“Now I’m going to tell you a story,” said Uncle Tim, “that happened a good many years ago, up in Vermont. I guess it was afore I was born, but never mind, it may be just as new to you, for all that. There were three brothers that went from Massachusetts and settled close together in the wilderness, up there. They all lived in one log hut, and ate out of the same porringer, but each fellow had his own patch of land, and as it was pleasanter being together than alone, they agreed to take turns in working upon each other’s farms. One day, all hands worked on Jake’s farm, the next day on Sam’s, and the next on Bill’s—perhaps I haven’t got the names right, but never mind that. But by-and-by one of them got sort of jealous, or dissatisfied, or something of that kind, and said he would not work that way any longer, no how. So the other two stuck together, and let the odd sheep do as he pleased. Well, one day, while the two that agreed were working in the field, they heard a tremendous outcry from the other brother’s lot. So they up and seized their rifles, which they always kept right under their noses, and ran to see what the matter was. They expected to see some horrible sight, you know, but what do you suppose they found? Why, there was their brother up in a little sapling, rocking to and fro, and bellowing with all his might, and below was a great bear, looking up dreadful earnest at him. It seems the bear came suddenly at him, and as he hadn’t time to go after his rifle, he sprung to the nearest sapling, which he knew the bear couldn’t climb. But the sapling was so slender it bent over like a bow, bringing him in such a position that he had to hold on with both his feet and hands, and the bent part of his body, which was covered with his buckskin breeches, hung down almost within reach of the bear. Old Bruin soon discovered this, and so stood up on his hind legs, to see if he couldn’t reach him that way; but all he could do was to give the fellow a push with his fore paw, which set him and his sapling to swinging back and forth. His claws did not go through the buckskin breeches, but the man thought he was a gone case, and roared dreadfully. The bear then squatted on his haunches to enjoy the sport, and when the force of the blow was spent, and the man began to get steady, he up and gave him another start. When the other two fellows saw the state of the case, they laughed about as loud as their brother hollered, and it was some time afore they could steady their hands so as to put a bullet into the bear. After that scrape all three of them hitched horses together again and went to work on the old plan. The old bear paid dear for his sport, but you can’t say he didn’t do some good in the world, can you? If it hadn’t been for him, just as likely as not the fuss among those brothers would have grown bigger and bigger, until they quarrelled just like cats and dogs.”
At nine o’clock, Uncle Tim wound up his yarns, and soon after all retired to bed. They ascended to the second floor by means of a ladder. There were two bed-rooms, with a space between them, which served both as an entry and a store room. The great chimney came up through this entry. Each bed-room had one window, in the gable end of the house, but the space between the rooms was dark, except when the chamber doors were open. The roof came down nearly to the floor, on each side, and in the centre of the rooms, a tall man could hardly stand erect. Mr. Davenport and Clinton slept in one of these rooms, and Bill and Jim in the other. Uncle Tim and his wife had a bed-room down stairs. A straw bed made up upon the floor, without a bedstead, a large chest, and one chair, were the only furniture in the room where Clinton slept. There were several long wooden pegs driven into the logs which served as rafters, upon which they hung their clothing; and soon both were sleeping as sweetly as though they had been quartered in the best room of a “first-class hotel.”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE LOGGERS.
The sun rose clear, the next morning, and after an early and bountiful breakfast, Mr. Davenport and Clinton bid good-bye to Uncle Tim and his family, and resumed their journey. The country through which they rode was much the same as that they had already passed over, with the exception that it was if possible even more stern and wild, not a single house or cultivated spot meeting their eyes during the whole forenoon’s ride. After the first hour, Clinton was not quite as lively as usual. In fact, he felt a trifle less cheerful than ordinary—he could not tell whether it sprang from a touch of home-sickness, or from a sense of lonesomeness. But his unpleasant feelings arose more from the influence of the dreary winter scenery upon his mind, than from either of these causes. His father, noticing this, chatted away in a more lively strain than usual, and after awhile succeeded in dispelling the tinge of gloom from his mind.
The road being travelled but very little, the sleighing was poor, and there was no prospect of their reaching their destination before the middle of the afternoon. Accordingly, about noon, they reined up, for the purpose of resting the horse, and eating their dinner. Having given Fanny a wisp of hay, to take up her mind, they collected together a heap of dead wood, the remnants of fallen trees, etc., which they found near the road, and set it on fire. It burned finely, and sent out a cheerful warmth, in which they seated themselves, and partook with a keen relish of the various good things which Clinton’s mother had stowed away in the sleigh-box.
After halting about an hour at this place, they resumed their journey, and a ride of about three hours brought them within hearing of the loggers. The first indication they had that they were near the camp, was the loud “Gee, haw-buck, whoa!” of a man who was driving oxen. These sounds had a very enlivening effect upon Clinton, who could scarcely refrain from jumping from his seat, and running ahead, so impatient was he to see some signs of humanity in the dreary wilderness. But in a few moments, they came in sight of the camp, and soon they noticed two or three men, with long hair and immense whiskers, approaching them from different directions. Mr. Davenport recognized an old acquaintance in one of them, and received a most hearty welcome from him.
“Mr. Jones,” said Mr. Davenport, “my boy has long wanted to see how the loggers live; and as I had a little leisure and the weather and sleighing were promising, I thought I would gratify his wishes.”
“I am right glad to see you, and him, too,” said Mr. Jones; and he seized Clinton by the hand, and gave it a gripe and a shake which he felt for ten minutes afterward;—“why, I haven’t laid eyes on a child or a youngster, for four months, and it’s a real treat to see you, I can tell you. I’ve got a boy of my own, at home, about your size, and a fine little fellow he is, too. I’m afraid you’ll find rather poor quarters here in the camp, but you are welcome to such accommodations as we have, just so long as you’ll stay.”
The horse was taken from the sleigh and led to the cattle hut, and Mr. Jones conducted Mr. Davenport and Clinton to one of the camps, where he told them to make themselves at home. He offered them food, which they declined until the usual supper-hour. He had many questions to ask concerning what was going on in the world, from which the loggers are almost shut out; and as he and Mr. Davenport were absorbed in their conversation, Clinton slipped out to reconnoitre the premises.
The camp, he found, was situated in the midst of the woods; and not, as he expected to find it, in a clearing. There was no scenery at all; the tall trees shut out the prospect on every side, and the only opening for the eye was towards the clear, blue heavens above. Only a few trees had been cut down, to serve as material for the houses, or as fuel. This spot was chosen for the sake of the shelter it afforded in severe weather, and also, because there was an excellent spring of water convenient to it.