The catastrophe! Who could describe it? Bill's strength was adequate, but no human power could save the pudding. Even as Bill put his strength on to the ladle, the wooden cover of the kettle split with a sharp concussion in the middle, the kettle was upset, and poor Bill, covered with ashes and pursued by a cloud of steam, shot out of the door and plunged into the snow.
Oh, laughter, sweet laughter, laugh on and laugh ever! In the smile of the babe thou comest from heaven. In the girl's rosy dimples, in the boy's noisy glee, in the humor of strong men, and the wit of sweet women, thou art seen as a joy and a comfort to us humans. When fortune deserts and friends fall away, he who keeps thee keeps solace and health, hope and heart, in his bosom. When the head groweth white and the eye getteth dim, and the soul goeth out through the slow closing gates of the senses, be thou then in us and of us, thou sweet angel of heaven, that the smile of the babe in its first happy sleep may come back to our faces as we lie at the gates in our last and—perhaps—most peaceful slumber!
The laughter and the labor of the day were ended. The work of preparation for the dinner on the morrow had extended well into the evening, and at its conclusion the two men, satisfied with the result of the pleasant task and healthily weary, retired to their cots. It is needless to say that the thoughts of each were happy and their feelings peaceful, and to such slumber comes quickly. Outside the world was white and still, with the stillness that precedes the coming of a winter storm. Through the voiceless darkness a few feathery prophecies of coming snow were settling lazily downward. The great stones in the fireplace were still white with heat, and the cabin was filled with the warm afterglow of burned logs and massive brands that ever and anon broke apart and flamed anew.
Suddenly the Trapper lifted himself on his couch, and, looking over toward his companion, said:—
"Bill, didn't ye hear the bells ring?"
Wild Bill lifted himself to his elbow, and in sheer astonishment stared at the Trapper, for he well knew there wasn't a bell within fifty miles. The old man noticed the astonishment of his companion and, realizing the incredibility of the supposition, said as if in explanation of the strangeness of his questioning:—
"This be the night on which memory takes the home trail, Bill, and the thoughts of the aged go backward." And, laying his head again on the pillow, he murmured: "I sartinly conceited I heerd the bells ringin'." And then he slept.
Aye, aye, Old Trapper; we of whitening heads know the truth of thy saying and thy dreaming. Thou didst hear the bells ring. For often as we sleep on Christmas eve the ringing of bells comes to us. Marriage peal and funeral knell, chimes and tolling, clash of summons and measured stroke, dying noises from a dead past swelling and sinking, sinking and swelling, like falling and failing surf on a wreck-strewn beach. Ah, me! where be the ships, the proud, white-sailed ships, the rich-laden ships, whose broken timbers and splintered spars lie now dank, weed-grown, sand-covered, on that sorrowful shore, on that mournfully resounding shore of our past?
