CHAPTER XIX.
NED AMONG THE GRIFFINS.
IF a boy ever enjoyed himself in this world, Ned Gates did amongthe Griffins. Their rough, but kindly, rollicking ways just suitedhis sanguine temperament, and he suited them, from the youngest tothe oldest, and got through the crust at once. Indeed, there waseverything a wide-awake boy would naturally like. There was a charm,in itself, about such a jolly house-full. Ned thought Edmund Griffinwas a splendid man, his wife one of the best of women, and as for theold grandfather, despite his rough ways, he was a perfect treasure.Evenings, Ned would nestle to his side, and coax him to tell himstories about river driving, hunting, wrestling, and the Indian wars,in which he had taken a prominent part.
Captain Brown had rewarded Jacques Bernoux very handsomely for theassistance he had rendered Walter, and induced him to come to theStates, paying him seaman’s wages, and Walter brought him home withhim. Three or four more never made any difference at Edmund Griffin’s.Jacques afforded much amusement by his attempts to speak English.
Being a leisure time of year, and the harvest in, it was hunting,fishing, going to Elm Island,—Ned and Captain Rhines carried the newsof Mr. Bell’s arrival to Ben and Sally,—going with Edmund Griffin andJoe up river, and coming down on the raft, breaking colts; and, to fillhis cup of happiness to the brim, Ned shot a moose. The boys caught abear in the trap, and Ned had an opportunity to taste of the meat, andgrease his cue with the fat.
There was another older person having a good time, and that was Mr.Bell. His things having been brought to the house, he drew from therecesses of an enormous chest the beautiful work-basket, and somearticles of household use, that he had made while in Marseilles, andwhich had so excited the admiration of Ned. Mary was delighted—she hadnever seen anything half so beautiful.
“You can’t come up to that, Charlie,” said his father.
“No, father, I can’t. I never saw any of your work so beautiful asthis.”
“I never had quite so strong a motive before,” said the old gentleman,smiling.
The next day Charlie was called from home to run out a piece of land,and was absent nearly a week. Finding lumber and tools in the shop,his father made a trough to soak willow, a bench, and having cut somenative willows by the brook for the frame, in order to economize theosiers, made a chair for the baby, and when Charlie returned, wasbusily at work making one high enough for the child to sit at table in.
He was so much occupied with his work as not to notice his son, whostood in the door watching him.
“Father,” said he, “I should think I had got back to Lincolnshire.”
“This is a better place than the fens, Charles. I’ll tell you what I’vebeen thinking about while at work here.”
“What is it, father?”
“All through my life, at home, I have been accustomed to look up tothe quality, and the country squires who owned lands, with a sort ofawe; and I have been thinking what a pleasant feeling it must be to owna piece of land that God made, and that I should, before I die, like toexperience the feeling. Now, I have got a few pounds, that I managed tolay up while in France. Why couldn’t I buy a little piece of land, andhave a little garden, and plant it? It would seem so pleasant to eatanything that grew on my own land. But perhaps you’ll think I’m gettingchildish, and that it’s an old man’s whim.”
“That’s just the way I used to feel at home, father; and when I came tothis country, I couldn’t rest for thinking how I should ever come toown a piece of land. I would do it. Sam Edwards has a piece right onthe shore he wants to sell. Part of it’s cleared. There’s a small piecebetween it and me that belongs to heirs, and is to be sold. I’ll buyit, and then yours will join mine.”
“And I shall be a freeholder in my old age, after living a tenant allthe best of my life,” said the old gentleman, highly gratified.
“I’ll tell you what you can do, father. Next time the vessel goes toMarseilles, get Jacques to procure some sallies for you, set them onyour land, and then you can have an osier holt, grow your own rods,and make all the baskets you like, to pass away the time in the longwinters we have in this country.”
“Do you think they would grow here?”
“Anything will grow here, and there’s a swale on that place will suitthem exactly.”
The marriage of John Rhines and Fannie Williams added to the generalsatisfaction. The infare, or second-day wedding, took place at CaptainRhines’s, upon which occasion half the town were invited.
Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin met Walter and Ned at the infare, and theremade an agreement to start the next week for the woods. Ned, who hadbeen kept quite closely at school till he went to sea, and had never inhis life shot anything larger than a pigeon or squirrel till he cameto Pleasant Cove, was perfectly wild with the anticipation, and keptWalter awake so long talking about it, that he averred, if he didn’tkeep still, he wouldn’t sleep with him.
Charlie lent Ned a splendid gun, and they were busily employed runningballs and making preparations.
While the whole family at Edmund Griffin’s were spending an evening inplaying “blind man’s buff” in the great kitchen, the old grandfatherlooking on and enjoying the sport as much as the rest, Joe, his facebathed in tears, came to announce that Uncle Isaac was dreadfully hurt,and could not live.
“How did it happen?” inquired the grandfather, the first to recoverfrom the effect produced by these sad tidings.
“You know what a hand Uncle Isaac always was to work alone. He wentinto the woods to haul a large log, laid a skid, one end on the ground,the other on a stump, calculating to roll the log up with the cattle,so as to run the wheels under. He’s got a yoke of cattle that willdo anything he tells them to. He stood behind the log, and spoke tothe cattle, calculating to trig the log when it was up; but the chainbroke, and the log came back on him.”
“How did they know about it?” asked Edmund.
“He spoke to the cattle, threw chips at them, and started them homewith a part of the chain hanging to them; his wife knew something waswrong, got some of the neighbors to go, and they brought him home.”
“He’s a very strong man; he may get over it.”
“No, he can’t, father; both legs are broken, and he’s hurt otherways;the doctor says he can’t, though he may live some time. I must go, forI’m going to watch with him to-night.”
“Tell ‘em, Joe, to send here, night or day; anything that we can do, itwill be a privilege to do it.”
As is the case when people feel deeply, little was said, and one afteranother silently slipped off to bed. As soon as Lion Ben and Sallyheard of it, they came over and stopped at Captain Rhines’s. Ben, hisfather, and Joe Griffin gave up everything to take care of and watchwith Uncle Isaac; for although the whole neighborhood offered andpressed their services, he preferred that they should take care of him.For some days he suffered intense pain, and was at times delirious;but as death approached, the pain subsided, his mind became perfectlyclear, and the same hearty, kindly interest in the young that had everbeen a prominent trait of his character, resumed its wonted sway. Afew days before his death, he sent for John Rhines, Charlie, FredWilliams, Walter, and Ned, preferring, as he was not able to talk witheach one separately, to see them together.
“Boys,” said he, “you have come to see the last of Uncle Isaac. John,won’t you turn that hour-glass. The sand is run out. We have spenta great many pleasant hours together; they are all over now; but Iwant to tell you that they have been as pleasant to me as to you. Itis a great comfort to me that I have been spared to see my children,and you, who seem as near to me as my own children, grow up to beGod-fearing, useful men in the world, and settled in life. It wouldhave been a comfort to me to have seen Isaac once more; but you musttell him that his Uncle Isaac did not forget him in his last hours.I have been a strong and a tough man in my time. I never was thrown,seldom pulled up; very few could lift my load, plan work better, orbring more to pass with an axe or scythe. I never saw but one manwho could
outdo me in trapping game or with a rifle, and that was aPenobscot Indian, and my foster-brother, John Conesus. I have left myrifle with the walnut stock to him. I don’t fetch up these thingsin any kind of a boasting way, but only to say to you that all thesematters that appeared great to me once, and no doubt do to you, seemvery small now. What I like most to think about ain’t what I’ve donefor myself, but to help others, especially to start young men, and get‘em canted right, because any good done to the young always seemed tome to go a great ways. I always did love to set a scion in a youngstock; it ain’t like grafting an old hollow tree, which, if it bears alittle fruit, soon rots down or blows over. If, at your time of life,you feel and do thus, like as when you caught the fish and gave them topoor Mrs. Yelf, and when you tried to make a good boy of Fred here—”
“We never should have done either,” said John, “if you hadn’t put itinto our heads.”
“More especially, if you should be owned of the Lord as a meansof grace to some fellow-creetur, you will find they will be thepleasantest things to look back on, when you come to be where I am;more so than chopping, wrestling, and getting property, though theyare all good in their place; such thoughts smooth a sick pillowwonderfully. Not that I put any dependence in them, but in the marcyof Him who gave me the heart to do them.”
After resting a while, and taking some stimulant, he motioned forWalter and Ned to come near.
“I hear that Captain Brown gives you a good name, Walter, and thatyou came home his first officer. We were about to go into the woodstogether when I was hurt. I used to think you loved to go into thewoods with me.”
“O, Uncle Isaac, the happiest hours of my life have been spent in thewoods with you.”
“We never shall go there again; I am going to a better place—toheaven. Walter, I hope we shall meet there. I haven’t strength to saymore; but you will remember the talks we’ve had at the camp fire. Sothis is the little boy we took off the raft; he is not very little now,though. Don’t cry, my son,” he said, laying his hand upon Ned’s head,who had buried his face in the bed-clothes, and was sobbing audibly.“It seems to me I am the best off of the two.”
“How _can_ that be, Uncle Isaac, when you are hurt so dreadfully, whileI am well?”
“Because, my son, I have got about through; I have run all the risk,while you have just begun, have all the risk to run, and may beshipwrecked. _I_ know what is before me—a better world; _you_ don’tknow what is before you. _I_ have had all _my_ trials; _yours_ are tocome. Captain Rhines tells me you have a Christian mother.”
“Yes, Uncle Isaac, she’s the best mother that ever was.”
“I had a praying mother; when I was younger than you I was torn fromher, and carried away by the Indians. I never forgot her words; in thegreat woods, all alone, they came to mind, and through them I soughtand found the Lord.”
After parting with the boys, he seemed prostrated, fell into a doze,and passed away without a struggle.
A few days after, Uncle Jonathan Smullen died, from decay of nature—avery clever man, and kind neighbor; and it was said of him, he neverdid anybody any harm; but Uncle Isaac was missed, and mourned by thewhole community. The seed of good principles he had sown in the mindsof young men kept coming up for years after he was in his grave, andwas resown by those who received it from them, a hundred times; norwill their influence ever cease.