CHAPTER II.
The rays of the evening sun were now sinking beneath the horizon, shedding a golden glory over the landscape, and speaking in fair promise of a fine day on the morrow. “It is time we went home again, before the dews begin to fall,” said Mrs. Ward, as she rose from her seat; and then, pointing to the western sky, she added: “How beautiful!—‘These are thy glorious works, Parent of good. Let us praise God, whose glory is shown in the works of His hands; for day unto day uttereth speech; night unto night showeth knowledge.’ I hope you, my dear George, will never be one of those who have eyes that see not, and ears that cannot hear. Your dear grandfather was only a little boy when he began to think of the great things of another world, and at the age of fifteen he solemnly devoted himself to the service of God his Saviour.”
“Dear Grandmamma, I should like to know more about him. You promised to tell me about one of his journeys in Newfoundland; and now here we are, home again, and tea is set out in readiness, as I can see through the open window.” The little party was soon comfortably seated at the social meal, when Master George’s health was pledged in the cup “that cheers but not inebriates;” and he regaled himself on choice plum-cake made by the dear old lady herself for that special occasion, taking care, every now and then, to break off a bit and throw it to Boxa, who sat by his side, wagging her tail, in evident expectation of tit-bits.
“Shall we have candles?” asked Mrs. Ward, when the tea-things were being removed, “or would you like best to sit in the twilight and watch the rising moon?”
“I vote for twilight and the moon,” said George, placing his grandmother’s arm-chair in a cozy nook, from which she could see abroad; and then, seating himself on the stool at her feet, he waited till she should begin the promised story.
“It was in the spring of the year, 1835, when your grandfather undertook a tour of visitation to the southern and western shores of Newfoundland, for the purpose of ministering to the scattered families in the remote settlements of that region. He left me at St. John’s in the month of March, as travelling over the snow in the island is considered less difficult in that month than walking overland is at any other season of the year. When we parted I knew that he was going on a laborious and painful journey, but I had formed no idea of the dangers to which he would be exposed, or my heart would indeed have sunk within me. He took with him a guide to pilot him through the country; a man who was reckoned very skilful and experienced, and who had lived some time with the Micmac Indians, one of the aboriginal tribes. They had not advanced far on their way when they missed the route, and could only ascertain the points of the compass by observing the inclination of the topmost branches of the juniper or larch trees.”
“How could they know by that means, grandmamma?”
“Because the juniper or larch always points to the east, thus affording them a secure indication, by means of which they regained the path some time after night-fall.