“Weel, weel, we hae one leevin’ thing left us. O’ a’ oor crop there is naething to the fore but the unthreshed wheat, an’ mickle o’t is useless from the sojers using it to lie on.”
“Was it right, father, for them to take your property without paying you?”
“Pay me! The thocht o’ paying a subject o’ the King never entered their heids. Micht is richt wi’ them. What we are to do is no just clear to me yet, but we’ll trust in Him wha has never failed to supply oor bite an’ sup. Only, Maggie, ye maun for yer mither’s sake put a cheerfu’ face on’t an’ mak the best o’t.”
“Hoot, father, what gars ye doot me? We hae aye been provided for an’ sae will we yet, says the auld sang. You take the canoe an’ go down to Morrison’s an’ see what you can get there to keep us going until the morn, an’ while you’re away I’ll red the house an’ hae a’ ready for supper gin mither wakens.”
With brightened face and hopeful step the old man did as asked and did not return empty-handed. Over the frugal meal the situation was discussed and both the husband and daughter were glad to see that the calamity that had overtaken them so far from overwhelming Mrs Forsyth, roused her, and revived the active and hopeful spirit that had been a feature in her character before ailments and age had overtaken her. Long and earnest was the consultation by the fireside that night, and many a plan proposed to tide over the long months that must intervene before another harvest could be reaped. As bed-time drew near, the father lifted down the book, and after they had sung the 23rd psalm, he read the 17th chapter of First Kings, and poured out his heart in thanksgiving for the unnumbered blessings bestowed upon him and his, and, above all, for the departure of the invader.
Two days afterwards, when it had become assured that Hampton was in leisurely retreat whence he came, those of the militia, at Baker’s camp, who wished were given leave to go to their homes, and the Forsyth lads returned. They were much exasperated at the plundered state of their home, and more provoked than before at the policy which permitted the enemy to journey back over 24 miles of Canadian territory without attempt to harass him. Leaving the scanty pay they had received as soldiers, it was arranged they should go lumbering for the winter, their wages to be sent home as they got them. The winter proved a hard one. The presence of so large a body of troops had consumed much of the produce the settlers needed for themselves, and although they had been paid what they considered at the time good prices they now found it difficult to procure what they wanted from Montreal. The result to the Forsyths was, that their neighbors were unable to give them much help and had it not been that the miller at the Basin gave credit, they would have been sometimes in actual want. Despite the bareness of the cupboard, the winter was a happy one: the very effort to endure and make the best of their hard lot conducing to cheerfulness. When the snow began to melt, the sons returned, and the new clearing at which the father had worked all winter was made ready for seed, so that more land than before was put under a crop. The pinch was worst in July and until the potatoes were fit to eat. After that there was rude plenty and an abundant harvest was reaped.
With returning comfort Mrs Forsyth began to fail. Whether it was the effects of the lack of usual food, or the strain to help the family having been beyond her strength, signified little. With the coming of the snow she began to lose strength and, as her husband saw with deep sorrow, “to dwine awa.” She accepted her lot uncomplainingly, studying how to give least trouble, and spending her days between her bed and the easy chair by the fireside, generally knitting, for she said she hoped to leave them a pair of stockings apiece. The New Year had passed and the days were lengthening when it was plain her rest was near.
It was a beautiful day when she asked that her chair be moved so that she could see out at the window. The brilliant sunlight fell on the snow that shrouded the winding course of the Chateaugay and flecked the trees, while a blue haze hung in the distance that prophesied of coming spring. “A bonnie day,” she remarked.
“Ay,” replied Maggie, “warm enough to be a sugar day.”
“It’s ower fine to last and there will be storms and hard frost afore the trees can be tapped,” said Mrs Forsyth, “an’ I’ll no be here to help.”