If any one had told him, that before the sun had again been reflected in those calm waters half a score of times, some scenes would be enacted there that would change the whole course of his life, George would not have put the least faith in the statement; but it would have been the truth, nevertheless.
CHAPTER IV.
A HOME IN THE WOODS.
Having taken time to cool off and recover his breath, George once more lifted his bundle to his shoulder and resumed his journey. He had not more than two miles to go now, and as he followed the beach, where the walking was good, it took him but a short time to cover the distance.
The next time he threw down his bundle it was in front of a snug little cabin, built of rough logs, and situated on a little rise of ground that commanded a fine view of the lake.
“Things are all right outside,” said George to himself, as he took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the padlock with which the heavy slab door was secured; “and that is something to wonder at. There are lots of mean boys in the village, and I was afraid that some of them had been up here during my absence. Everything seems to be all right inside, too,” he added, as the door swung open and the interior of the cabin was disclosed to view.
George stepped across the threshold as he spoke, and this was what he saw: A room twelve or thirteen feet square, with a heavy, ungainly-looking scow turned bottom upward in the middle of it; a wide fire-place with a stick chimney and a stone hearth; over it a rough mantelpiece, on which stood a lamp and several books; at the opposite end an open cupboard piled with bright tin dishes; under the cupboard a table and two or three stools, all made of slabs—and neatly made, too; in a corner, near the door, a pair of oars and a small sprit-sail made of unbleached muslin; and lastly, a cord hammock, with two quilts, as many blankets, and a pillow in it.
There was no floor in the cabin, and neither were there any windows. The ground, which was almost as hard as the stone that formed the hearth, was easily kept clean, and the door, being allowed to stand open during the daytime, except in very stormy weather, admitted all the light that was necessary.
Some boys would have thought this a very cheerless and uninviting home, and so it was, but it was the only one George had. He had lived in the hope of some day being able to provide himself with a better.
“There’s one thing about it,” thought the boy, as he placed several sticks of round wood upon the ground and made preparations to roll the heavy scow out of the cabin, “I am my own master. There is no one to tell me what I shall do and what I shall not do, and all the money I make is my own. If I had agreed to Uncle Ruben’s proposition, I should have to go hungry and half clad, listen to a scolding from Aunt Polly Ann every hour in the day, and now and then I’d have to take a cowhiding from Uncle Ruben. I’d much rather live here alone than with them, and I don’t care if I never see—”
George’s soliloquy was interrupted by a sound that startled him—the clatter of a horse’s hoofs on the gravelly beach. He looked out at the door, and was astonished to see Uncle Ruben riding toward the cabin.