“But this state of things could not last for ever. His father had embarked very largely in the famous eastern land speculations, and when the crash came, he found himself ruined. And yet even then, Henry managed to hang upon him like a dead-weight for two or three years, sponging his living out of his father’s shattered fortunes. But after a while, his father died, and then Mr. Jones had to shift for himself. But what was he fit for? It took him a great while to find out. He tried several lighter kinds of employment, but did not succeed. At length a man came along who was making up a gang of loggers, and despairing of any better employment, he engaged in that, and has continued at it ever since. He is with his family only four or five months in the year, and during that time he works hard, at farming, not for himself, but as a hired man.”
“I should think he would feel bad, when he thinks how he wasted his youth,” said Clinton.
“He does,” said Mr. Davenport. “He is a worthy and industrious man now, but he cannot repair the errors of his boyhood. Had he worked half as hard when a youth as he has had to since, he would probably be under no necessity of laboring now. But then his parents were rich and indulgent, and he thought he should never be obliged to work. Whenever we meet, he always says, ‘O dear, what a fool I have been! If my father had only kicked me into the street when I was twelve years old, and left me to shirk for myself, I might have been something now.’ And I never see him, without thanking God that I was brought up to depend upon myself, from my boyhood.”
Fanny had now come to a long and steep hill, and Mr. Davenport and Clinton got out and walked up, to lighten her load. When they reached the top, the prospect was very extensive, and they stopped a few minutes, to enjoy the scene, and to rest the horse. While they were gazing around, Clinton discovered something moving on a distant hill, and cried out:—
“A deer! a deer! don’t you see it, father?—right over that great pine that stands all alone, there.”
Mr. Davenport soon discovered the object pointed out by Clinton, and said:—
“No, that can’t be a deer, Clinty,—it is too large. It is a moose, and a noble great one, too. I should like to have a shot at him, but he is too far off.”
“I didn’t know there were moose around in this part of the State,” said Clinton. “One of the loggers told me they hadn’t seen one this winter.”
“They are pretty scarce now in this section of the country,” said his father; “but now and then one is seen. That fellow has probably been pursued, and has strayed away from his yard.”
The moose continued in sight for several minutes. Its gait was a swift, regular trot, which no obstacle seemed to break. There was something noble in its bearing, and Clinton stood watching and admiring it, until it disappeared in the woods. He and his father then got into the sleigh, and drove on.