The sum which had been pledged by the settlers was not sufficient for the support of the missionary’s family; and although the treasurer exerted himself to the utmost, he could only collect a portion of what was due from those whose names were on the subscription paper. No one felt the inconvenience of this more than the clergyman’s wife. She was a good manager, and had a wonderful faculty for making “one dollar go as far as three, and getting up meals out of nothing,” as her husband often remarked. But it must be confessed, that with the keen appetites brought to them on the wings of the prairie winds, the little household sometimes rose from the scantily-furnished table hungry for more.
Mr. Payson, under these circumstances, would comfort her with anticipations of future abundance. They knew, indeed, that most of the settlers had newly arrived, and had everything to buy, as they had not been long enough settled to 159 raise anything from the ground. But a year had now elapsed, and many acres of the rich soil had been turned over and planted, and there was prospect of abundant returns. The missionary, being unaccustomed to farming, and wishing to devote his energies, as far as practicable, to the spiritual interests of his growing charge, had let out his tillable ten-acre lot to a neighbor, to be cultivated on shares, reserving a little spot for himself, which he had planted to early potatoes, and a good variety of garden vegetables. As the one who carried on the rest of the piece was an intelligent and experienced farmer, and had facilities for the work in the way of teams and men, the clergyman felt that he might reasonably calculate on a supply of corn and wheat, to which crops the ground had been devoted. And nowhere was there promise of a larger yield than on that quick and productive river bottom. The corn grew to a prodigious height, crowded with mammoth ears, and the wheat emulated the corn; while the squash and pumpkin vines conducted as if on a race to see which would beat in the number and size of their fruit; and Mr. Payson’s pet sorghum–a species of sugar-cane–shot up to a marvellous perfection. It is true that a neighbor’s unruly cattle had broken into the enclosure a number of times; and a contrary sow, with her lively family of eleven, had also made 160 sundry plundering raids, causing the minister considerable trouble in driving and keeping out the intruders; but he had already a fine supply of seasoned oak rails under way for perfecting the fences; and he cheerily said to his wife,–
“Another year, and I’ll defy the unruliest animals in the settlement to steal an ear of corn or a potato from my lot.”
Summer had now faded into late autumn, and one day the farmer, who had charge of the field, called at Mr. Payson’s, looking very dejected.
“Elder,” said he, “our farming this year is going to be losing business.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the clergyman.
“You see,” he replied, “most of the settlers, like myself, came from a warmer climate than this. We were told also that the growing season was as long here as there, and brought our choicest seed with us. But there is not time for it to ripen; and our corn will not do to grind, nor will it keep, it is so green. It is a great disappointment to me; but most of the neighbors are in the same situation.”
Words cannot describe what sad tidings these were to the missionary.
“The wheat is good–is it not?” he inquired. 161
“Yes; but you know there was little sown, as the ground was best adapted to corn.”