LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 592, 12 May 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ONE DAY IN A SETTLER'S LIFE. {Continued.) It was a decidedly pleasant log-cabin. Log-cabins are always pleasant when an apt housekeeper presides over them, and enough of the world's lucre can be afforded to cover the walls with tasteful paper, and the floor with comfortable carpets. Those rude logs, of which we read, with their thatched roofs, clay floors, and chimneys built of sticks, are far more endurable on canvas and in the rhymes of young poets, than in actual life, where they mean simply rheumatism and insects. This house was different; it was a spacious, comfortable, well-furnished place ; and only called a log-cabin after the custom of the country. A staunch roof ; substantial walls, ornamental within; carpet, books, pictures, a rare clock, easy chairs ; everything for comfort met the eye. The sleeping rooms above gave evidence of ingenious and tasteful powers brought to bear on their building and furnishing. Charming expedients, graceful rustic ornamentations, pretty and useful things that cost little, made the cabin seem verj much of a cosy mansion in a small way. In the midst of an almost savage wilderness Roland Hardy had erected his building with a view rather to future exigencies than present needs ; and he and his wife both possessed the gift of " making the most of things." And it is surprising how deftly in these remote homes a woman, though she may have been gently born and reared, soon learns to accomplish the needful daily work. Where there's a will there's a way; and •Jane Hardy had learnt to take a pleasure and a pride in it. By noon to-day the work was done, and the house in the trimmest order. White loaves, just from the oven, were diffusing their fresh yeasty fragrance; the week's ironing hung warm and spotless across the clothes-horse. On the table smoked an exceedingly lonesome cup of tea; and over it leaned the pensive young housekeeper, pretending to do j ustice to her solitary luncheon. Her thoughts were away in the snowy woodland with him, her husband; who was doubtless, about this tiime eating prariechicken and clammy bread and butter. "He might build a fire, and give it a little roast on a stick," she pensively murmured, and then she felt how veiy glad she would be when night should come, and she could, in many furtive ways, confess to him how sorry she was, how deeply in need of his dear love. It was nearly three o'clock when, mechanically looking through the window in the direction of the forest, she was surprised to see the dog, David, -making for the house in a wavering, uncertain way, as if he had half a mind to turn back to the woods. David had more than once wearied of the monotony of watching wood-chopping, and come to the house an hour or two in advance of his master;, so there was nothing startling in his coming now. He scratched at the door in h|s- usual obsequious fashion, darted to devotirj. when admitted, a morsel of bread and meat, but, quitting it instantaneously, went and' sat down before his mistress with the air ofdiaving something to say, and began to T?|hiiie. David .wasjnot a remarkable dog: not'at allany dog: in particular. He was yellow and undersized, with only a white spot on his forehead by way of ornament; and he was inclined to be lazy. He had come to them one stormy night, a lame, starving vagrant from some emigrant train, and kind-hearted Roland fed him, put liniment on his leg, and called him David, after a faithful dog he had recently possessed and lost. And David contenedly remained, exhibiting no marked talent for anything, and sometimas betraying a lack of decent intelligence. His mental faculties had been dwarfed by persistent ill treatment, Mr Hardy thought ; the dog seemed to le c nved. Oneremliarity of his was, that he never asked for food. He was the most unobtrusive, retiring sort of animal that ever yearned for cold meat. If meat came to him, well and good ; but he never uttered a whine, or gave one beggarly wag of his tail to indicate that he was hungry. He would not have done it if he were starving. Jenny was wont to say that he was poor, but proud. So to day, when he pi anted himself before his mistress, and looked at her with all the soul he had in his eyes, and whined like a professional beggar, he was regarded with a good deal of astonishment. " More dinner, David ? Is it possible you have b-ought yourself to ask for more dinner ?"—going to the cupboard and carving a bone for him. David looked hurt. Nevertheless, he took the bone gently, carried it to his rug in the corner, and left it. That caused Mrs H ardy to look at the rn , which she had not done before ; and then she saw that he had not oaten his dinner. The dog returned to his old position whining before her as she sat. " Oh, it is water, then." No, it was not water. He retreated from the basin with an air of increased injured feeling, and continued to regard his mistress with appealing eyes. All at once some instinct penetrated to Jenny's mind, and her heart gave a great leap of fear. " David ! David ! Is it your master ? Is it Boland. The dog made a bounce of joyous relief, as if glad of being understood at last, and trotted to the door, casting a look back at her over his shoulder. If ever a look said plainly, Come on, that look did. " 1 will come, old fellow," said Jenny, going to the wardrobe, and hurriedly getting out some wraps and her fur-lined overshoes. '' Something is the matter with the dog and it may be that. At any rate, there will be no harm in my running out to the woods," she added, with a nervous little laugh. "Roland need not Vnow how silly I am, I can say that I wanted to find lichens. The sun was disappearing behind a cold \ hazy horizon; a chilly wind rled the

snow-clouds across tie level plain, ferreted out the fallen leaves, that| strove to hide from it, and sent them scudding on again. The still radiance of the winter day was giving place to an early and boisterous night; to such a night that will not be forgotten in that country by living man or woman. In her staunch over shoes, short cloth skirt, and shaggy walking jacket, a costume in which she had tramped many a time with her husband on expeditions to the distant post-office, where a blacksmith's shop and a grocery store had put their heads together and declared themselves a city, Mrs Hardy prepared to start. But she first of all unlocked a small store chest, and excavated from its depths a sealed bottle, with '«Catawba Grape " written in homely chirography on its deliciously dingy label. "My dear old father !" she exclaimed, by no means addressing herself to the bottle ; but, with dim eyes, thinking of the kind hands that were young hands when they made the wine; which, from its age and strength, was, as a cordial, equal to brandy. The hands were old hands now ; capable of little but writing her shaky letters from the dear old homestead. " Who knows but Rowland may be past its aid; that some dreadful accident—but I won't think of it. And who knows but I may meet him trudging homewards ; and he will ask me what on earth I have brought out the wine for ? But he shan't see it \ I will not show it; and to-morrow I shall laugh at myself for these foolish fears, Talking thus incoherently, but doubtless thinking connectedly enough, she poured out a flaskfull of wine, secured it in her pocket, threw her husband's scarf over her arm, and told David she was ready. At which word the dog gave another appreciative bounce, and fairly flew past her as she opened the door. But, once in the path leading to the forest, David seemed to have had his belief flicker of intelligence taken out of him. Instead of trotting on and leading his mistress in the right way, following the recorded example of all sensible dogs, he held back shrinkingly, evidently declining to take an active part in the search, or to lead it. It was just as though he meant to say, " I have done my part: you go and do yours." " You are an awful idiot, David ; or else I am!" snapped Jenny. But David only meekly curled his tail and trotted behind her. The forest, or the " wood-lot," as Roland called it, catching the word from other settlers, was a good mile away. Mr Hardy's acres covered an amount of ground that would have turned his late New England neighbours dizzy with it 3 vastness. It would soon iyield him an ample return; at present, during these preliminary struggles, it was not much more than a living. But in the event of a certain phantom railroad becoming a real railroad, he would make a speedy fortune. The path was rough. Roland's boots alone had formed it, tramping backwards and forwards to his tree-felling. Generally he paced it four times a day, going home for mid-day dinner. The drifting snow hid treacherous holes that well nigh went to break Jenny's ankles, as she stumbled on. The wind growing every moment more violent, pushed her on with a giant hand; sharp needle points of snow smote her neck. " It will be rather sharp going home," she said, shivering* and pulling her scarf closer. In October she had come to the woods for autum leaves, and the spot was in a degree, familiar to her. But the path seemed to di iperse, and lose itself after entering the thicker parts ; and she had to direct her way by the piles of wood that had been cut in places where the trees could be most conveniently felled. If they had not said those dreadful words to each other ! if they were only as the had been yesterday when Roland loved her ! she might not have felt so desperately anxious. How she was to find him? She calhd again and again, but the wind overpowered her voice. (To he continued.)