The Log House by the Lake: A Tale of Canada

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Not at all; we all help each other out here; I have found out that,” answered her brother. “He is a capital fellow, a gentleman to the backbone, and knows that I will do the same for him with equal pleasure. We are fortunate in having such a neighbour, and from what he tells me, he hopes to have his mother and sisters out when he has got things a little square.”

D’Arcy’s boat was soon alongside. When he heard who had arrived, he volunteered at once to go to the settlement to begin loading his boat, that he might assist Philip when he wanted to load his.

“A capital idea, D’Arcy, just like you; do so, old fellow,” was all Philip said as they parted.

In a short time the boat was alongside a small wooden pier, which afforded a convenient landing-place.

“The house is some way up the hill; I will steer you between the stumps,” said Philip, offering his arm to his mother, while the rest followed in their wake. A few minutes’ walk brought them in front of a plank edifice of the Swiss cottage style; the defects of which, whatever they were, were not visible by moonlight. There were four doors, and as many rather diminutive windows. “This is but a summer house, remember,” said Philip, as they stood before the long low building. “We had to build our house according to our planks; your room is at one end, then comes the sitting-room, and then ours, and the girls’. Remember, five days ago the foundations were not commenced. We don’t take long to raise a house in this country;—but, enter.”

All were delighted, for although the cottage was but a long narrow shed, by means of three divisions and a liberal use of canvas and paper, Philip and his assistants had formed a neat sitting-room and two bedrooms, besides a rougher one for himself and his brothers. In the sitting-room was a table covered with a most attractive looking meal, though decked with neither china, glass, nor plate. A bright lamp hanging from the roof lighted up the little room, and gave it much of the appearance of a cabin. “We have only to fancy,” said Philip, “that we are on board ship without the danger of shipwreck, or being tumbled about in a storm, and we may congratulate ourselves on the extent of our accommodation. We have twice as many cubic feet of air for each person as the passengers on board an emigrant ship, and can admit as much more as we please. There, make yourselves at home. Father will now do the honours, and Jem is boiling the kettle for tea in the kitchen. I must be off, and hope to be back soon with D’Arcy and your traps.”

Away went Philip down to the boat, whence his father with the rest had been bringing up her lading. Who could have recognised in the energetic, high-spirited backwoodsman Philip had become, the refined and somewhat sedate and stiff young student of a year ago. By-the-bye, the kitchen of which he spoke was a lean-to of birch-bark, under which a camp stove had been placed; near it was a shed prepared for the reception of the stores, among which Peter proposed to take up his abode. Philip’s plan of fitting up the cottage was much admired. To the walls and roof he had first nailed some common canvas, on this he had pasted newspapers, which he had again covered with a common cheerful-looking paper, such as is used generally for covering walls. The table itself consisted of some rough planks nailed to tressels, and the bedsteads were formed of rough pine poles with canvas stretched across them. Shelves and pegs round the rooms would enable their inmates to keep them as neat as cabins.

The voices of the rest of the party were heard sooner than was expected. “We pressed the third boat on the lake into our service and have brought everything,” said Philip, entering with a slight young man, who, in spite of a very rough, much worn costume, looked the gentleman. “I have the pleasure of introducing my friend Mr Lawrence D’Arcy, my fellow labourer, who, let me tell you, made every inch of the furniture of our mansion in a wondrous brief time. He had not begun it yesterday morning, for he was helping me to paper the walls till nearly noon.”

“It is the work of a self-taught artist,” said Lawrence D’Arcy. “But, really, there is little to boast of in having put together a few rough poles. The plan is the only thing to merit commendation.”

Of course everybody thanked Mr D’Arcy, and he at once felt himself perfectly at home. Never did the finest baronial mansion afford more satisfaction to the occupiers than did Philip’s quickly-built cottage. It stood on a platform on the side of the hill, looking south over the lake, and sheltered by the ground above it from the icy blast of the north. There was not space on the platform for a larger building; but a little way off was a much wider piece of level ground, and here already logs were laid for a log house.