The Settlers in Canada Part 12

The Campbells remained for some time on the sh.o.r.e of the lake watching the receding _bateaux_ until they turned round the point and were hidden from their sight, and then they walked back to the house. But few words were exchanged as they returned, for they felt a sensation of loneliness from having parted with so many of their own countrymen; not that they were, with the exception of Captain Sinclair, companions, but that, accustomed to the sight of the soldiers at their labor, the spot now appeared depopulated by their departure. Martin, too, and John, were both absent; the latter had been two days away, and Martin, who had not yet found time to ascertain where old Malachi Bone had fixed his new abode, had gone out in search of it, and to mention to him Mr.

Campbell's wishes as to John's visits to him, which were becoming more frequent and more lengthened than Mr. Campbell wished them to be.

When they entered the house, they all sat down, and Mr. Campbell then first spoke.

"Well, my dearest wife, here we are at last, left to ourselves and to our own resources. I am not at all doubtful of our doing well, if we exert ourselves, as it is our duty to do. I grant that we may have hards.h.i.+p to combat, difficulties to overcome, occasional disappointments and losses to bear up against; but let us recollect how greatly we have, through Providence, been already a.s.sisted and encouraged, how much help we have received, and how much kindness we have experienced. Surely we ought to feel most grateful to Heaven for blessings already vouchsafed to us, and ought to have a firm and lively faith in _Him_, who has. .h.i.therto so kindly watched over us. Let us not then repine or feel dispirited, but with grateful hearts do our duty cheerfully in that state of life to which it has pleased _Him_ to call us."

"I agree with you, my dear husband," replied Mrs. Campbell; "nay, I can say with sincerity, that I am not sorry we are now left to our own exertions, and that we have an opportunity of proving that we _can_ do without the a.s.sistance of others. Up to the present, our trial has been nothing; indeed, I can not fancy to myself what our trials are to be.

Come they may, but from what quarter I can not form an idea: should they come, however, I trust we shall show our grat.i.tude for the past blessings, and our faith derived from past deliverances, by a devout submission to whatever the Almighty may please to try or chasten us with."

"Right, my dear," replied Mr. Campbell; "we will hope for the best; we are as much under his protection here in the wilderness, as we were at Wexton Park; we were just as liable to all the ills which flesh is heir to when we were living in opulence and luxury as we are now in this log-house; but we are, I thank G.o.d, not so liable in our present position to forget Him, who so bountifully provides for us and in His wisdom ordereth all our ways. Most truly has the poet said--

"'Sweet are the uses of adversity!'"

"Well," observed Emma, after a pause, as if to give a more lively turn to the conversation. "I wonder what _my_ trials are to be! Depend upon it, the cow will kick down the pail, or the b.u.t.ter won't come!"

"Or you'll get chapped fingers in the winter-time, and chilblains on your feet," continued Mary.

"That will be bad; but Captain Sinclair says that if we don't take care we shall be frost-bitten and lose the tips of our noses."

"That would be hard upon you, Emma, for you've none to spare," said Alfred.

"Well, you have, Alfred, so yours ought to go first."

"We must look after one another's noses, they say, as we can not tell if our own is in danger; and if we see a white spot upon another's nose, we must take a bit of snow and rub it well; a little delicate attention peculiar to this climate."

"I can not say that I do not know what my trials are to be," said Alfred--"that is, trials certain; nor can Henry either. When I look at the enormous trunks of these trees, which we have to cut down with our axes, I feel positive that it will be a hard trial before we master them. Don't you think so, Harry?"

"I have made up my mind to have at least two new skins upon my hands before the winter comes on," replied Henry; "but felling timber was not a part of my university education--"

"No," replied Alfred; "Oxford don't teach that; now, my university education--"

"Your university education!" cried Emma.

"Yes, mine; I have sailed all over the universe, and that I call a university education; but here come Martin and John. Why, John has got a gun on his shoulder! He must have taken it with him when he last disappeared."

"I suppose that by this time he knows how to use it, Alfred," said Mrs.

Campbell.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Martin, who had entered; "he knows well how to use and how to take care of it and take care of himself. I let him bring it home on purpose to watch him. He has fired and loaded twice as we came back, and has killed this woodchuck," continued Martin, throwing the dead animal on the floor. "Old Malachi has taught him well, and he has not forgotten his lessons."

"What animal is that, Martin,--is it good to eat?" said Henry.

"Not very good, sir; it's an animal that burrows in the ground, and is very hurtful in a garden or to the young maize, and we always shoot them when we meet with them."

"It's a pity that it's not good to eat."

"Oh! you may eat it, sir; I don't say it's not fit to eat; but there are other things much better."

"That's quite sufficient for me, Martin," said Emma, "I shall not taste him; at all events, not this time, whatever I may have to do by and by."

"I spoke to old Bone, sir, and he says it's all right; that he won't keep him more than a day without first sending him to you to ask leave."

"That's all I require, Martin."

"They have been out these two days, and had only just come home when I arrived there. The game was still in the wood."

"I shot a deer," said John.

"You shot a deer, John!" said Alfred; "why what a useful fellow you will be by and by."

"Yes, sir; old Malachi told me that the boy had shot a deer, and that he would bring it here to-morrow himself."

"I am glad of that, for I wish to speak with him," said Mr. Campbell; "but, John, how came you to take the rifle with you without leave?"

John made no answer.

"Answer me, John."

"Can't shoot without a gun," replied John.

"No, you can not; but the rifle is not yours."

"Give it to me, and I'll shoot every thing for dinner," replied John.

"I think you had better do so, father," said Henry in a low voice; "the temptation will be too strong."

"You are right, Henry," replied Mr. Campbell, aside. "Now, John, I will give you the rifle, if you will promise me to ask leave when you want to go, and always come back at the time you have promised."

"I'll always tell when I go, if mamma will always let me go, and I'll always come back when I promise, if--"

"If what?"

"If I've killed," replied John.

"He means, sir, that if he is on the track when his leave is out, that he must follow it; but as soon as he has either lost his game, or killed it, he will then come home. That's the feeling of a true hunter, sir, and you must not balk it."

"Very true; well then, John, recollect that you promise."

"Martin," said Percival, "when are you to teach me to fire the rifle?"

"Oh, very soon now, sir; but the soldiers are gone, and as soon as you can hit the mark, you shall go out with Mr. Alfred or me."

"And when are we to learn, Mary?" said Emma.

"I will teach you, cousins," said Alfred, "and give a lesson to my honored mother."

"Well, we'll all learn," replied Mrs. Campbell.