The orchard was upon a southern exposure, sheltered by cliffs, forests, and rising ground from cold and blighting winds, and the bowlders, sprinkled here and there over the surface of the land, were granite. Enjoying all these advantages of soil and exposure, protected with jealous care from the encroachments of cattle, the trees grew more in one year than they would in one of our old exhausted fields in four. Ben, excessively proud of them, stimulated their growth by every means in his power, especially as he expected Mr. Welch to make him another visit before long, and wanted to show him what could be done on Elm Island, as he had expressed some doubts if apple trees would do anything so near the sea.
He was now engaged in burning the weeds and brush, which had been previously cut and piled up, intending to scatter the ashes around the roots of the young trees. He was also removing the stumps, a sharp drought proving very favorable to his operations. There were a few pine stumps on the piece, which, when not too near an apple tree, were set on fire, and completely exterminated, the fire following the roots into the dry soil, and living there sometimes for weeks.
The greater proportion of the stumps were rock-maple, beech, birch, and oak. The roots of these had become a little tender, and by chopping off some of the larger ones, could be upset and wrenched from the soil with oxen, aided by a pry, to which the great strength of Ben, supplemented by that of Yelf, was applied. Setting cattle for a severe pull, and making them do all they know how, seems to consist in something more than practice. It is a gift, and it was one that Ben possessed in perfection.
When a lad, before he went to sea, he was considered the best teamster in town, except Uncle Isaac. It was the same with Charlie, who had not been accustomed to cattle till he came to the island, while John Rhines, who had all his life been used to driving oxen, evinced neither inclination nor capacity for it. As for Robert Yelf, he couldn’t, to save his life, make four cattle pull together, and always, when he got stuck, took off the leading cattle. Those who do possess this gift, like to exercise it: there is to them a strange fascination in driving oxen, so dull and stupid a business to others. It was thus with Ben; no music was so sweet to him as the singing of the links of a chain and the creaking of the bows in the yoke as the cattle settled themselves for a severe pull, their bellies almost touching the ground. He had a noble team,—six oxen,—the smallest ox in the team girthing seven feet three inches, fat and willing. He had them so perfectly trained, that after attaching them to the stump, and placing them for a twitch, he and Yelf would apply their strength to the pry, Ben would speak to the oxen, rip, tear, snap would go the great roots, out would come the stump, taking with it earth, stones, and bushes, while Bennie would scream, “Get up, Star, you old villain!” pounding on the ground with his stick, till he was red in the face, the baby sitting in his little cart, would crow, and Sailor bark in concert.
It is often that friends, for whom we have been persistently watching, surprise us after all, when we least expect them; it was so in the present instance. Ben was so much occupied in his work that day (and having been disappointed), that after taking a look in the morning, he had not again inspected the bay.
As for Sally, after having cooked up a lot of niceties to welcome the boys, and running to the door to look the greatest part of the time for three or four days, she concluded that something had delayed them at Portland, and there was no telling when to look for them.
Since the stump-pulling had commenced, and the fires been started, Bennie, having changed his playground from the green before the front door, which commanded a full view of the bay, to the orchard, was busily employed roasting clams by a fire made under a pine stump; Sailor was helping him, the cat patiently waiting for her share of the repast, the baby asleep in the cradle, and Sally busy getting dinner. Aided by all these circumstances, the boys entered the cove unperceived, and with all the caution of whalemen approaching a slumbering whale.
“What a splendid wharf!” whispered Charlie to John, as silently they crept along the footpath to the house, expecting every moment to hear an alarm. The hop-vine had covered half the roof, and reached the chimney in one broad belt of green, the honeysuckle hung in fragrant festoons around the door and windows; Charlie gave John a punch, and pointed to them, which was answered by a nod.
The doors were all open, for it was a warm day. Slipping off their shoes, they passed on to the kitchen. Sally was frying fish in the Dutch oven, and talking to herself all the while.
“I don’t see what has got those boys: they ought to have been here a week ago. Here I, and all of us, have been watching, and I have been cooking, to have something nice for them when they come. There are the custards, that John likes so well, as sour as swill; the cake all mouldy, and the chicken pie soon will be. Charlie likes warm biscuit so well, I thought we should see them when they got to the other shore, and then I should have time to bake some, and have them piping hot when they get here; now I don’t know what to do. There’s that mongrel goose, the first one we have ever killed, Charlie thought so much of them, and took so much pains to raise them, I did mean he should help eat the first one. O dear, I wish I hadn’t killed it; but now it’s killed and cooked we must eat it, or it will spoil; Charlie ain’t here, nor like to be.”