At this moment the few savages who had remained standing, threw themselves prone upon the earth.
CHAPTER II.
THE HINTON FAMILY AND THEIR FATE.
Eight years before the opening of our story, Elisha Hinton, removing from his New England home, with his wife and three children, had located in the western land of promise. Being frugal and industrious, a few years found the happy family comfortably settled, surrounded by all the abundant blessings conferred by the productive soil and the ancient forest.
But to them, as all others, bitter was mixed with the sweet. The pet of the family—little Ella—the youngest daughter, sickened. All the medical skill of the region round about was resorted to, but in vain. Day by day she wasted away, becoming paler and thinner, until it was fully apparent to the sorrowing friends that she could not long survive. And, while they hung grief-stricken about her couch, she clasped those little transparent hands, murmured fondly of the bright home above, and passed away.
Shortly after this bereavement, the settlement in which Elisha resided became involved in factious quarrels and divisions. Nothing was further from the character of the man, and, as the last alternative, he resolved to remove to the very verge of civilization. Here, far from all disturbing causes, Mr. Hinton had passed five years, devoting his time to the instruction of his remaining children, George and Emily. The latter, especially, was it the delight of her parents to instruct and prepare for the life before her. Emily proved an apt scholar—far exceeding educational acquirements others of her position.
One year, before this tale opens, the wife and mother had suddenly sickened and died. With breaking hearts they made her a grave beneath the wide-spreading branches of an old oak, and here consigned her to that unbroken rest where there should be no more of sorrow or pain.
The afternoon which initiates this story had been the first mournful anniversary of the day when she was laid to rest. As the sun sunk from sight, the family group gathered about the cabin door. Elisha Hinton, as was his wont, took from its rest the worn family Bible, and read from its pages the words of hope and consolation: “I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you. Yet, a little while and the world seeth me no more; but ye shall see me; because I live, ye shall live also.” With moving pathos the words fell from the lips of the father, and, as the last sound floated upon the calm evening air, he closed the book, and bowed his head upon his hands.
“My children,” he said, after a slight pause, “this is to me a solemn day. One year since your dear mother passed away, leaving us weary pilgrims to follow, and meet her in the fullness of time in a happier land. I know not why it should be so, but, it has seemed to me to-day that her spirit was near, whispering me to hasten and meet her in that blissful land, where partings are unknown. There sin and suffering never come, and turmoil and dissensions are never known!”
The simple worshippers sat thus, conversing of topics most closely connected with their present, till darkness settled about them; then, with a cheerful good-night, they separated, each seeking their quiet cots.