Summerfield Part 5

The year had not been all sunlight or joy. Clouds had gathered and dissolved, and disappointments now and then occurred to our manly farmer, and called for more faith and courage. In the summer, the rains were so frequent, and superfluous, his crops were damaged, and the slopes on his fallows were cut into gullies, and swept of their soil. Premature frosts had nipped his corn slightly, and his buckwheat was not worth harvesting. A tolerable crop of wheat and other grains; and a harvest of loves, and lights, and strengths, however, were yielded him, to supply all his natural and spiritual needs, and the Lord was praised for his gracious care.

Fabens was now advanced to years of more grave reflection, and every object in Nature and Life addressed his mind with more suggestive and serious words. His religious impressions were deepened; and his religious sentiments, active and susceptible. He had studied a few fine books, and transferred their wisdom to his heart; he had studied Nature and Scripture; and he walked in light and peaceful ways. He relied on G.o.d as the Infinite Friend; and never a cloud was brought over the earth, whether of storm or grief, but he called to mind the promise of the Father, "the bow shall be seen in the cloud."

A few frugal comforts were added to his stores, and though he labored early and late at tasks that demanded strong arms and rusty raiment, where a gentleman in straps and ruffles would have met mortifications without number, still he was happy; and like the man of faith described in the Scripture, he abounded in blessings.

His parents remained to bless him. His wife responded to all his sympathies, and rendered his home a perennial joy. Clinton had been told of his fourth bright birthday, and the gladness of life budded on his heart, and bloomed on his face. f.a.n.n.y unfolded the graces of childhood as you have seen water-lilies unfold leaf after leaf. Fabens tore himself away from his lambs at seven in the morning, and taking his luncheon in a basket, he proceeded to a distant clearing to work till night. At ten o'clock Clinton was presented a new coat and trowsers, which his mother had just finished, and he bounded about as proudly as a young deer with his first pair of antlers. Nothing would do but he must trip away to the clearing and show them to his father.

It would be something of a venture to permit him; but he had been there several times with his father, and knew the way, and he was allowed to go. A kiss to sweet mother, and a kiss to f.a.n.n.y were given, and one left for grandmother when she returned with her basket of green corn for dinner, and away he glided, and Julia looked after and smiled on his glee, little suspecting what might spring up and harm him on the path. Hour after hour expired, and Julia's mind ran after the boy; and she asked her mother again and again if anything would be likely to befall him. A slight fear occasionally rose, to be suppressed on a second thought; and evening advanced while yet their hearts were cheerly and at rest.

A fair and jocund day departed, and suddenly a dark cloud mantled the heavens, and the moonless night was falling dismal and drear. Fabens was expected by sunset, and at the usual hour, Julia tripped to the wood-path with a light heart to meet him, and take his swinging hand in her own, as she was accustomed to do, and talk all the way to the house. Hastening on half a mile or more, she spied her husband rising over a distant eminence, but he came alone! Her fears were all roused in a moment; she hurried, out of breath, to meet him, and approaching him, called in a broken voice--"Where is Clinton? where have you left him?"

"Clinton?" replied Fabens in surprise; "I have not seen him since morning."

"Not seen him?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Julia; "O dear, he started to go to you this forenoon. I'm afraid he's lost, or the wild beasts have caught him!"

"Started to come to me this forenoon?"

"Yes, I finished his new clothes, and he was so pleased, he wanted to go and show them to you. 'Twas all done without thinking a moment of any danger."

"Mercy, Julia! what shall we do? He is gone; here it is coming dark as pitch,--what _shall_ we do?"

"What can we do? O Lord, help us!--help us!--Dear me, I can never forgive myself if he's lost or hurt!--Why _did_ I let him go?"

"Hurry home, Julia, and tell father and mother, and I'll run over to Troffater's; he may be there; Tilly is always teasing children and coaxing 'em; he may have seen Clinton and coaxed him home with him. He was chopping by the road when I went along this morning, he may have coaxed him home: but O, if he is not there!"

Fabens started on a run for Troffater's, and met two neighbors who had just come from his house; they had seen no Clinton; and a.s.sured him Clinton could not be there. They all hastened to Fabens', and met Julia and the parents; but no Clinton could be heard from. Darkness extinguished the last gleam of heaven, and they shuddered and wept in agonies of grief for the lost boy.

"How can we let the night pa.s.s without our lamb?" cried Mother Fabens.

"Dear, dear boy!--why _did_ I let him go, when I cannot bear to have him out of my sight? Why _did_ I let him go?" sobbed Julia frantically.

"Will not G.o.d be gracious? O will he not be gracious?" cried Fabens.

"There! I thought that little fawn was a forerunner of something!"

exclaimed Mother Fabens. "That little fawn that came here last June.

It has haunted my mind ever since. O I fear it did not come here without a warning?"

"But we let it go again," cried Julia; "and will not my pretty, pretty fawn be given back to his mother again? O! O!"

"An Indian shot a fawn the same day we let that go, and in the same direction he went. I always thought it was that handsome fellow," said Major Fabens.

"Mercy! it cannot be the fawn was a forerunner! O it cannot be that I shall not get my Clinton again!" cried Matthew, looking as if ready to reel to the ground. "O friends, do rouse the neighbors! if he's only lost, I'm afraid the wolves or panthers will catch him. You know how the wolves have howled of late; and I heard a panther scream last night, I thought. Do rouse the neighbors to advise and help!"

The friends seized torches and were away to the first dwelling. The news flew around as fast as distance would permit; and by nine o'clock the whole neighborhood were together with throbbing hearts and anxious looks.

"I fetched my horn and cow-bell," said Mr. Waldron; "I made a noise on the way. Horns will scare off painters, and wolves don't like tootin'

or clatter a mite."

"And I brought mine," added Uncle Walter.

"And I mine," added t.e.e.zle.

"We'll blow horns and ring bells," said t.e.e.zle; "and you, Colwell and Troffater, go and call out the Indians. They're dreadful good to scare off animals and look for lost children."

"Do, for Heaven's sake,--do what you can, if it is dark!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Julia fainting with grief.

"O, I know you'll not leave a thing undone!" added Matthew, beseechingly. "G.o.d give us strength to bear our trouble! It is hard--it is hard to bear trouble like this!"

Colwell and Troffater started for the lake to call up the Indians from their wigwams on the sh.o.r.e. But they were hardly out of sight before an ominous change pa.s.sed lowering over the scene. A low moaning wind swept through the woods and fields, and round the house; and the leaves rustled, and the well-sweep swayed and creaked in the blast. Then a drearier dusk succeeded; a fierce and freezing gust from the lake shot by; and a long and rending roll of thunder announced the rising of a violent storm. A fleet of ghastly vapors sailed over the zenith; and feathery clouds floated after, opening and shutting with the thunder and silence, and showing and hiding the stars as they flew. Then a long rift of lightning leaped forth and trailed its blazing banners of white, red, and purple in loops and festoons round the sky; and the thunder redoubled its might, and closed in, and labored and roared, as if wrestling down the world. Flame after flame, and peal on peal, succeeded, and the storm halted over the lake and ran along its course, as if bridled for a time, and struggled, and rolled, and roared; then a wild thunder rent the rein, and it ran and rested over the settlement, and spent its fury, and spun its fire. The wind blew a hurricane; the rain dashed in cataracts; and every electric bolt seemed to shiver the cisterns of heaven, and empty rivers of rain. Then the lightning was uninterrupted, and you could have read a book, or counted the trees, or viewed the lake by its constant blaze; while now and anon a wilder volley exploded, and a more furious flash flew its zigzag flight from the zenith to the ground.

It lasted a long hour, and you may imagine the terror and gloom it poured on hearts already faint with grief. You may imagine the shrieks and cries of the household; how they called on G.o.d to guard and save; how the wild, wailing mother rushed out into the storm to recover her precious boy, and was beaten back by the wind and flood; what were their thoughts of his situation; what were their sobs and sighs.

At last the storm rolled away, and Colwell and Troffater returned, and led in a band of Indians. Counsel was had, and arrangements were made for the night. Horns were sounded; bells were rattled; tin pans and hammers were clashed together; and the dark woodlands wailed with the echoing sound. Fires were kindled, and torches flamed on every hand; and for one long night, sleep sought no pillow in the settlement. And to thrill all hearts with keener agony, and strain each nerve and cord to its utmost tension, a little before daybreak, not a mile from the desolate home, the fierce, wild scream of a panther was heard, startling the very air to a violent shudder, and receiving angry answers from the low lakesh.o.r.e.

IX.

SEEKING THE LOST LAMB IN VAIN.

Darkness retired. The twilight glimmered on the tallest trees.

Morning, so wearily watched-for, came. The clouds broke in ma.s.ses, and rolled tardily down the sky. Day gilded the heavens, and the tranquil bosom of the low Cayuga mantled in his beams, and reflected the glory of his face. But to the Waldron Settlement that smiling day brought little hope, and no enjoyment. A favorite child was lost from a goodly family, and ill feelings were agitated, and all hearts ran after him through thicket and field, over hill and valley, like shepherds after a lost lamb. Comfortless and faint, the family a.s.sembled at the morning altar, and one general sob of grief, and one leaping pulse of anxiety went round. They kneeled for prayer; and the venerable father bore their pet.i.tions before the Lord. He prayed for grace to sustain them in the trial. He acknowledged their errors; but bending at the feet of Infinite Kindness, he was encouraged to ask for a Father's blessing.

He prayed for more faith in Providence. He prayed that they might have resignation, and that comfort might come to their hearts in the recovery of their little boy.

Grief brooded not over that altar alone. It sat upon every face; it occupied every home; it a.s.sailed every heart in the settlement. Tilly Troffater even seemed to share somewhat of the general sorrow, though seldom shedding a sympathetic tear.

"I never tuck a great likin' to childern," said he; "but I kindy liked little Clint; his cheeks was so soft, and smooth, and his eyes snapped sich funny fire; and he was olers so full o' his cunnin' jabber. I hope the painters haint ketched him. They yelled despotly last night; but I hope they haint ketched him yit. I'd like to see him agin, and baird his dimple face for him; the pretty mischief."

"He's worth a long hunt," said Colwell, "and my farm won't suffer if I search a month."

"I did not see how I could leave my work," said Wilson; "but I must give one hunt for Clinton; I must."

"We mustn't give him up yet. O, we can't give him up," added Uncle Walter; "we couldn't spare a soul from the settlement; we couldn't spare the leastest of your little brats, Troffater! But where are Matthew and the Major?"

"They followed Julia to the woods, very early, to see if they could find a trace of the boy," replied Mother Fabens.

"Then we must follow them in a trice," said Uncle Walter; and a general council was had, and it was agreed that they should form a line of all the men and women, four rods apart, and sweep the woods for a distance round; and with horns and bells to give salutes, and luncheon to refresh them when hungry, they marched through the moaning woods.

Night overtook them while they looked still for day, and they returned heavy-hearted and weary to their homes. Large and diligent had been the search, and all the kind Indians were out with them, but no trace could be found of the lost boy. The Indians shook their heads dolefully, and gave signs of despair, though little was said in discouragement, and all volunteered to continue the search the next day. No fires were kindled that night, and only once, in an hour, the horn was sounded, from each house, to give signs of watchfulness, and keep the wild beasts in their distant dens. Morning returned, and another council convened to compare suggestions, and commence another search. Mother Fabens related a dream of the last night, and all gathered around, to hear it. She dreamed that Clinton was pa.s.sing near the sugar camp, and a creature standing on his hind legs, rushed upon the boy, and bore him off to a mult.i.tude that looked like the creature, and let him go free among them. That Clinton wept at first, and tried to get away, but after awhile he looked cheerful again, and stayed with them till she awoke.

"Dreadful!" cried poor comfortless Julia; "can it, say, can it be true?"

"But that does not show he's killed; and I will not give him up yet,"

said Uncle Walter.

"The wolves hev muttoned him afore this, you may depend," said Troffater.

"I don't believe that," said Colwell.