AN INTRUDER.

“I wonder what is the matter with Snap,” cried George one evening about a week after, as the family were at tea; “he sits there looking at that corner as if he was quite frightened; I’ve watched him such a time, father!”

“Oh yes, father, do look!” cried Annie; “he sees something between that box and the wall, I’m sure!”

“Hi! hi! good dog! at him!” shouted Tom, trying to incite the dog to seize the object, whatever it might be. Snap’s eyes sparkled and he ran forwards, but as quickly drew back again, with every sign of intense fear. At the same moment a mingled sound, as of the rattling of dried peas and hissing, was heard from the spot. “A snake!” cried Uncle John, jumping up from the table, and seizing a stout stick which was at hand, while Mrs. Lee, at the word, catching Willie in her arms, and dragging George, retreated to the farthest part of the room, followed by Annie. As the box was carefully drawn away, the hissing and rattling became louder, and presently a large rattlesnake glided out with raised head and threatening jaws, and made for the door. Snap stood near the entrance, as if transfixed by fear, his tail between his legs, and trembling in every limb. Uncle John aimed a blow, but the irritated reptile darting forwards bit the poor dog in the throat. Before, however, Snap’s yelp of agony had died away, the stick fell on the creature’s head, and it lay there lifeless.

“He’s done for!” cried Tom, triumphantly.

“Yes, and so I fear is Snap, too,” said his father; “poor fellow!”

“Can’t we do anything for him, Uncle?” asked Tom, anxiously.

“Nothing that I know of there is but one antidote, it is said, and that is the rattlesnake weed, the Indians believe it to be a certain cure for the bite, but I don’t know it by sight.”

Mrs. Lee now ventured forward to look for a moment at the still writhing snake, and Tom then dragged it out of the house; but before throwing it away, he cut off the rattle, which was very curious. It consisted of thin, hard, hollow bones, linked together, somewhat resembling the curb-chain of a bridle, and rattling at the slightest motion. Uncle John showed him how to ascertain the age of the reptile. The extreme end, called the button, is all it has until three years old; after that age a link is added every year. As the snake they had just killed had thirteen links, besides the button, it must have been sixteen years old; it measured four feet in length, and was about as thick as a man’s arm.

The unfortunate dog died after three or four hours’ great suffering, and was buried the next day at the foot of a tree in the forest. His loss was especially felt by George, who busied himself for some hours in raising a little mound over the grave, and then fencing it round, as a mark of esteem, he said, for a friend.

Meanwhile the summer was slipping fast away, and October came, bringing with it cool weather and changing leaves. The woods soon looked like great gardens, filled with giant flowers. The maple became a vivid scarlet, the chestnut orange, the oak a rich red brown, and the hickory and tall locust were variegated with a deep green and delicate yellow. Luxuriant vines, laden with clusters of ripe grapes, twined around and festooned the trees to their summits, while the ground beneath was strewn with the hard-shelled hickory-nut and sweet mealy chestnut, which pattered down in thousands with the falling leaves.

It was at day-break on one of the brightest and mildest mornings of this delightful season, that the family were awakened by the shouts of Tom, who was already up and out of doors, setting the pigs, which were his particular charge, free for their daily rambles in the forest.

“Oh, Uncle John!” he cried, running in for his gun, “do get up: there are such lots of pigeons about! Flock upon flock! you can hardly see the sun!”

Every one hastily dressed and rushed out it was indeed a wonderful sight which presented itself. The heavens seemed alive with pigeons on their way from the cold north to more temperate climates; they flew, too, so low, that by standing on the log-house roof one might have struck them to the earth with a pole. Millions must have passed already, when there approached a dense cloud of the birds, which seemed to stretch in length and breadth as far as eye could reach. It formed a regular even column a dark solid living mass, following in a straight undeviating flight the guidance of its leader. The sight was so exciting that Mr. Lee and Uncle John ran for their rifles as Tom had done, and opened a destructive fire as it passed over.

The ground was soon covered with the victims, and the sportsmen still seemed intent on killing, as if they thought only of destroying as many as possible of the crowded birds, when Mrs. Lee called to them to desist.

“There are more of the pretty creatures already slain,” she said, “than we can eat, it is a shocking waste of life!”

“And see, Tom,” cried his sister, “the poor things are not dead, only wounded and in pain!”

They all instantly ceased firing, and Mr. Lee looked on the bleeding birds scattered around, with the regretful feeling that he had bought a few minutes’ amusement at a great expense of suffering. Uncle John and Tom, however, only thought of pigeon-pies, and went to work to put the sufferers out of their misery, and prepare them for cooking.

A few days after this memorable morning, the children and Uncle John set out for a regular nutting excursion; Annie had made great bags for their gatherings, and Mrs. Lee provided a fine pigeon-pie for their dinner; Tom took charge of it, his sister of Georgy, and Uncle John carried his constant companion on a ramble his good rifle. By noon they had gone more than three miles into the depths of the forest; their bags were nearly filled, and Tom began to grumble at the weight of the pie, so that when they reached a pleasant open spot near a spring, it was at once decided that they should dine there. They spread their little store on the ground, adding to it some bunches of grapes from the vines around, and then sat down with excellent appetites and the merriest of tempers.

“I am never tired of watching the squirrels!” cried Annie, who had been looking for some time at the lively little animals scampering in the trees; “just look what funny little things those are!”

“The young ones are just old enough now to eat the nuts and berries,” replied Uncle John; “see how they are feasting!”

“Where do they live, uncle; in a hole?” asked George.

“Oh, George! where are your eyes!” cried his brother; “look up there; don’t you see the little mud and twig cabins at the very top of the tree! those are their nests!”

“I once read an interesting story,” remarked Uncle John, “of a squirrel that tried to kill himself; would you like to hear it?”

“Oh yes, uncle!” they all cried in a breath.

“Well, this squirrel was very ill-treated by his companions; they used to scratch and bite him, and jump on him till they were tired, while he never offered to resist, but cried in the most heart-rending manner. One young squirrel, however, was his secret friend, and whenever an opportunity offered of doing it without being seen, would bring him nuts and fruits. This friend was detected one day by the others, who rushed in dozens to punish him, but he succeeded in escaping from them by jumping to the highest perch of the tree, where none could follow him. The poor outcast, meanwhile, seemingly heart-broken by this last misfortune, went slowly to the river’s side, ascended a tree which stood by, and with a wild scream jumped from it into the rushing waters!”

“Oh, uncle! what a melancholy story,” cried Anne, quite touched by the squirrel’s sorrows.

“But wait, dear; our wretched squirrel did not perish this time, he was saved by a gentleman who had seen the whole affair, and who took him home and tamed him. He was an affectionate little creature, and never attempted to return to the woods, although left quite free. His end was a sad one at last; he was killed by a rattlesnake!”

“Oh, horrid!” cried George, “that was worse than drowning.”

“So I think, Georgy. But isn’t it time for us to move homewards? Wash the dish, Annie, at the spring, and Tom shall bag it again.”

It was nearly dark when they reached the log-house, tired with their long walk, and the weight of their full bags, but in great spirits nevertheless, for they brought back a prize in an immense wild turkey, which Uncle John had shot on the return march. They had seen a great many of these beautiful birds during the day, but none near enough to shoot; at last a gang of some twenty ran across the path close to them, and the ready rifle secured the finest. Uncle John carried it by the neck, slung over his shoulder, and so stretched, it measured full six feet from the tip of the beak to the claws. The plumage of its wings and spreading tail was of a rich, glossy brown, barred with black, and its head and neck shone with a brilliant metallic lustre.

The nutting party were very glad to get to bed that night, especially George, who was more foot-sore than he liked to confess. Before saying good-night, they agreed to rise very early the next morning, to spread their chestnuts in the sun, as Uncle John had told them it would improve their sweetness exceedingly, besides making them better for storing during the winter. A great change in the weather took place, however, during the night; a cutting north-easterly wind and rain set in, and continued with little intermission for nearly a week. When bright, clear days returned, the country showed that winter was approaching rapidly. Uncle John took advantage of a call Dick Watson made at the log-house with his team, to accompany him to Painted Posts to buy glass for the windows. On their return, Dick stayed a couple of days to help with the job, which was not finished before it was needed, for they had begun to feel the cold very sensibly, notwithstanding the great wood fire they kept up.

The Indian summer a delightful week in the beginning of November, when the air is mild and still, and a beautiful blueish mist floats in the atmosphere, through which the landscape is seen as through a veil of gossamer had come and gone, and a slight flurry of snow had covered the ground with a white mantle, when one morning a great squealing was heard from the pen in which the pigs were now kept.

“What can be the matter there?” said Mrs. Lee, “they are not fighting, I hope.”

“I’ll go and see, mother,” said Tom, running out. A moment after his voice was heard shouting, “a bear! a bear!” and he was seen running towards the prairie, armed with a rail which he had picked up in the yard. When Mr. Lee and Uncle John rushed after him with their rifles, he was gaining fast on a huge black bear, which had just paid a visit to the hog-pen, and was now trotting off to the woods with a squalling victim. “Stop, stop, Tom!” cried his father; but Tom was too excited to hear or see anything but the object of his pursuit; he ran on, and soon got near enough to make his rail sound on the bear’s hard head. But though Tom was a strong, big fellow for his years, he was no match for an American bear, which is not so easily settled, and so Bruin seemed determined to let him know; he immediately dropped the pig with a growl, and erecting himself on his hind legs, prepared to give battle. Tom tried to keep him off with the rail, but a bear is a good fencer, and a few strokes of his great paws soon left the boy without defence. The deadly hug of the angry animal seemed unavoidable, when a shot from Uncle John, which sent a bullet through the left eye into the very brain, stretched the bear lifeless on the snow.

“If it hadn’t been for you I should have had a squeeze, uncle!” cried Tom, laughing.

“You’re a thoughtless, foolish boy, Tom!” said his uncle; “who but you, I wonder, would have run after a bear with nothing but a rail!”

“He is indeed a thoughtless boy,” said his father, “but I hope a grateful one; you have most probably saved his life!”

“Uncle knows I am grateful, I’m sure,” said Tom, “I needn’t tell him!”

“It’s a fine beast, and fat as butter,” remarked Uncle John, feeling its sides as he spoke, “yet he must have been hungry, fond as a bear is of pork, to venture so near a house by daylight!”

“What a warm fur!” observed Mr. Lee, “just feel how thick the hair is!”

“But what can we do with such a mountain of flesh and fat?” asked Tom. “We can’t eat it, and we’ve no dogs.”

“O, we’ll eat it fast enough!” replied his uncle; “a bear ham is a delicacy, I assure you.”

“I think we may as well set about skinning and cutting it up for curing at once, as we have little to do to-day. What say you, John?”

“Yes, we had better; but we must do the business here, for the skin would be quite spoiled were we to attempt to drag the carcase into the yard, though it would be more convenient to have it there. We can take the hams and fur, and leave the rest.”

“What a busy day this has been,” said Tom, that evening, when he and his sister had finished the reading and writing lessons their father gave them every night; “what with helping to catch the bear, and then to skin and cut him up, and dinner and tea, and reading and writing, I’ve not had a spare moment.”

“As to helping to catch the bear,” said his father, laughing, “you may leave that out of the catalogue of your occupations.”

“Not at all, father; for, if I hadn’t gone to see what was the matter, he would have walked off with the pig, and no one the wiser.”

“Oh, certainly, Tom helped!” cried his uncle; “and his mother helped, too, for, you remember, she wondered what was the matter in the hog-pen!”

“I don’t mind your fun, uncle,” said Tom; “I shall shoot a bear myself some day.”

“I’m glad that, if the poor bear was to come, it came to-day rather than to-morrow, for to-morrow will be Sunday,” remarked Annie; “the week has seemed so short to me!”

“So it has to me,” said her brother; “the weeks seem to fly fast.”

“Because you are always occupied,” observed Mr. Lee; “time is long and tedious only with the idle. What a blessing work is; it adds in every way to the happiness of life! it is good for the mind, and good for the body!”

“I used to think it very disagreeable, I remember!”

“You have grown wiser as well as older, Tom, during the past year,” said his mother.

“If I only do so every year, mother!”

“If you do, Tom, you will indeed be a happy man, for the ways of wisdom are ways of pleasantness; but it must be time for your usual wash.”

“Aye, so it is! I believe I like the Saturday night wash almost as well as the Sunday rest. One seems to feel better, as well as cleaner, after it!”

Sunday, in the family of the emigrants, was generally happy; even the very youngest seemed to be influenced by the spirit of peace that breathed around on that holy day. No loud boisterous voice, no jeering laugh was ever heard; a subdued, composed, yet cheerful manner, marked the enjoyment of rest from the fatigues of the past well-spent six days of labor, while the earnest remembrance of their Maker, the eager desire and striving to learn and to do their duty to Him and to each other, made the commencement of each new week as profitable as it was welcome. The recollection, too, of the land they had left was more tender on this quiet day, and past joys and trials were often recalled with a kind of melancholy pleasure, sometimes with an almost regretful feeling that the scenes in which they had laughed and toiled should know them no longer. The green fields the hawthorn hedges the cottages and the little gardens, gay with the rose and the hollyhock the ivy-grown village church all were remembered and talked of in love seeming ever more beautiful as memory dwelt on them. They acknowledged with thankfulness the blessings of their present lot they looked forward hopefully to the future but, oh! how deeply they felt that the far-off island, the land of their birth, could never be forgotten!

Here in the woods, where no church was near, when the never-omitted morning prayer was ended, Mr. Lee read aloud some good plain discourse, and explained those passages the children had not perfectly understood; the evening was spent in listening to interesting portions of the sacred history, and in instructive and pleasant conversation. Before retiring to rest, all voices joined in some sweet hymn of praise, and then, with hearts softened by the touching sounds, and purified by the blessed influences of a day so passed, they slept the calm, untroubled sleep of innocence, to awaken on the morrow strengthened and refreshed, to obey once more the Divine command “Six days shalt thou labor.”