“Yes, sir, I know some trees back of our house that have been dead ever since I can remember, and are all rotten inside, and yet the bark looks as though it was alive.”
“That is because this oil in the bark preserves it from decay. And there is another curious thing about this tree—it is generally the first to spring up after a forest has been cut down, or burned over. I suppose most of these birches that we see around us, have grown up since the pines were cut down. They are not at all particular about their location, but will manage to flourish wherever they can find a standing place. They seem to take it for granted that a birch tree is better than no tree, and so they squeeze in and fill up the spaces in the forests, and settle down upon all unappropriated tracts. And in fact they are not to be despised; for they grow rapidly, are rather pretty, and are not only useful to tanners and school-masters, but their branches make strong withes, when green, and their wood makes good fuel, when seasoned.”
“Quite a catalogue of virtues,” remarked Clinton.
“Yes—and here we are, almost at Uncle Tim’s, nearly half through our journey,” added Mr. Davenport.
Mr. Lewis, or “Uncle Tim,” as he was always called, was an old pioneer, who settled down in this wilderness years ago, his “clearing” being many miles distant from any neighbor. This was the last house they would meet, on the road to the camp, and as Uncle Tim’s dwelling was a sort of tavern, at which all travellers over the road were accustomed to stop, Mr. Davenport had determined to rest Fanny there until the next morning.
CHAPTER XV.
THE CLEARING.
Uncle Tim was very glad to see Mr. Davenport and Clinton, as he always was to see travellers. He called Bill, one of his boys, to go and put up the horse, while he led the strangers into the house, where his wife had already set about preparing something for them to eat, for it was past noon, and the family had just finished their dinner.
Clinton soon slipped outside, to take a look at the premises, for his curiosity was much excited by the novel appearance of things. The clearing was very large, and not a native tree had been left upon it; but it was completely surrounded by a straight, unbroken line of forest, which looked like a perpendicular wall. The land consisted of gentle slopes and valleys, and was divided into separate fields, by fences made of stumps and logs. Nearly in the centre of the clearing stood the house and barn. They were both built of spruce logs, placed one upon another, cob-house fashion, the chinks between them being filled up with clay and moss. From the centre of the house rose a huge stone chimney. The windows were glazed in the common manner. As Clinton was looking around, Uncle Tim came out and spoke to him:—
“What do you think of it, young man?” he said; “do you suppose you could build as good a house as this, with nothing but an axe?”