“Go then,” I said; and the boy darted off at once through the densest part, while we followed cautiously, for there was the possibility of some of the Indians lurking about still.
But in a few minutes Pomp was back, looking very serious, but ready to tell us at once that no one was there.
Upon this we pushed on rapidly, and soon stood in the midst of our lovely clearing, framed in by the forest, where everything seemed more beautiful than ever, except in one place, where, with the strands of creepers already beginning to encroach on the blackened ruins, lay a heap of ashes, with here and there some half-burned timbers and ends of boards.
I felt a choking sensation as I looked at the ruins, and thought of how many pleasant hours I had passed there with my father, and now I could only just trace out where the rooms had been, so complete was the destruction the fire had made.
Not that it was surprising, the whole place having been built solidly of the finest pine from the sandy tract between us and the little river—wood that I knew would blaze up when dry and burn with a fierce resinous flame.
But it seemed so pitiful that the delightful little home, with all the pleasant surroundings, over which my father had toiled to make it as much as possible like an English country home, should have been entirely destroyed. And for what?
Ah, it was a hard question to answer. But I supposed then that as we had come into the land the savages looked upon as their special hunting-ground, they considered that they had a right to destroy.
I tore myself away from the heap of black and grey ashes, and rejoined Morgan, who said nothing, but accompanied me then around the garden, which to our great surprise we found untouched. It was weedy, and beginning to show a great want of the master’s hand, but otherwise it looked delightful after the desolation I had just left.
“Seems hard as my part should have escaped, and your part be all burnt up, Master George,” said Morgan, slowly. “But it ar’n’t my fault. I’d almost rather they’d ragged the garden to pieces, and cut down the trees, than have burnt the house.”
“It can’t be helped,” I said, thankful for the sympathetic way in which the man spoke, and at the same time a little amused at his considering the garden his part, and the house wherein he always lived too as being ours.