The wished-for morning at length arrived, and my father informed me that we were to mow in the meadow adjoining “Ivy Island,” and that I might visit it with our hired man during “nooning.” My grandfather kindly reminded me that when I came to look upon the precious spot, I was to remember that I was indebted to his bounty, and that if I had not been named “Phineas” I never could have been the proprietor of “Ivy Island.” My mother, too, had to put in a word.
“Now, Taylor,” said she, “don’t become so excited when you see your property as to let your joy make you sick, for remember, rich as you are, that it will be nine years before you can come into possession of your fortune.” I promised to be calm and reasonable.
“If you visit Ivy Island,” she continued, “you will lose your rest at noon, and you will feel tired, after turning hay all the forenoon. Had you not better lie under the trees and rest at ‘nooning,’ and visit Ivy Island at some other time?”
“No, my dear mother,” I replied, “I don’t care for nooning, I shall not feel tired, and I am so anxious to step upon my property, that I cannot wait any longer.”
“Well, go,” said my mother; “but don’t feel above speaking to your brothers and sisters when you return.”
I felt that this injunction was not altogether superfluous, for I already began to feel that it was rather degrading for me to labor as hard as those who had no estate settled upon them.
We went to work in our meadow. It was situated in that part of “Plum-Trees” known as “East Swamp.” When we arrived at the meadow I asked my father where “Ivy Island” was.
“Yonder, at the north end of this meadow, where you see those beautiful trees rising in the distance,” he replied.
I looked towards the place indicated, and my bosom swelled with inexpressible pride and delight, as I beheld for the first time the munificent gift of my honored and generous grandsire.
The forenoon soon slipped away; I turned the grass as fast as two men could cut it, and after making a hasty repast with my father and the workmen under the shade trees, our favorite “hired man,” a good-natured Irishman named Edmund, taking an axe upon his shoulders, told me he was ready to go with me to visit “Ivy Island.”
I started upon my feet with delight, but could not restrain asking him why he took an axe. He replied that perhaps I would like to have him cut into some of the beautiful specimens of timber upon my property, in order that I could see how superior it was in quality to that found in any other part of the world. His answer was perfectly satisfactory, and we started. As we approached the north end of the meadow the ground became swampy and wet, and we found great difficulty in proceeding. We were obliged to leap from bog to bog, and frequently making a mis-step, I found myself up to my middle in water. At one time I stood upon a bog, and the next was so far off that I greatly feared I could not reach it. My companion, who was several rods in advance of me, saw my dilemma, and called out for me to leap stoutly and I should succeed.
“I am sure I cannot,” I replied; “and if I could, I shall be worse off when I reach the next bog than I am now, for there is no place near it that is above water.”
“You are a little off from the regular track,” responded my Hibernian friend; “but never mind, you will have to wade a little.”
“The water will be over my head, and I shall be drowned,” I replied, in a most despairing tone.
“Divil a danger at all at all, for the water is not four feet deep in the deepest place,” was the reply.
“If I go under, you must help me out,” I replied tremblingly.
“To be sure I will; so never fear, but give a strong jump, and you are all safe,” was the encouraging response.
I summoned all my strength, clenched both my hands, sprang with all my force, and just saved myself by striking upon the edge of the next bog. I straightened myself up, got upon the middle of the bog, and began to prepare for wading in the water, which I greatly feared would be too deep for me to ford, when I saw countless hornets rising from the spot on which I stood. Instantly they came buzzing about my face and ears. One vicious rascal stung me on the tip of my nose, and, shrieking with the smart, I leaped into the water regardless of consequences. I soon found myself up to my neck, and fearful that the next step would carry me under water altogether, I roared lustily for help.
The trusty Irishman, feeling that there was no real cause for alarm, broke into a peal of laughter, and bade me be of good cheer, “For,” said he, “you’ll not have to wade more than a quarter of a mile in that way before you reach the verge of your valuable property.”
“If I go under, you must help me in a moment, for I can’t swim,” I replied despondingly.
“Niver fear me; if I see ye in danger I’ll have ye out in a twinkling.”
With this assurance I made an advance step and found my head still in the air. Half a dozen hornets now attacked me, and I involuntarily ducked my head under the water. When I popped out again my tormenters had disappeared, and I waded on as well as I could towards “Ivy Island.” After about fifteen minutes, during which time I floundered through the morass, now stepping on a piece of submerged wood, and anon slipping into a hole, I rolled out upon dry land, covered with mud, out of breath, and looking considerably more like a drowned rat than a human being.
“Thank the Merciful Powers, ye are safe at last,” said my Irish companion.
“Oh, what a dreadful time I have had, and how that hornet’s sting smarts!” I groaned, in misery.
“Niver mind, my boy; we have only to cross this little creek, and ye’ll be upon yer own valuable property,” was the encouraging reply.
I looked, and behold we had arrived upon the margin of a stream ten or twelve feet wide, the banks of which were so thickly lined with alders that a person could scarcely squeeze between them.
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, “is my property surrounded with water?”
“How the divil could it be ‘Ivy Island’ if it was not?” was the quick response.
“Oh! I had never thought about the meaning of the name,” I replied; “but how in the world can we get across this brook?”
“Faith, and now you’ll see the use of the axe, I am thinking,” replied Edmund, as he cut his way through the alders, and proceeded to fell a small oak tree which stood upon the bank of the stream. This tree fell directly across the brook, and thus formed a temporary bridge, over which Edmund kindly assisted me.
I now found myself upon “Ivy Island,” and began to look about me with curiosity.
“Why, there seems to be nothing here but stunted ivies and a few straggling trees!” I exclaimed.
“How else could it be ‘Ivy Island’” was the quiet answer.
I proceeded a few rods towards the centre of my domain, perfectly chop-fallen. The truth rushed upon me. I had been made a fool of by all our neighborhood for more than half a dozen years. My rich “Ivy Island” was an inaccessible piece of barren land, not worth a farthing, and all my visions of future wealth and greatness vanished into thin air. While I stood pondering upon my sudden downfall, I discovered a monstrous black snake approaching me, with upraised head and piercing black eyes. I gave one halloo and took to my heels. The Irishman helped me across the temporary bridge, and this was my first and last visit to “Ivy Island!” We got back to the meadow, and found my father and men mowing