Summerfield / or, Life on a Farm

by Day Kellogg Lee

A cold thrill of horror ran around from heart to heart, and it was well for the Fabenses that they did not arrive, or hear the cry, until a glance before the grieving company showed them the remains of a deer, and reserved a faint hope for the morrow.

To-morrow came and went, with no tidings of poor Clinton. Another and another day was spent by several, who still insisted that the boy must be alive. Mother Fabens' dream made a strong impression, and it held them up from utter despair; while the Indians added a little more to their courage by denying that the captive fawn was killed by them; for they had not killed a fawn in a great while. The white people all believed more or less in portents, warnings and dreams; and trusting a little to their vaticination now, they could not yield the lingering hope that he was still alive. But when they came to reason, that hope was quite extinguished. Had he been alive, and within any reasonable distance, he would have been discovered. But no trace of him could be found even by the sharp-sighted Indians; and then the screams of those panthers, on the first dismal night, increased the probability of his awful fate. Still a search was continued by three or four, and on the fifth day, they discovered a hat about a mile from the path he was pursuing, and it was found to be Clinton's, and a present to him from a cousin in Cloverdale. Again was the settlement set in commotion, and again many surmises and opinions were expressed regarding the poor boy's fate.

But after that, no trace in wood or field was discovered to clear up the painful mystery. The people settled down into the belief that a panther had taken him, and after he had carried him that distance, on the way to his dark lair in the forest, the hat fell from his drooping head, and the loose leaves settled partly over it, and concealed it from view on the first day's search. The parents of the child, and all his friends, except Mother Fabens, were forced at last to the dreadful conclusion which assured them their little fondling was no more; and their grief was deep and lasting. And Mother Fabens grieved sadly with the others; but the impression of her dream still whispered hope to her soul; and the liberation of the fawn she had never forgotten. And when she sickened and died a few months after, she said "it was more than possible that Matthew and Julia might live long enough to see Clinton alive again on earth."

But her kindly-attempted consolations could rally their hopes no more. It was a thought that wrung their desolate hearts; but they were forced to regard their lost boy as having perished in the grasp of some wild beast. And that was the grief of griefs. With all the faith and hope they could command, it shook them and bowed them down, and all the bright world for a while looked dreary and sad on their account. It gave them ghastly dreams. It burdened their waking reveries. It wailed in the winds, it wound the sunbeams, flowers and trees with weeds of melancholy wo. [Transcriber's note: woe?]

In the darkest day, however, their faith and hope did not quite desert them; and after the first heavy stroke, these Christian graces rose up and strengthened them; and never were comforts so sweet as those received from the Scriptures and from their religious trusts.

"God is good," said Fabens. "He may give us trials and griefs—and we have had a portion. He may tear our beloved from us when least of all it may seem we can spare them. His Providence may appear in the storm and tempest; in anguish, bereavement and death; still he is good, and he will bring good out of evil."

X.

THE SUGAR PARTY.

Time went on its course like the constant roll of waters, and seasons came and went as usual in the Waldron Settlement. A deep and early snow having fallen, and remained with frequent additions, a long and rigorous winter reigned in absolute sway. But now, on the last of February, the sun wheeled high on his circuits; thaws and rains ensued, and the first robin on the leafless maple sang, sweet harbinger of spring. Winter recalled his tyrant ministers, or restrained them in their wrath; and milder days and warmer skies appeared in pleasant alternation, with many still of tempest and gloom.

The milder days multiplied; the snow had less depth on the earth, and now came on the season of sugar making. In all our forest region magnificent sugar maples abounded like an orchard, and Fabens prepared for his spring encampment in the bush. His shanty was repaired with new bark on the roof, and a fresh carpet of clean wheat straw on the rough bark floor; his kettles were hung; his troughs were turned up by the trees and cleaned of the mould and cobwebs of the last season; sleek slanting boxes were cut in the sides of the noble maples in the process of tapping, and spouts driven under to conduct the sap to the troughs; and quick was his step and diligent his labor, to gather and boil so fast that his troughs would not run over.