It was now early winter, and the proper time to work in the woods.
“Do you think,” said Ben to Uncle Isaac, “I’d better hire Joe?”
“He asks great wages, but he’s the cheapest man you can hire, for all that. I’ve seen a man fall spars, so that they all had to be hauled out top foremost; it was like twitching a cat by the tail. Most men will break more or less masts, falling them, and soon throw away all their wages; but though Joe seems to be such a great heedless creature, there’s nothing pertains to falling, hauling, or rafting timber, that he don’t know; he can also shave shingles and rive staves, and will be just as profitable in stormy weather as at any other time.”
The next morning, as Ben and Joe were grinding their axes to attack the forest, they were very much surprised by a visit from Uncle Isaac.
“I felt,” said he, “as though I must look upon Elm Island once more, before the axe and firebrand went into it, and while it was as God made it. Perhaps it’s owing to my Indian bringing up, but I hate to see the forest fall; and when I have to go fifty miles to shoot a deer or a bear, the relish will be all taken out of life for me.”
“I feel very much as you do,” said Ben; “I know I shall spoil its beauty, but I see no other way to pay for it.”
“I’m not so sure of that; there’s no doubt but Congress, by and by, will give a bounty to fishermen; fishing is going to come up. Mr. Welch don’t want his money any more than a cat wants two tails; he told you to take your own time, and I’d take my time. I believe you can pay for this island by clearing only what you need for pasture and tillage. That will make quite a hole in your debt, and the rest you can pull out of the water.”
“But I don’t want to be a fisherman; I detest it; work all summer, and eat it all up in the winter; so much broken time, when it’s so windy you can’t fish, and can’t do anything else, for fear it will come good weather, and you will have to leave it.”
“That’s the right kind of talk; I like to hear you talk so; but you can fish till the land is yours—can’t you? All the time you are fishing, the timber will be growing, and then you can farm it to your heart’s content; farming is going to be a first-rate business, too. People round here are all stark mad about lumbering and fishing; they will touch anything but a hoe, and think barley ain’t worth thanking God for. Since the peace, the country is full of foreign goods, and they are ready to strip the land to get money to buy them. Nothing but French calico, silks, and satins, and all such boughten stuffs, will do for ‘my ladyship’ now. If people are going to work in the woods all winter, and drive the river and work in the mills all summer, I should like to know where the corn, hay, pork, and beef, to feed all these people that grow nothing, is to come from. I wonder if the people that stay at home and raise it won’t get a round price for it.”
“I’ve thought of that,” said Ben. “I know that a great many fishermen come here for supplies, must have them, and no time to run after them, and will give whatever the men ask that bring them alongside.”