and it would derogate from the dignity of his position, while enacting the man Crusoe,–“monarch of all he surveyed,”–to obey as the child Charlie. He was willing, when in the house, to do what was expected of 240 him, as a boy under subjection; but when he was in his Crusoe cave, alias the hollow tree, he was altogether another person; and he reasoned, in order to have things in harmony, he must act accordingly.