""Tween you an" me, that ere is poor consolation. Supposen the honey"s neck had been broken, and the chances was agin her, what money du ye think could pay for her life? I tell ye what, the thing is all wrong, liquor makin and liquor sellin does mischief that no money can"t pay fur."
CHAPTER XXIII.
AN INDIAN MESSENGER--FROZEN TO DEATH.
The evening hour drew on. Little Wolf lay upon her bed feverish with pain. Her arm was in bandages, and Dr. Goodrich stood by soothing and encouraging her. Louise Sherman having arrived, kindly relieved Mrs.
Hawley, who embraced the opportunity to slip out and regale herself with a cup of tea.
As she approached the kitchen, the sound of Daddy"s voice reached her ear, and the few words that she caught hastened her footsteps thither.
"It was as much as ever I could du fur to hold Fleet Foot," he was saying as she opened the door.
"Go on, Daddy," said Mrs. Hawley as he paused at her entrance, "I want to hear all about it."
"Wall, as I was a tellin Sorrel Top," he continued, "I was pretty nigh done out a holdin Fleet Foot, when we got tu that are long hill, fur I was a leetle afeared he might git the better on me, but the Honey want, she ain"t never afeared of nothin nor never was, but she was oncommon quiet, she hadn"t spoke for a long time--when, all at once, jest as we was agoin up the hill, what should we see but Wycoff"s big team a tearin down like Jehu. He was a swearin and a cussin and there want no dodging of him. I riz right up and hollered, and the Honey riz up and hollered and shook her handkerchief, but it want no use. Down, down it c.u.m like lightning, sled and all. Fleet Foot got skeered with the hollerin and he jest _went it_. Wall, the Honey ketched up f.a.n.n.y in a jiff, and tossed her out, and was out herself afore I knowed it, and I was jest a goin fur to git out when the teams c.u.m together kersmash, and I was pitched head fust clean over Wycoff"s sled inter the road, and would no doubt hev been killed but my time hadn"t come.
"Tween you and me, it is _foreordinated_ that we won"t die till our time comes. Fur you may pitch a man about, and break him all tu bits and he lives and gits well. But when his time comes, the p.r.i.c.k of a pin will kill him and nothin on airth ken save him. Wall, the fust thing I did when I found myself alive, was to look for the Honey, and afore I hed a chance fur to help her, that are Sherman happened along, and left me in charge of his hoss, while he went fur to fetch her. The fust thing I hearn was a great hollerin fur a bottle of wine that he had in his sleigh. Wall, I took the infarnel stuff and slung it as fur as I could see and told him there want nun there."
"Miss DeWolf would give you fits if she knew what you"d done," said Sorrel Top, "the wine want yourn."
"Wall, it was the devil"s, and I slung it tu him," retorted Daddy triumphantly, "that are Sherman was riled, and I let him sweat, fur I want a goin fur to hev him pour pisen down the Honey. No doubt, if he had gin it tu her, her blood would hev got heated and fever hev sot in. Some folks don"t seem to know nothin about them things," said the speaker darting a contemptous glance at Sorrel Top.
"Well, Daddy, what happened next?" said Mrs. Hawley, soothingly.
"I ain"t a goin fur to tell nothin more tonight," said Daddy decidedly. "If folks can"t listen without interruptin me, they may wait till they ken," and he shot another meaning glance at the offending Sorrel Top.
"I guess," said Sorrel Top with some asperity "you"re not the only one that can tell me about it, is he f.a.n.n.y?" she said turning to f.a.n.n.y Green, whom she discovered to have fallen fast asleep in her chair.
""Tween you an me," said Daddy rather dryly, "I guess you won"t hear no more of that are story to-night."
Sorrel Top"s temper was slightly ruffled and she began to shake f.a.n.n.y rather roughly. "Wake up, f.a.n.n.y," said she "wake up."
"Oh! Mrs. Wycoff, don"t whip me," mourned f.a.n.n.y piteously, as she opened her eyes, "I didn"t mean to go to sleep, but I was so tired."
"Don"t you know no better than to treat a little motherless thing in that are way?" said Daddy coming indignantly forward. "Come here, f.a.n.n.y," and he took the child tenderly in his arms; "if anybody speaks a cross word to you in this are house, they"ll git reported."
By degrees f.a.n.n.y awoke, and was borne off to bed by Mrs. Hawley.
Scarcely had they gone when a new object of interest attracted Daddy"s attention. There was a slight rustling at the outside door, and in stalked a st.u.r.dy Indian in blanket and leggins and soft moccasins, causing his firm tread to fall noiselessly, and giving Daddy a superst.i.tious start, as if he had seen an apparition. The red man stated in broken English that he had brought a letter a long way from the "lodge of the pale face, to the Wolf squaw."
Daddy hastened to put the letter in Little Wolf"s hand. It proved to be a rather lengthy communication from Antoinette La Claire, and as all were interested, at Little Wolf"s request, Louise proceeded to read it aloud.
"Fairy Knoll, Jan. 20th, 18--.
MY DEAR MISS DEWOLF:
A faithful Indian, known for a long time to cousin John, has called here on his route to Chimney Rock and I embrace the opportunity to write to you, as it will probably be the last I shall have before spring opens.
Cousin John has fitted up a cosy little room for me in the loft. It is hung around with skins and blankets, and is made comfortably warm by the fire below. There is one little window from which I obtain a fine view of the "City of Trees," which you used so much to admire. They are now shorn of their foliage, and snow and ice cover the branches, and, forsaken by their summer inhabitants, they stand and sadly moan day and night.
But these mournful sounds pa.s.s unheeded, by the happy couple in this peaceful cottage. Not a cloud has yet darkened their "honeymoon." All their hours are pleasant hours, and all their dreams are pleasant dreams. On these wintry mornings we rise rather late; after the sun has peeped in at the window a long time.
Cousin John goes out in the warmest part of the day to split rails, but, even then, he finds it convenient to take his brandy bottle with him. He is a firm believer in the efficacy of brandy to keep out the cold. But when, with the experience I have had, I see him in perfect strength and health, go out day after day with that little flask in his side pocket, I pray that it may never become a snare to him.
Yesterday morning, as he was about starting, I ventured to remonstrate with him. "Cousin John" I said, "I would not take the brandy to-day, I do not think you will miss it." He laughed good naturedly, and turning to Cousin Maria, he said, "Maria dear, Antoinette is concerned about my morals. Shall I tell her of a certain lady who drained Mr. Sherman"s wine bottle on her way to Fairy Knoll?"
Cousin Maria blushed and said, "I am sorry John that I ever touched it. Let us now mutually pledge ourselves never again to drink anything that will intoxicate." But Cousin John only laughed, and kissed his young wife tenderly and went away to the wood, taking the brandy bottle with him.
When he came home at night, and the supper was over, and he had, as usual, seated himself by Maria and taken her hand in his, (at which signal I invariably become suddenly sleepy and am obliged to retire,) I stole away from the scene, and sitting down by my little window, looked out into the faint moonlight, and thought much and long upon the joys and sorrows of earth, but most upon its sorrows, for the "whole creation groaneth," and my own heart is always sorrowful.
I do not know why, but it may have been, and probably was, because all the anguish and sorrow that has ever come under my personal observation, has been occasioned by that drink that "biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder,"
that the scene of the morning mingled with the thought of my cousins below eagerly quaffing their cup of bliss; the sweetest that earth offers to youthful lips. "Can bitter drops ever mingle there?" thought I. "Can the honey become wormword and gall, and every joy be forgotten? Can the little speck that I thought I saw this morning on the horizon become a great cloud and overshadow us all?" In imagination I saw lovely cousin Maria pale and faded, and careworn, and cousin John"s n.o.ble and manly countenance bloated and brutish, as I have seen men become by the use of stimulating drinks, and involuntarily I threw up my hands and cried, "Is there none to help?"
It may have been a morbid condition of the mind that wrought these sad fancies, and I am sure those who have never realized the danger of the cup would treat them lightly, but you dear friend, know that from just such beginnings the most harrowing sorrows have sprung.
I know cousin John would smile if he knew what a serious matter I have made of a thing that he considers so trifling, and he is so good and kind to me, and his whole soul so free from vice, that I almost regret having put these thoughts on paper. But out of the fulness of my anxious heart I have written as perhaps I ought not.
G.o.d grant that all my fears may prove groundless, and that the serpent"s sting may never, never more through another"s infatuation reach our hearts, or yours.
I was at length aroused from my reverie by our Indian visitor. I caught a glimpse of him just as he emerged from the woods, and before I could go down to announce his coming, he was within, and by his noiseless footfall had taken my cousins greatly by surprise. Maria was smoothing her rumpled hair and looking rather annoyed at the unceremonious intrusion, while cousin John and his visitor were deep in the mysteries of "jargon," which being interpreted by my humble self was truly startling and shocking.
He stated that two "pale faces," were lying a short distance off, frozen to death. His supposition was that they had indulged too freely in "fire water."
Cousin John immediately accompanied him to the spot, and found indeed two men cold and stiff in death, and the empty bottle found upon their persons gave evidence of the cause.
The Indian recognized one, having seen him with my dead brother, and said he was "no good pale face," and his name was Prime Hawley. They found in the pocket of the other an old letter addressed to "Hiram Green, Chimney Rock." You may possibly know something about the latter.
"f.a.n.n.y Green"s father, and Mrs. Hawley"s husband," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Little Wolf. "Hark, Louise," she added in a whisper, "they have heard it all."
Sounds of distress were heard in the adjoining room where Mrs. Hawley was engaged in putting her little charge to rest. Both she and f.a.n.n.y had heard every word of the letter and the news of the unhappy death of the husband of the one, and the father of the other, burst suddenly upon them, and deep and tearless groans of Mrs. Hawley and f.a.n.n.y"s heart breaking sobs mingled together.
"Put the letter away Louise, _do_," said Little Wolf, turning her face away with a heart truly sick.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A CRISIS--PRIDE AND FOLLY.
For weeks Antoinette"s letter lay in the drawer where Louise had hastily thrust it, and no one had read it to the end.
Mrs. Hawley"s health, which had been feeble for a long time, rapidly declined after the news of her husband"s death, and in a few days she took to her bed, and shortly after died. The sickness and death of a member of her family, combined with her own sufferings so absorbed the mind of Little Wolf, that at the time she thought of but little else.
But when it was all over, and her arm had partially healed, she began to realize acutely the anomalous position in which the purpose she had formed placed her to Edward.