“Sartain you can,” replied the senior; “if you are steady and industrious and learn to work, when you have done here you can obtain all the work you want at good wages. It takes but little money to buy wild land. You can go where land is cheap and begin as I did.”
This was an idea too large for James to grasp, and seemed, though magnificent, altogether fantastic. He again smiled incredulously, and repeated to himself in a low tone, “Such as me have a farm!”
“Why do you say such as me?” replied the senior, who overheard the remark. “If you want to be a man, and to be well thought of and respected, and to have friends, all in the world you have to do in this country is to learn to work and read and write and be honest; and nobody is going to ask or care who your father was, all they will want to be satisfied about is as to what you are. There’s nothing can hinder you, nothing can keep you down.
“But there’s another thing, and it is of more consequence than all the rest. If you want to feel right and prosper, fear the Lord who giveth food to man and beast.
“When I came into these woods, all I had left after paying for my land was the clothes on my back, my rifle, a few charges of powder and shot, a narrow axe and a week’s provisions; all my wife had was her spinning-wheel, cards, a few pounds of wool, two pewter plates, one bottle and the clothes on her back and some blankets. I carried a pack on my back, and my axe, and hauled the other stuff on a sledge—for it was the last of March and there was plenty of snow in the woods—she carried my rifle and a bundle.”
“But, Mr. Whitman,” said James, “if it was all woods and nobody lived near, where were you and your wife going to stop?”
“My intention was to cut out a place to build a log-house, and I had expected to reach the spot at noon, so as to be able to make a bush camp by night to shelter us while building; but the travelling was bad, the sun was down before reaching the spot and we came into the woods by twilight.
“I built a fire after scraping away the snow with a piece of bark, and as we sat by it and listened to the sound of the wind among the trees, you don’t know how solemn it seemed.”
“I should have thought you would have felt afraid,” said Bertie.
“I had been well instructed, and both myself and wife had professed to fear God—and did fear him—but we did not fear much else, though we had but a week’s food, and were nine miles from any human being. We knelt down together and I told my Maker there and then, that my wife and I were a couple of his poor children; that she was an orphan and had been put out since she was twelve years of age and had never had any home of her own. That we had nothing but our hands, and health, and strength, and were about to begin for ourselves in His woods; and wanted to begin with His blessing. That we would try to do right, and if we found any poorer or worse off than ourselves, would help them and be content with and thankful for whatever He gave us, be it little or much.