“Like him! I love him, Charlie! After my father died, I don’t know what my mother would have done, if it had not been for Uncle Isaac. He used to come over and tell her to trust in God, and encourage her; tell Sam what to do, and plough for us, sow our grain, shear the sheep, and help us every way.”
“Perhaps he’ll like me, and let me call him Uncle Isaac, same as John does, when he’s acquainted with me.”
“I dare say he will.”
“Mother, does John ever come over here alone?”
“He never has; his folks don’t like to have him.”
“Then I shall do to-morrow more than he’s ever done; leastways, I’ll try.”
“I don’t know as it is hardly the thing for you to go; ’tis a good ways.”
“It is not much farther than I go a fishing. I wish you could see how I can make my canoe hum, if I have a mind to; come down to the shore just a minute, and see how quick I can pull over to the White Bull and back.”
Sally went down. Charlie got into the canoe, took his oars, spit on his hands, and stretched himself for a mighty effort. The canoe went through the water in fine style; but, when about half way to the Bull, one of the thole-pins broke short off, Charlie went over backwards into the bottom of the canoe, and had to paddle back with one oar.
“Never mind, Charlie,” said she; “I can see that you make her go like anything.”