“’Tis hard to think that thy father has been sorely wounded,” said Mrs. Parsons to Harry. “Perhaps it had been better had he remained at home.”
“Well, mother, all we can do is to hope for the best,” was the son’s reply.
“When are the others coming back?” questioned Harmony.
“The messenger could not say,” answered Joe. “I reckon he was too weak to take much account of what was going on, after he was knocked over.”
With the first sign of spring the boys prepared to go ahead with the work of clearing and tilling the land. This was hard labor for those so young in years, yet they went at the task manfully. They worked from five o’clock in the morning until sundown, with only a short rest for dinner.
One thing was in their favor—they remained perfectly healthy. While others got chills and fever and dumb ague, and other ailments incident to turning up new ground and working in meadow-like places, Joe and Harry hardly knew what a sick day was. Their appetites remained good, and gradually their muscles became as hard as iron.
They were not without their days of sport. Saturday was generally more or less of an “off day,” and if the youths did not go hunting, fishing, or swimming, they would join the other lads of the settlement in games or friendly contests—rowing, running, jumping, wrestling, or shooting at a target. The target-shooting made each a good shot, much to their own satisfaction.
“It’s a great thing to know you can depend on your eye if you are ever placed in a tight hole,” said Joe. “A clever shot may sometime save a fellow’s life.”
“As that shot of Colonel Boone’s saved mine,” added Harry.
Harry prided himself somewhat on his running, and when, one Saturday afternoon, a race was arranged between the young men and boys of the settlement he entered eagerly. The race was presided over by an old settler named Leary, who put up two prizes, a polished powder horn and a brass bullet-mold, the first one in to take his choice of the offerings.