“He certainly can, Mr. Medford,” replied Ed, not waiting for Rob to reply, “He can beat Mother baking beans, and as for bread—”
“Stop your foolishness, Ed,” broke in Rob, blushing red.
“But see here, boys, I must have a cook, and if you will take the place, Rob, I will give you forty-five dollars a month for four months, and your wages will begin today.”
Rob gasped at the thought of so much money. “I’ll see father” he replied.
Mrs. Allen was averse to allowing her boy to spend the winter among such rough men as the woods crews were known to be, but Mr. Allen said it would “toughen the fiber of the lad” and gave his consent.
Alas, how many parents mistakenly think that association with evil, and even evil experiences are a necessary part of the education of youth. Nothing can be further from the truth. Instead of a benefit, such association can but result in harm. If, in after life, the youth should come into clean ways, the deep scars of evil will remain, and he will carry with him to the grave that which he would fain forget.
For the first fifty miles the crew were able to get their meals at least twice a day at rough wayside taverns, themselves but little better than camps, but which afforded shelter and an abundance of food, such as it was. Then the trail led up into the unbroken wilderness of forest, where camps must needs be made at night, and there Rob’s winter work began.
There was something solemn and majestic about the big woods. There was little undergrowth, and the ground was covered deep with the rich, brown carpet of needles. The tall trunks of the great pines rose straight to the dark canopy above, like the pillars of some vast cathedral. The very silence was suggestive of worship—the low moaning of the high-up tops came to the ears as a soft, opening, minor strain from some grand organ.
A dead, dry pine was felled, logs sawed from it and split, a fire built, and soon a bed of glowing coals was ready for the great pans of frying salt pork. Two crotched sticks were driven into the ground a few feet apart, and a pole laid across them, upon which the big coffee kettle was swung, and under it a good fire was soon going. Then biscuit dough was mixed—not with milk, but with clear, cold water from the river—and placed in the baker. This arrangement was something like a three-leaved book made of tin, with folding legs for the upper and lower leaves. When opened before the bed of glowing coals—the bread being placed upon the middle leaf—it was a no mean substitute for an oven.
Tin plates and cups, iron knives and forks and spoons, were distributed; a jug of molasses and a bowl of brown sugar were placed handy, and the cry of “Chuck’s ready!” was given. Not very appetizing!—perhaps not to you, my reader, but with these hardy men, living out of doors, at strenuous labor, bread and meat and strong coffee, with plenty of fats and sweets to fortify against the bitter cold, were eagerly consumed, especially when on the march. Later, when in permanent camp, a greater variety of food would be prepared.