of the old man, and so much embarrassed, that it was some minutes before I could speak a single word; but to my great satisfaction, the old man went off to bed.
"Stand still, boy," Mary said, with a sweet smile; "what is the matter with you? I believe you are speech- less."
"No, no, Mary," said I; "but I was afraid that your father would turn me out this cold night, and that I would have no chance to see you again before I started to the
32 FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF
West. It seemed to me that if he had spoken crossly to me I should have fainted on the floor."
This caused her to laugh heartily at my expense, which seemed to make her still more dear to me than she was before. By this time I had got my nerves quieted; and an interesting discourse sprang up concerning our school pastimes, and the great probability of our never enjoying the like pleasures again. By this I fancied I could bring her to an acknowledgment of what I thought I had seen before in her countenance; but, firm to herself, she would not gratify me with any admission of her affection.
However, we spent a very pleasant evening together, and promised to see each other for a parting farewell the next morning. At, or rather before it was light, the old man left home without saying a word to Mary or I. This was pleasing to us both; and I believe the whole family were glad that he was gone, as it gave us time to finish any little thing we had left unsaid the evening before. After breakfast I began to get ready for a start, all the time watching every motion Mary made; but she kept firm till the old lady had made me a present of a fine pair of socks and a beautiful pair of woolen gloves. She told me that she had knit the socks herself, and that Mary had knit the gloves for me; but that she was too bashful to give them to me. Mary was not present when the old lady handed over the very welcome gifts; but she soon appeared again, and helped to stow away my small stock of clothing. This done, I bade good-bye to all but Mary, who said she would accompany me as far as the bars. Off we started for the bars, which were only a few steps from the door, and here we had another long talk, though we both kept off from the subject of marriage; for I really did not intend to return. In our discourse, I told her it would perhaps be a long time before I should be back to
A HUNTER'S LIFE. 33
see her again; and then I expected to see her a married lady.
"No, no," said she; "when you come, if ever you do return, you will find me as you now leave me."
'' Will you promise me that in good earnest ? " said I.
"If you come in five or six years, you shall find me as I am now in every respect."
"Well, Mary," said I, "if something unexpected does not happen to me, I will see you again before the half of that time."
I looked at her, and saw a tear ready to roll from her clear blue eye, and I was compelled to take her hand as quick as possible, to hide my own emotion from her. I grasped her hand, drew her to my bosom, and kissed her: then wheeled from her, and was soon out of sight.
34 FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF
CHAPTER II.
Starts for Wheeling, and reaches his Uncle James Spurgin's—Good Advice by Uncle, suited to all Young Men—Determines to be guided by it—Continues his Journey—Reaches Union Town—Meets with his Grandfather, and also his Mo- ther—Affecting Interview—Relates the bad usage of his Aunt—Spends a week there—Meets with General Riggs—Good Rifle-shooting—The General wishes him to go to Ohio—Declines going—Reaches Wheeling, and is hired by John Caldwell —Gets acquainted with Daughter Nancy—His first Bear Hunt—Nancy described an Indian Attack—Old Lady does not treat him kindly—Stays four months— Leaves, to the regret of the family — Misfortunes of Caldwell's family.
Having left Mary in such a hurry in order to suppress my feelings, I feared that she would doubt my sincerity in what I had been saying to her at our last two meetings; and I stopped in the road to consider whether I should not go back to make all right. But, after some little re- flection, I said to myself, "Would I not look like a fool to be seen going back, no one but Mary knowing what had brought me there? But let her think what she pleases ; hang me if I will go back! "So saying, I tra- veled the road as fast as I could walk; but my toes were so sore from being frozen only the week before, that I made rather a slow walk of it; trying all the time to dis- pel the thoughts of Mary, and the manner in which I had left her. Almost before I knew where I was, I found my- self in full sight of Uncle James Spurgin's farm; having traveled seven miles on my way westward.
Entering the house, I was received kindly; and, a very cold night coming on, I was asked which way I was going. This was a tough question for me, as I was leaving his brother; but I resolved to tell the truth, anyhow.
" I am going to Wheeling, uncle," was my reply.
A HUNTER'S LIFE. 35
" So you have left John, have you? "
"Yes, sir. Uncle John is a good, kind man, but he is doing nothing for himself; and I can never do anything while I stay with him."
"That is true, Meshach; but what do you intend to go at, as you have no learning?"
"I cannot tell you, uncle, till 1 get there; and then whoever gives me the best wages I will work for."
"And how long will it take you to get to Wheeling? "
"I do not know, sir; for my feet were frozen so badly last week that I can't walk fast. But I have allowed my- self four days at the outside. That is twenty miles a day; and if my feet do not get worse I can do it in three."
" How much money have you ?"
" One dollar, sir."
"And do you think to get to Wheeling with one dollar, boy ? "
"I don't know, sir; but I have this buckskin,"—show- ing him the skin,—"and intend to sell that in Union Town for what it will bring; and it ought to be worth seventy-five cents, at any rate. I think that will take me there; and if it does not, I will turn out in the country and work a day or two, and then go on again."
"Well, Meshach," said he, " I will give you my advice if you will promise me to take it, and attend to it."
"That I will promise you to do, sir; for I know I stand in need of good counsel."
"Then," said he, "be sure to avoid bad company ; avoid all drunken crowds of rowdies and houses of ill-fame. Never suffer yourself to be drawn into them, for you will be tried often. And when these temptations appear be- fore you, then remember what I now tell you, and avoid them. Furthermore," he continued, "when you find a man who wishes to hire you, ascertain, if you can, whether be is honest; and if so, go to him, and do for him a just
36 FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF
and fair day's work. And if anything goes wrong, either owing to your neglect or accidentally, never tell a lie to screen yourself; but speak candidly, and acknowledge the truth of the whole matter. This will give your employer confidence in you. But, on the contrary, if you undertake to lie yourself out of it, you will be sure to be detected in so doing, and then you will be disgraced. Take it for granted, Meshach, that all good people despise a liar as much as they do a thief; and let me tell you, boy, a good name is the best thing that a young man can have. If you will take ray advice, and never tell a falsehood, under any circumstances whatever, you will in the end find that, in any and every place, truth is far better than a lie. And now, Meshach, I do not blame you for leaving your uncle John; and I wish you may have good luck in your under- taking, and that you may become a good and an honor- able man." Here he ceased speaking, being called to supper, which ended the discourse.
Supper being over, the old people went into another room, and left me to talk with my cousins. I was taxed strongly by Lina, for that was the name of the daughter whom I had left with so much unwillingness, and had cried in the road about, when I was driving the cows. She said she had heard I was deeply in love with Polly McMullen. I replied,