Poor John Kemp lay in a corner of the unfinished hut on a bed of spruce fir tops, a fire lighted near to give him some warmth. He was moaning and complaining of the cold. He had been cut by his axe as the tree fell, which at the same time crushed one of his legs and hurt his side. Mary bound up the wound more carefully than it had been done, and fomented his side; but she saw that she could do no more, and advised his being carried home at once. No surgeon was to be found nearer than forty miles. One had been sent for, but it was very doubtful if he could come. A litter of boughs was at once formed, and poor John, wrapped up in buffalo robes, was at once placed on it, and Michael and Rob Hale, and other members of the bee, undertook to carry him home. He thanked his friends, and Mary in particular, but told them that he was sure he should never get there. He did, however; but those who carried him saw, as they drew near his cottage, that something was wrong. Michael sent Tony on to ask. Tony came back shaking his head: some one had told Mrs Kemp, in a hurry, that her husband was killed. The shock was too great for one in her weak state. Just before her husband was brought home, she had died, giving birth to a tenth child, “God’s will be done,” whispered John Kemp, when he heard of his wife’s death, “He will take care of our poor orphan children.”
Before the night was over John himself had rejoined his wife in another world. His prayer was heard, and his faith in God’s love rewarded. A meeting of all the settlers was called. Mr Landon proposed raising a subscription for the orphans. “That is not wanted,” said Michael Hale, “I will take charge of two of them, and more, if the rest do not find homes—Fanny and Tommy shall become my children.”
“And I will take another girl then,” said Mr Landon; “and the poor infant, my daughter will nurse it.”
“I will take a boy,” said Mr Sudbury.
Thus the children were quickly disposed of among some of the kindest and best of the people in the settlement. The orphans became really and truly their children, and were treated in no respects differently. There was nothing uncommon in this. The same thing is done in all parts of the province, and those who thus protect the orphans seldom fail to receive a blessing on their homes. Fanny and Tommy soon learned to look on Mr and Mrs Hale as their parents, and to render them the same obedience and affection that they would have done had they really been so.
Story 3—Chapter 8.
No one finds settling in a new country all smooth work; and if a man cannot look ahead and think of what his labour is sure to produce, he will often be very much down-hearted. Some people give up when, if they had held on, they would have succeeded at last. Michael Hale was not one of the give-in sort. The winter in Canada lasts a long time, but most people who have plenty to do like it very much. Michael Hale’s public room was a good large one, and as soon as the day’s work was over, and supper eaten, he set everybody to doing something or other. The girls had always plenty to do to spin and knit and sew. The boys, too, learned to knit, so that they could knit their own stockings. There was a hand-loom weaver among the settlers, and from him David learned to weave what his sisters spun. From this time, except a little calico, there was very little in the way of clothing the family had to buy. Tony learned cobbling, and, in time, to make shoes. Rob was a first-rate carpenter. The younger boys helped their brothers. Those were pleasant evenings, as they sat round the blazing fire which made amends for the poor light of the tallow lamps.
One evening Rob and David had to go out to look after one of the cows which was sick. They did not much like leaving the cozy fireside for the freezing night air. “It must be done though,” said Rob; “come along, David.” No sooner did they open the door than they heard a strange squeaking from the pig-sty, which, they had wisely built at some little distance from the house. It was a bitter night. They stopped an instant to listen, and in that instant their hair and eyebrows and eyelashes were frosted over. The squeaking went on. “Some creature must be among the pigs,” cried Rob. “Run back for the gun, David, I’ll go and see.”