The old man gazed earnestly at the child for a few seconds, and, a look of anguish passing over his countenance, he shook his head; and then turning away from her, he put her gently down, as if he was afraid of being thus again addressed, and answered, “Thank you, thank you, little damsel; I hope my boy will get well. It will go pretty nigh to finish me if he does not,” he murmured to himself. “I ought to have known that his strength was not equal to the task I put upon it. If he dies, men will say, and justly, that I am his murderer.”
The old man partook but sparingly of the abundant repast spread before him, and declining the luxury of a bed, rolled himself up in a blanket, and took his post in the hall, near the door of the room where Laurence had been placed, that he might hear from those who were attending on his boy how it went with him. At every footstep which passed he started up and made the same inquiry, and then with a groan lay down again, his desire to keep on the watch in vain struggling with his fatigue.
Chapter Three.
Anxiety of the trapper about his son—Jeanie tells Laurence about the Bible and God’s love to man—Laurence out of danger—The trapper leaves Laurence with his friends—Jeanie tries to teach Laurence to read—History of Mrs Ramsay.
The following morning, the old trapper was sitting on the floor, where he had passed the night, with his head bent down on his knees, when Mrs Ramsay came out of his son’s room.
“Is he better? Will he live?” he asked in a low, husky voice, gazing up anxiously at her countenance.
“The issues of life and death are in God’s hands,” she answered. “Your young son is very ill; but our merciful Father in heaven can restore him if He thinks fit; we can but watch over him, and minister to his wants as may seem best to us. Lift up your heart in prayer to that Great Being through Him who died for us, sinning children as we are that we might be reconciled to our loving Parent, and He will assuredly hear your petition, and grant it if He thinks fit.”
The old man groaned as she ceased speaking, and again dropping his head on his breast made no reply to her, though he muttered to himself, “She tells me to pray. The Great Spirit would strike me dead in his anger were I to dare to speak to Him.” The kind lady, seeing he did not speak, passed on.