[An ilustrated Edition

 

«

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1813, by BrapLx ann Apaws, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

 

EACH NUMBER COMPLETE.

 

“ Stop!” he shouted, ‘ or I will shoot.”

THE BACKWOODS

BRIDE.

A ROMANCE OF SQUATTER LIFR.

 

 

BY MRS. M. V. VICTOR.

AvtHor or ‘“ ALICE WILDE, Tom Rarrsman’s DAvaurer,” ETC., ETC.

 

CHARTER, i:
THE CAMP-MEETING,

Mr. Garprnek reined in his horse to take a survey of the
novel scene before him. He had been leisurely riding along,
thinking of the errand on which he was bent, which was, to
sce sone squatters who had erected their cabins upon land

Eatered according to Act of Congres, in the year 1860, by Inwiy P. Beapie & Co., in the Clerk’s
Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District ef New York.

ee ee

already purchased from Government, by his agent, the previ-
ous year, when he had suddenly come into full view of a camp-
meeting, the noise of which had attracted him some moments
before he ascertained its cause.

The camping-ground had been selected on the borders of
one of those fairy lakes, which gleam like enchanted ‘mirrors
out of their emerald frames, and are set in the most unex-
pected places, every here and there, through certain portions
of Michigan. Curious and unaccountable these lakes are,
for, though many are small enough to throw astone across, '

 
   

2

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

and one of themis named Dollar Lake, 80°small/and round
and bright is it; they are cold and fathomless.

 
 
  
  

Cl arrow strip of silver sand, which circlec
the di sheet of water, grew beautiful groves, who:
trees, ae ising, had nothing of the ancient

y ne of our primeval forests—for these were of
I awit and had sprung up within twenty years on
grounds which had erst been desolated by annual fires. In
the mingled shadow and sunshine of ‘this lovely spot were
gathered together two or three hundred ‘people. Rude seats
of boards, supported on the stumps of saplings which had
been sawn off some sixteen or eighteen inches from the ground,
surrounded the speaker's stand, which was canopied by the
polite Weaning of one of the largest oaks.

Upon these seats-‘many of the congregation were now sitting;
but, as many others were scattered about in the doors of their
tents, and in their wagons, while some of the more youthful
and reckless of the crowd were perched in the trees, where
they could ‘‘see the fun,” disturb with sly pranks the more
serious-minded, and send down grimaces to their fellow sin-
ners. The wagons were drawn up in a semicircle, at a little
distance, many of them covered, and answering the purpose
of tents; while, within this circle, another formed of tents of
all shapes and patterns, the most of them made of poles, cov-
ered over thickly with green branches of the forest, after the
manner of Indian wigwams; others, of blankets, blue, red and
striped, and still others of snowy white cloth.

At the moment of Harry Gardiner’s reaching the camp, one
of the preachers was offering up a prayer. With the natural
reverence of a noble nature, Harry took off his cap, and re-
mained respectfully listening. The preacher was a broad-
chested, black-haired, brown-faced man, who looked fitted in
stature and muscle to hold earthly, as well as spiritual war-
fare. When he first began his prayer, his voice was a clear
whisper, which blended in with the rustling of the leaves and
the murmur of the lake, as if nature and man were praying
together, and with an inconceivably sweet and thrilling effect.
So soul-subduing it was, that even the human monkcys ‘and
squirrels in the tree-tops ceased their pranks, and the rough
men who were whistling and defying the effects of the preach-

ing, began to open their mouths and put their hands in their

pockets, in attitude of attention.

Harry saw four villainous-looking fellows, who were play-
ing cards inside a covered wagon, forget their game, and bend
to listen, as the whisper rose, as the whisper of a storm rises
in the forest, until that strange, deep, powerful voice swayed
its hearers to and fro; sighed and shrieked, and thundered in
a mighty tempest of ids eae which shook the people as
reeds are shaken in a fearful wind. Then that excitable
gathering, made up mostly of those unused to controlling
‘their emotions, and whose feelings had already been power-
fully wrought upon, began to weep and wail, blending their
lamentation with the voice which almost fiercely implored

ir salvation. The deep ‘‘amen” of the deacons, the sob-

of the women, the groans of the men, were borne aloft

by that tempest of entreaty, until Harry, young and enthusi-
astic as was his temperament, almost looked for a miracle
in the shape of a special answer from the depths of the calm,
blue es above them, Hardly would he have wondered, had
those blue, ethereal curtains parted, and through'a flood of
a light, the Dove had descended, whispering, ‘‘ Peace,

~ be still!” to the tumultuous multitude.

At last the prayer was ended. Strong as appeared his bodily
powers, the spaces acne. exhausted, mentally and physi-
cally, as he sunk upon his seat, and wiped the swarthy brow

w almost pale with emotion. He had ‘ wrestled with God”
for these people whom he loved; and not only with God, but
with the devil, who, hie was bound, should not have a single
one of these congregated souls. In the comparative silence
which followed his sitting down, the sobs and screams of wo-
men, who were rocking themselves to and fro, or who had
flung themselves prone upon the ground, as well as the shouts
and groans of the men, became more audible, Harry dis-
mounted, and tying his horse to a tree, went forward near
the benches. The thought had struck him that the men he
wished to sce were doubtless, many of them, at this meeting;
and during the noon recess, which was now approaching, he
would have an opportunity of speaking with them.

“For shame, Susan Carter, to set here without shedding

_& tear, and-listen to such preachin’ and prayin’ as we've
heard this mornin’, Your heart must be as hard as the
-nether millstone. There’s Polly Hubbard faintin’ away,

now, in Ler mother’s arms—and she was always a better girl

than you—hadn’t nigh so much need of repentance.”

‘soul; but I should:

fore coming to the ‘‘ jumping-off” aa

 

my an!
_o“Indeed, Aunt. Debby, I joined in ¢ porte all my
n’t like to make such a public exibition of
my feelings as that.” OLE a te a
Iarry Gardiner looked at the speakers, who occupied a
seat close beside him, as he stood in the outer edee of the
circle. One of them was a spinster of five and forty, with
a narrow and peaked face, down either side of which, a few
wiry ringlets of black hair were permitted:to fall. She wore
one of the immense bonnets of that period, a fine leghorn,
which cost fifteen dollars, and was to last fifteen years. Her
green dress and white vandyke, looked prim and near. Be-
side her sat a girl of seventeen or tiehteatl as fresh, and
fair, and pretty, by contrast, asa young violet to a frost-
bitten marigold. It was a warm summer day, and her straw
bonnet was lying in her lap. The flickering shadows of the
maple-trees above them played over her brown tresses and
smooth, white forehead, and made flitting patterns over her
simple white frock. Just at this moment, when Harry first
observed her, the flush in her cheek, and the tears which
trembled like two great diamonds on her drooped eyelashes,
made her especially lovely. The rebuke of her self-righteous
relative had made the flood to brim over, which the words of
the preacher had already caused to rise.

“Shouldn't like to ’umble yourself, you mean,” continued
the aunt, tartly. ‘‘A girl that can lead off the dance as spry
as you, needn’t talk about being afraid to make a show of
herself. If you'd dance less, and pray more, you'd be nigher
your duty than you are now. If you'd a right sense of your
own want of grace, you’d just go down on your fave before
the hull congregation.

“Maybe I shall gain grace, by and by, if I strive for it,”
was the quiet reply. ,

‘How long do you ’spose you'll be safe in putting it off?
Yow’re well and hearty, and fat of life and spirits to-day;
but to-morrow you may be sick or dead, Susan Carter.”

The young man shuddered slightly as this appalling thought
was awakened by that loud, unrelenting tone.

‘See! there’s more’n a dozen goin’ down to the lake to be
baptized. They’re making sure of their salvation, even be-
fore they get their dinners. See how happy they are—shout-
ing ‘glory? and clapping their hands. Is there any sinful,
earthly pleasure that is equal to their joy ?—answer me that?
meat ! shall I tell one of the ministers you'd like to be bap-
tized?

“Not to-day, Aunt Debby. Indeed, I must have time to
think. It’s too important an act to décide upon so hastily.”

“Well, J’ve done my duty in askin’ you. You were al-
ways an obstinate, self-willed girl. There comes your father.
T reckon he’s thinkin’ of dinner; but there’s the folks to be
baptized.” f

A pleasant-looking, hard-handed, sunburnt farmer now
approached. . 4 ;

arry was quite certain that this was one of the men he
wished to see, for the name—Carter—was that of one of the
intruders upon his domains. He resolved upon accosting
him; but the whole meeting was at present absorbed in the
ceremony of baptism, which was.going on. One party stood
upon their bench to overlook the scene. When the sweet
hymn swelled up, at the close of the sacred rites, Harry was
touched alike by the fervent enthusiasm of the people, and
the beauty of the place and scene. The limpid clearness of
the lake, where it stretched out oyerca bepipg silver sand, be-
i ice into immeasurable
depths, fitted it peculiarly for the office it.served. The trees
stood around the shore like solemn witnesses.

As the grand old hymn reverberated through .the forest,
Harry stole a glance at the sweet countenance of Susan,
which was all trembling and alight with pure worship and
gladness. The slight stain of tears upon her cheeks softened
her somewhat brilliant beauty. Rustic as was her white
frock, her blue scarf, and kid slippers, she looked so inno-
cent, so maidenly, so refined, that she gave an impression of
all womanly sweetness and excellence.

“T shall be sorry if I’ve got to put her father to trouble,”
mused Harry.

When the singing ceased, and the crowd began to scatter
among the tents and wagons, he introduced himself to Mr.
Carter, stating that he had chanced upow the camp, while
trying to find his way to his house. Without stopping to in-
quire the nature of his business, the squatter gave him a
welcome, inviting him to dine with him in his tent. Harry
felt reluctant to eat the salt of a man whose interests he was
about to interfere with; but conscious of intending to act
with the strictest justice, he concluded to accept the hospi-

 

pie

 

 

 

 
 

 

rt oe
—

 

THE BACK WOODS BRIDE. 3

 

tality. It was a pretty sight to him, to sit in the door of the
tent, and see Susan fill the kettle from a pail of water which
the father brought from the lake, and hang it on the crane
made by laying a pole across a couple of crotches. With
more taste than was displayed by many of their neighbors,
she spread a white table-cloth on the grass beside the tent,
arranging upon it the cold ham and bread, pickles, and pies,
which formed their homely luncheon. When the water
boiled, she set the coffee to steeping, and its savory odor,
and the fanciful blaze and sparkle of the stick fire, were very
pleasant.

All these things Harry noted and enjoyed silently, while
he was talking sociably with his host. He was not so fasti-
dioug but that he relished the coffee served up in tin cups,
and the bread and meat which each one cut for himself, when
they were finally summoned to the table, and waited upon by
the half-shy, half-mirthful Susan,

The elder woman, who had been addressed as Aunt Debby
by her companion, had been holding a mournful conversation
with a young minister upon the subject of the vanity and
frivolity of so many extremely young girls, say, those who
were younger than herself; and how foolish and indiscreet, to
say nothing of sinful, it would be for a young man, called to
serve the Lord, to set his affections upon any of these giddy
high-flyers, when the summons to luncheon caused her to join
the family party. When she found herself seated upon the
grass opposite a young man, good-looking, well-dressed, and
of the most agreeable manners, the sad severity of her coun-
tenance melted away like frost beneath the glances of the sun.
She took an unobserved opportunity to pinch her cheeks and
give a twist to her raven ringlets.

“Comin’ among us to settle, sir?” she inquired, in a pun-
gent voice, which was to the ear as sweetened vinegar is to
the taste.

‘‘T have hardly decided,” answered the young stranger. ‘‘T
have purchased a large amount of land, and other property
in this section of your State; and if I like the country, I may
think it best to stop and look after my possessions myself.”

“*T must fain hope you'll find it to your interest to do so,
sir. We young people feel the need of congenial society very
much. It’s true there’s a good many youth of the opposite
sex—-more than there are of my own, at present—but they are
scarcely such as we would ak 4 to encourage—that is, Susan
and myself—except as mere acquaintance. We shouldn’t
think of them as partners for life, or any thing of that kind,
you know.” :

Harry darted a quick glance at the young girl, but her eyes
were bent upon the coffee-pot, and only the smallest corner of
a_smile was peeping out from behind her dimples,

‘‘Tf my interest in the country deepens as rapidly as. it
threatens to, I shall be unable to tear myself away,” he said.

The spinster looked flattered; that winning tone and polite
bow set her ancient heart ina flutter, under its white van-
dyke; but her niece raised her pretty head with a sudden

ride, which warned the young gentleman to be more discreet
n his compliments,

‘* At least I shall long remember this day,” he continued,
‘* for this is the first camp-meeting I ever attended.”

“Ts a purty spot for a campin’-ground,” remarked the
squatter.

The smoke curling up among the trees from more than a
score of tiny fires, the groups gathered about them; the neigh-
ing of horses; the odors of violets and moss, blended with the
flavors of the cooking; the gleam of the silver lake; the hum
of conversation; the dim recesses opening back in the woods;
the curiously-contrasted figures of the motley assembly; the
occasional shout of ‘ hallelujah!” and “glory!” from some
happy soul; blent with the whoop of mischievous boys, all
went to make up a vivid picture, as novel as it was interest-
ing.

“T don’t wonder that last preacher labored as hard as if he
was thrashin’ corn, when I think what a set he’s fightin’ with
the devil for,” continued Mr. Carter, while his guest’s eyes

-dwelt thoughtfully upon the scene: ‘‘Thar’s some of the

hardest cases in this crowd there is in the hull State, and
that’s sayin’ a good deal; for, if ever a State was overrun with
wickedness, it’s Michigan. Some folks thinks Arkansaw is
wuss, and mebbe it is; but to my thinkin’, this is gettin’ to be
about as bad as it can. Why, sir, a third of this ’ere crowd is
blacklegs and horse-thieves. They allers ’tend camp-mectin’.
It’s a good pies to get together, and see what’s goin’ on.
But once and a while one on’em gets caught before he knows
it. Some hard-fisted minister knocks the truth right into
him, and he jest gives up. Sometimes, p’raps, just as he’s

 

thinkin’ up the orfullest wickedness, he'll swaller somethin’
he’s heard, and it'll stick in his throat. like a fish-hook, and
he can’t get away, no, sir / he’s caught the bait, and is hauled,
spite of himself. straight into the kingdom. One of them
that was baptized this noon was Jeff Grimes, one of the hard-
est cases in the country. He’s been in state-prison twice for
counterfeitin’ and horse-stealin’; he can sw’ar a blue streak,
git a fellow’s watch while he is talkin’ as friendly as pie with
him, and run off any horse he gets hiseye on. He came here,
I expect, to ply his trade; but last night, a bullet from the
rifle of the Lord’s soldier, who was firin’ away from the pul-
pit thar, hit him plump in the conscience, and down he went
on the ground, as if he was dead. Some of the ministers and
women was a-workin’ over him half the night. He was in a
frightful state of mind. Towards mornin’ he got happier,
ane to-day he’s been baptized. One such conversion as that.
encourages them poor preachers toa hull year of work. They
see hard times, them preachers do. They run all kinds of
dangers; set down by anybody’s hearthstone that'll give them
a bed and a meal, and don’t ask nothin’ but enough to keep
’em alive. I ain’t a member of any church, but I tell has
what, my cabin is always free to’em. As for sister Debby
here, it’s the delight of her life to have a preacher stoppin’ at
the house,” and the farmer smiled good-naturedly at her.
‘““There’s an extra allowance of eggs in the johnny-cakes, and
maple-sugar in the tea on them occasions. If she don’t marry
a Methodist minister yet, it won’t be because she hasn’t striven.
hard enough to that end.” .

“‘Oh, brother, now you get out! I shall always do my duty
to the servants of the Lord, be they married or otherwise.
But I’m by no means set on one fora husband. <Any good
man—that is, one not ’specially bad, would not be refused
by me if I wished to marry, which you know, I do not.

hey’re always teasing me about matrimony,” she continued,
with a youthful smile directed to their guest, ‘‘ when nothing
can be further from my thoughts. You won’t mind them
now, will you, sir?” with a slight coquettishness.  ‘‘If I
wished to assume connubial relations, I should have done so
years ago—that is a few years ago, before I was twenty. It is
sometimes so painful to refuse the solicitations of the other
sex, and so distressing to witness the despair hurled upon a
noble heart by an unmitigated negative, that I have several
times been almost induced—but of this no more.” :

“It must be a cruel task for the fair and gentle hand of
woman to perform so severe a work as that of heaping des-
pair upon a breaking heart,” responded Harry, with a gallan-
try that was delightful to its recipient. ‘‘ But perhaps all are
not so sensitive to giving pain as yourself. Some women, I
could imagine, would take leasure in tormenting the hearts
in their power,” and he looked over at Susan. ;

‘Aunt Debby, they’re going to sing.” _—

“Oh, my! I must join them, then. They need my help
very much. You will put away the things, Susan;” and she
hurried forward into the ring which surrouaded the miAister,
who was leading the Pye, : : fs

Harry could clearly distinguish that shrill voice rising above
all others, and soaring alone through the tree-tops with an
ear-piercing exultation that was surprising. ee

“Tf you want to talk on business,” said the squatter,
“‘come down here under the shelter of that little bank by the
lake. We can set there and talk, undisturbed. It ain’t hardly
respectful to be taking care of our worldly affairs right. here
in the very hearin’ of the gospel. When the things are put
away, you'd better join your aunt, Susan;” and the two men
strolled out of the crowd, down toacool and quiet nook,
where a mound in the land had shelved off into the water,
leaving half the roots of the tree it held exposed to the air,
and beneath those roots a dry beach of silvery sand and a flat
stone, upon which they seated themselves to discuss business.

»

 

CHAPTER II.
SQUATTERS’ TROUBLES.

WueEn their talk was over, the two arose and Harry Gar-
diner, looking flushed and displeased, mounted his horse, and
rode along in search of the nearest tavern, while Enos Carter,
pale with anger, moved hither and thither in the conkresation,
speaking to this one and that, who immediately left their
places, and followed him out of hearing of the meeting into

 
4 , NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

the depths of the grove, where violent words and excited ges-
tures broke forth without restraint. :

"When Harry had started for the West to look up his pro-
perty, and claim his rights, he had small idea of the disagree-
able and even dangerous nature of his business. He had
heard that a whole band of emigrants, from one of the eastern
States, had squatted upon his land the previous year. He
was sorry for the disappointment they must suffer when they
found they had appropriated purchased land; but he felt, at
the same time, that they should have been more careful in
their choice. He was resolved to pay them, as far as was in
his power, for the improvements they had made, or sell them
their farms for the sum he had paid for them, which was cer-
tainly a just and generous offer; very generous, since he pur-
chased to speculate, and had expected to sell for a handsome
advance.

But the moment he opened the subject with Mr. Carter, the
man had grown angry and unreasonable. There had been,
with others in their vicinity, so much trouble in the same
way, or by squatters not entering their land, and having it
afterward sold from them, that one of those deep and deadly
prejudices, which take such rank hold in new and ignorant
communities, had sprung up among these squatters, and they
had sworn to yield their assumed rights to no man. Coming
to the West with just means enough to put up a shanty to
shelter them, and to pay for provisions until they could raise
them, they settled wherever they pleased, without pa ing the
Government for their farms, and, in many cases, without en-
tering them; so that, when the land came to be surveyed and
put up for sale it was bought away from them. —

In this particular case, they had chanced upon a section
already sold to Harry Gardiner, who, having money which
he wished to invest, had employed an agent to look up prom-
ising western land for him. He had paid the Government
price for it, and lain out of his money two years, and he
naturally felt very little like abandoning his claim.

On the other hand, these men, in their ignorance, some-
what mistaking the nature of the laws, and firmly believin
that in the new country men were entitled to all they could
cultivate, had, unfortunately, put their little worldly-all into
improvements. For over a year they had worked hard, en-
during the privations of settlers’ lives. They had built them-
selves log-cabins, and filled them with rude furniture. All
winter they had felled trees and split fence -rails, and now
the grain had just been harvested for the first time, from
the fields that had been fenced in. As for selling these
oe for the bare worth of the improvements, and taking

eir wives and little ones to another wilderness, there to
pass through another series of hardships, was not to be
thought of peaceably. And as to paying even Government
prices for their farms, it would take the gains of three years
to do it at least.

After setting fire to the smoldering passions of his com-
panions, Mr. Carter sat aside, thinking gloomily of the
threatened misfortune. The picture of his neat log-cabin,
with its two rooms and a loft, rose vividly around him. He
saw the wild rose which Susan had planted, clambering over
the window, and the little vegetable garden in the rear, and
the border of wild blue violets around the front of the house.
He had promised himself to buy a yoke of oxen with the
money made off the grain this year, that he might have the
wherewithal to raise a larger crop another season. But all
that money, and all he could earn for several years, would
be swallowed up, and he would be still poor, and crippled
for want of pene to work with. Or, if he abandoned
the place, there was that weary beginning over again. Su-
gan’s busy fingers and pretty tastes had already invested his
cabin with the charms of home; the neighbors were, most of
them, old acquaintances, and life had begun to look prom-
ising and cheerful, before this thunder-cloud gathered in their

sky. 4

% Sue’s seventeen now, and when she’s twenty I shall be
as bad off as I am now. Industrious and careful as she is,
J shan’t have nothing to set her up in life with, and buy her
the fixin’s she deserves, if she should take it into her head to
get married. I don’t care so much for myself nor even for
sister Debby; but Sue—I swear Pll fight to the death before
I give up an inch.”

Tio Carter was the seat Ho in the band of neigh-
bors who had come West together; not on account of being

any richer than the rest of them, for he was not; but he
h

rather more education than the others, and a good deal
of executive talent; and there had been a time when he was
in easy circumstances.

Susan had snugly laid away in the

 

. now overthrown in the disturbed mind of
upon returning to camp, he struck his tent, packed up its

 

old-fashioned bureau, which was one of the few articles of

- furniture they had brought with them, many relics of the

former better estate of her parents; carefully preserved gar-
ments of that mother, who died when she was a little girl.
There were linen sheets and pillow-cases, spun and woven.
Be their owner for the bridal outfit; the wedding-dress itself,
of handsome brocade; a black-lace vail; a set of silver tea-
spoons, and three long spoons; a string of gold beads, which
Susan sometimes brought forth on festive occasions. The
very white dress which she had worn to the camp-meeting
had once been her mother’s and was the finest old-fashioned’
India mull, tucked half-way up the skirt, and with real
thread-lace sewed around the neck. Other remains there
were of those articles of dress and furniture, common to the
best class of eastern farmers whose daughters rivaled those
of their city cousins in solid education, if not in showy ac-
complishments. Susan’s mother had been the belle of her
county when she was a girl; she could paint in water-colors;
write as handsome a hand as the writing-master; parse equal
to the smartest young man; and dance better than any other
girl on the shore of Lake Ontario. Susan was an only child;
her mother had died when she was a little girl, and her fath-
er’s sister, Deborah, had taken her place as manager of the
household. Aunt Debby had a good many little weaknesses,
and was by no means so good a person to bring up a young
maiden as the mother would have been, had she been spared;
but Susan, by means of inherited grace and good sense, grew
up as much like her mother as possible. It was not strange
that this child was the idol of her father; and that, when re-
verses came upon him, and times oh hard, and living poor
in their native State, he resolved, for her sake, to emigrate to
a new country, where a few years of labor would enable*him
to gratify his ambition for her.

hinking all this over, and the many disappointments of
his life, in connection with the new trouble coming upon him,
the squatter rose, and strode among the high-talking com-

any.

‘“Neighbors and friends,” said he, ‘‘I sw’ar, for one, to
fight it out.”

“And I,” ‘and I,” echoed all the rest. ’

“We'll hang that dandified youngster on the nearest tree,
before we'll allow him to interfere with what’s ours,” ex-
claimed a low-bred, ugly-looking man, the roughest of the
set. :

‘No, no, neighbor; we'll not make ourselves liable to the
law,” interposed Enos Carter; ‘‘ but we'll scare him out of it.
We'll frighten him, so ie won’t want to show his face in these
parts again.”

‘“ We'll give him a coat of tar and feathers; ha! ha! ha!
It'll become him better than the broadcloth coat he wears,”
spoke another.” L ,

aaes got plenty of rails—we’ll give him a ride,” joined
a third. :

Out of all the number, there was not one man to acknowl-
edge the rights of the young landowney, or to place his position
in the light of Justice before the rest—so does self-interest
blind the eyes, and prejudice deafen the ears of people; and
when these two are united with ignorance, the result may be
dreaded, both by large institutions and by single individuals.
All good which might have resulted from the preaching, was
r. Carter; and

contents in the wagon, hitched to it the one horse, which had
been his only servant through ‘the labors of the year, called
his sister and daughter away from the sermon, and Ctove
home in ominous silence. j

Susan was buried in thought between wondering what had
come over her father, and what had become of the interestin
stranger who had dined with them, and whether she shotild
ever see him again, recalling his pleasant voice and that un-
studied ease, so different from the bashful awkwardness of
the neighboring young men. Aunt Deborah was oe on
the eloquence of a certain bachelor minister, half-unheard by
the pre-occupied minds of the other two, until she at

‘ broke away from the matter in hand by exclaiming: “‘ La!
wonder what’s become of that Mr. Gardiner! I thought, like-

ly, ag he’d business with you, he’d gone home with you. He
was a sweet young man, and so polite.” }

“Quss his politeness!” broke forth the farmer, so sternly
that Susan involuntarily drew away from his side, as if the
whip he flourished might descend upon her. ‘I'd like to
give hima oa horsewhipping with this very whip; and
will yet, an’ he don’t look out for himself, the scoun rel!”

“What has he done, father?” asked Susan, her heart sink.

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

THE BACK WOODS BRIDE. 5

 

ing, for she had, even more than she was aware, formed a

very favorable opinion of the stranger.

In words by no means softly chosen, the!squatter informed

Ais family of the nature of Mr. Gardiner’s business, and of

the sworn resolve of those concerned to repel him.

“‘ But, father,” said Susan, gently, ‘‘I don’t see why you
speak so bitterly of him. It seems to meit’s not his fault, but
our misfortune. For my part I’d rather get along just-as we
have, and go without every thing, to pay for our land, than
to feel that I had wronged the rightful owner out of it.”

“* And who’s the rightful owner, I’d like to know?” retorted
the father, firmiy. ‘God made this earth to be free to all;
and whoever takes wild land, and clears it, and cultivates it,
makes it his own—he’s a right to it. What right have these
men that never did a day’s work in their lives, coming along
and takin’ the bread out of our mouths? We've made up our
minds that we’ll put a rope around that young dandy’s neck,
before we'll pay him for what’s ours.”

‘‘ That’s him, now, standing in the door of Giles’ tavern,”
said Deborah.

Giles’ tavern was a two-story house of squared logs, stand-
ing on the edge of the road in a piece of woods, about two
miles from the cabin of Mr. Carter. He had intended to
water his: horse at the trough in front, but upon hearing the
exclamation of his sister, he drove straight past, without look-
ing in that direction. Susie stole a timid glance, and thought
the young gentleman handsomer than ever, as he lifted his
straw hat respectfully in reply to her half-repressed nod. He
looked so manly ‘dite honest, she would not believe that he
intended to oppress and injure them; and she regretted the
angry mood into which her father had worked himself.

heir little home, shadowed by oaks, and trellised with
wild-roses and morning-glories, the seeds of which Susie had
brought with her from the East, looked so peaceful and com-
fortable, after a two days’ absence, that it increased the sad-
mess are upon all hearts. The rays of the declining sun
streamed under the trees, and lighted up the door brilliantly,
showering gold-dust all over the white dress and brown tresses
— Susie, as she sprung out of the wagon, and ran to open the
cabin,

But the farmer only grumbled at the auspicious omen.

CHAPTER III.
A SCENE AT MIDNIGHT.

Gis’ tavern was the head-quarters of a great many differ-
ent classes of people; as it was the best sae almost the only
stopping-place between two far-apart towns. Speculators and
buyers of land were sometimes compelled to stop there days
at atime. It had all the chance custom of ordinary travel;
and, though well kept and. respectable, no doubt gamblers
frequently found it convenient to assemble there; and it was
well known that a gang of counterfeiters had once carried on
their nefarious business in one of its upper apartments. Small
need, however, was there of counterfelters in those days. of
wild-cat banks, when anybody who had a little real or as-
sumed property, could set up a bank for himself. After the
disasters of 1836-7, the people of Michigan wanted money, and

- ‘the obliging legislature passed laws which enabled every man

to make it for himself. Thousands of these worthless notes
flooded the State, and if the excitable, inconsistent populace,
now lynching a man who asked to have his notes redeemed,
and then burning ‘in effigy the officers of the very banks they
defended—if this populace did make a run on one of these
peculiar institutions, it was very apt to find that in return for
any quantity of nice paper currency, there was a dollar and
fifty cents in copper coin in the vaults of the bank, and gome
spavined horses, broken-down carriages, and unsalable city
water-lots, out of it for theirsecurity. All of which is by-the-

way.
, Gans Gardiner had been several days at the tavern. He
_ had visited all the squatters who had settled on his land, and

made them the proposition we mentioned in the beginning,
but they had all shown @ spirit which convinced him that
affairs could not be amicably arranged, and he was now about
to employ an attorney to recover his rights for him.
Although they Gad brounght it on ‘themselves, they were
doubly infuriated at the prospect of the trouble and expense
of going to law. The landlord of the tavern had warned him
of personal danger, but Harry was brave, and laughed at the

 

idea... He eattied, as all travelers in those days did, a. brace
of pistols; though he would have disdained touse them in any
common encounter. If aman attacked him with his fists, he
would use the same weapons, and he was not afraid of the
burliest of the gamblers, i ‘ ; ;

On the particular evening of which we are writing, he had
noticed a larger crow] than usual gathered in the bar-room
to drink whisky and talk over the affairs of the day. Among
these loungers were almost all the squatters. who were at en-
mity with him. He observed, without much caring for, their
hovering glances and muttered threats. As they would not
be friendly with him, and he had no taste for bar-room revelry,
he retired early to the little room which he occupied, and
spent the evening writing letters. At eleven. o’¢lock, the
light was still shining from his window, for he had got in the
mood for cléaring up all delinquent.correspondence. He had
just sealed the last letter, when there came a light tap at. his
door; he opened, and beheld with surprise, Susan Carter
standing there, her face pale and hands trembling. She
stepped in as he unclosed the door, and herself shut it behind
them. She had ona large camlet cloak, though it was. an
August night, and a huge sun-bonnet, which she pushed back
as she entered.. ‘You are in danger, and I have come’ to
warn you of it,” she whispered. ‘‘ Danger?” asked the young
man, half incredulously, looking into the pale young face,
whose eyes were unnaturally bright. :

““ Yes! father told me all about it. Heis one of them. He
would never forgive me if he knew I had stolen through the
woods to warn you, and I should be disgraced if they found
me here. But I could not help it—I could not keep still and
know that an innocent person was going to be injured, per-
haps murdered, who knows? That Dan Sturgiss is an ugly
fellow, and he’s the ringleader. As soon as Aunt Debby was
in bed, I stole out and ran all the way. [ve been half an
hour watching a chance to slip in the. back door.” ;

‘But what is this terrible danger, my dear child?”

‘You need not smile, Mr. Gardiner. You may be brave,
‘but they are too many for you. The squatters have made up
their minds to get rid of you. They’re gathering down in the
bar-room now, and the landord dare not tell you. At mid-
night they are to take you out of bed, tar-and-feather you, and
ride you out of the country. They will disgrace you, if they
don’t kill you.” eo

‘‘ And you do not wish to see me disgraced? You are very
generous to risk so much for me, Miss Carter.” :

_ She blushed deeply, but continued hurriedly in an implor-
ing tone.

‘Do fly, while you have a chance. There is no one on this
side of the house; you can blow out the light, and drop down
from the window—it is not far,” :

‘‘T shall not fly,” said the young man, decidedly.

‘Indeed, indeed, Mr. Gardiner, T heard them talkin about
the creek, and about giving you a good ducking. You do
not know what such men, as Dan Sturgiss “will do, when
they're roused. They'll be sure to. drown you. And father
will be mixed up in it,” she added, bursting into tears. __

“I shall shoot the first two men who enter my room, and
then turn in and thrash the rest;” and he drew a Geer eran.
At this moment, they heard feet cautious] ascending the
stairs, and whispers in the passage. Susan ¢ asped her hands.
There was no fastening to the door but a stout button; this
Harry turned, and then throwing up the window, he seized
the girl by the waist—‘‘ You must not be compromised,” he
said, and lifting her'through the window, he lowered her by
one of her arms.as far as possible, and let her drop.

The men by this time were pushing at the door. © Taking
up his pistols, which lay upon the stand at which he had been
writing, Harry stood, aye the onslaught of the intruders.
One push of a powerful shoulder, and the aad yielded, reveal-
ing a score of determined men, their faces burning with re-
venge and hate. The cool, firm demeanor of the man they
had expected to capture asleep in his béd, somewhat daunted
them, coupled as it was by the brace of pistols held up un-
swervingly,

“The first who steps a foot inside this door is a dead man,”
he said, as they made a motion to enter. é

_ There was a moment’s pause. The huge form of Dan Stur-
giss almost filled the door, hesitating at the deadly look of the
weapons before him. ; Ya

“Oh, cuss it, if that’s yer game, ’m up to’t,” he muttered
ang, quick as thought he drew a pistol from his pocket and

He had not paused to take steady aim, but bounded forward

_ the instant he fired; but he was met in that first step by a shot
    

{
f
L

6

which leveled him to the floor. The next man behind him
was Enos Carter. “With a whoop of fury the party pressed
forward, now that blood had been shed, careless of results.
Harry fired his last pistol, and Carter staggered to the wall.
Harry saw that it was him, with a pang of regret; but he was
fighting in self-defense, and he dared not pause to repent.

ow that his weapons were exhausted, the room filled with
his assailants; one, two, three, he leveled with a chair, and
then, finding that numbers must certainly overpower him,
and not afraid of any imputation of cowardice after the man-
ner in which he had met the enemy, he seized a favorable in-
stant, and sprung through the window still open behind him.
He caught the ledge of the window with his hand, and hung
a second, that he might drop with less force upon his feet,
dropped and ran. ‘evo or three sprung out after him, and
others dashed down the stairs in pursuit. A forest lay back
of the tavern, into whose depths he plunged; but he had run
but a short distance before his ankle, which he had sprained
in leaping from the window, gave out, and refused to assist
him. Some of his pursuers had lighted torches, and under
these discouraging circumstances he resolved to climb a tree,
whose thick foliage would screen him, where, perched in its
ybper branches, he awaited the result of this unexpected af-

air.

‘With his ankle giving him great physical pain, and with
his mind distressed at the probability of his having taken hu-
man life, he remained in his uncomfortable situation until
long after the morning broke. Weary and hungry, and feel-
ing that the community at large ought to bear him out in the
course be had taken, whatever the squatters themselves might
design, he finally descended from his concealment and limped
back to the tavern. Sparse as was the settlement, quite a
crowd had collected about the house, and as soonas he made
his appearance a constable advanced from it with a warrant
for his arrest for the murder of Daniel Sturgiss, and for mak-
ing an assault, with intent to kill, upon Enos Carter.

“Was Carter much hurt?” was the first question he asked.

“Can’t tell yet whether itll be fatal or not. The doctor
thinks he’s dangerous,” replied the constable.

‘© Where is he?”

“6 Home.”

‘* Poor Susie,” murmured Harry, to himself.

The prisoner only asked for his breakfast, and to have his
ankle bandaged, and to get some papers from his room; and
then he was marched away amid the admiration of some of
the crowd, and the fierce threats and imprecations of others.
The jail was a log edifice, similar to the tavern, with thé ex-
ception of strong bolts, and iron bars across the windows. ‘It
was about four miles from the tavern, and the riotous crowd
who escorted the prisoner, passed the cabin of Enos Carter on
its way. There they paused, and would have given yells of
vengeance, had not the doctor appeared at. the door, motion-
ing them to be silent. The prisoner cast a longing, regretful
glance at the little house, but he saw no one save the doctor,
and rode on in silence until he came to the prison in which he
‘was so suddenly to be shut out from business and pleasure,
from sunshine and liberty, to ponder in solitude the unpleas-
antness of his position ,

.

CHAPTER Iv.
THE TRIAL—VERDICE—TAE MOB.

‘Tux funeral of Dan Sturgiss was a curious affair. Half
the country attended it; and it was more like a triumphant
procession than a funeral march, when they wended their way
to the grave, so excited was the populace, and so loud the
whispers and deep the oaths which disturbed it. As the coffin
was lowered ilito the ground, and the first shovelful of earth
rattled upon it, the men who had borne it on their shoulders
to the spot, and who were the same concerned in the conspir-
acy against the one who had caused this death, clasped hands
across the unfilled graye, and swore’ to attempt vengeance
upon the murderer, should the law fail to’ convict him.

Weeping and distracted, with five little ones, frightened and
crying, clinging about her, the widow, in her poor garments,
and with. only a piece of black ribbon on her bonnet for
mourning, was a sight suflicient of itself'to rouse her neigh-
bors to hatred and revenge against him who had brought this
upon her. Jt is true that Dan had been a bad husband, had

'
t

provided very illy for her, and that she could scarcely be |

worse off without him—but all this was forgotten now, both

 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

by herself and her friends. A contribution was taken up on
the spot, each of the squatters, with whom. money was. the
scarcest of articles, giving what few shillings change he had
in his pocket, and some of the better classes, who had eome
from here and there out of curiosity to hear the story, giving
a dollar or two apiece—so that Mrs. Sturgiss took back to her
log-hut more money than she had ever possessed at one time
before—sufficient to lay in a store for winter, both of food
and clothing.

None of that pitying crowd who witnessed her distress had
a thought for the wordless misery which would have come
upon a pleasant Eastern home, where a fond mother and

beautiful sisters spent their evenings recalling the many virtues,

of the only son and brother, had Harry Gardiner, their pride
and idol, allowed himself to be dragged to an ignominious
death by these very compassionate men. ;

From the funeral the crowd hurried away to the justice’s
office, a shanty set up in the shadow of the jail, where at three
o'clock, the prisoner was to go through the formality of a pre-
liminary examination. When he was brought forth from the
jail, and obliged to pass through a dense crowd in order to
reach the office, a man with a grain of cowardice in his com-
position would have betrayed some shrinking from the sea of
threatening foes surging about him, and the wild cries, the
shaking fists, and muttered oaths. But Harry never even
changed color. His bearing won the admiration of every one
who had not some personal motive in disliking him. He was
not slow to perceive that he had almost as many friends as
enemies. There were landholders and rich men scattered
through the country, who had had great trouble with the
squatters, and these, of course, sympathized with him. And
as the worst of men always set a high value upon physical
courage, Harry had also a large body of friends among the
dregs of the collected crowd.

The squatters had tried to get up a concerted movement for
seizing the prisoner, and inflicting summary punishment with
their own hands; they displayed a stout, new rope, and made
other demonstrations, but the opposing party were so numer-
ous that they finally concluded to wait a better opportunity.

Court: sat the first of September, and it was now late in
August; the prisoner waived any defense at present, and after
a brief examination, was remanded back to jail to await his
trial.

The jail was at the crossing of two roads; and with a small
log structure, which was dignified as a court-house, a lawyer's
office and house in one, the justice’s office, and half a dozen
other tenements, made up a little village. There was a tavern
of course, but its reputation for fried chicken and clean beds
was not equal to Giles’ tavern, and it was therefore less pat-
ronized, except at court-time, when it overflowed even into
the neighboring houses.

It was after dark of the fifth day of his incarceration,»as
Harry sat in his room, thinking of home, and how uncomfort-
able the chain about his leg felt—for as the jail was not very
secure, they had made sure of him, by chaining him—and of
what’ his mother and sisters would feel if they knew his’ situ-
ation, and kind of dumbly wondering, as people in great em-
ergencies will, whether he, Harry Gardiner, so young, so well-
to-do, so active, so much interested in himself and the world,
would really, in a few brief weeks, be cut off from his career
on earth by a hangman’s rope. These thoughts were drifting
through his mind like black shadows through the air, when
his jailer drew the bolts and admitted a visitor to see him.

Harry had already received a good many calls, which the
jailer, who was secretly friendly to him, had permitted, and
he was not much surprised at this. The dim light of the one
smoky lamp did not reveal very clearly the ‘features of his
visitor, who appeared to be a tall, slender man, in very <dll-
fitting clothes, and who had a basket in his hand, which had
previously been examined by the jailer. As soon as the Jatter
had retired, the slouched hat drawn over his face was lifted,
and Harry, to his astonishment, gradually recalled the face
of no other person than Miss Deborah Carter. A sweet hope
that Susan had commissioned her with some message, sprung
up in his heart—he had so wished to hear if Susan hated him
beyond forgiveness for the injury he had inflicted on her
father. The thought of the suffering he must have caused
her, had troubled him more than his own concerns.

‘“Miss Carter!’ he exclaimed, springing up and darting for-
ward a step, jerked back again by the chain. whose presence
he had forgotten. ;

“Het he! Mr. Gardiner, I hope you won’t consider me foo
indelicate; appearing in your presence in man’s attire, Noth-
ing but—but—you must understand me—my pity for your sit-

4 ”

uation could have—induced me to take such a step—I—

 

 

 

-

 

 

 
 

Oe

 

 

 

 

 

THE BACK WOODS BRIDE. “a

yf‘ Did, Miss. Susan send you?” .... - {

» ‘Susan! no indeed, not, she! you mi ht hang for all: she
cares, _ Ever.since her father was brought in; she’s done noth:
in’ but ‘tend him, and ery.” :
ieee is he?” :
‘* Well, he’s been bad; but he’s a little better, I know it
must seem heartless to his only sister to be bringing pie and
cake to the man who came so nigh to murdering him—and
that’s why I borrowed his clothes to come in. If the neigh-
bors should find it out, they’d shame me out of the commu-
nity. But”—with,a deep. sigh—‘‘I couldn’t help ‘it. | Ever
since the first moment of our acquaintance, I’ve felt  differ-
ently to you from what I ever did to. any other of the’ male
sex. I'd have died before you should have guessed it, if this
thing hadn’t happened, But how could I know your danger
and conceal my bursting heart? I knew Mrs. Green was an
awful. cook, and so I just took the liberty of. bringing you
some of my own pumpkin-pie and pound-cake. I’ve took
every. pains with ’em, and I know they’re nice. | Oh, sir!
you'll neyer guess the feelings that overcame me as I was
beating up the eggs for that cake,”—and a profound sigh,
which was almost a groan, attested to her sincerity. ;

Surprised and confused by this unexpected confession from
the tall spinster, Harry blushed like a girl at the avowal of
her first lover, murmuring—‘‘I’m really greatly obliged. to
you, Miss Carter, both for these nice eatables, and for the in-
terest. you have expressed in my case. I feel quite hopeful of
a good result. I really can not make up my mind that I am
to die the death of a convicted murderer.”

“Tf you should ever be released, you'll forget the boldness
of your unhappy Deborah, won’t you, now ?—promise me?”

“IT can not promise to forget your kindness. We usually
remember with gratitude those who are kind tous in our
dark hours.”

“Talk not of gratitude! it is too cold a term, Oh, if you
can never, never respond to the emotions you have called
forth, then say no more. If I can not have your first. affec-
tions, I wish for nothing less. This is strange talk, isn’t it—
and fora consistent member of the Methodist church? I
know not what it was, whether it was your eyes, or your
sweet smile, or your politeness—I know not what spell it was
—boo! hoo! but I—boo! hoo!—felt at once—boo! hoo! hoo!”
—and breaking down into a regular crying-spell, this victim
of misplaced love, sobbed hysterically.

Poor Deborah! she was really undoubtedly in love; and
that strange mistake under which maidens of her age often
seem to labor, with regard to their charms, and the imper-
ceptibility of their age had inspired her with a faint hope that
her devotion might win a response. Poor Deborah indeed !—
when_all this time the man 10 whom she had committed her-
self, was only thinking what sweet rapture would have been
his, if, instead of this grenadier aunt, there had come stealing

into his cell that shy, bright, beautiful niece, to make him the

same confession... For, just as singularly, as pious particular
Debby had succumbed to his good qualities, had Harry been
enchanted by the fresh beauty and purity of Susan Carter.
And since he had been confined to that wearisome prison-
room, he had thought so much of that pale, lovely apparition
appearing to warn him of his danger, and of a déeper feeling
than pity which, he fancied, he had detected in her tremulous
tones, that she seemed to him an old. acquaintance—a sweet
star which had always shone upon his' life instead of a tran-
sient light which aa beamed upon him once. or twice.
“Don’t, don't, my dear Miss Carter, pray don’t give way
so,” he pleaded, in distress, as her sobs accumulated. ‘‘ In-
deed, I have a yery—yery high ton for you—and I shall
always remember your pound-cake—and—and—and—your
goodness—” and in his sincere compassion for her, he came
yery near putting his arm about that virgin waist, and con-
soling her with a kiss. : :

But we need not attempt to describe his situation to those
of our young lady readers who have been in a similar one
with a fellow-being of the other sex. Almost to. his relief,
the jailer knocked at the door to signify that the half-hour of
the interview had expired. Hastily slouching her hat over
her eyes, and taking up the empty basket, whose contents
now enlivened Harry’s lonely table, she whispered in his
ear—

“They talk of taking you out of jail and stringing you up
without judge or jury. But I don’t believe they'll be allowed
to. You've friends as well as enemies. Oh, dear, dear! if I
could plan out some,way, to get. you out of this, Pd do it,
whether you married me or not.”

“What did Miss Susan say when they brought her father

 

home?” asked Harry, detaining her a moment; a8 shé squeezed
his hand. ' aan |

“Tm sure I don’t precisely recollect what thé silly thing
said: I b’lieve she said—‘I° should think he might have
chosen out somebody besides my father.” fi ost

‘* Of course she would say that,” murmured the prisoner.
‘“ Well, good-by, and God bless-you.” }

At this the spinster would have broken out afresh, but the
door opened, and the fear of detection repressed her, Again
squeezing his hand hysterically, she departed; from that time
forward to the day of the trial, Harry did not want for delica-
cies to Satisfy the cravings of physical hunger, though he, the
worshiped, affectionate boy at home, was sometimes sorel
famished for a word of love or'a gentle caress. Yet as he had
refused such as was offered him, it was a proper punishment
that he should be deprived of all other,

That terrible day arrived within a fortnight. People had
come from a circuit of fifty miles to be present at. the trial,
An unusual interest was aroused by the party character of the
case, the squatters and their associates being against, and the
richer class of the community for the prisoner. Every house
in the settlement was thronged with strangers, glad’ of the
privilege of sleeping on the floor where beds could not be
had. The court had great difficulty in impanneling’a jury, as
nearly every man had formed and expressed an opinion.
Three days were consumed in this tedious business, tedious}
but all-important—for, should there be a preponderance of
squatter influence among the jury, the chances of the accused
would be small indeed. Harry’s lawyer informed him that
the jury was as good a one as could have been expected, and
that he did not believe they should have any serious trouble
in carrying the case through to a triumphant issue. Harry
felt that his object was to infuse him with courage, and
smiled proudly. His was a nature, that if he had known he
was marching to tertain death, would never have allowed an
unfair enemy a moment of triumph. ¢

The majority of the mass of people gathered in and about
the little court-house, on the day of trial, had never beheld
the prisoner, and when he was escorted by a stout guard from
the jail to the bar, he had to encounter the ordeal of athou-
sand eager eyes, q

His youth, his beauty, and the singular frankness of his ex-
pression, coupled with a bearing of quiet courage, won upon
a portion of the multitude, just as it excited that envious ha-
tred of the lower classes, which is.of all hatred the most
deadly.

The lawyer employed by the State, was a man ambitious
of power, and feeling it for his interest. to secure the d-
will of the voting majority—the people, he put forth his ef-
forts to. please them, and convict the prisoner of willful mur-
der. Harry was not.really much afraid of. a verdict of will-
ful.murder, but he did fear a verdict of manslaughter, and a
sentence to more or Jess years of imprisonment.» So horrible
a possibility looming up in place of the light-hearted visions
with which he had peopied the future, was enough to dismay
him—but he would not be dismayed. 1} edsci fi

With a slight flush of the cheek and sparkle of the: eye, he
sat quietly listening, to the various witnesses for the rosecu-
tion. Their testimony did not always appear to advan-
tage—the hot passion, the blind. rage, showed, forth |too visi-
bly; and they were frequently taken aback and convictedcof
untruth and inconsistency by the cool questioning of; the
counsel for the defense, Whenever this was the. result; it
seemed to only anger and excite the shock-headed squatters
who filled the windows, doors, and the area without, to suffe-
cation. sf to | ri

The only witness called. for the defense, was the tavern-
keeper, who testified. to, the threats made in his presence
against the safety of the prisoner; that he had warned him of
danger; that the purpose of the men who assaulted the door
of his room, had been acknowledged. down-stairs. to be feloni-
ous, assault, if not murder. .

Harry was well aware that the testimony.of Susan Carter
would be valuable to him; but not even to enhance his own
chances of safety, would he summon her as a Witness, and be-
tray the part she had played in coming to his room to warn
him. , He would. not call that modest. girl before. all those
glaring eyes, and bring the dislike of her own people upon
her by compelling her to testify against them. .. . 229

What was his surprise, therefore, after Giles had taken his
seat, to see his lawyer make way for a yailed. figure which
came timidly forward to.the witness-box, and there throwing
up. the veil, disclosed the face of Susan Carter. She was a
little pale and thin from the fatigue of watching with her

 
   

8

father; but when she met the eyes of the prisoner, and the
brilliant light which immediately came into them, a deep
blush for an instant suffused, her cheek. 1] ina

. She gave the story of Mr. Gardiner’s acquaintance with her
father—of what passed between them to her knowledge on the
subject. of the lands—of the excited state of her father and
others—of their sworn purpose to get rid,of the real owner of
the lands at all risks—of their plot on the night of the assault—to
dip him in, the creek, and perhaps drown him—of her own
visit to the young man’s apartment for the purpose of putting
him, on his guard.

“You must; have taken a very peculiar interest in the pris-
oner, to give yourself so much trouble, and run such risks of

ur reputaion for a stranger,” remarked the attorney for the

tate; and the vulgar crowd jeered and laughed at the insinu-
ation implied in his manner.

‘“Tt was not too much trouble to take to prevent an innocent
man from being murdered. J would take as much pains to
prevent such. a deed as you would, sir, to bring it about... Youare
paid, sir, to support the cause of justice—but your sense of jus-
tice and, mine are different.” ;

. The young maiden, whose every expression was eloquent
both of mode

and. firm a tone, looking the impertinent counselor full in the
face with such honest scorn, that for a moment beauty and
truth prevailed, and a wild hurrah of acclamation went up
from the quicksilver crowd.

» The court was called to order, and the fair witness removed.
The electric smile which played over the countenance of Hen-
ry, a3,she gave him a hurried glance in retiring, was reward
enough for the trial it had been to hertimid nature to dare
the scrutiny of so many eyes in his behalf.

» The speeches of the counsel on either side were their best
efforts... The rights and wrongs of the land question were dis-
cussed in connection with the case; and both parties heard
the best which could be said of their respective claims,

It was night long before the judge gave his charge to the

jury. | He was a prudent judge, and endeavored to lean to
neither side; and the jury was not very clearly enlightened as
to what'was expected of them: Not until they had been lock-
ed in a small room in the fear of the court-house, with the is-
sues Of life and death in their ‘hands, did the throng which
had been standing, ‘panting for breath, and half-smothered
for hours, think of the wants of the body. Now they be-
stirred themselves in search of a drink of liquor, and'a bit of lun-
cheon, but scarcely any would pause to take a comfortable sup-
per, for fear of losing the return of the verdict.
» As hour after hour passed, and the jury did not appear, the
masses grew more and more excited. Some plot was evi-
dently hatching up among the evil-disposed. There was a
clamor which’ threatened to bring the court-house about the
ears of of the judge and ‘his assistants; the feeble power of
the constable could no more subdue it than a feather could
breast the wind. : :

_ All at once there was a profound stillnéss—the jury were de-
filing into their box.
+'‘*Gentlemen of the jury, what is your verdict?”

» The reply of the foreman was clear and emphatic.

nettiNob Guilty.

| A full and free acquital was almost more than Harry had
hoped for, but he bore the triumph as he had the peril.

_ »' Immediately upon the breathless silence, arose a tremend-
‘ous uproar,: The shout’ of exultation which arose from one
side, ‘was drowned in the yells and howls of his disappointed
enemies, ': The tumult was more than momentary; it increased
instead of lessening; there was struggling and blows at the
doorway—a ‘sudden rush, and the man who had just been
freed by the law, was seized by the mob and dragged out
into the opem air.’

_ Harry fought like a wounded lion, but he was overpowered,
his arms tied behind his back, and he was impelled along in

the direction of the woods.. It now became evident that he

was the victim of a plot, which had been hatching up during

the session of the jury in case he was not convicted. A hun--

dred men, armed with loaded guns, formed about him, and
marched him off.» Some rode forward on horses, making a
great display of a rope, which they held up in the red glare
of the torches they had lighted. It was now midnight. There
was not a star in the sky, The rising wind moved the wild
flames of the pine-knots to and fro, and casting into shadow
and now light: ng up, the eager, maddened, devilish faces of
the young man’s persecutors. For when men yield them-
selves up with delight to the full sway of their worst passions,
they become devils in good earnest.

 

sty and innocence, made this reply in so clear’

 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

Those were terrible moments to Harry Gardiner. ' He
thought of the anguish of his mother when she should héar of
his untimely end; and the sorrow of the sisters whose protec:
tor he was, rushed over him, driving the color from his face
which fear could never change. He prayed for his beloved
ones, still confronting his scowling captors with dauntless
eyes. vs

They hurried him along. Others, his friends, were follow-
ing to the rescue. Defiant cries were interchanged—there
was skirmishing and confusion—torches were knocked out‘of
their holders’ hands and trampled on, In a moment of compar-
ative darkness, Harry was seized, his bonds were cut, and he
was' lifted onto a horse, and told to ride for his life. He
struck his horse and started on, and just as the bonfire which
had been kindled to light his execution, sprung into blaze be-
side the forest road, his enemies saw him riding’ past, his
brown hair floating in the wind, and his hand’moving over
his-head with a gesture of triumphant farewell.

Presently he seemed to change his mind, for he turned and
rode back in the full glow of the bonfire, where he paused.
His friends seeing the rash act, formed around him.

“‘ Gentlemen,” he cried, in a voice like a trumpet, ‘‘I will
not run from you, as if I were a felon fleeing from justice. I
have been ‘acquitted by the laws of the land—what more
would you have of me? 7

‘‘T came to this country to look up property purchased and
paid for by my agent. I find others have taken possession of
it. What do I'do?_ Do I seize upon it suddenly, and-all they
have put on it, as [have aright to do by law? No!.I give
them all the time they ask to pay for what they wish. I offer
to pay them for every improvement they have made, if they
wish to leave. Ido not hurry them. I do not discommode
them. I give up my own prospects of gain, as 4 simple act
of generosity to these men, because they are poor, and have
families. And how do they repay me? ‘They steal to my
room at midnight, to seize me in bed, unarmed and asleep,
that they aiey get rid of their duty by murdering’ me, This
is the code of honor of these men! But I have been placed
on my guard; with my weapons TI protected my room, and
warn them against advancing. They fire upon me. In self-
protection, as it was my duty to do, I defended myself, and
one of their number was slain and another wounded. .

“You 'do not like this? You would ask me to Bits up my
property—if not that, my life! I must not even defend my-
self! curious demand, you will confess. .

‘*T shall leave this place when my business is settled, and
I feel inclined. In the mean time, if any man or number of
men, think best to assail me, let them try it.” y

So saying he rode on back to Giles’ tavern, unharmed by
the fury which was already cowering before his cool self-pos-
session. a

This was the last outward demonstration made at that time
against the young landowner; but the spirit of hatred was
only’a little more concealed—not driven out. '

CHAPTER Y.
THE SQUATTER’S WIDOW:

‘Wat on’arth, Susan, are you sewing them two. red
diamonds together for, instead of a red and’a white one? It’s
a pretty rising sun you'll have on your best quilt, if you go
on at that rate. I believe you’re dead in love, the way you
go on lately.”

“ Judged by your rule, Aunt Debby, you must be prett
well smitten yourself. You know you spread the table-clot
on the bed last evening, and put the tea to steep in a frying-
pan.” ,

‘‘ Nonsense!” retorted Deborah, turning as red as her sal-
low skin would permit; “and if I did, I guess it was because
I had more to do than I could turn my hand to. You're ‘get-
ting to be such a mope, the work is all behindhand. All you
do is to sit around, or walk around, asif you were in a dream.
Are you bilious, or love-sick, or what?” :

_‘“ You must judge for yourself, Aunt Debby,” answered the
girl, rather naughtily; for the natural sweetness of her dispo-
sition was a little soured at times by the vinegar her aunt de-
lighted to throw in it. “4

“Well, it looks a little like both. Seems to me you ain’t
nigh so fair as you used to be, and I shouldn’t wonder if you
took the Western fever. You'll have a good time shakin’ if

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE. 9

you do, and ‘be turned as yelleras a pumpkin. And then
again, the way you sigh, and the time you waste a-fixin’ your
hair, jooks like as if you was in love with somebody; though
who on arth it can be, is more than I can tell, "less it’s that
Biah White, that sneaks over here so often under the wing of
his sister Jerusha.” y

“Siah White, indeed!” murmured Susie, scornfully.

‘T guess he’s as good as you'll ever get, Miss; so youneedn’t
toss your head in that fashion. Who is it, then? You used
to comb and brush your hair, and put it up in three minutes,
so it would look as shiny as that bureau; and this afternoon
you've been standin’ at that lookin’-glass a full hour. Do you
expect anybody?” ' i :

“Not a single soul. I-wasn’t fixing my hair all that time,
was I? I got looking into my own eyes, and thinking, 1

”n

. ‘ Admirin’ yourself, more like. The vanity and folly of
young girls is surprising. Don’t the ’postle Paul specially
warn us against being light-minded and frivolous, and wearin’
*broidered hair?”

‘““What do you wear yours curled for, then, Aunt Debby?

‘The Lord curled my hair for me—I didn’t do it myself,
and since he’s seen fit to make it grow so, ’tain’t likely I'll fly
in His face, as it were, by trying to straighten it out. Curls
were always said to be very becoming to my style,” and Deb-
by cast a complacent glance in the little mirror which had
been the means of entrapping Susie, that afternoon, into one
of her day-dreams. 4 3
_ During this conversation, the two were in the front room,
which was both their sleeping apartment and parlor; the
door ws open to the pale October sunshine, though the air

was chilly enough to make the fire, visible on the) kitchen °

hearth, look particularly pleasant. |

} While Susie ripped apart the patchwork which she had put

together so carelessly, and Debby gave her ringlets an extra
twist, somebody shut the garden-gate, and the next moment
the widow of Dan Sturgiss appeared at the open door. ‘Her
appearance caused 2 momentary pang of memory to shoot
through Susie’s mind. ' 4

“How @ye do, Miss Sturgiss? Walk right in,” said Deb-
by. .‘{Lhaven’t seen you in sometime! How’r you,and the
children?”

‘« We're better’n we’ve been in a long time,” responded the
widow, stepping in and taking a chair.

» She was'a little, care-emarked body, who did not look as if
she had ever seen very good times.

‘‘How’s Mr. Carter getting along? I see he’s out.”

‘Father is about as well as he ever will be,” answered Su-
san; ‘‘but I fear he will never have much strength of. his
arm ;” and her lip quivered.

‘You don’t tell! ’'m right down sorry to hear it. Speak-
ing of your father, puts me in mind of what I came over here
to tell you. I will say, 1 wasn’t never in my life much more
taken aback than I was this very day. . Who, of all folks, do
you guess has been to see me?”

‘For the Lord’s sake tell us to once’t,” ejaculated Debby.

“‘Tt was my husband’s murderer,” said the widow, in a low
voice. ; ;

“T thought so,” murmured Susie to herself. f

Debby just dropped her knitting-work, and stared at their
visitor.

“Tl tell you how it was,” continued the latter. ‘‘I was
out in the door-yard, pickin’ up chips to boil the mush forthe
children’s dinner, when I heard a horse a-comin’ along the
road, and it stopped by our gate. llooked up, with my
apron full of chips, and seen the han’somest young gentleman

ve sot eyes on for years. It never came into my head who
it was, for, you know, I’d never seen Mr. Gardiner myself,
though he was to the house once’t, when I was out after the
cow, before the trouble happened; and when the trial came
off I was sick abed, you mind.

“Ts this Mrs. Sturgiss?” says he, very softly: and ‘It is,’
says I, dropping a curtesy, and then he kind of stopped a
minit, and colored up, and after that, says he: ‘I’m the man
who killed your husband, Mrs--Sturgiss;’ and at that I drop-
ped all the chips out of my apron, and stood still all of a
tremble. ‘Of course I know the kind of feeling you must
have for me,’ says he, ‘and I don’t seek to change it. I did
not fire at your husband until he fired atme. IfI had not
shot him down he would have murdered me. He was the

essor; he came to my room to injure and disgrace, if not
kill me. But you knew all this before. I came to you to-da
to say that Iam going back to New York to-morrow and
wish to ask your forgt

veness, and to say to you that I regret

 

the whole of this sad affair. I wish, also, to present you with
a deed of this house, and the fifty acres of land your husband
had fenced in, and with two hundred: dollars in ‘money, to
help you and your orphans a little on:your way through this
hard world. Will you take :them?’ asked he, so ’umbly,
reaching down the deed and the bag of gold; and I just took
em, and burst out a-cryin’, and couldn’t say a word; and,
says he, ‘God keep you, my poor woman,’ and ‘rode off, be-’
fore I knew what I was about.” + ) pants ‘

‘Do you hear that, father?” asked Susan, almost: a
for Mr. Carter had come up to the door in time to hear
whole story.

As for “Debby, she made no remark; she was thinking
mournfully of that one sentence—‘‘ going to New York to-

morrow.”
‘“To be sure I heard it,” was the gruffreply. ‘‘And what
ifI did? Will that give Miss Sturgiss her husband back? or

will it give me the use of my good right arm again? One
would think by the air you put on, you would like to tell me I
deserved the hull of it. Seems to me it’s strangely undutiful
for a girl that’s been favored as you have, to take part against
her own father,” and Mr. Carter sat down on the: doorstep,
and after wiping his forehead with a red. silk handkerchief,
bowed it on his hand wearily. ; {

‘‘Oh, -father, how you talk!” exclaimed Susie, the ‘tears
starting. He looked so pale and careworn, as he sat there,
she felt as if she could die for him, in her love and pity.

‘Waal, you know it’s so... Ever since the beginning of this
ugly business you’ve been an me, trying to set-up your
judgment against mine. ll tell you now what the doctor
told me this mornin’. He said I’dnever have no good use of
my arm any more ; it would serve mé to wait upon myself, per-
haps; but as as for workin’, my workin’ days were over.
What do you think of that, child? The landwe’ve got is to
be taken out from under our feet; we’ve nothing in the world
to call.our own ’cept this little household trash; and if I had
the hull world for a farm, I couldn’t work it.. What ‘are you
going to do for victuals. to. put in your mouth, sence I can
never guide the plow, nor chop trees, nor hoe corn?: I s’pose
you'll tell me I brought it all on myself for my comfort; but
if I did, the Lord knows I was thinking of you: when’ I done
it.” :

‘‘'You break my heart, father,” sobbed Susie, stealing to
his side on the step,and leaning her: ‘head on«his' shoulder;
and there the long strain upon her feelings gave way, and she
sobbed’and sighed in stormy grief.

Little Mrs. Sturgiss cried with sympathy, while Debby
joined in with an occasional groan.’ ; bis)

‘« Lord-a-massy! what) will become of) us, sure enough!”
was the’ burden of her spoken thoughts. ;

By-and-by Susan raised her tear-stained face; shook. back’
her disheveled hair, and spoke in a voice so full of courage
and resolution, that.all looked up surprised. 91) «0!

‘* Don’t be discouraged, dear father. You worked for ‘me
seventeen years and now I will work for you”) » (00 ©

‘And what will you do, Susie?” | as yet ot

‘JT haven’t had time to think what, yet; but I know Ican
do something, and I think it would make me happy to work for
you. You know I’m a pretty good scholar, Pere

Debby

can get up'a schoolamong our neighbors. Aid Aunt
can raise vegetables in the garden, and we can hire aman to
poh enough grain for our own use, and we can. live very
well.” , cata. pact?
‘‘ You forget; neither house nor land is: ours, till we’
paid for ’em,” said the farmer, moodily. » « biosingge
Susan’s countenance fell, but she would not be discouraged.
‘Then we must rent a place, that’s all. It will be harder for
us, but, father, I believe ‘the Lord will provide.’:” pale
‘‘Humph!” broke out Aunt Debby; ‘‘you’re a pretty per-
son to be quotin’ Scripter—a girl that’s never made a: profes-
sion,” fis te4 [ i ily
‘“* Excuse me, aunty, for intruding upon yourespecial privi-
lege,” returned Susan, with a gleam of returning mirth.
“Oh, you’re quite excusable. I’m glad to see you sensing
our dependence on divine: grace;” and Debby clashed ‘her
Srascisns needles—it may have been with joy but it sounded
as if it were with Christian vexation. : meni feireess
. ‘ Welljneighbors, I must be going back to the children;
they'll want their supper,” said the widow, rising adie
her eyes with the corner of her cape. ‘I feel as if the | |
had provided for me, and will continue to provide. And I’ve
jest got to say that if you want anythin’ while my means hold
out, I trust you’ll let me know.” ; aid Detiirino2 bod
‘“Thank you, Mrs. Sturgiss,” replied Susan, with a bright

 
   
 

10

smile; ‘‘ as long as Aunt Debby and. I Keep: well, there’ll. be
noneed, I'm sure. | Must you go? Then I'll go with you part
of the way, for it’s time Il was looking for Sukey.”?

», Althoughjshe was only going to the woods after the cow,

Susan brushed her ‘distract’ hair, neatnes’ being one of her
crowning) virtues... Then! taking her sun-bonnet) in» her
hand, she walked along beside the widow through a pleasant
footpath, which took a shortcut through the woods. When
they came to a turn which took Mrs. Sturgiss in the direction
of her own home, Susie walked on alone. She scarcely ‘re-
membered ber errand, her mind was so full of new ideas and
emotions crowding into it. The forest path was strangel

leasant—she felt it, although it only made her the more sad.

‘he frost of October had pulled half the: leaves from the
trees, scattering them in brilliant profusion along the way.
The gorgeous carpets laid down for kings to tread upon are
fine in,their way; but the rustling carpet) of purple, green,
eximson and gold, laid down by nature’s loving hands, for
our little queen of the West, was finer still.

', The music which followed her footsteps deepened her rev-
eries; ‘‘the arrows of sunset were lodged in the tree-tops

panbiiand some of them were transfixed in her gold-brown

Moiudba

_ Harry Gardiner, coming along from the opposite direction,
saw her some time before she saw him. Raising her eyes, as
she heard his steps, hesaw that she blushed; but the. natural
emotion of meeting one who had given them so much trouble
would have caused her hightened color, and he did not pre-
sume upon it.

«of Miss Carter,” he said, as she returned his greeting, ‘Iam
coming ‘to sce your father this evening.”

‘Ido not think he will like it,” answered the young girl,
dreading, the scene which she was afraid must follow upon
the high-tempered bitterness of her parent, more than she did
the appearance of rudeness in refusing the young man’s visit.

_ ‘Lam afraid he will not. Yet, when I feel that I wish to
do all that is right toreconcile matters between us, I must
not fail to try, Ihave a deep interest in making friends with
your father, Miss Susan.”

‘She made no reply, standing with downcast eyes, picking
off the crimson leaves from a maple-bough in her hand.

‘““T will only ask you one question before I see your father,
Miss. Carter; and that is, whether you have any prejudices
which would prevent our being friends?”

Oh, no; have not, Mr. Gardiner. I would wish to see
you and my father reconciled. I am not so blind but that I
see he has been in the wrong. But, oh! he has been punished
—too harshly;” and again the ready tears, whose fountains
had. been unsealed that day, rained over her cheeks.

‘““T have heard that he was likely to lose the use of his right
‘arm.almost cntirely; is it so?” asked Harry in rather an un-
certain voice, forit moved him greatly to see those tears,

“Tt is too true. He is as helpless as he is poor, Mr. Gar-
diner.” ‘There seemed to be reproach in her sad voice.

“Do not you judge me too severely? You must, you shall
forgive me all the pain I have caused you,” exclaimed Harry,
iaprtureny ‘‘ Whether lam permitted to’ or not, I shall
eall.on your father to-night. To-morrow Igo away, and I
can not-go without saying what is in my heart.”

, dde touched his hat aide walked on. Susan would have for-
gotten Sukey, but the pretty red cow did not forget her; she
eame out of the wood, lowing gently, and followed her mis:
tress home. An exalted sense, as if she were walking with
wings, accompanied Susan, as she performed the ‘humble
household duties of the evening, for she felt what the errand
of the young man must be—no girl is blind or deaf to the evi-
dences of love. Yet she did not dare to tell her father who
she expected, but sat, with her knitting, before the blazing
wood fire, after the work was done, talking with Aunt Debby
about small matters, as if the innocent heart within was not
all in the wildest tumult. Shortly after the candle was light-
ed, she heard the gate close, and:a ‘step approaching.

‘That sounds like:the doctor's walk,” said Mr: Carter; ‘I
don’t know what he’s comin’ here any more for, ’less it’s to
present his bill; and where's the money to come from for that,
sister Debby?” 9)

Trembling in every limb, Susan hastened to open the door
for she did not wish her father to go to it, for fear he would
shut it-in his visitor's face. | When Mr. Carter saw who it was,
Ne arose from his chair. Aunt Debby gave a slight scream,
and buried her blushing face in| her hands.’ The memory of
the prison scene was vivid before her; could it be possible he
had regretted his refusal of her hand, and had come to signify
his intention of accepting it? uo

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

 

_ “ Good-evening, Mr. Carter,” said the young man, stepping
aa ‘tie’ a
‘‘T have no good-evening for you, sir,” was the stern reply.
‘* At least you will let me speak to you a moment on busi-
ness?” There was no answer, and he ‘continued:) ‘*I hear
that the unfortunate accident which you brought upon yourself,
sir (it was too true, and) Harry was not the man’to shrink
from the truth), has disabled you for life. Although I will
not acknowledge the least blame in that sad accident, I regret
it none'the less keenly. I am sincerely sorry and grieved, oI
wish to say that you will never be disturbed in the owner-
ship of this farm, nor called upon to return to me any thing J
have paid for it. It is yours.”

‘J refuse to take it,” burst forth the sullen squatter; “1 will
perish of hunger before I will live on any thing your ‘charity
may seek to give me. You can’t patronize me, sir—no,sir!
I’m an honest man; I’ve earned my bread by the sweat of my
brow, and J won’t have any airs put on by you.”

“Oh, brother! don’t be so cru-hu-el,” pleaded Debby, cast-
ing a sighing glance toward the young gentleman. ‘He
means the best; and I’m sure I think him very generous, and
so-ho—nice and forgiving.” This was adding fuel to the
Squatter’s wrath.

‘* Don’t think I shall trouble your land only till I get well
enough to move off of it, sir. And another thing, if you
hadn’t known I was powerless to kick you out 0’ doors, you
wouldn't ’ave' come in my house after what has passed’ be-
tween us.”’ a

The young man grew pale with anger, and turned upon his
heel to go, when a glimpse of the white, imploring face of the
daughter softened his resentment so much, that he forced
himself to speakagain: ‘‘ You may speak as you please, now,
Mr. Carter, since you know I will not touch a helpless man.
Tam sorry that you will not let me be friendly—will not let
me assist you, not as a patron, but as a friend—a son,” he ad-
ded with a glance at Susan. ‘‘ Good-by, Miss Deborah; I
shall always remember you. Good-by, Susan,” holding out
his hand, which she did not refuse; and, as he pressed 4, he
whispered, ‘““My errand is all undone: but { shall come
again.

a8 new thought crept through the farmer’s brain as he saw

the lingering look which passed between his daughter and
the man he hated. It wasa thought which gave him very
disagreeable reflections.

Mr. Carter was one of those men, generally kind and good-
natured, yet of a stubborn make, who, when they have oncé
taken an ill-will, are very slow to give it up. He was more
proud than he was generous—too proud to accept favors from
his enemy, and not generous enough to acknowledge himself
in the wrong. In his secret soul he knew he had brought his
misfortune on himself, but this knowledge was no’ healing
balm to a temperament like his; it only made him chafe the
more at the ugly fact. Could it be possible that his daughter
dared to love that insolent young fellow, whom fe hated?
Was that all the respect she had fot her own father? Chew-
ing the cud of these bitter fancies, he remained in silence the
rest of that poet ae

Susan stole off to her bed to weep half the night, and Deb-
by, as she knitted away at her stocking, heaved a sigh with
every round, wondering if the young man had not meant
‘* brother ” instead of ‘son, ” and thinking how very hard it
was at her age to meet with ‘‘ another disap’intment.”)

A few days later, when Mr. Carter learned that his doctor's
bill had been paid, and the land he occupied deeded to him;
and the deeds left with Mr. Gardiner’s lawyer, he showed no
a of relenting; and Susan, studying his face eagerly, turn:
ed from it with a great sigh. , oe

‘““You may just make up your mind, sister, {hat we'll move
into another State this fall,”’ was his decision.

CHAPTER VI
THE BALL.

THERE was going to be a ball at Giles’ Tavern. Hearts
may lave ached with despair that not even the tender of twen-
ty dollars could squeéeze into the Japanese Ball, and hearts
may beat high with pride that'took part in the sixty-thousand-
dollar ball to the Prince of Wales—but a regular western
break-down is worth three of either of the above. No heart
burnings at not being invited—no terrible fear of not know-

.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

THE BACK WOODS BRIDE. VW

 

ing who is who, and not much distress about having ‘‘ noth-
ing to wear.” For every girl is bound to go and enjoy her-
self, if she has to wear her every-day calico frock, and puta
string of red berries around herneck for the ornament; and
as for the seleetness of the: ser gor if she’s asked to dance
‘often enough, by the beau she likes best, she has no other anxi-
ety. And for the power of relishing amusement, there’snoth-
ing better to call it forth, than a year’s residence in a new
country. Work gives a zest to play. Every human being
within twenty miles is a neighbor and friend. Everybody
borrows and lends—take care of each other in sickness, and
help each other when hard pressed.

The ball at Giles’ Tavern was going to be a splendid affair.
The ball-room was a long, low room, running the whole
length of the house across the front of the upper story.
The walls and ceilng were plastered, but not whitewashed.
The bravest of the young wolverines of the vicinity, spent a
week in getting out evergreens and festooning this state
apartment. There was to be a liberal allowance of the best
tallow candles, and the tin sockets in which these were to be
placed, and which were nailed at regular intervals in a. row
around the room—two rows under the musician’s platform,
were circled each with a festive wreath. The four windows
in front were similarly adorned, and a large garland formed
the cornice around the ceiling.

While the young men were busy with the decorations above,
the landlady and her at daughter Kitty were equally
busy in their department. The immense numbers of eggs
which went into pound-cake, loaf-cake, and frosting, and
cookies, and jumbles, and wifles, and vanities, and hearts,
and rings, was almost incredible. If the fowls who clucked
so peacefully in the back-yard, could have dreamed of it, or
of their own coming doom, they would have slept no more
upon their downy roosts.

But oh, oh, what were they to do for mince pies? Mince
pies! a ball would not be a ball without that article of lux-
ury to grace the feast—and apples were not yet grown in the
new country. Kitty suggested dried apples, and the result,
after all her patient chopping, and flavoring, and baking,
was triumphant. ‘' Nobody wouldn’t know the difference,”
Mrs. Giles was sure. Chicken to be stewed, roasted, fried;
turkey (wild turkey at that) to be roasted and boiled; venison
to be baked in a pie, and baked in a dripping-pan; quails
to be roasted and broiled, and—‘‘Oh, mother, I don’t see
how I’m ever to get dressed and have my share of the dancing
and so much to be done atthe last minute,” quoth Kitty, half
crying, in the morning of the day, ‘‘ Never you mind that,”
answered the motherly Mrs. Giles, ‘‘you’ve been a good girl,
and helped me amazingly. Just as soon as the clock strikes
four, you can clear out and ’tend to yourself. Debby Carter,
though she’s a member, and dead opposed to balls, has prom-
ised to come over at dark and an me all night.” No won-
der Kitty flew around in such high spirits. A good deep fall
of snow the previous night had brought the first sleighing;
the house would be sure to be crowded to over-running, and
oh, dear! hadn’t they got a fiddler all the way from Pontiac,
that was said to play faster and better than any man in the
State? and hadn’t her mother been so pleased with her skill
in making trifles, and powdering, and sugaring cakes, and
her industry in carrying on her work, that she’d surprised
her with a wreath of artificial roses with silver leaves, to wear
around her head, and anew pairof pink kid slippers? No
wonder Kitty’s cheeks were red, and feet light and quick.
That was a day of pleasant expectation to every girl within
a large circle of miles. Many were the dresses ironed out,
the old ornaments looked over, the tucks let down, the new
frocks hastily finished. By noon, those who have far toride,
begin to attire themselves in their finery; and by five o’clock,
great sleigh-loads of merry youths and maidens, are dashing
up to the tavern door,

On this merry afternoon, let us look in the front room of
Carter’s cabin, where Susan, heretofore the belle of every
frolic, sits idly by the bright fire. No gay dress is spread out
on the bed, and her fingers are busy with no ribbons nor
wreaths. She sits, staring into the fire, thinking—sadly think-
ing. ’Siah White has begged and implored of her for days,
to do him the favor to allow him to wait upon her to the ball.
But she has wavered, and an decidedly declined.

Poor Susan has seen nothing but trouble for the last two
months: Her father, once so cheery and hearty, is fretful and
‘“put-out” about nothing. Grown strangely unreasonable,

he had insisted on their getting sg for another removal, |

oing without means, in the fall of the year, away from all
Friends who might have aided them, himself unable to work,

 

further into the wilds of the West. “Neither Debby’s remor
strance nor Susan’s pleading, had any influence, and they
had actually begun to pack up their goods to go, they knew
not where, when Mr. Carter was taken down with a violent
attack of fever-and-ague, Which positively compelled him to
give up his absurd intentions for the present. f

Sick every other day, and moody all the time) he tried the
patience of his devoted child severely. As for Debby, she
groaned and murmured; relieving her mind oceasionally by
giving her brother’a good scolding, and’ making Susie the
scape-goat of all her lesser trials.

Susie had wished to begin a little school right away; but
her father said they had enough to keep them for the winter,
and he wanted her to nurse him up, and he would not hear
to her takin’ the step at present.

In the mean time, the dissatisfaction of the squatters was
increasing again; Mr. Gardiner’s lawyer had attempted to col-
lect some rent from them, for the lands they occupied; they
had refused to pay it;-suits were in process; threats and quar-
rels were abroad; the lawyer had warned his client not tothink
of showing himself at peosent anywhere in the neighborhood.

All these things weighed upon the heart of Susan. Her
father’s disturbed mind and poor health; their gloomy pros-
pects for the future, and something clse, perhaps, more hope-
less than the rest. She did not feel like going to any festiv-
ity; and there she sat, that brilliant winter afternoon, hearing
musical bells tinkling past the door, with the merry shouts
and laughter of young people ringing on the air. Jiisd

She was started from her reverie by hearing their own gate
open and close, and some one tapping at the door: She
opened it with reluctance, for she surmised that ’Siah White’
was coming to renew his entreaties. “But there only stood
there a little boy, a neighbor’s child, who lived near the ‘tav-
ern, holding a note in one mittened hand and rubbing his red
nose with the other. a

‘T's for Miss Susan Carter herself, and nobody else,” said
the little fellow, ‘as he give me a sixpence for bringin’ it=
be you her?” rn

‘“Yes, ’m the one it is meant for.
and warm yourself?”

“TJ ain’t cold,” said the boy, half scornfully, and he bound-
ed off, making snow-balls as he ran, while Susan shut the
door and read the note. : 9

We can not tell you its contents, for she threw it in the fire
immediately, but a charge of electricity could not have bright-
ened her up any more. Going immediately to that ‘precious
lower draw of the bureau, she unlocked it, and brought forth
her mother’s wedding-dress, the gold beads, the silver-tissue
scarf, the kid slippers, the open-worked stockings, the tortoise-
shell high-backed comb. As she was spreading all this fine
out upon the bed, Debby came in from the’ kitchen: BI

“How now? what’s this? Made up your mind to'go, at the
last minute. It’s just like you, Susan; but ’m rather glad
you’ve concluded to go, for | was afraid you’d make a mortal
enemy of ’Siah. Girls shouldn’t throw away their ‘chances
quite so free. ’Siah’s a good fellow, and you’d a sight better
marry him than go to school-teachin’ fora” livin’) Sakes
alive! you don’t intend to wear that dress do you?’ You ought
to save that for your own wedding-dress.” tid obsar oa

‘TY haven’t time to do up my white mull now, and it wouldn't
be fit to wear without. I must wear this, Aunt Debby.” ~

‘** Wal, I must say you're gettin’ rather extravagant, consid-
erin’ our circumstances. But I s’pose you'll’ never be y
twice, in this world. If you’re going, I must put your father’
supper on the table before I start. You know I’m goin’ to
help Miss Giles. Of course I don’t approve of balls, but since
it’s got to be, I can’t refuse to help a neighbor, and there’s no
girls to be had near or far. I shall hear the music and get
some of the supper.” t

‘Tf you won’t eat the devil, you’ll drink his broth,” ob-
served Mr. Carter, out of the kitchen. i797 1

‘Oh, brother! what a man you are. Hurry yourself,
Susan, and be ready for me to fasten your dress, when I’ve
done settin’ the table. I do wonder what I’d better wear my-
self. I’d put on my green merino, if I wasn’t afraid of grease-
spots. I may help to wait on table, and if I should, of course
Td wish to appear respectable. I guess T’ll put it on, and

Won’t you come in

keep on a big apron about the cookin’.”

It was not an hour after this that the sleigh which was to
come for the all-important Debby, who knew so well how to
‘take hold” and assist Mrs. Giles, was at the door; and she
seated herself in it, with a large basket at her feet, desi,
to bold such choice remnants of the feast as might fall to her
in payment of her neighborly services in the time of need

 
   

12

Perhaps another hour from) this, Susan entered the jaunty
little cutter which stopped for her, and with a dark skirt over
the wonderful silk dress to keep it from soiling during the
ride, and a warm cloak wrapped about “her, was carefully
tucked in a buffalo-robe, and rapidly driven to the grand
scene of the festivities.

In fifteen minutes thereafter, she was standing at the head
_of the ball-room, opposite her partner, her little feet. patting
ithe floor expectantly, while the fiddlers rosined their bows,
and tuned up their fiddles for the next contra-dance.

No wonder her cheeks were flushed with pleasure and hope,
sfor she was, without dispute, the prettiest dressed and pretti-
est looking maiden at the ball. The rare brocade was of a
delicate lilac shade, embossed with white flowers, which no
complexion save one as dazzlingly fair as hers should have
ventured to wear. It fitted her round, trim waist to perfec-
tion. There was a dainty edging of lace about her bosom
and sleeves, and around the waist was fastened the sash of
silver tissue finished with silver fringe. Her hair was elabo-
rately braided behind and fastened, with the tortoise-shell
comb: inifront it was smoothed into glossy bands in which
swas placed, at the left side, a single sprig of scarlet geranium,
which had blossomed on purpose for the occasion in the warm
air of the snug kitchen. Around her throat was the string of
gold beads; and on her little feet a pair of blue kid slippers,
not very far amiss from the tint of herdress. This was the
extremely elegant and astonishing attire of the wolverine
belle, which caused so many admiring and some envious eyes
to be fixed upon her. ‘ f

Great was the wrath and mortification of ’Siah White, when

‘he beheld this lovely and dazzling vision. Susan Carter, sad,
jpale, and woe-begone, had refused only the evening be-
ore, for the seventeenth time, to go to the ball with him, or
‘any one, and here she was, brilliant wit hblushes, smiles and
happiness; her cheeks like roses, her eyes like stars, standing
‘at the head of the room, ready to lead off the ball with a part-
ner whom no one of the company remembered. seeing before.
Her partner was a tall, straight young fellow, with a very
dark complexion, and long hair tangled about his neck, which,
in connection with his decidedly wolverine dress, half-hunter,
half-farmer, gave him a rustic appearance. He wore boots
of the true country style, and flourished a yellow silk hand-
kerchief. But he danced with a grace and a will. ’Siah
White sat;moodily through a whole dance, watching the ga
pair down the outside, and up the middle, balance, and round-
about and down, the heels of his rival coming down exactly
true to time with a thump that was exhilarating, and Susan’s
pretty feet. keeping up the measure as sweet as playing &

tune. He, :
.- If Josiah had been a high-minded young man, he would
have kept his jealousy and anger to himself; but being of
rather a mean and narrow nature, he went about among his
fellows, complaining of Susan’s treatment, and trying to in-
iduce them to help him resent his wrongs. But they could not
_ afford it. Susan was too beautiful, and danced too well.
Every youth who could get her for a partner was only too glad
todo so. She accepted as many as she could, only dancing
with her own especial escort, twice. before supper; and he
also made himself agreeable to the girls, Susan introducing
shim to the maidens of her acquaintance. ;
The supper was'a triumph of art and nature. Two long
tables were set. in the dining-room, around which the ladies
were seated on wooden benches, their partners standing be-
hind them with devoted attention, their own appetites being
deferred until the fair ones shali have banqueted, and left a
place for them. Here were pies—pumpkin and mince—pic-
es and cheese, butter and stewed cranberry sauce and cakes
sinnumerable and indescribable, all arranged by the tasteful
hands of Kitty Giles—sprigs of spruce stuck, in the butter,
garlands of hemlock twisted about the loaf-cake, white sugar
grated over the pies, and,one noble pyramid of pound-cake
elegantly decorated,.with pop-corn stuck fancifully, to the
frosting, and also on the green wreath which. circled its base.
_ Every thing was admired, and every thing eaten, |, The way
country young people dance, beginning at six in the evening,
-and keeping it up till five in the morning, to the fastest time
the fiddles can give forth, is an excellent thing to provoke ap-
petite. 'The meats were on side-tables; and. very abundant
and very delicious these were. .Fowls, wild and tame, veni-
son and birds were in the utmost profusion. '

Miss Debby Carter made herself very useful waiting upon
‘table. The green merino and ‘‘ raving ringlets ” flashed every-
-where.. Susan could see that she was dying to ask her

about her unkuown escort, but the crowded state of the

 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

table allowed of no. confidential whispering. When Susan
had left her place to her companion, and was awaiting, with
others, the reappearance of the gentlemen from. the feast,
Debby pounced upon her in a solitary moment.

‘‘Law-a-massy, Susan Carter, who 7s it you’ve got there,
and where did he come from? I heerd about him long before
supper. Jerusha came down to the kitchen and told me how

ou’d served her brother. I thought maybe it was somebod,

knew, on from the East unexpectedly, or somethin’; so
steals up stairs slyly, and stood watchin’ you along time. I
must say it’s queer you’ve picked up.a beau, nobody knows
where, how, or who. What's his name?”

‘“Aunt Deborah, allow me to present Mr. Taylor to you.
Miss Carter, Mr. Taylor.”

The stranger had come up, unobserved by her, during
Debby’s speech, and Susan now introduced him, without any
chance for explanations. He made a deep bow, but did not
speak. As she met those dark, smiling eyes, the spinster al-
most screamed. The next moment, she pressed her hand
hard against her heart, and taking a second glance, the look
of alarm gave place to one of perplexity, and she remarked:,

‘* Excuse my seeming agitation, Mr. Taylor. You re-
minded me so much of a very, very dear friend. | It’s curious
—but indeed, I see my mistake.”

“Since I resemble your friend so much, p’r’aps ’twill be in
my favor—kinder incline you to think suthin’ of me, too,”
replied the youth. ‘ f pil

‘Perhaps it will,” responded the spinster, with™a sigh.
‘He was a very sweet person, the one you look like, and I
was very much attached to him, and him to me.”

‘““Tf you only danced, Miss Carter, I should be mighty glad
of the favor of your company. Wouldn’t you now jest for
my sake?”

“La, Mr. Taylor, I’m greatly obliged to you; but I couldn’t
think of it. I regard it as wrong, and besides I’m amember,
and then folks would make remarks, and like as not I'd get
churched.” é

“Indeed? I'd set great store on leading off a Virginny
reel with you. Your niece has been tellin’ me what a famous
dancer you was once in your young—in the days before you
became a professor.”

‘““T expect I did wear out about as many pair of slippers as
any girl. And, though I say it that shouldn’t, it has been
said I was a tolerable hand to wind off that Virginny reel. If
I thought nobody’d tell my minister when he comes along
next summer, and if it wasn’t raly as wicked as most church-
members think—I don’t know—but I might—just this once.
But la! I’ve got on my calf-skin shoes!”

‘‘ Never mind that, Miss Carter. I’ve taken a great notion
to dance with you. There! the fiddlers are done supper—
let’s go up, and get a place at the head of the heap.”

Poor Debby! she was sorely tempted; and that wicked fid-
dle had ‘‘ got into her feet,” and she felt so flattered by the
pressing solicitations of the strange youth—but to the credit
of her consistency be it related that she conscientiously re-
fused, fleeing from temptation to the dining-room, where she
and Mrs. Giles now sat down in a snug corner and waited
upon themselves to the supper. ,

The first ball of the season was a grand success. It did not
break up until daylight. Susan danced the very last break-
down, looking only a little less rosy and ‘fresh than in the be-
ginning. Then, tired, joyous, elated with the triumph of
being the belle of the Ball, and having been asked every set,
she was lifted into the cutter, and driven home in the gray of
the morning. . .

Her father was up, raking out the great bed of hickory ~
coals from the covered fire when she went in. He looked as
if he had not slept well, and complained of a pain in his arm.
A shadow.crept over Susan’s brightness, which all the fati
of the.ball could not bring there; she kissed him, and jooked
at him wistfully, as if her lips trembled to say something
which yet they had not the courage to do, .

““Go and get a good nap, child,” he said. ‘(Pll make the
coffee myself this morning.” ‘ a

‘Indeed, I’m not sleepy yet. Wait till I get off these fine
things, and I'll get the breakfast.” ; ai

‘Fine things, indeed, for a beggar to be wearing,” quoth
the melancholy squatter. ‘‘ You may have to sell your moth-
er’s weddin’-dress yet, to keep starvation out of the house. I
wish we’d stayed to home, where we belonged, and never
come to this new country.” ??

Se

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

| THE BACK WOODS BRIDE. . 13

 

CHAPTER VII.
THE LYNCHERS AGAIN.

Axout a week after the ball, there began three days of ex-
treme cold weather, when the most the squatters in their
snug log cabins could do, was to keep warm, pile on the hick-
ory logs as they might in the great fire-places. Those who
had a good store of wood already chopped, had nothing to do
‘ but bring it in, pile it up, and. sit and enjoy the crackling
blaze; for it was a season when farmers had little to do, es-
pecially these new beginners, who had but little stock to feed
and care for. Those who had been too careless to:_provide for
freezing weather, had fingers and toes nipped by the icy air,
as they tugged the logs out of the wood, and split them up in
the snowy door-yards.

It was a desolate time at the cabin of Enos Carter. His
wounded arm had prevented him from getting out any fire-
wood at all in the autumn; they had been burning such as
had chanced to be in the forest round about, Susan and
Debbie themselves tugging the most of it home, but now the
snow lay frozen over all, and the big logs inthe yard were all
burned up. Some time before the ball ’Siah White had come
over and spent a whole day hauling and splitting wood for
them; but this supply was gone, and ’Siah was now as ‘‘ mad
_as a hornet,” as he told his sister Jerusha, and wouldn’t have
cut a stick of firewood for Susan, to keep her pretty fingers
from feeezing. Mr. Carter had no money to hire a man; their
money was ali one, and they were running up an account at
the only grocery in those parts for their coffee and tea, and
expecting every week when their credit there would be gone.

“Pll have my ager back on me wuss than ever, if you can’t
keep up a better fire than this, Susan.”

Poor child! she had come in almost frozen, with the few
sticks she could dig out of the snow, and this was all her re-
ward—she felt discouraged.

‘“‘Tt’s no use, father, trying to get along in this way; I must

‘o to the tavern and get somebody to furnish us with wood.
ieee I can sell my gold beads to Kitty Giles; her father’s
doing a splendid business, and he could afford to let her have
them. The money they would bring would keep us comfort-
ably until spring.’

_ “They were your mother’s, Susan—but you can do as you
please.”

The young girl tied on her hood, fastened her cloak snugly
about her, and, cold as it was, started on her two-mile walk,
with the precious necklace clasped close in her hands.

She went forth pale and disheartened; she returned bright.

and happy, despite of the bitter cold. She had not sold the
beads; but not an hour had elapsed after her return, before
a big load of choice hickory was thrown into the back-yard,
and after the teamster had driven away, along came the ident-
ical Mr. Taylor, who had escorted Susan to the party, and
who fell to splitting and piling up the load with the vigor of
youth and strength.

‘Wal, I must say that chap takes a great interest on short
acquaintance,” remarked Aunt Debby.

“ He heard me inquiring for some one to do that job, and,
as there was no man about the town who could be spared, he
said it was too cold weather for ore to be without good
fires; and, as he was tired of standing around and doing noth-
ing, he would come and take some exercise on our wood-
pile,” answered Susan, laughing.

‘“Really, a kind and pleasant fellow. How did you come
to pick up his acquaintance, Susan?” asked her father—
people in the woods of the West not being so scrupulous as
to letters of introduction, and satisfactory testimonials, as in
more Civilized con... ‘ex. t

‘La!’ answered Debby for her, ‘‘ he took her to the ball.
It seems he was a-stopping at the tavern, and hearin’ there
was a ball comin’ off, he told Giles he’d like to wait on some
pretty girl, and Giles seein’ he was a nice. young fellow, sent
him to Susan.” ini

“You ought to ask him in to supper when it’s ready.”

“T will, father.” ; :

“So Susan, who had been pretending to knit, while her
eyes were all the time on the youth who swung his ax so skill-
fully in the yard, ran out and held a brief conversation with
pie while Debby put on an extra plate, and dished up the
meal. ]

‘He says he can’t stop to-night,” said Susan, returning
without him; ‘‘but maybe he will come in to-morrow, for
he’s coming back in the morning to finish all that wood.’

Susan milked the cow while Debby washed the dishes. |

It was a bright moonlight night, and when the work was

 

‘‘done up,” Debby avowed her intention of going over to
Mrs. Sturgiss’ to get some yeast-cakes, to start a new pot of
yeast, as hers had ‘“‘run out.” Tying her face up in a woolen
comforter, drawing a pair of old socks over her shoes, and
otherwise defending herself from the frost, she departed,
leaving Mr. Carter and Susan sitting by the kitchen fire.

The cheerful, vivid warmth and glow flashing from the
huge fire-place, warmed the squatter through and through,
and seemed to soften his feelings, as well as ease his joints,
for a more genial expression came over his face than had been
there for some time. Susan, furtively watching him, while
her knitting-needles flashed in the ruddy light, at last arose,
put aside her work, drew a small cricket to his feet, and seat-
ing herself thereon, leaned her head upon his knee.

‘“* Father!” in a low, tremulous voice.

“ Well, my dear?”

‘Father, you are discouraged and poor. I can see every
day that you get thin with. this care and worry. You can
change it all if you only will, dear father; you can be better
off than you have ever been. I have heard from Harry Gar
diner. He loves me, and wants your consent to marry me.”

The silence which followed upon this avowal scmmidibt the
young girl to be that of an hour, yet it was not over a minute
before the father spoke: :

‘“‘Susan Carter, you can choose between me and Mr. Gar-
diner. If you want that scoundrel, goto him! As for him
and me—we can never be relations.”

‘‘T can not forsake you, father; butI love Mr. Gardiner,
and I think you are very unjust to him, and cruel to me.”

‘‘Enough! Things has come to a pretty pass, when a child
like you talks to her father about his conduct, and sets up to
teach him the right and the wrong. I tell you, girl, ’'d rather
be as poor as Job’s turkey all my life, than to own the biggest
farm in Michigan, and see you married to that fellow.” i:

“Well, father I have nothing more to say.”

The hopeless, quiet tone touched him to the heart, for this
only child was the idol of his life; but he had formed a fool-
ish aversion, and he was too obstinate to yield, even for the
sake of what he had always made the object of his exertions,
—Susan’s happiness. His self-love was deeply wounded by
the fact that she should have the independence to judge ‘and
act contrary to his wishes. He was one of those who believed
that children should be the slaves of their parents until they
were of age—having no minds nor opinions of their own.
‘‘See here, Susan,” he said, after a half-hour of silence,
‘ears to me there’s somethin’ curiously alike in that Mr.
Taylor that was here this afternoon, and that Gardiner.
Don’t you go to playin’ tricks on me. I'll shut you up in
the cellar, and keep you there, if you can’t be Eopt away
from that.rascal without. And let me tell you, itll be more
dangerous than ever for him to come creeping about here.
If the neighbors find it out, they’ll make sure work this time.
If I find out my suspicions are true, you needn’t reckon on my
keepin’ still.”

‘Oh, father!” Susan resumed her knitting with a look of
pain and grave reproach upon her young face. Mis

Presently some one knocked at the door. Mr. Carter went
to it, and as it opened, he saw Josiah White and two or three
others outside; they beckoned to Mr. Carter to come out, and
stood whispering for a brief time; then the former came in
and got his hat and comforter. .

‘‘Tt’s all up with him, now,” he said, savagely; ‘‘ they’ve
got him.” : «

‘‘ Who!” cried Susan, rising to her feet, her eyes dilating,
so her father could not bear their frightened, terrible look.

‘“That fool, Gardiner,” he replied, doggedly, not meeti
her gaze; ‘‘and I’m going to see the fun. They've foun
out the wolf in the lamb’s skin and they'll strip it off of him
pretty effectually, I reckon.” gt

“Father, you'll kill me,” screamed the girl, as he went out
banging the door behind him.

A short time she stood staring after him; then springing to
the door, she saw the men taking the direction of Giles’ tav-
ern. The night was intensely cold and brilliant; the beams
of the full moon refiected from the sparkling surface of the
frozen snow, making it nearly as light as day. Stretching
her panting throat to listen, she heard distant yells and cries;
the men were running as if afraid they should be too late for
the sport.. Pausing not for hood or cloak, Susan started after
them; and when Aunt Debby returned shortly after, she
found the door wide open, the inmates gone, file the house

““cold as a barn.” Too much taken up with their own excite-
ment to notice the light figure which fled after them, the
men passed on, ; ‘ ii

 
    

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ippraast put her to bed, spending the night in rub

14

Half-way between Carter’s and the tavern, there was ore
of those deep ponds or lakes, which dotted the country round
about. It was a little back from the roadside, in a large, open
piece of ground. As they neared this pond, Susan saw a
crowd collected about it, hooting and yelling like so many
devils. She comprehended their purpose at once. Her fa-
ther and his companions turned off the road, and ran to join
the mob. Thoughtless of the consequences to herself, Susan
pursued,

The ice over thesurface of the pond was frozen to the depth
of a foot and a half; but out a rod or two from the shore they
had cut a hole, and, standing by the side of it, held by half a
dozen persons, his arms tightly pinioned to his side, his face
white in the moonlight, but his lips still wreathed with a
haughty smile, she saw her lover, She thought they intend-
ed to drown him at once; whereas their object was, probably,
no more devilish than to give him a dozen good duckings in
the bitter cold water, iia lee him live or die through it as he
saw best. Even as she gazed, they lifted him off his feet.
No one had discovered her, though she was actually in the

‘crowd; till with a wild shriek, she darted past them, and

clasped her arms about the form they were handling so rough-
ly. Tight as the drowning clasp of death itself, was the hold
she fixed about him, her face in his bosom, and her hair glit-
tering in the moonlight, disheveled by her flight.

“ Susan, is this you?”

She did not answer him; she only felt that she should die
with him, or save him by the clinging tenacity of her hold.

“Oh ho!” ‘““ Whom have we here?” ‘‘ Love sick!” ‘! Carter’s
daughter, by Judas!” were a few of the exclamations of the
dozen or two of men concerned in this outrage; ‘‘ Ah,ha?’:
“Did you ever?”

“Duck ’em both!” sneered Josiah White, maddened at this
spectacle, so that what little manhood there was in him
was driven out.

“Ma, Carter, what do you say to that?” joined another.

“Take the knife from my pocket and cut the rope,” whis-
pered Harry, in Susan’s ear.

“Come, Carter, take your daughter off; we can’t be kept
waitin’ in this style.”

Mr. Carter laid his heavy hand on his child’s shoulder; his
face was awful with rage and mortification; she wilted in his
prasp as if he had crushed a flower, but that momentary de-

ay had saved her lover; she had cut the bands which held
his arms, and as her father dragged her back, he flung his
arms suddenly wide open, and, shaking off the unprepared
hands which held him, with a ringing whoop gave one bound
over the hole—away, away over the glittering ice, and sure
footed as a deer. His pursuers were none of them his equals
inthe race. All started on the run except Mr. Carter. hen
he saw the prisoner start, he flung Susan from him with a
force that sent her to the ground. They were now alone to-
ether, and without saying a word to her, he turned on his
eel and strode off in the direction of hiscabin. The girl rose
from the snow, and followed him home; but as she reached
the threshold, she fell over it insensible. poo picked her
ing her with

egar and giving her stimulating drinks.

That same night the widow Sturgiss was roused from her
first slumbers by a knock at her door. Thinking some of the
neighbors were sick, she slipped on her gown, and opening
the door, beheld Mr. Gardiner standing there, half perished
with cold and fatigue. ;

‘‘ They came pretty near ducking me inthe pond this freez-

‘ing night,” he said; ‘‘ but I have outwitted them again. You

won't refuse a fellow-creature a shelter this weather, will you,
Mrs. Sturgiss?”

_ ‘Not you, Mr. Gardiner,” answered the woman; ‘come
right in to the fire. I haven’t any bed to offer you, ‘less you'll
sleep with the children.” .

a don’t want a bed. J’ll rake up the fire, and put on an-
other big stick, and if you’ve any thing to give me for a, pil-
Jow, Vl lie down on the hearth and rest a little.”

The widow couldn't rest till she had warmed up some cold
coffee, and made him eat a piece of pumpkin-pie; and then
giving him a quilt to wrap up in, she went back to bed in her
gown, and she and her guest both sleptas peacefully as if the
circumstances in which they were placed were not so novel.

The next morning Harry breakfasted in a friendly manner
with the little widow and her shy brood, and ag soon there-

after as she could £ away, Mrs. Sturgiss started for the

Carters, ostensibly for the purpose of carrying some of her
yeast-cakes, which she had promised to Debby, and really to
whisper a message in Susan’s car, asking her to come over to

Seca ene Ee

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

the widow’s and meet somebody, who wanted to have a talk
with her very much, But when the woman arrived at the
cabin, she found Susan ill im bed, and quite unable to fulfill
the request. The girl's cheeks were flushed with fever; she
was nervous, and startled at every noise. But after the
whisper reached her that Harry Gardiner was safe in the wid-
ow’s house, and wanted to see her, she grew more composed.

“Tell him it is only a headache, and maybeI can meet him -

there to-morrow,” she whispered. ye

Neither she nor Debby would betray that there was a fo-
mentation of hops and vinegar over the great bruise in her
side, where her rude father had dashed her against one of the
cakes of ice cut from the pond, for which he now felt heartily
grieved and ashamed.

Jealousy has sharp eyes. ’Siah White, though not remark-
able for his powers of observation, by dint of hanging about
the tavern, watching every word and motion, and prying into
the affairs of the stranger who had rivaled him in Susan’s
graces, had at length made the important discovery that he
was Harry Gardiner in disguise. Gloating over this chance
for revenge, he had made the fact known to the worst of a
band of squatters, who had surprised their enemy, taking him
totally unawares, as he was out alone on the road, and were
hastening to put their intentions into execution, before the
people of the tavern rallied for his defense. Once more he
had thwarted them; but now, it may be supposed, his pa-
tience was exhausted, and his orders to his lawyer to exercise
the greatest leniency were withdrawn. The squatters had
shown a determination to get themselves into trouble; and
now, as they had made their bed, so they might lie in it.

As for Harry, he disappeared from that inhospitable coun-
try. Susan was confined to her bed for a fortnight; and to
the house a fortnight longer. Her father had made amends
for his brutality, by kindness he had not shown to her for
some time. But Debby was cross; and Debby had learned
that the man who “had given her the mitten,” had offered
his hand and heart to that chit of a niece.

‘Tf you’d ’a’ had one spark of pride or proper feelin’, you’d
never allowed him to speak to you, Susan Carter. A man
that’s disabled your father for life—why I, who am only his
sister, wouldn’t have him if he’d beg on his knees for me.
It’s my ’pinion, too, that he’s a reg’lar flirt. You'd best look
out. I guess it’s well your father drove him off. If you’d
know what J know, about what passed between him and
somebody else—a woman—that time he was in prison, you
wouldn’t set much store by what he promises. Somebo yl
know give him the mitten, out and out, with the utmost ‘in-
dignity. If you had proper spunk, you wouldn’t take up with
other people’s leavin’s; but I needn’t warn you now; he’s

one for good, thank the Lord!” and Debby sighed strangely
oud, considering the nuture of her rejoicing,

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE SUGAR CAMP,

Two or three times during Susan’s sickness, Mrs. Sturgiss
had delivered into her hands secretly, little missives, which
she read and re-read unseen by others, and kept in the bosom
of her night-dress, until they were fairly worn out. Debby’s
healing art, great though it was, had nothing like the power
of restoration which lurked in these bits of folded paper.

They were equal to any of the charms of fabled sorcerers,

After her recovery she made an errand to Mrs. Sturgiss’
house, as often a8 once in a week; and seldom did she go
there but that Ford woman took down from the highest shelf
in her cupboard a similar missive, which she’ had laid there
for safe-keeping until called for.

‘Folks begin to wonder at my gettin’ a letter every week,”
she remarked, upon one such occasion. ‘‘ The postmaster to
the grocery store, asked me yesterday, if any of my friends
was sick, that they was a-writin’ so reg’lar. “I didn’t hardly
know what to say, for I didn’t want to tell a lie right out—
but you are sick, you know, or wasa spell ago, and so I said,
‘my friend had been very sick, but was a-gettin’ better.’”

‘* You won’t have to call for letters much longer, I hope,”
answered Susan, who had turned her face to the window. to
conceal the blushes and smiles with which she perused the
one she held in her hand.

Just then, and unexpectedly to Susan, who had left her at
home sewing carpet-rags together, Debby passed the window

 

———

 

 
 

 

— ————

——_ +,

 

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE. 15

 

looking. in with a sharp, inquiring glance. She saw the letter
very plainly, and she saw her niece's confusion, as she entered
a moment later, but'she could get no further glimpse of that
which had excited her curiosity, it having been hastily thrust
into somebody’s bosom, Debby asked to borrow a skein of
black thread till she could send to the store; but the thread
was only an excuse—she had surmised some motive in the
sudden friendship which had sprung up between the little
widow and her niece—besides, ’Siah White had told ber Mrs.
Sturgiss was getting letters from the office every week, and
he didn’t believe they were for her.

. Getting the skein of thread, Debby departed; and the next
time Susan was away from the house, she took the opportun-
ity of overhauling her private drawer, from which, laid away
under the silk dress, she drew a package of love-letters, which
it made her heart burn to read.

From that time forward, all unsuspected by their owner,
she read every missive that was only laid aside in the package
when a new one came to take its place in the folds of Susan’s
dress- waist... In this manner she knew all the hopes and fears,
the wishes and plans of the lovers, keeping her own ‘counsel
and betraying them tonoone /

Spring came early after thé severe winter. The violets be-
gan to bloom in March. Before it was time to plow or sow,
came the season for making maple-sugar. Frolics occurred
on many of the farms. It was considered fine sport by the
boys and girls to make sugar, and as a great deal of the com-
fort of the new country depended on this crop, they were per-
mitted to go into it with all their might and main. Sugar-
maples were abundant on some of the land, and most of the
Siar got sugar and molasses enough to last them the year
round.

Mr. Carter wouldn’t make any because he was going to
move away. But Susan went toa good many frolics, She
had recovered her spirits, so that her sweet laugh and bright
eyes were welcome wherever she went.

Widow Sturgiss had a fine maple orchard on her place; she
was bound that her little ones should not go without their
share of the ‘sweets of existence,” so she begged a trough
here, and a bucket there, and plugged the trees herself, and
Susan and Debby assisted her to empty the sap_as fast as it
filled, keep up the fires, and skim the syrup. Finally, they
concluded to have more assistance; the boys and girls were
asked to a frolic, and joyfully responded to the call. They
came in the morning, in their everyday attire, to work, ready
for any emergencies, whether it should be to tear their frocks
on the bushes, or besmear them with molasses.

All day the work' went on in the depths of the pleasant
woods. They were furnished with a lunch and a supper out-
of-doors.

As night stole over the forest, Susan, who was full of un-
written poetry, admired the wild picturesqueness of the scene.
The light of the two great fires flashed afar into gloomy vistas,
making the outer darkness the more appalling. The forms
which flitted about the as stirring the contents of the great
iron ketties, now seemed to her like witches stirring the sceth-
ing caldron; and again, as merry laughter broke out from one
and another, like the gipsies of old English forests, frolicking
around their evening meal.

Something was on her mind, howeyer, which kept her from
dwelling Jong on any fancy. She was uneasy at the approach
of a certain hour. She did not dream that any one noticed
the trifling signs of this uneasiness; but Debby, helping
*Siah White fill ¢ g-shells with the golden ‘‘ wax,” knew just
as well as herself what she was waiting for. ehby knew
that a a eee gentleman was Within half a mile of that
very spot, in Widow Sturgiss’ house, in fact, and that Susan

was to meet him at the stile at seven o'clock, and steal back _

to the widow’s with him for an hour’s interview, in which
some very important matters were to be decided.

Now if ever there was a person most deeply and fatally in-
fatuated, it was Debby with the young landowner. The fact
that he loved her niece instead of herself, only intensified her
passion, She had read these precious letters, allowing her-
self to dream they were addressed to her; and feeling as if
she could pull Susan’s hair and box her ears for being their
recipient. ¢

And now a strange longing took possession of her—a long-
ing to enjoy a little surreptitious bliss, Instinct (it could not
have been experience) taught her that the anxious lover would
be early on the appointed spot. The night was dim and
cloudy. While Susan fidgeted about, waiting for the hour
and even a little past it, as shy girls are apt to do tremblin
lest somebody should read in her innocent face the secret 0

 

her heart, Debby slipped out on to the weit which led to the
stile, and stole along hurriedly, resolved to obtain by strata-
gem that which her charms could never win. '

Cat-like she crept along and over the stile; somebody was
on the other side, - se. sis

“Ts that you, dearest?” whispered a thrilling yoice. .

‘“Yes!” was the faintly breathed reply. ia

‘‘My own! my blessed one!—dear—dear—dearest angel!”

When we remember that adverse circumstances had kept
the lovers so long apart, and what anxiety hung over their
stolen interview, we can forgive the extravagant raptures of
the young man. His hand sought that of his companion, his
arm stole about her waist, and he pressed upon her lips the
first timid, thrilling kiss of love. ;

“Speak, my darling, tell me you are well, and so.glad to
meet me.” ‘ :

Doubtless the sweet maiden was overwhelmed with joy and
confusion, for she clung closer, but. spoke not. Well, kisses
are eloquent in their language, and Harry, carried away Re
his love and happiness, drew her to his bosom, and imprint
half a dozen on those rosy lips. At that moment there was a
cracking of the dry leaves on the path. Harry drew his be-
loved closer, and waited in silence for the steps to pass,

All at once a bright light. flashed up on the other side of the
fence, revealing a party of six orseyen of the boys and girls,
headed by Josiah White, who had kindled an instantaneous
fire by applying a match to some sticks and pine-cones, which
he had soaked in turpentine. “agate

Poor Debby! she had made a confident of the invidious
*Siah, as to the proposed meeting between his rival and §
and that brave youth, urged on by the natural malice of his
nature, had thought to entrap, betray, surprise and mortify
the offending pair. The love of practical jokes, or any other
outrageous fun, is strong in new settlements, and the hha
folks had thought it nice sport to come, at ’Siah’s bi ding,
and help throw light on a strictly private affair which sbould
not have concerned them at all.

Profound was the astonishment of ’Siah at the sight which
met his gaze. Debby—Debby Carter, ancient spinster and
most, pious of women—the very person who had revealed to
him the base conspiracy between her niece and this handsome
and detestable young gentleman—Miss Deborah Carter her-
self in the arms of this man.

Disconcerted as was ’Siah, his rival was still more so, The

erplexity with which he gazed upon the maiden in his em-
face was only equaled by the suddenness with which he
withdrew his support, leaving her to face the kindling illu-
mination and the amazed countenances as best she might. In
the background of all these surprises stood Susan, moving on
tip-toe, just as she was arrested by the light, while gliding to-
ward the stile. > “

“Ugh!” said Harry, with a slight shudder,

‘‘Oh! oh!” said ’Siah, with a loud laugh. ~ ;

Jeers and merriment broke from the surrounding lads and
lassies. :

‘“Scuse us, Miss Debby,” spoke up ’Siah, ‘‘ we'd no idee
we was intrudin’ on so interestin’ an occasion.” variant

Overcome by the force of circumstances, Debby burst into

‘That fellow is a villain,” she shrieked, after a moment
spent in tears, and in pollectang her wits for an emergency—
a shameful villain, or he wouldn’t seize on a helpless woman
as was comin’ over the stile, and hug and kiss her as hard as
he could. I tried to get away (sob) as hard as I boul leoh)
but he just squeezed me up, (sob) and kissed me so fas'
couldn’t holler!” are

This exclamation of the weeping maiden was received with
yells of applause. : ba ccna

“Come, ’Siah White, you’re a beau of her’n—you ought to
thrash the rascal,” calla, out one of the young men.

‘‘No, Lain’t no beau of her’n,” answered Josiah, hotly,
looking very much ashamed of himself. ‘‘If I hadn’t thought
*twas Susan he was after, you wouldn’t have catched me here.
You're welcome to your fine beau, and good-night to you,
Miss Debby.” ; ; elt 03

Before any of the party turned around, Susan hid behind a
large tree; escaping unobserved, as the mischievous sugar-
makers returned to their work, leavmg Debby to stalk home
in high dudgeon, and the coast clear for an important, consul-
tation with the young gentleman. os

Full of wrath, Debby went home and read Mr. Carter all
the love-letters bis undutiful daughter had. been receiving.. .

i t

 

me ‘ rit

 
 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

 

CHAPTER IX.
A WEDDING AND A TRAGEDY.

“Prank the Lord, we’re a-going to hear a sermon once
again,” remarked Debby, the Saturday after the little event
related in the last chapter.

There had been no stated preaching through the winter, the
community relying for spiritual instruction upon an occa-
sional traveling missionary; and now that one of these pro-
posed to stop in the vicinity for three or four weeks, and hold
a series of meetings in the little brown school-house, every-
body who loved to keep the Sabbath in the good way of the
old homes they had left, were rejoicing.

“T wonder if it will be warm enough for me to wear my
white dress,” said Susie, going to the door and looking out.

Although it was not yet the first of April, the grass was
green, the warm air smelled of the spring flowers, and the
a a as blue as Susie’s eyes—which is speaking well of

e sky.

A white frock, with rural maidens, is the one best dress,
suitable for all occasions—to wear to the party, to meeting, to
the ‘‘ caravan,” the husking-bee, and the ball. Debby thought
nothing strange of her niece’s wish to wear her white robe.

ca Rope you won’t think of wearin’ it without washin’,
after it’s laid all winter in the smoke and dust,” she replied.

‘“No, indeed, Aunt Debby, that I'shan’t,” and Susie plunged
the precious gown into a tub, rolled up her sleeves, display-
ing ber dimpled elbows by the act, got the washboard, and
the hot water, and half an hour thereafter, the dress was
spread upon the green grass like a spider’s-web, so soft and
fine it was. :
~ There was a glow in the young girl’s cheek that was not
brought there even by the heat of the irons, as she ‘‘ did up”
her dress, that same afternoon. Very carefully she clapped
and pulled and smoothed the snowy fabric, very elaborately
straightened and loosened the manifold tucks, very daintily
she freshened up the thread-lace trimming. Yet her busy
little fingers trembled all the time; and she could not sing at
her work, as usual—her heart was too full.

“‘Don’t spend the hull blessed afternoon on that frock,”
ee her aunt. ‘‘T presume it will rain, and then you'll

ave to wear your calico. There’s your father’s shirt-bosom
to be done up, and his other pair of trowsers to be sponged
and pressed. As for me, I've fet enough to do, baking cake
and scourin’ up the kitchen. I’m goin’ to ask the minister to
stop with us over Sunday night.”

he frock, as fresh, as pure, as airy as hands could make
it, was laid on the bed, and Susan got her father’s wardrobe
in order to go to ek on the morrow. As she ironed his
shirt-bosom, she lingered over it lovingly, dampening it with
tear-drops which fell unnoticed by her busy relative.

That father, so sad, so morose, who had always been so in-
dulgent to her, who had never been harsh before the disagree-
able occurrences which had seemed to change his temper so
much—who loved her better than his life, now, through all
his blind opposition to her true happiness—she was going to
disobey, to desert. Yet the desertion, she felt certain, would
be only for a short period—when he found that she was really
married to Harry Gardiner, who would treat him as a father
and confer upon him opulence for life, she thought he surely
would not cling to his foolish bitterness.

' The next day, the little school-house was crowded to over-
flowing. Susan, sitting between her father and aunt, though
she tried hard to fix her thoughts upon the glowing appeals
of the preacher, heard little that he said; and though she
prayed devoutly, the head and heart were in a whirl.

” After the first services, the people scattered about the grass
plat and in the adjoining woods, to eat their luncheon and
“wait for the afternoon service; as the most of them lived too
far away to go home at noon-time. It was as beautiful a
‘spring day as ever shone, warm and clear; the leaves were
‘out on the maples, rustling lightly at the touch of wandering
winds. Debby, ever conspicuous in good offices, offered her
lunch-basket, well stored with the skillful work of her hands,
to the minister. Susie stood near, and at every glance of the
good man’s eyes, her own would droop, and soft blushes
would flit over her face.

“Come, Miss Susan, wilt thou show me the way to the
Widow Sturgiss?” said the preacher, thanking Debby for the
piece of gingerbread he took from her hand. ‘‘I do not see
the widow here to-day; and, as she has been sorely afflicted,
I must seek her out.”

““ You can hardly get there, sir, and back, before time for
afternoon preachin’,” said Debby, much slighted that the ix-

 

Se had not been extended to herself in place of that little
chit.

‘““We can make good time, both of us,” said the minister
smiling down at his companion; ‘‘to-night, Miss Deborah, I
shall be glad to accept your kind invitation to stop at your
house. Come, child.”

With steps that did not seem to touch the ground, the
young girl walked by the good man’s side through the forest
path, until they came to the house of the widow. The little
woman, in her best clothes, and all the children in new suits,
crowded about the door, waiting for the expected visitors,

And Susan, with one swift glance, perceived another form
at the window, which made her pause for a moment and half
draw back.

“Wave courage, my daughter,” said the preacher, “ thou
hast persuaded me of the right and propriety of this step thou
hast resolved to take. We are all in the presence of our
Father in heaven.”

They reached the cabin; and only pausing to take off her
plain straw bonnet, and fasten a knot of violets which she had
gathered by the way, in her bosom, Susan stood up by Har-
ry’s side. He was pale with the intensity of his emotions,
though his eyes shone with a clear radiance which spoke elo-
quently to the minister of the truth of his love for the fair
young creature, who, in five minutes after their entrance,
was his wife.

Mrs. Sturgiss wept as she looked at the beautiful couple so
romantically married; the minister prayed earnestly for their
present and eternal welfare; and then, after one kiss, one
clinging gaze, Susan turned back, with her reverend friend,
for the meeting. . She was to attend the afternoon services,
to avert suspicion; then, when Debby was busy getting tea,
after the day’s exercies, for her honored guest, Susan was to
slip out in the direction of Mrs. Sturgiss’, be met on her way
by her husband, who would await her coming with a buggy
and swift horse. The dusk of evening would protect them
from the observation of acquaintances they might meet; they
would ride thirty miles to the nearest large town, where
Harry had engaged board for them, leaving the minister who
performed the ceremony to break the news of the marriage
to her father, and present, at the same time, a petition for
their pardon.

““Ain’t you going to set the table, while I make the bis-
oe Seems to me you don’t know which end your head’s on
to-day.”

Susan looked out at the golden sun just sinking behind the
trees. It was the signal.

““T must take off this frock, Debby,” she answered; and
going into the parlor where her father and the parson sat
talking, she brought forth her brown alpaca and attired her-
self in that.

‘* Bring me a pail of water, Susan, and be spry.”

Susan took the bucket and went out—she had thrown her
shawl and bonnet out of the window, while Debby’s head
was in the flour barrel—snatched her garments from the
grass, gave one lingering look as she passed the window by
which her father sat, with his back to it, and fled through the
garden, over the fence, and was hidden from the house by
the trees,

She hurried along, her heart beating like a trip-hammer,
expecting every moment to meet him. When she came in
sight of Mrs. Sturgiss’ cabin, without seeing any thing of him
she blushed as she blamed herself.

“‘T am too early,” she murmured, turning back, and linger-
ing on the way until she came to the stile near the lower part
of her father’s garden. Again she went over the path, and
this time she went to the widow’s door to inquire if Harry had
pinged his plans or left any word for her.

‘No; he had gone out nigh upon two hours ago, after his
horse and buggy, which was back a piece in the woods.”

It was deep twilight when Susan left the widow’s and again
lingered over the way, expecting nih instant when that daar
voice would whisper her name, and §
husband’s arms.

Alas! for Susan, that happy moment came not. Hour
after hour she paced the lonely woods. Convinced that some-
thing must have happened to detain him, she remained in the
path until midnight; and when he did not make his appear-
ance, she felt that they must await for some other opportu-
nity to take their flight.

Yet how could that be effected, when the parson had, ere
this, told the whole story to her father? There was nothing
to do but to go home; brave his anger, and wait for her hus-
band to come and claim her. Perhaps this, after all, would

e should be safe in her :

 

 

 
%
yo

 

THE BACK WOODS BRIDE. 17

 

turn out for the best. Only—only, she suffered such sus-
pense as to the cause of this unaccountable absence.

The lights were burning in her father’s house until one
o’clock. She went, and sat on the step by the kitchen-door,
put she would not go in; and there the gray morning found
her, chilled and miserable.

“Soho, madam! has your husband sent you back so soon?”
asked the squatter, as he came out of the door at dawn for
chips to kindle the fire.

“Ol, father, something has happened to him, I’m sure. [
have not seen him this night. Will you not go and find out,
for my sake, father?”

Her pale face smote him to the heart; but his suspicious
an did not allow him to look upon this absence as an ac-
cident.

“You need not expect to see him, you little fool. Iwarned
you, but you wouldn’t listen to your father. ’Tisn’t enough
for him to come breakin’ up the fathers, but he must meddle
with the daughters.”

4

“‘T would pledge my life, father, that he is not to blame.” :

‘Oh, of course—of course! that’s the way with girls—they-
*ve been made fools of ’fore now, My advice to you, girl, is

 

the pond last winter. As for Parson Brown, if he wasn’t a
minister, I'd lick him, and I told him so, last night! Like as
not the rascal’s got half a dozen wives already. What do you
know to the contrary?”

How did she, indeed? by 2 knowledge that was satisfactory
to herself; by the evidence of soul to soul—but there was no
eee she could place before her father. She could not con-

te his suspicions, though not a doubt troubled her own :

breast. '

She went into the house, helping Debby prepare the break-
fast, as usual: Parson Brown looked grave and uneasy; he
began to regret the ease with which he had allowed the young
couple to work upon his benevolent feelings. But Susan’s
eye did not falter as it met his. She was nervous and excited;
her restless glance told plainly that she was expecting Harry
to appear and clear up the mystery—she was made afraid, but
not ashamed.

The a passed away without bringing any arrival.
The parson ha

lingered in the hope that when the young |

 

 

husband came, his influence over Mr. Carter would prevent a
quarrel. Now he whispered to Susan:

“J will go and make inquiries. No one knows the state of
affairs but ourselves and Mrs. Sturgiss. Keep still, until I re-
turn.”

She obeyed him, remaining at home, when her feet burned
to fly through the forest, to the tavern, everywhere in search
of tidings. About four o’clock in the afternoon, Parson
Brown returned. There was nothing known of Mr. Gardiner
at the tavern. He had paid his bill the previous day, and
told the landlord that he was going to Pontiac that night. A
couple of farmers had seen two men, one of whom resembled
Gardiner, driving off on the south road, ina buggy with a
black horse.

“The Lord give thee patience to bear thy cross, my child.
I sincerely regret that thou and I wert so deceived. Certain-

ly, he hada specious way with him which would have de-
ceived an angel.”

“He has deceived no one—you will find it out some day.
He has been waylaid. His life has been threatened, you
know; and now he is murdered—murdered!” and her fortitude
and hope gave way before the despair which rushed over her.

oN < NY
me De ®& '
Susan's mouth was stuffed with a handkerchief, as she was hurried along by three men into the pathless depths of the woods.— Page %.

to come into the house and keep quiet. The more this affair
is hushed up, the better twill be for you. If it hadn’t been
for your folly, that fellow would have got his deserts down to

Even Debby forbore to taunt the poor girl, so complete was
her unhappiness. All the bloom of youth was stricken from
her face; she would sit for hours, gazing upon the ring she
wore, and then start up and wander out into the forest in
suse of some trace of the one she persisied in believing mur-

ered.

But there came news, after several days, which dispersed
this belief. Mr. Gardiner’s lawyer received a letter from him,
directing him to press his suits against, the squatters, raise all
the money he could; conveniently or otherwise, and forward
to his address as given in the letter. ‘When the parson heard
of this letter, he Semanal it for the purpose of convincing
the trusting girl she had been mistaken.

‘“‘Tf ever he comes in my way again, J swear.a revenge
which nothing on earth can thwart,” muttered the squatter.

The joyous heart of the girl was changed into a dull, aching
thing, which could be neither glad nor sorry. ,

The household wasa more discontented one than ever.
Mr. Carter was now determined to carry out his plan of re-
moving to another State, or a portion of the State he was in.
They were getting poorer every day; besides he secretly hoped
that a change would revive his daughter’s health and spirits.

 

 
   

18

=

NEW AND. OLD FRIENDS.

 

Where they were going, or what they should do for a living
were questions not whale decided. He-was going to keep on
the road until he saw some chance of getting into business
somewhere, Josiah White came over to help them pack up.
He offered himself again to Susan, with what success may be
conjectured.

The one-horse wagon held the squatter’s family and all
their worldly goods which was left over, after disposing of a
part to furnish them with a little ready money. The blue
canyas which had sheltered them on their long journey from
the East, was. again stretched over the hickory hoops which
arched the front of the wagon. A small red chest, which
formed a seat for. Susie, was filled with cold boiled pork and
becf, bread and crackers, doughnuts and gingerbred, sausage
and cheese, ground coffee, etc., while the coffee-pot, tea-ket-
tle, and a few tin dishes were packed conveniently for use;
and ona May morning, with the neighbors standing about, bid-
ding them a reluctant farewell, with the cow tied behind the
wagon and the old horse neighing pitifully in front, the fam-
ily set dolefully out,on their journey.

The changing.scenes of their slow march were more like
dreams than realities to Susan. Sometimes they got out of
the wagon and walked up long hills. At noon they rested in
some convenient spot and eat their lunch, taking a drink of
water from the running stream. At night, if any house was
in sight, they stopped at it, paying for their beds, and cook-
ing their meals themselves; otherwise they camped by the
roadside, building a fire to prepare their supper, and taking
such rest as they could obtain in the shelter of the wagon.
Sukey gave them what little milk she could keep upon the
wearisome journey. Susan always milked the animal herself,
who seemed more a friend to her than her own relatives—for
was not that cow, with her great, mild, gazelle-like eyes, gaz-
ing at her through. the fence with dumb affection, that terri-
ble evening when she waited in the forest for one who never
came?

Smoking his pipe from morning till night, the farmer jogged
on the never-ending road, saying little to any one. Debby
knit stockings to pass away the time, cried, scolded, or was
amiable, as the mood took her; and Susan sat with folded
hands, starts at the way with vacant eyes.

The hard side of life seemed spread for these people to walk
upon. Debby mourned in secret over her chances for matri-
mony, which seemed to her to diminish, in exact ratio with
the miles they traveled away from a populous community.
as a So mother hasn’t lived to see such days as
these,” Mr. Carter remarked, one terrible, stormy night, as
the three sat huddled in the wagon, unable to sleep for the
wild tumult of the elements.

‘Oh, father, you brought it on yourself,” cried Susan,
goaded to desperation by their misery.

“T didn’t! never flare up to me again in that way!” and the
obstinate man shook her roughly by the shoulder. ‘‘It’s all
brought on us by a. disobedient child. You needn’t expect
to prosper, Susan Carter, till youmake up your mind to obey
your parent.”

** & thankless and disoudient child will never receive
any blessing,” chimed in Debby. ‘‘She took that from
her mother’s side of the family—that obstinate streak in
her—for I’m sure she never got it from one of the Carters.
The Carters are known for their meekness and _ purity.
Oh, Lord! how it does pour down! The Carters have been a
likely people from generation to generation. JI reckon there
never was such a thing as a runaway marriage took place in
the family before. As for me, I’d stay unmarried till I was
a hundred years old, before I’d fly in my father’s face, if I
had a father, and pick up a husband against his will. It’s as-
tonishing how anxious young folks are to get married now-
a-days. If I'd been as eager as some, I shouldn't have refused

“as many 45 Lhave: There was that ’Zekiel—”

Debby’s reminiscence of her past conquest was overwhelmed
by a vivid flash and an instantaneous crash, and the whole

party were frightened by the jar of the wagon, caused ‘by .

some of the branches of a tree, splintered by lightning, falling
upon the back part of it. It was an awful night. During
the pauses of the tempest, they could hear the creep and hiss
of snakes, and the deadly rattle of the most deadly of them
all. They dared not leave the shelter of their wagon an in-
stant, though they expected momentarily the fall of some
eee te tree upon it, and they supposed their horse would
be bitten by the venomous reptiles, and they be left helpless
upon the road.

“Debby never prayed before as she prayed that night; and
even Mr. Carter, stubborn and self-reliant as he was, and unac-

 

customed to the words of prayer, moaned an ‘‘ amen!” to her
petitions for safety. Once, in that wild storm, a horse and
buggy dashed by them; they saw it an instant by the light-
ning’s glare, speeding on as if no power of the elements could
daunt the two men, whose figures stood out one second against
the lurid sky. ;

CHAPTER X.
THE FOREST INN.

* fi Dip you notice that girl that waited on table to-night,
i ve

‘‘Can’t say as I did, in particular; handsome, wasn’t she?”

‘“She was more than handsome, Bill; something in her face
has put me out of conceit with myself. I wish we had better
work on hand than making pewter dollars with silver coats
on.” .
wile ho! now don’t get. in one of your sentimental fits,

im. :

The rain beat wildly on the one small window, and on the
roof which was just above their heads; the wind roared
around the corner of the house, swinging the little sign of the
Black Bear tayern with a harsh creaking; the pine-trees all
about whistled and shrieked; the two travelers who sat in
their garret bedroom, with the shingles almost toushing their
heads, were fortunate in escaping the storm in so comfortable
a shelter as this. They had dried themselves by a blazing fire
in the bar-room below, warmed themselves with a glass of
liquor, and partaken of a good supper in the kitchen; now
they had retired to a private apartment, which, close and bare
as it was of all furniture except a rude bed, promised to an-
swer their purpose very well. The trunk, which had been
strapped on behind the buggy in which they had arrived at
their destination, they had carried up with them. Before
they opened this, and took from it implements of their trade,
one of them hung his overcoat over acrack in the door, and
stuck his long knife in the lintel, to serve as a bolt. They
looked toward the little uncurtained window, formed of four
panes of glass; but there were no witnesses in the wet
branches which dashed up and down, almost against the sash,
whose testimony could betray them.

It is no wonder they were down late to breakfast the next
morning, for it was long after midnight before the dim light
which glared from their room was put out. The family who
kept the Black Bear had partaken of the morning meal, and
the table was re-arranged for the two guests, at present the

: only strangers at the inn.
‘

This don’t look much like the grub we've been getting
lately,” remarked the elder of the two, with a satisfied expres-
sion; and he drew the carving-knife through a nicely boiled
slice of ham.

There was nothing but fried ham and eggs, corn-cake, and
honey upon the table; but these were neatly arranged and
properly cooked, while the coffee served to them was excel-
lent, with cream to season it.

‘‘ Susan, ask the gentlemen if they’ll have another hot
éake?”

It was nobody but Debby who asked this, jerking the cover
off the bake-kettle, and revealing a relay of johnnycake done
to a turn. nox )

“Tf it’s equal to the one that’s gone before, we shan’t ob-
ject,” answered the same person who had spoken first; the
younger one was improving every opportunity of admiring
the girl, who looked about as much at home in the place she
filled, as a rose in a bramble field. t

“Try it and judge for yourself,” returned Debby, bringing
the cake to the table herself with @ satisfied look. :

Debby took to the calling of landlady naturally—all she re-
gretted was, that her talents were wasted inso narrow a
sphere. If she had been mistress of Giles’ tavern, she would
have been content; but the Black Bear was a smaller house,
in a wilder and remoter region, whose stream of custom some-
times flowed very thin, even to drying up entirely; but which
afforded to Mr. Carter, disabled as he was, the only means of
living he could at present attain.

Three months ago, the Carters had drove up to the lonely .

inn, with provisions in the blue chest exhausted, and the pros-
pects of a settlement as far away as ever; had found the oc-
cupants of the house anxious to give it up and get away; and
had closed a bargain with them before retiring to: rest, by
which, in exchange for the horse and wagon, all the furniture

,

 

 

|

 
 

 

 

 

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE. 19

and stock of the house was to be theirs. The stock consisted
of a barrel of whisky, a demijohn of brandy, some corn meal
and hams, and a few groceries; the furniture comprised a few
benches and a bar; in the one sitting-room, a long table and a
dozen chairs; kettles and dishes in the kitchen, and four
meager beds in as many little rooms divided off in the attic.
Even this barren and once filthy place put on an air of com-
fort and neatness, if not refinement, under the sway of aunt
and niece. The white dimity curtains which hung over their
windows in their old home, were put up in the kitchen, which
was dining room, sitting-room, and all to them, the sole other
department on the ground floor being simply a bar-room and
lounging place. Debby’s strong arm kept the floor white, and
the ithe shining. There was always a nicely ironed linen
cloth on the table, and the plain provisions were well-cooked.

Even in these three months, the reputation of the Black
Bear had grown so, that people would press on late into the
evening, or stop early in the afternoon, for the sake of pass-
ing the night at it.

"Phe constant glances of the younger of the two travelers
annoyed Susan. He seemed somewhere between twenty-five
and thirty, spoke well, and dressed well; and would have
been handsomer, had his expression been as good as his
features. He had the air of a reckless and dissipated man,
while his companion looked cool, cunning, and reserved.

She was glad when they had finished their breakfast, and
lounged out into the open air. The wild storm of the previ-
ous night had left the morning cool and fresh. Ah! well
Susan remembered what day it was, though none of the rest
knew what recollections it had for her; it was the anniversary
of the day upon which she had first met Harry Gardiner at
the camp-meeting. Only one little year; yet, how all the
world was changed to her!

‘Have you fed our horse, yet, Carter?—let’s go and look
at him.”

The three men strolled by the kitchen-door on their way to
the shed, a long, low, open affair, which answered in place of
a stable. Susan was crumbing some corn bread and throwing
it to the chickens in the yard.

‘‘Tt’s a fine animal, raa’ly,” she heard her father remark.

Looking up mechanically, her attention was arrested by
the horse—a jet black, spirited animal, with astar in his fore-
head, and two white fore-feet; all the rest of his coat as black
and glossy as araven’s. She knew him in a minute—he was
Harry's horse. Her heart gave one great leap, then fluttered
like a wounded bird. Here was a clue; ifshe drew upon it
suddenly or perceptibly to others, she might breakit. She
had heard the strangers say that they had business which
would keep them at the house two or three weeks. In that
time she could certainly learn if that horse was’ purchased
from Mr. Gardiner, when, and where. Her next discovery
was that the buggy was also the same as used by Harry
twice, on his visits to Mrs, Sturgiss. She remembered the
painting upon the panel—a pointer-dog, with a partridge in
his mouth. eS

Whether these things had been purchased; whether these
persons were friends of his; whether they had been stolen,
and he the victim ofsome outrage, were conjectures which
naturally arose. As she looked at the men, contrasting them
with Harry, she would not believe they could be his friends;
and yet, if they were not—oh, how black were the suspicions
which beset her.

In the course of the forenoon, taking care to choose a time
when they were all out of the house, she went to put their
room in order. With eyes sharpened by what she already had
seen, she observed closely all the articles they had left lying
about. Out of the overcoat which was left hanging from the
rafters, the corner of a handkerchief portruded; some impulse
urged her to draw it forth—in a hand which she knew so well,
she found marked the letters ‘“‘H. G.” All her long-suffering
self-control gave way as she gazed like one fascinated, upon
the familiar characters. Perhaps that was the very hand-
kerchief he had once tied about her neck, with tender fear
that she would take cold, that night on which they had ap-
pointed the time and place of their wedding. It had been
touched by him—was his! Oblivious of any later ownership
she kissed it, pressed it to her bosom, buried her face in it
with quivering, stifled sobs. Absorbed in grief as she was,
one of the strangers entered the room unheard by her; it was
« Jim” Cross, the younger of the two.

““Why do you weep? may I not ask?” and he removed her
hands from her face.

She started as if she were stung; he did not notice whose
handkerchief she held, but he*felt the anger of her look.

 

““ Pardon me, Miss Carter; I had no right to speak to you.
Do not fear that I shall be rude to you.” ;

‘*T am not afraid; I have a father.”

“And if you had not, it would be all the same. Indeed, I
was sincerely sorry for you; you must be so lonely and out of
place here. I was thinking about it before I came in.”

His manner etd so respectful, that she had nothing to re-
sent, but she hurried from the room without reply, taking
with her the precious handkerchief.

The family and their guests dined and supped together. In
the early part of the evening Mr, Cross lingered in the kitchen,
making himself agreeable to Debby. He was an interesting
talker, not ignorant of the world, and won the favorable re-
gards of the elder lady by deferential attentions, while his
eyes were constantly on Susan. She could not but be aware
of this, and it made her very uneasy, though there was noth-
ing offensive in his regard.

usan was hardly conscious how fascinating her beauty
was; she thought of herself as a pale, sad, widowed young
creature, for whom the world had lost its brightness; and she
forgot that to others she was an unmarried woman, very beau-
tiful and very pleasing.

Once, looking up from her sewing, she met his full gaze,
which was so earnest, so half-mournful, that she was surprised.

“You remind me of my only sister,” he said, asif in apolo-
gy. “She was just as young and as fair as you when I saw
her last, and as pure—too pure to associate with me. I’ve
been a wild fellow, Miss Carter, yet I had a good mother and’
sister. °
_ He sighed deeply. Susan, ever gentle and Christian like
in her disposition, was sorry for him. She saw that he had
been wild as he said—his face bore the traces of bad deeds—
but she thought he might ae reform, and become the pride of
the sister whom he praised. Hitherto she had remained silent,
making her sewing an excuse for not joining in the conversa-
tion; now she had an occasional friendly remark, for which
the young man seemed grateful. While the upper current of
social intercourse flowed smoothly along, there was constantly
in her mind an undercurrent of wonder if she were really
being thus kind to a person who had taken’ part. in the rob-
bery and murder of her husband.

While it was yet early the strangers retired to their room.
When Susan and Debby went past their door an hour later,
the light stole through the crevice at the bottom of the door.

Susan lay awake many hours that night. The room occu-
pied by herself and aunt, was divided by a plastered partition
from the one occupied by their guests. She heard enough to
convince her that they were up nearly all night—a whisper
now and then, and, after the house was very quiet, the muf-
fied clink of metal. No ear but one strained for the purpose
could have detected these sounds.

Every day and night there was the same experience; the
men pleasant and polite, and the younger so absorbed in every
look and motion of the landlord’s daughter, that the whole
house took note of it, —- va

‘““You’ve got another beau, Sue; be wise, and forget the
past,” laughed Mr. Carter, after a week or two of this inter-
course, his judgment quite taken captive by the specious ef-
forts of Mr. Cross to please him. eee

The surprised severity of her look rebuked him, and at the
same time made him angry—was she always to go moping
around thinking of that worthless Gardiner?

In the mean time Susan had made a discovery. So certain
she was that they were harboring unlawful doings, and so de-
termined to unravel the mystery of Harry’s property being in
the hands of these men, that she very Garefully cut &@ small
peep-hole through the plastering’ between their rooms. This
hole was invisible upon their side of the wall, so minute it
was; but it gave her opportunity to see and hear more. By
this means she ascertained to a certainty that they were en-
gaged in the manufacture of counterfeit silver coin. In the
large trunk, which they had themselves conveyed up-stairs so
carefully, were the rough bars of spurious metal, and all the
apparatus for converting jt into dollars. She saw the baleful
glow of the tiny charcoal furnace, over which they melted
the bars, the molds for running, and the die for stamping.
They had pretended to her father, that they were waiting for
friends, who were going on with them to purchase horses of
the Indians; but Susie knew that when their dishonest work
was done of converting the metal into coin, they would be
ready to depart.

She was very much startled by her discovery. She dared
not betray them, even to her father, at present, for fear of the
consequences. Tt was not likely such cool and long-practiced
es

   

20

 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

villains would allow a lonely family to stand in their way; if

they knew they were suspected they would be sure to take

eare of their own interests at all events.. They had pistols
and bowie-knives in profusion, while her poor old father had
but a single rifle.

With great discretion, she resolved. upon, keeping. their
secret, until some time when there should be a party of other

ests at the house. There were no officers of the law imme-

iately at hand in that out-of-the-way place; aid might be
procured by going after it, but her father bad no. convey-
ance.

' So careful was she lest her tell-tale countenance should re-

veal her thoughts, that she made more of an effort than she

would otherwise have done, to receive with civility their at-
tempts to bé agreeable.

She dreaded the arrival of the expected friends, who, of
course, would be a part of the same nefarious league. Some-
times she shuddered at the thought of her own almost unpro-
tected situation .when the house should be filled with such

_company.

Debby had no such troublesome thoughts. She was pleased
to have guests in the house who paid well and behaved them-
selves. So extreme was their gallantry, it may be she faintly
dreamed of changing her situation in life, as, since Mr. Gar-
diner had married her niece, it would be wicked for her to
allow her affections to remain set upon him, be he dead or
alive. She snored away peacefully at nights, while Susan,

. lying by her side and next to the wall, kept awake to listen
and observe. : ‘

“One night she overheard them mention Harry’s name. The
plood rushed up into her head, beating so loudly in her ears,
for a time she heard nothing, though every nerve was strained
to agony. ;

“Pye always felt sorry about it,” were the words she next
detected, spoken by Jim Cross.

“Pooh! you're too chicken-hearted to make a good rascal,”
jeered the other. ‘‘I’ve sometimes thought we’d better put
you out of the gang.” : ;

“‘T wish to heaven I were out of it, Bill: Ido indeed—and
leading an honest life. I’ve about made up my mind to go
out. You needn’t look black—I shan’t peach, under any cir-
cumstances.”

“Of course you won’t if you want to live and enjoy the
society of your friends. Ididn’t think a girl could make
such a fool of you, Jim.”

“She isn’t a girl, she’s an angel. I can’t stand the look of
those eyes. very bad thing I ever did seems to rise before

”

“ She's confounded pretty, that’s a fact. But I don’t see
why that need to make a Puritan of you.” :

“ Because I love her and respect her. She reminds me of
my own sweet sister. If I thought she would love me, would
be mine, I would try hard to be what I used to be.”

“Oh, bosh! ’tend to your die, Jim.”

They worked in silence for some moments. The betrayal
of the young man’s feelings; which she had heard, hardly 1m-
ease. her at all, so utter was the anxiety with which she
waited to hear some further mention of her husband. It
‘seemed as if her heart would wrench itself apart.

‘‘¥ can not endure this another day,” she thought. ‘TI will
goto that man to-morrow. He says he loves me. I will
throw myself upon his pity—he must, he shall tell me what
he has done to Harry.” :

“He fought like a tiger,” remarked Jim, presently, as if his
mind were haunted with the idea. ;

“Who? oh, Gardiner—yes! but four to one was too many.
Yd heerd he had fight in him.”

“There ain’t more than two nights’ work on hand, now,”
was the next sentence. ‘‘I hope the fellows will be up to
time.” : s

‘“T don’t feel in much of a hurry,” said Jim.

“Tf the girl will have you, maybe we'd better ieave you
here to keep tavern for us. This would make us good head-
quarters.” ; ;

“So it would,” replied Jim, ‘‘If I can screw up courage
to the sticking-point, I'll ask her to-morrow.”
- Susan listened in vain for further revelations. Sleep and
rest came to all, even to the guilty counterfeiters, but not to
her. More weary than when she lay down, she rose the next
morning. ‘The flush on her cheek and glitter in her eye, were
those of fever and nervous excitement.

“You look like yourself. ag’in Susan; I hain’t seen your

 

cheeks so red in a long time,” Mr. Carter remarked, at the
breakfast table. =

  

_‘She’s healthy enough if she’d only think so,” said Debby,
charitably. : , é

After breakfast, Jim Cross and Mr. Carter sat on the fence
by the shed, talking together for over an hour. Susan, busy
with her work, observed them, dreading what she knew was
to come, yet so terribly anxious to learn the fate of her hus-
band, that the morning seemed a year long. After the two
men separated, Jim evidently waited an opportunity of speak-
ing to her alone; her father told her, after dinner, to go to the
blackberry patch, and pick some berries for tea. The patch
was within sight and hearing of the house, so she was not
afraid. Taking a little tin bucket she set forth, and before
she had passed the stile, Cross joined her, asking permission
to assist her. For awhile they gathered the profuse fruit. in
silence; the pail promised to be full before they should come
to an understanding.

‘““ Miss Carter—Susan—l swear I love you to distraction.”

This avowal burst forth without any preliminary speeches.
She looked up full into his face, which was white, and his
eyes burning—his gaze, fiery with doubt and passion, sunk
before her piercing look, but he hurried on in agitated tones:

“‘T love you, desperately. You are too good for me, I
know. But if you will marry me, I will make a better man.
You shal see fine times. I’ve got money. You need not
work, nor stay in this lonesome place. I will dress you in
silks and satins, and do whatever you ask me. Come, say
yes, now! Your father has given his consent.”

‘Has my father given his consent, Mr. Cross?”

‘He has, and seemed pleased with the idea. No wonder
at that—he can’t marry his girl off any day in this savage
place. I’ve promised to provide for him as long as he lives.”

“Did he not tell you that I am a married woman?”

“Married? are you in earnest? you—you are fooling me, to
prevent giving me an up-and-down answer.”

“Tam not trifling with you at all, Mr. Cross. God knows
J am in no humor to trifle. Ihave been married over three
months, but | have never seen my husband since I parted
from. him in the presence of the minister, five minutes after
the ceremony. Mr. Cross”’—clasping her hands and kneeling
before him—‘‘ you know where he is! whether he is dead or
alive. Tell me, for my sake, to save me from insanity or
suicide, tell me, what did you do to Harry Gardiner?”

“Gardiner!” muttered he, falling back from her, as he
heard the name.

‘ Yes! yes! yes! tell me what you have done with him.”

‘* So he was your husband, was he? and_ he was going to
run away with a bride that night we trapped him? no wonder
he fought like a panther—I’d have done the same.”

‘ell me!” implored Susan, her hands clasped and stretched
forth toward him. }

i at poor girl, I’m afraid you’re a widow as well as a
ride.” ?

‘i She did not scream nor faint—she seemed to freeze before
im. ;

“ Don’t look at me so,” muttered the young man; ‘‘I can’t
stand it. I had no hand inthe murder, though I had in the
robbery. I tried to coax ’em from using violence. I did, in-
deed, I tried to save him! You see, I was a new hand, and
I couldn’t bear the sight of blood!”—her mute look impelled
him on tospeak hurriedly, asif he must tell all to that stricken
woman kneeling there. ‘‘ You see there’s ’most always some
of us hanging about these towns, on the look-out for game,
and some of us found out that Gardiner had been getting con-
siderable money together. We'd made it up to rob him, when
some men came to us with another proposition. Some of us
were known to some of the squatters—they knew we wouldn’t
stop at any little disagreeable job, and they told us about
Gardiner, and they’d made up their minds to clear him out of.
the State. They offered us a good sum of money, besides all
we could get from him, if we'd quietly kidnap him, and con-
vey him somewhere, where he wouldn’t trouble them any more. --
Come to think, your own father was one of the men. i ’s the

same name, and I recollect, he must be the man, though I

never thought of it before, as I saw him but once in the even-
ing. Of course they didn’t ask us to kill him, out and out,
but they showed very plain they shouldn’t care if we did.
Our plan was to gag him-and carry him off where he wasn’t
known, nor we either, accuse Aim of stealing the horse and
buggy we took from him, swear him through court, and get
him in the penitentiary. Iwas the best educated of the whele
gang, and had had plenty of practice in forgery—for that was
the first step I took in crime, which drove me from home and
broke my mother’s heart—and I was to make a still better
thing of it, by getting bis papers, and imitating his writing,

 

 

 
 

 

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE. %

 

to-draw. on his lawyer for funds, as long as we could carry en
the game without detection. But when we seized and gagged
him, that evening, though there was four of us, he made such
a fight, we had as much as we could do to secure him, and
Bill Bilis, the one that’s with me now, hit him a blow over
the head with a billet of wood he’d picked up. He didn’t
mean to murder him, only to quiet him a little, but he fell
over like alog. So as we did not want to leave him there for
the authorities to get after us, we put him in the buggy, and
two of us got in, and the other two took horses, and we drove
nearly all night, and just before morning dumped him out in
a lonely piece of woods, and there, I s’pose, he lies yet.”

Still those glittering eyes and that icy face were upturned,
motionless. He could not endure the wretched silence, and
continued, hurriedly:

‘ Tt’s lain on my conscience like a stone ever since. I was
opposed to it, and I felt bad about it. Don’t blame me, Susan
—don’t. Ever since I took that terrible ride with that corpse,
T’ve been sworn to quit the gang, as soon asI could get out
of it. I-wasn’t made for such things. Tye a good mother,
and sister, just such another angel as yourself. I want to get
away, but I’m afraid of the fellows. I’m in their power, and
they’re afraid [ll peach if Ileave them. But if you will
have me, if you'll forgive the past, and try to learn to like
me, Pll dare every thing, and quit, and iat an honest life.”

“Like you—and my fee: he saw me suffer, but did not
relent,” 5

She arose and walked home; he did not,dare to follow her,
just then.

‘(What's the matter?” asked Debby, startled by the look of
the girl’s face.

“Nothing.”

‘Bh, Sue, didn’t you like your new beau?”

“Its rather soon for a widow to be choosing again, father.”

How strange she talked, and how strange she looked. Mr.
Carter and Debby exchanged anxious glances. She passed
them by; going up to her room, where she laid herself upon
the bed, and realized nothing more for many hours. Debby
came up to look at her, but went back again, saying she was
asleep. *

CHAPTER XI.
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE.

“Ooms, Susan, are you sick? If you ain’t, get up and help
me—the house is full of folks—and chickens to be picked,
and doughnuts fried, and lots to be done.”

‘“Pm not sick,” and Susan roused herself from the dull
trance in which she had lain for several hours. ;

It was evening, and blowing up fora rain. She went down
and found the bar-room full of company. They were drink-
ing, laughing, singing, peshing themselves, swearing, and
making plenty of confusion. Her father was out, attending
to their horses. Debby was busy in the kitchen, into which
she would not allow the travelers to enter, until the meal was
ready. j
in They're the friends our boarders expected,” said she,
‘Cand they’re most starved, and want a good supper. There’s
ten of them. ‘They’ve bought lots of horses, and they’re
going on to buy more.”

“Say, old lady, hurry up your grub,” shouted one of them,
putting his head in the door.

“Tend to your own affairs, and wait till I ask you,” re-
torted Debby, tartly.

He dodged his head, as if expecting to get his ears boxed,
but thrust it into the room again, exclaiming:

“Say, old lady, that’s a devilish pretty girl of yours. Is
she your daughter?”

‘‘ Daughter, indeed!” responded Debby, indignantly.

‘'That’s her twin sister, and she’s a candidate herself,”: ex-
plained Bill Ellis to his friends—whereupon there was a roar
of merriment, and Debby slammed the door upon. them all.

It was a wild. and unsuitable scene for a timid, sensitive
girl like Susan; but this night she seemed to haveno nerves—
nor hardly eyes or ears.” She moved about mapas, assisting
the preparations for supper, and afterward waited upon the
noisy strangers to tea and | coffee, taking all their rude jests
and coarse compliments as a statue might have done. ~

Her father, who carved for the company, winced at some
of these compliments, and appeared uneasy at the spirit dis.
played. ..Almost for the first time it occurred to him how his

 

modest aud sensitive-child must be shocked by her surround-
ing circumstances. .A frown settled upon his brow, and he
looked at his rusty old rifle. But ‘‘he had made his bed,”
himself, and now ‘‘he must lie in it.” j 0"

Their dozen of guests could not be accommodated up-stairs
without considerable crowding. The family proposed to lie
upon the kitchen floor, giving up all. the beds to the crowd.
After supper they were not long in getting drunk and sleepy,
having ridden far that day; and the most of them. retired
early, two or three holding a confidential meeting in the room
of Bill and Jim. j

Debby and her brother were fatigued, too, with their extra
exertions, and were glad to throw themselves upon, a couple
of buffalo-skins on the floor and fall asleep., Susan lay down
in her clothes, and pretended to slumber; but the moment the
house was wrapped in silence, she arose very softly, opened
the door, and stole out.:

Shé knew there was a sheriff residing in a sparse. settle-
ment about ten miles from there, and probably enough neigh-
bors to assist him in his duty of arresting the gang of villains
now reposing in her father’s house. The counterfeit money
which she had seen in process of manufacture, with other im-
plements of their various nefarious callings, would be proof
sufficient to convict them. She determined they should not
escape the hands of justice—nor her husband’s murderers the
full penalty of their crimes. She, usually so gentle, so for-
giving, had grown as hard and unrelenting as steel. All the
mercy there was in her nature seemed frozen over. She
could have knotted the rope or pulled the trigger which was
to punish those devils who had robbed her of her happi
She thought of a corpse lying unburied in a lonely wood. »

Creeping stealthily to the shed, now full of horses, she ap-
proached the coal-black steed which had once been Harry’s.
She had petted him so fondly, the three weeks of his stay,
that he had grown much attached to her, and knew her’ as
soon as she spoke to him.

The night was dim, but not always dark. Ragged clouds
fled over the sky, now concealing, now revealing, the pale
face of the half-filled moon. Occasionally great drops of rain
would patter down, and the wind surged in the pine-trees,
making a tumult very welcome to the girl, as it drowned the
noise of the horse’s steps, as she led him forth tothe road
with only a bridle on him, mounted him bare-backed, and
walked him softly away until she was out of ‘hearing of the
house. z :

‘* Now, Prince, do your best,” she murmured, patting him
on the neck, and uttering a low cry, which sent him bound-
ing off at full speed. The branches of the trees met above
her over the road, casting strange and changeful shadows on
the narrow way. At some moments every thing would be
shrouded in darkness—again the moon would sail forth, gaz-
ing down a the tossing foliage, at the maiden fleeing on
her wild errand. She abated nothing of her speed in’ the
darkest moments, trusting to the sagacity of the noble animal
that bore her. y

She had ridden perhaps two miles, when she heard some
one in pursuit—the gallop of a single horse, pressing on, but
a short distance behind. She urged her steed to his utmost
speed; the tramp came nearer, she was descending a long;
rambling hill, when the rider behind her seemed but a few
paces from her. As she reached the bottom of the hill, she
gave one backward glance, and discovered, in the sudden
‘brilliancy of the moon, the rider to be Jim Cross.

“Stop!” he shouted, ‘‘ or I will shoot.”

She only pressed forward the more urgently. f a

He gained upon her—he could almost lay his hand upon _
her bridle:rein.

‘‘ Susan, stop! you are going to betray us. You proceed at
your own peril.”

‘He fell.behind, but soon regained his loss. ’

‘Girl, do you dare? it will be no light matter for you to
bring down the vengeance of the league. They will never—
let you—rest.”

In vain did he urge his panting horse and shout out. brief
sentences of threat andrevenge. Susan had passed out of the
limits of mortal fear. ‘‘ Rest!’—she expected no rest in this
world—they had already taken that from her. ‘‘ Death!”—
let the scoundrel shoot her—it would be well—she should the
sooner be with him they had torn from her. DB

On and on they flew through the wild forest, each ma
their utmost effort. The pursuer began to flag—the powerf
horse which Susan rode, had few rivals in speed and endu-
rance—and he still galloped on easily, after the other dropped
far behind.

 
   

 

22

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

She came upon cleared fields lying on either side of the
road, ‘log-cabins, silent and dark, and soon was in the heart
of the little settlement. She never had been in the place be-
fore, but she rode up to the largest of the cluster of houses,
‘and knocked on the door with her riding-whip. She expected
to be overtaken, and perhaps shot. Just as the sleepy in-
mates were rousing themselves to open the door, her pursuer
dashed past her:

‘* Farewell, Susan,” he cried, half-checking his horse.
‘You're a gallant girl—I’'ll give you credit for it. And since
yow’re bound to betray my friends, I’m bound to leave ’em to
their fate. You'll have a desperate fight, though. I’ve wanted
to’break away from them this long time. If you ever hear
from me again, it will be in a better business!”—and-on he
fled, just’'as a man came out, wondering stupidly at the sight
of a woman on horseback, at that hour of the night.

‘“Where does the sheriff live?” ;
© ‘Phe sheriff? what?—why?—has any one been killed or
any thing?”

“T need his services—where is he?”

‘«He’s over thar in the third house.”

She went and roused up that household, followed by her
informant, eager to learn the news. The sheriff came out,
serutching his head.

»-“ Tam the daughter of the man who keeps the Black Bear.
There’s a desperate set of counterfeiters and murderers stop-
ping there to-night. I felt it my duty to let you know. Can
you summon force enough to capture them?”

«2 * Hang the rascals! my fingers has itched to get hold of em

‘is year past,” said the sheriff. ‘‘ How many is there?”

“A dozen—all armed.”

“ Pm *fraid twill be a tight time; what do you say, Homer?”

» Good fun—l'm in.”
~‘*Wal, help me to rouse the boys, then.”

«‘*Don’t lose any time,” said Susan. ‘If we can gain the
house without arousing them, we won’t have much trouble.
You can surprise them, asleep, and disarm them.”

‘«Good Lord, what'll we do with’em when we get ’era—
thar ain’t a buildin’ secure enough to fasten up such rascals.”

““You must march them off to the next county, and lodge
them there. Or give them the benefit of lynch-law at once.
I tell you they are dangerous men, murderers as well as rob-

pals! My sakes! what a girl!” ejaculated the sheriff, admir-

ingly.

: * Ye the boys have half her spunk, they’ll secure every ras-

cal of ’em,” said his companion.
« In a few minutes the whole settlement was aroused. Every
man who felt a disposition to assist the sheriff in his duty,
armed himself with a gun and knife, mounted his horse, and
formed into rank. There were twenty-five in the posse.

. They rode back rapidly to the Black Bear. It was that
deep hour after midnight, when slumber is profoundest, that
they reached the place. Dismounting in the forest, a quarter
of a mile distant, they left their horses and stole forward si-
lently to the inn. Susan entered the back door, and after
arousing her father and aunt, explained to them the character
of their guests, and that the sheriff was there to arrest the
party. She did not stop to say that she had been the means
of bringing them there. In profound silence, the men took
their places, two at each door and window, to prevent escape,
while the others entered within. The women thought best not
to be mixed up in the melee, and retreated to the rear of the
shed, where they awaited the result, They heard oaths and
shouts, windows crashed, and one or two shots fired. One
fellow bounded over the fence close beside them, followed
by a parting shot, and three or four men; but he struck into
the woods and made his escape. All,the rest were captured
and secured; not without many bruises, anda few slight
wounds. A sullen, wicked-looking. set, after they found
themselves disarmed and overpowered. —

When their captors came across the trunk full of counter-
feit dollars, and other evidences of the character of their pris-
oners, they were for horsewhipping the whole lot, before de-
livering them over to the more fonts justice of the law. The
bar-room was turned into an extempore jail, where the ras-
cals were kept until morning.

‘Debby and Susan prepared a good breakfast for the sheriff
and his aids, while Mr. Carter served the prisoners with bread
and goffee. For the whole expense of the entertainment of
both parties he had his pay in ea left on his hands.
The horse and buggy»of the absconded Jim fell into his pos-
session. Bill Ellis suspected that Susan had been the means
of entrapping them. ife gave her glances full of hateful

 

meaning when she chanced to look at him, which betrayed
what it was in his heart to do, should he ever gain the oppor-
tunity. : '

After breakfast, the prisoners, bound together with ropes,
so as to prevent sudden escapades, and escorted by nearly the
whole county, were marched off to the nearest jail which
could be found to hold them—a march of nearly twenty miles,
where we may leave them with the remark that they were af-
terward tried and convicted of various crimes, and sent to the
penitentiary, where the most of them worked out their pun-
ishment. A general feeling of joy pervaded all that part of
the State, to think so many of the rascals who stole their
property and flooded the country with counterfeit coin, had
at length met their deserts.

Great was the admiration testified by the rough settlers for
the courage of the landlord’s pretty daughter, who had per-
formed so prominent a part in this important arrest. Her
daring adventure gave her. favor with them, and the Black
Bear rose into notice. <a

Debby took to reading in her spare moments, the ‘‘ Myster-
ies of Udolpho” and ‘‘ The Three Spaniards,” which chanced
to be among some of the property left by the prisoners—and,
upon this nutriment, she grew dreamy and imaginative, daily
expecting some hero to rise before her, and claim her for his
own, from among the desperadoes with which a new State is
usually tormented. Of course, she also dreamed that the des-
perado, under her magic influence, would be transformed
into a good, orthodox, Christian man. ;

OH APT HRS EL,
*SIAH WHITE'S ERRAND.

‘““T pon’r believe Susan will live through the winter,
brother.” ’ ;

‘*T don’t believe she will, Debby—she’s clear heart-broken.
I'd give the hull world if I could ondo what I’ve done about
separatin’ her and him. They loved each other, no mistake.
Td no right to let my own angry feelings step in between
’em. I used to feel so ugly toward him, every time my arm
gave mea twitch—I just sot up to be as contrary as I could.
Now he’s dead and gone, I see things in a different light. If
I'd have been as generous-minded ashe was, there never
would have been any trouble. But I wouldn’t straighten
matters when I could.”

‘‘He was altogether the likeliest man I ever saw,” said
Debby, with a deep sigh. Idursn’t say so once, in your pres-
ence, brother.”

““T know it. DP’m free to say I did wrong. But that won’t
mend matters now. My only child is a-dying by inches be-
fore my eyes. Sometimes she.looks to me like her mother’s
ghost—my dead wife seems to rise up out of her grave to re-
proach me for my treatment of her child.”

““Don’t, brother, don’t say so.”

“It’s true. And sometimes I see young Gardiner’s ghost.
Of course, | had no hand in murderin’ him; but, if me and
others hadn’t set them villains on, he would never have met
with that untimely end.’ I’ve heard Susan say he had a
mother-and sisters on Hast. How they must be looking, and
wondering, and fearing! I tell you, Debby, ’'m a miserable
man.’ : ;

‘It’s a miserable house,” groaned she; ‘‘ you so downcast
and quiet, and Sue moving about like a white shadder, never

saying any thing only when she’s spoke to. I can’t bear u

under it much longer, myself. She’s always been a self-
willed, obstinate girl, and kept me in hot water when she was
a young-one; but I’d put up with the worst trick she ever
played on me, to see her laugh once more. She used to be
full of her pranks. Good gracious! how her eyes do look
lately—just like a sleep-walker’s!” ,

‘Sometimes I’m thinkin’ she’ll kill herself,” said Mr. Oar-
ter, in a low voice.

“ She’s got too good principle for that, brother.”

‘“Pll tell you what I’ve been thinkin’ of—moving back to
where we.came from, in the spring.” ;

‘“What on’arth would you do for a livin’ when we got
back? We're settled here now, and making a littlesomethin’,
with prospects of more when people get thicker. It'll take
oe cent we've got to carry us back, and then what will we
do? , ; sal

“J don’t know—and I don’t know ag I care. I’ve nothin’

 

 
 

 

 

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE. 23

to work for, ‘less Susan is going to live, and there's only one
chance of sayin’ her—and that is gettin’ her mind off her. trou-
bles by gettin’ her to stirround, and shakin’ ber up a. little.”

oe Wal I suppose I'll have to do as you say. I’ve followed

‘ou round the world pretty faithful.so far, Enos Carter. I’ve
fae up your girl for you—done by her as I would vd
one of my own, if I’d ever accepted my offers, and had chil-
dren—and now I’m willin’ to do till the last.”

‘‘ You've been a good sister, Debby, no. one denies that;”
and he sighed wearily.

‘‘Ts’pose she’s off in the woods, now, wandering about like
a wild creature. She'll get lost some. of these days, or car-
ried off by bears. The neighbors have been telling me it’s no
strange thing to meet a bear hereabouts. They'll be around
after acorns, since the frost. When the pigs squealed so last
night, I was certain it was— Bless me! who’s that stopping
at the gate? It’s’Siah White, as sure as my name is Deborah
Carter! Well said! if he hasn’t tracked us clear here.  He’s
after Sue, Dll bet a basket of chips!”

“Tm right glad to see sonrebody from the old place,” and
Mr. Carter went to the door to greet and welcome him.

‘‘ How do ye all-do?” asked Josiah, shaking hands with
both, and looking both shamefaced and pleased.

“‘ What brought you to this part of the world?’ asked his
host, taking his valise and overcoat.

‘7 thought I'd come and see how you wasall getting along,
—there warn’t much to do at home just now. arvest’s over
and wheat thrashed and corn cut. They had two or three
huskin’ bees before I left. But, somehow, I couldn't help
feeling lonesome to all of ’em; so I just made up my mind to
start.”

“* How did you find us?”

‘Wal, by inquirin’ along. I did haye some trouble about
it; but I stuck to the track, andhere Iam! Glad to see you
lookin’ so well, Miss Debby. How’s Susan?”—as if he had
just thought of her.

“* She’s poorly, very poorly, ’Siah. Her troubles weigh on
her,” answered Debby, while Mr. Carter sighed.

*Siah wanted to inquire what those troubles were, but he
could not summon up courage, just at that present time.
His eyes were wandering about the room and out of the door,
expectantly.

‘“We were just talking, sister and me, about taking her
back—we thought a change might do her good—revive her
up.”

‘* Maybe she’ll make up her mind to go back with me ”—
and the youth smiled awkwardly, rubbing his hands.

“I wish to goodness she would,” said Debby, ‘‘ but. she
won't.”

‘*Ts that her?”

Josiah stood many, surprised and shocked at the change
in her appearance. Pale and thin as a phantom, she glided
in from the woods. She was beautiful still, but her beauty
was of an unearthly character,which filled her lover with awe
as well as adoration, ;

A slight flush mantled her lily cheeks when she saw the
new-comer. It was called there by the remembrance of the

art he had once played by the pond on that wintry night.
Tras thing in her mind was tinted by the medium of her
love for Harry Gardiner. She gave poor ’Siah her hand, but
without the shadow of a smile, asking after his health without
any interest in his reply. Prospects were dark for the youth,
ie tosino there hoping to win that broken-hearted girl for a

ride.

“It won’t do you one speck of good to ask her,” Debby as-
sured him, as they stood alone together by the wood-pile, after
supper.

““ What's come over her?” asked Josiah. ‘‘ Ig she love-sick
yet for that young landowner? He gave her the mitten,
didn’t he?”

‘‘Didn’t you know he married her?”

“Married; no! thunder and blazes!/what did he leave her
for then?” }

Debby sat down on a soft stick of the wood-pile, and told
him the story of the marriage, and all the subsequent events.

“So she a believes he’s dead?” asked her listener, when
she had finished: , . .

‘‘Of course—what else is there to think? they left him
dead in the wilderness, where, if he'd ’a’ come to, he’d.’a’
starved. If he’d been alive, nothing on ‘arth would haye kept
him from getting word to his wife, before this time.”

‘ Pve reason ‘to think he’s still in the land of the livin’.”

‘‘ What reason, ’Siah White, for mercy’s sake?”

‘Td tell her, if I warn’t afraid the news would be too sud-

 

den. I’ve got a letter here the Widow Sturgiss gave me! to
give to her—she made me promise certain sure to give it to
her if I could find her.” eee ee oe

“Do you know what is in it?” ee

‘No. J don’t read other folks’ letters. _Howsumever, it’s
my belief it came from Mr. Gardiner to the widow. for Susan.
He didn’t. know she’d left the place, you see. And, to let
the cat out of the bag, I just came all the way here ‘to bring
that letter. I felt asif I'd hada hand in injuring them as
hadn’t hurt me, and I wanted to make amends. TI thought so
much of Susan, I couldn’t bear to think she was miserable
and I thought likely the letter had good news for her—so I
told the widow I’d try and find her, and deliver it with. my
own hands into hers.” uy Sipus

“Lia Siah, I didn’t know you could be so good-natured:
S’posing, now swank given up all idea of Susan, you and:me
hitch horses. I ain’t so very much older than’ you—I could
take good care of you in health and sickness—and it’s a pity
you should come such a long journey for nothing.” ©

She laid her hand on his arm, and smiled bewitchingly.

‘No you don’t, old girl,” he replied. ‘I can do better.
To tell the hull truth, me and Kitty Giles are going tobe
married ’fore Christmas. She’s the next prettiest girl to Susan
in the place) We like each other like buckwheat-cakes and
butter. But I couldn’t rest easy inmy mind till ’d done what
Iould for Susan. But I'll tell you who I guess you ‘could
get if you was on the ground to pop the question in time.
Kitty’s mother died since you came away, and when Kitty
marries, old Giles will have to have somebody to help him
carry on the tavern. You'd suit each other first rate.” 9 *

“IT shouldn’t wonder if we would,” answered Debby, re-
flectively. 4 30

This prospect, vague as it was, seemed to soothe the wound
caused by her rejection; her spirits rose to’ unaccustomed
gayety. ‘

‘‘ Let’s go in and break the news of the letter gently, for
she’s weak and nervous,” she said; ‘‘ maybe we'll all go back
together.” 8x

Sasa was sitting by the kitchen window, her eyes fixed
upon the last lingering crimson of sunset. ;

‘Siah’s brought you a present—guess what it is?” began
Debby. i

‘““Tam sure Ivan not guess. Ido not need any thing,”
she replied, dreamily.  ‘‘ You'd better keep it yourself, aunt.”

: ; If you knew what it was you wouldn’t say so,” said Jo
siah. we

‘I presume it’s very nice,” in a weary, spiritless way.

‘It didn’t cost very much,” said Josiah, ‘‘there’s only ten
cents postage on it.” :

She looked quickly up, and saw something in the faces be-
fore her which made the blood rush to her face. c

‘°A letter for me? Who sent it?” ;

‘‘Oh! it came from a woman—in course it ain’t a love-let-
ter,” said the youth, warily, alarmed by the intenseness of
look. 29

‘“ Who would be writing to me?” and she looked dull again.
‘Ts it from one of the girls—from Kitty Giles?” _iceana

“' Now, Susan,” broke in Debby; ‘‘if you'll behave ourself,
and not get in need of the camfire, Pll'tell you it’s from: the
Widow Sturgiss. ‘Maybe there’s news in it.” it?

“‘ Give it to me!” cried Susan, rising to her feet, quiverin
from head to foot, her face like a white star, bright and pale. |

““ Now don’t be foolish, Sue,” laughed Josiah, placing the -
letter in her hand which he had come so far to bring.

‘Seems to me it’s a man’s writing—maybe you know it.”

When she saw the superscription, she tried to tear the letter
open, but her head began to swim—the room was dark, the
familiar faces. fled from her, and she fell to the floor ina
swoon. . Ww

‘“That was just what I was afraid of,” and Debby ran for
the camphor-bottle, while Josiah made a fan of his hat. ,

‘““There, Iam better now. Reise me up. Aunt Debby=
oh, Aunt Debby, light a candle won't you, quick.” Lane

“Ivll be two years fore I’m married,” said the spinster,
laughing as she blew hard upon the coal she held? in
the tongs, to light the candle with, twice before it ighted.

‘*T hope not,” answered Josiah. ‘‘ All signs fai] ina
time. J may have the pleasure of callin’ you mother, yet.”

‘‘Pshaw, 'Siah! Here, Susan, open your letter.”

Shading her face from. observat on, the girl tore open the
missive and read; 3 aes

My Dariine, My Own Sweet Wire :—I am safe, I am well al-
most. If I were quite well, I should fly to you, inetedd of sending
you this. I can.not leave my room just yet—perhaps [shall be able
t
{

    

24
to before long. But every day/is an age—and I thinkit best for you
to come to,me.. I was. waylaid, taken by, surprise, gagged, car-

ried off insensible, and thrown away for dead, in this wretched spot,
twenty miles from you. Howstrange you mast think it. What an-

gaish ‘ou must have endured—greater even than mine—for you |
a

ve all the miséry of suspense, while I know'that you are probably
safe at home! I can not write you all the particulars now, of my
ilmess and recovery; Lam too weak, yet. can tell you'all when
‘ou fly to me, which you will certainly find some means of doing.
Can't ao hire Giles to bring you in his buggy?—I will pay him well.
‘ake t
road, strike into the little south road there, continue on two miles
—it is only a kind of bridle path—you may have to walk. You will
come to a honse with a well-sweep in front of it—the only one any-
where near. Ask there for me. And now, farewell, my dearest,
my wife, until you fly to my arms. We will overcome all these diffi-
culties some time. My patience has been sorely tried. This will
be mailed at the Cross-Roads, and reach you in two days; perhaps
in two more you.will be here. My own, my sweet wife, farewell.
April 30t Harry GARDINER.”

She looked at the envelope again. It had been sent on to
Washington and returned, there being money in it for Susan’s
use. In those days of slow coaches and no railroads it took
time for a letter to travel from Michigan to Washington, and
back again. Mrs. Sturgiss had only received it about a month
before Josiah left with it; he had been talking with her about
Susan and the Carters, and regretting the scandalous way. in
which the community had treated young Gardiner, when she
had told him of Susan’s marriage at her house, of the bride-

m’s strange non-appearance, and of the letter she now

e Peniry road, drive along eighteen miles to Jackson’s cross-

* Moved. by remorse, and a generous impulse new to him,
*Siah had redeemed his character by this attempt to find the
one to which it belonged. Fora few moments a dazzling,
blinding, bewildering joy dazed Susan’s senses; then, doubt
and suspense again asserted their sway. Why had he not
made his appearance in all these five long months since the
letter was:written? Maybe he had grown. worse again—had
died alone, wondering why she did not answer his appeal and
fly tohim. Oh, cruel blunder of the soulless mail! as if they
had not trouble enough, without this, to fill the cup.

“We must get ready, father,” she said, ‘‘ to-morrow—to-
night, to g° back, and find this place he has directed us to.
If he | is dead, we will know it then—this suspense will be
over.” :

' “ Let's all pack up and go back,” said Debby, her thoughts
on Giles’ tavern.

“Waal, waal; time enough in the morning, girls,” said Mr.
Carter.. ‘‘Hope. for the best, Susie, and try to pick up
strength enough to bear the journey.”

‘«And now, Josiah,” said Susan, with a faint smile, placing
her hand in his, ‘‘ whether Harry and I ever meet again on
this earth, or not, I forgive you for all you ever did to us in
the as and thank you for bringing me this letter.”

‘‘ Kitty and me are going to get married,” blubbered the
youth. ‘‘She sends her love, and wants you to come to the
weddin’.”

“TD shall be glad to. see Fer and Kitty married,” replied
Susan, ‘‘she is both good and pretty, and a nice housekeeper.
Once, I would not have given you credit for being worthy of
her; but I have changed my mind,” and she smiled so beauti-
fully, that ’Siah liked to ‘‘ have gone off the handle,” as he
expressed it to Kitty afterward.

Mr. Carter thought it best not to start until he had gone
over to the little settlement, and found some one who wanted
to take the tavern off his hands, and pay him what the furni-
ture and good-will were worth. He found a man ready to
close a bargain; for tavern-keeping is a favorite business with
a certain class of men, who are always shifting from one
community to another, and who like to take life easy.

‘(We shall return in less time than we came, with this fine
animal to draw us,” said Mr. Carter, upon the morning of the
second day, as he cracked his whip, and the little old creaky
wagon rolled on once more, loaded. with the family, and such
small stock of goods as was endeared to them in their old life.

Josiah rode beside them, looking very well contented with,

himself and the world.

 

%

CHAPTER XIII.
’ A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES.

Tur journey was nearly accomplished. One day more as
good speed as they were making would bring the party of

 

ee

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

travelers into their own neighborhood. It was a fine, bright

' autumn evening, and they concluded it would be more com-

fortable to camp out, as they had doneseveral times before,
than to attempt to find one of the dirty little inns further on.

Stopping by a tiny brook which ran sparkling across the
road, and under the shelter of a great oak tree, part of whose
on leaves carpeted the turf below, they tied the horses
oosely, so that they might crop the grass, and proceeded to
make themselves as comfortable as circumstances would al-
low. Josiah brought dry sticks and pieces of half-decayed
wood, and soon kindled a cheerful fire, over which the old
tin coffee-pot was placed, giving forth an ambrosial odor to
the ee three, whose appetites were sharpened by a long
day’s ride.

e say the hungry three, for, although there was a fourth
one, Susan never knew whether she was hungry or not. | Her
whole being was absorbed in the one great Ee of hope
and fear, that she simply endured the present. hile the sup-
per was being prepared, she went down by the tricklin
water, and sat by the bank, dropping leaves into_ it, and
watching them as they drifted and eddied away. To-night
she felt ae A sense of danger depressed her, she hardly
knew why. The day before, they had been passed on the
way, by three or four men on horseback, the usual mode of
traveling in those days, who looked back after them with
scrutinizing glances. She had discovered, to her alarm, that
two of those persons were Bill Ellis and Jim Cross, so much
disguised that neither her father nor Debby suspected who
they were. She had not heard of Bill Ellis’ escape from the
authorities, but presumed his friend had aided him in getting
out of the not very secure prison. |

Since this unexpected appearance she had felt timid and
frightened, almost expecting a band of highwaymen to spring
out of every forest and thicket which they passed: She re-
membered the ee and his threat of vengeance
against herself, of Bill Ellis, when he was dragged away from
the Black Bear. ,

Now as she sat there, dropping the leaves and — them —

whirled away, a shadow seemed to fallupon her. She looked
around. Only the brightest and most cheery of pictures met
her gaze. Her father watering the horses, Aunt Debby’s tall
figure between her and the leaping, dancing fire, which lighted
up the roadside a long distance, Josiah broiling slices of ham
on the sharp end of a stick—a little back, the dark forest—
and before her the murmuring rivulet, crimson in some
places, with the light of the leaping flames. Across the
stream there was quite alittle bank, where the earth had
shelved off, and the wood grew down close to it, only parted
by the narrow road. Not seeing any visible cause of uneasi-
ness, it grew upon her fancy that there was a panther lurking
in the branches of the trees, which overhung the brook, that
his fiery eyes were devouring her with expectation, and that
suddenly he would spring upon her, and she would be lost.
She thought of her father’s loaded rifle lying: in the wagon,
ready at a touch, and of the ppcket-pistol which Josiah car-
ried—but she could not tise to flee from’ the impending dan-
ger—she was weighed upon and paralyzed by fear.

“Come, Susan,” called Josiah, ‘‘ I’ve toasted this slice ex-
pressly for you. You never seena nicer bit of pig-meat. Its
time for you to quit sentimentalizing, and take to eatin’;” and
he turned toward the brook, with his hand omhis impromptu
wooden fork. Susan was not there.

‘Susan! Susan! Where’s the girl gone to?” called Mr.
Carter. r

At that instant they were answerd by a piercing shriek from
the opposite wood, which made each one turn, With a pale face,
and stare at the other.

‘<Tt’s Indians,” shuddered Debby. « f

‘Ts a panther,” said Josiah; ‘‘ hear the bushes rustle?”

‘Father! help!”

Mr. Carter seized his rifle, sprung into the brook, and ‘ran
a short distance, until he could climb the bank, up whith he
rushed, and had hardly got a firm footing, before he’ was
knocked into the water, rifle and all.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed a voice above him, which he re-
called as that of Bill Ellis. ‘‘Try it again, old fellow. It’s
bad work betraying the league to the officers. I guess your
pretty daughter will never try it again. We're going tohave
our revenge now!” i ;

Carter struggled to his feet, and again dashed forward with
his useless weapon, followed by Josiah, leaving Debby seream-
ing and alone. This time they were not repulsed, the speaker
bounding into the woods, flinging back a sardonic hurrah.

They heard no more cries from Susan, whose mouth was

 

 

 

 
}
1
|
'

 

 

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE.

   

25

 

stuffed with a handkerchief, as she’ was hurried along’ by
three men into the pathless depths of the woods. In the for-
est it was dark—too dark for the pursuers to’ make. any 'pro-
gress; the twilight of the road was here black night.

“Tt is useless to go on in this manner,” said Josiah, as he
stumbled and fell for the third time. ‘t They not only know
the way but have lanterns. They are not so afraid of our
overtaking them but what they have lighted ’em. I must get
torches.” nae

“Get ’em, if you will,” cried the father, in agony, ‘‘ but I
can not stop. Be spry, Josiah.”

Josiah had obtained part of the fuel for his fire from a dead

and fallen pine-tree, from which he had amused himself
breaking some knots, before he undertook the culinary task
of broiling the ham. He now rushed back for these, lighting
them at the fire, where the coffee smoked unregarded.

‘Oh, ’Siah! ’Siah White! don’t leave me here all alone!”
screamed Debby, as he prepared to start with the blazing
torches. i

‘‘Let go my coat-tail!” cried the young» man, sternly.
‘* Nobody’s going to hurt you. Just keep up the fire; and
hold the carvin’-knife in yer hand, and stay till wecome back;”
and wrenching his garments from her grasp, he bounded off.

‘‘ Every second is an age,” gasped
overtook him, seizing one of the torches; ‘‘oh ’Siah! they
are out of sight and hearin’.”

The way was difficult in the extreme, thick with growths

of underbrush impeding their steps; and, as the party pur-
sued were familiar with the forest, having every advantage
of knowing their own destination, and the best) paths by
which to reach it, their chances were small indeed. As time
passed, and they gradually lost all trace, wandering on in
doubt and despair, the frantic father cursed himself in his
agony:
“7 brought it all on her. I wouldn’t let her have the brav-
est and best of men, who loved her to distraction: Itook her
off among desperadoes and ignoramuses—and now, I’ve igot
my reward! Oh, God! forgive me, and have mercy on a fa-
ther’s anguish!”

At times he stopped, straining his ear to listen for the dis-
tant crashing of underbrush, or for some cry which might
direct him aright—and when no token came, going on again
with set teeth and eyes which glared like a hunted tiger’s.

All the courage that was in Josiah’s rough nature was ex-
cited bythe emergency. Could he have encountered a dozen
armed men, and by rushing among them, have fought for Su-
san’s liberty, he would not have hesitated: But alas! there
was no opportunity for testing the “ fight” which was in him.

They wandered on and around, not knowing but what every
step took them from instead of toward the hapless girl they
would have died to save.

The flickering light of the pine-knots burned out, leavin
them lost in thedepths ofthe forest. Mr. Carter, giving up all
hope, flung himself upon the ue aud groaned aloud;
Josiah, sad and silent, remained beside him: ;

“Don’t, don’t take on so,” he pleaded at last. ‘‘We must
do suthin’—either go forward, or try and find our way back
to r Debby.”

in'they blundered on in the darkness.

“Ysee a light,” cried Josiah, presently. ‘‘ We’re comin’
out on the road—and this is a farm-house. I remember pass-
in’ it, on my way to your house. They ain’t gone to bed yet
—let’s ge thar and try and git help.”

‘‘Ttll be of no use, Josiah. Them villains have haunts of
ee own, where they are as safe from pursuit as a snailin his
shell.” f

“You ain't a-goin’ to give upso? While there’s life there’s
hope, Come, come, rouse yourself, friend Carter.”

He had almost to drag his companion across’ the road, and
up to the door, where he knocked smartly, and was quickly
answered by a neat-looking young girl. The opening of the
door revealed a cheerful scene: the sitting-room of a snug
farm-house, wherein the family were assembled at their even-
ing employments. A rag-carpet covered the floor, and the
fire in the huge fire-place flashed over the tall corner-clock,
the high best bed, the old lady in the warmest seat, knitting
stockings, two or three bonny ee, girls, a broad-shoul-
dered father and son, and a contented-looking mother.

There was another inmate, whom Josiah did not at first per-
ceive—a young man lounging on a settle, looking like a con-
valescent just brightening up after a long illness.

‘‘ We want help,” spoke Josiah. ‘‘ We’re peaceable travel-
ers and stopping to cook our supper on the road, some rascals
pounced on us, and carried off a young girl.”

?

r. Carter, as Josiah’

 

At the first sound of his voice, the invalid/on thesettle had
sprung up, and was staring at’ him. Mr..Carter saw who’ he
was, and pushed into the room. BD dust 14 IH.

‘Them devils have got my girl!” he said, ina: choked voice,

‘‘ Who? when? where have they gone? Answer instantly,
and to the point, Mr. Carter. All depends on speed.” ti

‘‘Tt’s Bill Ellis, and others of the same gang as kidnapped
you, Mr. Gardiner. They've a spite against Susan for betray-
in’ ’em, and they’ve swore to be nan It. seems ‘th
tracked us just.as we were gettin’ settled for the night, an
Susan a little way offfrom us, by thecreeki They pounced
out of the woods and carried her off, It’s more’n two hours
since.” ,

‘“We chased ’em,” added Josiah, ‘‘but they got clear out
of sight and hearin’—we’ve no idea which way to take, and
our lights went out, and—” ; ;

‘Men, get your rifles! Have courage; Mr. Carter. I know
where they have taken your child, and if we reach them in
time, we shall save her. I know a shorter route than the one
they will be obliged to take. Come!” :

Honeys face was white and his tone stern. The father’s
anguish could not exceed that of the young husband. The
father and son took down their rifles, the women running to
bring them ammunition, in case they should engage in a reg-
ular battle. There was no time to be lost in wonder, curiosi-
ty, or explanation. / ) : i

The five men, well armed; started forth, Harry leading the
way. Following the road for three miles or more, they turned
off into a narrow, irregular lane or by-road, which straggled
off along the border of a forest. The stars shone brilliantly,
so that they had no difficulty in making their way without the
use of lanterns. For two or three miles more they hurried on
at as fast a rate as they could maintain. aiit Gwet ody

“Hush!” whispered Harry, as they came within sight of a
faint glimmer stealing out of the little square window of a
log-hut, a little back from the road. ‘‘ All now depends upon
silence.. That cabin is a rendezvous—the place, farmer, where
I myself iay so long, as T told you. We may secure the girl
without bloodshed, if we are cautious enough. ‘They are al-
ways ready for a surprise—these villains are—and the least
noise will alarm them. We will strike into the woods here,
and approach the house from behind.” i ¢

With the utmost caution they made their’ way into the
rear, their rifles ready for instant action. 'The rest of the
party remaining concealed behind trees, Harry stole up to the
window and looked in. An old newspaper had been’
over the sash,’ to keep out observation, should any one-in that
wild district ever seek to make any; but a corner of it was
torn away, so that it afferded a friendly shelter to. Harry,
while it enabled him to reconnoiter the'inside. © = ©

His blood boiled with indignation, as he surveyed the
scene, and yet a feeling of relief came over him which was
like a respite from death. An old woman was busy cooking
supper over the fire, while four-men were talking, laughing,
singing, and drinking, and amusing themselves hurrying
preparations for the repast. Near the fire, which shone fuli
in her face, sat Susan; her bonnet and shaw] on; but her dress
somewhat torn and disheveled from the manner in which she
had been hurried along. Her hands were tied together. _ Her
face was pale and fixed, except that her mute, beseeching
eyes followed the old woman, as‘if from her she might im-
a that pity she did not expect from her captors. While

arry gazed, the supper was set up, and the four men drew
benches to the table, and seated themselves.

‘* Push the young lady nearer to us, where we can have the
pleasure of feeding her,” said Bill Ellis, witha laugh.

““Come, now, fellows, you behave yourselves,” growled
Jim Cross, angrily. ‘‘I only asked you to help me get hold
of her. She’s mine, and if any of the rest of youlay a hand
on her, I'll shoot you.” :

‘« Oh, will you, now?” said Ellis; ‘‘ but perhaps I shan’t
give her up so easily. Our rule has been, a fair division of
the spoils.”

Harry crept back to his company.

“There are four of them, and five of us,” hesaid. ‘‘ Boys,
are you sure your guns are all right?”

Mr. Carter had left his wetted rifle at the farm-house, and
taken another.

‘“« They’re all right,” he answered for the party.

‘* The whole four are just now seated at the supper-table,
unsuspicious of any one in their vicinity, Their weapons
stand in a corner of the room. My plan is for us to shoot
every black-hearted rascal of them, before he has time to seize
his gun and make fight.”

 
   
 

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26

 

WHEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

be The farmer,and his son demurred tothise joj) tA
ed‘) Then all: Pve' gotito say,” answered. Harry,;‘' is, that you
do not know what day your own-children may fall into their
hands!» They’re the scourge of the State—haye been guilty |
of almost every crime, and haye forfeited, their lives to the
law long ago. . It would be wrong. in us to spare them.

What! lLendanger a useful life like one of yours, by pit-
ting it in an equal fight against these, criminals? I say, no!
My plan is to shoot them down like dogs. , There are two doors
tothe cabin—one in front, just opposite this. . Let us divide
our force; and open each door at the same instant, and fire ,
upon them before they can spring... Only don’t shoot the

irl!’ :
ee No danger of any of us making that mistake,” replied the
farmer. ‘‘ We're old hunters, me and my, boy, and we know
game when we sec it.”

Carter, Josiah, and, the farmer’s son went. round to the
front, Harry and the old farmer crept up to the rear.

During the moment of waiting and silence which. ensued,
they heard rude laughter from the quartette of revelers, who
‘were enjoying their supper, unconscious of the danger which
lingered so terribly near. Suddenly, both doors were burst
open, and a bullet went straight through the hearts of two of
the men, before they could rise from their chairs, Jim Cross
was bending over toward Susan in such a position that the
men were afraid to shoot; with one bound he sprung to the
door, where a hand-to-hand scuffle ensued between him and
the two persons stationed there, from whom. he managed to
escape, and bounded into the shadow of the woods, minus his
weapons.

The other of the four desperadoes was but slightly wounded;
and as he cried ‘‘ quarter” most pitifully, the rescuers thought
best to take him in charge, and hand him over to the proper
authorities. The old woman was also arrested and bound
over as an accomplice.

In the mean time where was Susan? As, once upona time,
she had cut the thongs which bound him, so now Harry lib-
erated those slender wrists, and when the others had time. to
look and think, they found the young couple oblivious of all
the world save each other,

If ever a young woman was justifiable in having the hyster-
ics, it was the long-lost wife upon this, occasion—and that
she laughed and cried in the most uncontrollable way, was
forgiven by all the witnesses, As soon as the two came to

‘their senses, so as to recognize the claims of others, Mr. Car-

ter advanced aud held out his hand to Harry.
‘ect You have found her,” he said; ‘‘and never shall you be
parted by word,or deed of mine. I ask your pardon for the
past; and if my good-will and blessin’ are worth any thing to
you, you have ’em, and) welcome!”

| Susie looked up into her father’s face, clasping her hus-

-band's hands, witha look of peace and happiness which blot-
sted out many weary da

ys and many unkind deeds,
oof And here’s Josiah,” continued Mr, Carter; ‘if you knew
thererrand that brought him out after us, you’d. bury the
hatchet between you, and shake hands on the spot.”
‘© Yes, Harry,” said Susan, ‘‘ he came a tiresome ten days’

‘journey to bring me that long-lost letter of yours, which you

sent tome last spring. Forgive all things, and let us de
friends.”

“Tm goin’-to marry Kitty Giles, so I’m reconciled. now, you
know,” smirked Josiah; ‘but I couldn’t have no peace of
mind to get married and be enjoyin’ myself, till Pd undone
as much of the mischief ’twixt you two as I could, seein’ I’d
such a hand in separatin’ you. The widow Sturgiss was a
frettin’ awful about that letter, so I just told Kitty she'd got to
wait, for L-was goin’ to find Susan Carter if she was to be
found this side of the Rocky Mountains. ‘We was on our
way back when we got into this all-fired scrape—which has |
jest turned out to be alucky thing, seein’ it’s not only run’ you
out of your hole, but has rid the country of them dreadful
rascals.”

“‘Let’s get the child away from these sickening sights,”

said Carter, shuddering at the two dead men, whose retribu-

tion had overtaken them so suddenly and awfully.

“Yes, let us go,” whispered Susan. Z ;
That night at the farm-house was one long remembered by
its inmates. The man and woman under arrest, were tightly
bound and. confined in an out-house during the night. Itwas
not until the party were gathered once more around the clieer-
ful fire that anybody thought of poor Debby, so exciting had
been their adventure and its results, Susan was the first who
mentioned her. ;

‘Za! poor soul, she'll be scart nigh to death,” said Josiah.

 

‘Jest: the rest of you stay here, and, make yourselyes com-
fortable; while I go back and get her, Ill bring the whole
kit along, and we'll jest make a night of it at your house, far-
mer, if you say so.”

““Of course I say so. My gals will have supper ready for
the hull lot against you get back. It’s only a matter of two
miles from here to the ereek, by the road,”

‘‘ [Pd better go along in case of another ambush,” said Har-
ry, and the two went back along the road for the deserted
spinster. }

They found her curled up as far back in the covered wagons
as she could get, the carving knife held in front of her, and
so blinded by terror that she refused to recognize them, after
they had made themselves known.

‘* Go ’long!” she cried; ‘ ain’t it enough you’ve seized and
carried off Susan, without comin’ back for me?”

“No, it ain’t enough at all; We want you,” laughed Josiah,
supposing she would see who it was.-

‘*“ You shan’t have me! never! never! Go ’long!”

She flourished the big knife furiously.

“Come, now, Debby, we've found Susan, and supper is
waiting,” said Harry.

_, ‘‘Don’t try to coax me. S’pose I’m going to be murdered
in cold blood? Go long, I say.”

‘““ Why, Debby, don’t you know me? You don’t think your
own nephew, Harry Gardiner, would kidnap you, do you?”

‘“Is that you, Harry?” she asked, doubtfully—and then as
the scales of fright fell from her eyes and ears, and she saw
and heard correctly, the threatening knife dropped in her lap,
and she just sat still and looked in mute contentment. The
hitched the horse to the wagon, Josiah mounted his steed,
and Harry had actually lifted Debby out, and placed her in
the midst of the circle around the farm-house fire, before she
came to herself enough to ask questions.

The best that could be got up on short notice was placed
on the hospitable board, and exciting talk and explanations
kept the whole party sleepless until the morning broke.

CHAPTER XIV.
A DOUBLE WEDDING.

Iv was the evening of Kitty Giles’ marriage. Now indeed
the old tavern glowed with a brilliancy which far outrivaled
even the splendor of the leading ball the previous year, In
every fire-place the hickory logs glowed and flashed; garlands
hung from the dining-room, the sitting-room, the kitchen, and
the ball-room. Even in one year the settlement had advanced
in the luxuries of civilization; real sperm candles glimmered
in every available nook; and the mince-pies were not made
from dried apples. }

The wedding was going to be a very public affair, Kitty
had wished to be married quiethy, since her mother had been
dead but half a year; but her father would not hear to his
only daughter’s going away from home in any such style. It
was the fashion of the times. A wedding without a wedding-
feast, with wine, and dancing, and rejoicing, was a mean and
ill-omened wedding. There must be the festivities at home;
and the second evening, either the bridemaid or some. inti-
mate friend gave the ‘‘infairs ”—on this oceasion it was to be

at the house of the bridegroom’s father. Jerusha White was’

to be bridemaid, and Jonathan Giles, Kitty’s brother, was
to be'groomsman. ;

The neighbors had all taken hold and helped Kitty in her
preparations.  “‘ Miss” Peters had made the pies—pumpkin,
cranberry, and mince; Jerusha, Kitty, and half a dozen other
girls had made the ‘‘oceans” of cake. Mr. Giles had sent to
Pontiac for raisins and citron, currants and spices, and a box
of wine. Everybody was invited, and everybody was excited
at the fabulous tales which went abroad, of the astonishing
profusion of fruit-cake, and almonds, and motto-candies there
was to be; mothers kept their children in unwonted subser-
vience by the promise of these dainties ‘‘after the weddin’,”
if they ‘‘ were good.” For enough must. be provided, not
only for the company to feast upon, but for each guest to
carry away a handkerchief or pocketful, Every youth and
maiden must haye a piece of the wedding-cake to, put. under
their pillows and dream upon three nights ‘‘ hand-running,”
that they might find out who they were going tomarry. And
it would be almost a disgrace to the bride, if she did not have
some of the veritable bridal-loaf on hand, every time a friend
dropped in, for a year after the event.

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

Kitty shed a good many tears to think her dear mother had
no visible part in all this rejoicing, though shelfirmly believed
she rejoiced with her in spirit; but she could not help being
happy and excited—the pretty central light, around which
all this brilliancy revolved.

Debby Carter, kind, unselfish, motherly body. that she
was, (!) just come over and staid the last week, taking the
charge of things generally. Mr. Giles had not decided what
to do after Kitty left. He had some thoughts of renting the
tavern-stand, and retiring, to private life. Hg had secured a
tolerably good ‘‘ help” to do the rough work, but things did
not go on as smoothly as they had under Mrs. Giles’ notable
administration.

But, to come back to the all-important evening: The gay-
est illumination that sperm could give, flashed the house from
cellar to garret.. Young people, afar off, just putting on the
last of their finery, heard the premonitory squeak of fiddles,
which were drawn forth in the bar-room by the arriving mu-
sicians, and the tantalizing sounds caused their fingers to
tremble in tying their cravats and sashes. At seven o'clock,
everybody invited was gathered in the long sitting-room, the
hall, the bedroom adjoining, and even erowded into the bar-
room for the time being. Not one half of them could hope
to see the bride and bridegroom at the moment of the cere-
mony. All were so eager to do this, that the father finally
yielded to the suggestion of the young folks, to have the cer-
emony take place in the ball-room, where all would have a
tolerable chance. So, to the ball-room the guests went. At
ten minutes, past seven, the minister, Mr. and. Mrs, White,
and Mr. Giles, entered and took seats at the top of the room,
A buzz and stir greeted their appearance, which heralded the
approach of the still more important personages.

At fifteen minutes past. seven, in walked Jerusha White
won the arm of Jonathan Giles, followed by Josiah and
Kitty, amidst the breathless hush of the assembly, proceeding
to the top of the apartment, where the bridemaid and grooms-
man parted, and the couple to be married took their places
between them, facing the good old minister, who rose and ad-
vanced to them.

How bashful and yet blessed was the countenance of the
groom. And how Kitty did change color—pale and red, red
and pale, and yet, looking, her prettiest all the time! Before
the minister began the ceremony, there was a moment im-
proved by the female guests in scrutiny of the bride’s dress.
lt was actually white silk—Kitty had sent, her measure away
to Pontiac, and had it bought. and made up there, Around
her trim little figure floated a soft vail of illusion lace, which
fell from a wreath of white; buds. crowning her black hair,
Her slippers were of white satin,,and both she and Jerusha
wore white kid gloves, which came half-way up between the
wrist and elbow, and were trimmed with thread-lace. Jeru-
sha’s dress was made from the best piece of book-muslin in
Peter’s store, and had pink ribbon run in the tucks. Both
the bridegroom and his aid wore white silk gloves, and had
white silk handkerchiefs hanging out of their coat-tail pockets.

But the minister commenced PROPS and all eyes turned
to the two crimson faces. Kitty's black eyes were yailed. by
their long lashes, but Josiah looked the parson manfully in the
eye, and responded, ‘‘I.will,” in a loud, strange voice, which
the girl by his side would not have recognized at any other
time, and in direct contrast to her faintly whispered token of
assent. ;

“I pronounce you man and. wife,” concluded the minister;
and immediately claimed the privilege of being the first to
kiss the bride,

‘Oh, my! how I feel,” whispered Debby, clinging to the
father’s arm; “jest as much agitated as if it were a daughter
of my own. I've always taken an uncommon. interest in
Kitty. '

3 There ain’t many girls her equal,” responded the proud

parent, ‘‘I don’t know how I'll get along, now that she’s _

going away. | y i
‘«She’s waitin’ for me to shake hands with her,” said Mr.

Giles, wiping his eyes, and grasping his daughter's hand, he

kissed her loudly, while she smi ed and cried. ;

‘Don't cry, now, Kitty; there’s lots of kissing to be done,”
said Josiah. So everybody in the room kissed the newly-
married pair. ;

While this part of the proceedings was taking place, Debby
regained her place by the widower's side.

“> Twill be hard for you,” she murmured, in a subdued and
synpatlinens tone; ‘]’ve thought of you so often this past
week. I see lots and lots of things zoing we That help
of yours don’t take no. interest, Mr. Giles. The bottom’s

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE. 27

 

-

burned out of the brass preserving-kettle Mrs. Giles was so
careful of, and theré was a pitcher broke vad thrown out be-
hind the wood-pile yesterday.” *

‘*T don’t see what I’m to do.” - :

‘Every thing's going to rack and rin as fast’ as it can. I
noticed the table-cloths—some of ’em wanted darnin’; and
that cellar, you ought to see the state it's in.”

‘“Pve been thinkin’ I’d have to sell out, or rent.” .

“Tt would be a great pity for you to do that, Mr. Giles, when
you've got such a splendid run of custom, and every thin’
flourishin’, making money hand over hand. “Why don’t you
get. some good, industrious woman, to take charge of ‘the
house for you?” :

‘How could I get one, Miss Carter?’ Who could I get?”

“Why, marry somebody, of course. It needs a wife to

take an interest.« There won't nobody else, you may de-
pend.”
Mr. Giles scratched his head, and looked sidewise at the
suggestive spinster. She was famous for her cooking, Debby
was, and she had made herself extremely useful the past
week. No doubt she was just the person. He took a second
glance. Debby was looking unusually well; she lad had a
dove-colored Thibet-cloth made on purpose, and a black-lace
head-dress which she wore, concealed the scantiness of her
back hair, while the ringlets in front were as glossy as goose
oil could make them.

‘‘ It's rather soon for me to be takin’ another wife, Miss

Jarter.”

‘‘ Everybody knows how bad you need one, with Kitts
leaving you, and this great tavern on your hands. Besides,”
she whispered, ‘‘it don’t cost any more to have two weddings
at the same time, than it does one.” oy

‘“That’s a fact. You're a sensible woman, Miss Debby. If
you’re a mind, just say so, and we'll stand right up.”

‘‘Oh, dear me! I was not a-thinking of myself—I—J—”

_** Say yes or no, Debby.” ;

AS Wal—yes, then, if you will hurry me so, but I never
thought—’

‘“‘ No matter, Here, parson, here’s another couple requires
your services.” ‘

The company, which was beginning to scatter, paused,
elate and curious. Debby blushed a little, but bore their sur-
prise like a heroine, as the widower took her hand, and the
minister accomplished the object of her life, by making her &
wife. ,

““T feel relieved, father—you will not be so lonely,” said
the younger bride, as she kissed him after the ceremony,

“Good for you, mother Debby—I “knew you'd. bring it
about,” whispered Josiah, as he eqmeceee her hand. 7

‘Go along,” said the mother-in-law, slapping his cheek.

“My friends,” spoke up the pastor, just after this little ep-
isode, ‘‘ before the old folks go down-stairs, leaving the youn
ones to dance, there’s a person wishes to make a little apenek
to you.’ y

nother surprise? once more the company was all curiosity.
The same door which had given entrance to the bridal party
now unclosed, and a young couple, not recently seen in. their
midst, entered—Susan and Harry. ¥

‘* Mr. and Mrs Gardiner,” announced the pastor. oop

It was the first time any public announcement of their mar
riage had taken place; there was a murmur and stare of -sur-
prise. There was danger that the interest legitimately. be-
longing to the original bride and groom, would be usurped by
80 many, all wearing the bridal honors. ~ l én

Susan wore the white dress in which she had been married.
The roses of love and hope were opening again on hercheeks.
Not so bright, not so sparkling, as merry, black-eyed Kitty
White, she possessed an ethereal beauty which was ali her
own. She stood by Harry’s side, her soul in her eyes, watch
ing him while Le spoke... His countenance bore traces of re-
cent illness; but his proud, athletic form showed an innate
strength; capable of resisting the ravages of more than one
such sickness. ;

“Having been asked by our friends to be present on this
happy occasion,” he began, ‘‘ we wished to accept the invita-
tion, showing that we leave the community without any ill
feeling toward it. We have been made to suffer, much and
bitterly, and without provocation. We were obliged to meet
by. stealth, to marry in secret, and were torn apart, for long
months of suspense and suffering, by the same spirit of perse-
cution. . These troubles are over. Some of the most active
against me have signified their sense of the injustice they
did me, and have asked to be forgiven. Mr. Carter has given
me his daughter, with the assurance that he is glad she is my

¥
  

— nn

 

28

on, paw elit). wilh { } i
wife. Josiah White, the happy bridegroom, once bound to
tear me in pieces, is now one of the best.of friends.

‘¢ What I desire to make known is this: every farmer who

olds any land of mine is welcome to it...I am, going to re-
turn to the East, and shall make no further claim upon any
one. I am well-paid for all trouble, time, expense, and per-
secution in this fortune which I have become heir to,” and
he turned to Susan, kissing her hand,

. A murmur of applause and. delight ran through the. as-
* sembly. e young couple were so handsome, so noble—
and Mr. Gardiner had behaved with such spirit, su¢h generosi-
ty! The tide had turned.

‘The fiddles, flute; and clarionet began to tune up; and the
minister and elderly people beat a hasty retreat to the sound,
alarmed lest they should actually be caught in a ball-room,
and perbaps keeping time with their feet. The widower and
his bride went with him, and below there was talking, card-
pe ing, and a little repressed festivity; while above, the two

rides and their grooms led off the dance, music beating in
their pulses and thrilling in their hearts.

“Tt’s curious how every thing has come out to everybody’s
satisfaction,” remarked Debby to Mrs. Peters, as they sat to-
gether on a corner of the settee, in the best room, with their
neighbors busy talking and making’ themselves comfortable.

‘Well, yes, it is, rather,” said that lady, dryly.

It takes women to see through one another’s ‘“‘arts and
wiles,” and they don’t like to see each other succeed, either;
and now Mrs. Peters, though a married woman and the
mother of seven children, having no personal interest what-
ever in the matter, was almost vexed at the swift victory
gained by the cunning spinster, with whom she had been en-

ed for the last week in performing the neighborly work of
making the pie and cake for the great occasion.

ae you believe the turkeys are ready to come up?” she
asked.

‘‘La, yes. Ileft Mary mashing the potatoes half an hour
ago. But I’m so confused to-night, I forgot every thing.
You see I didn’t expect to be married for a month yet.”

Oh, didn’t you? You must be rather flustrated. Come,
then; Miss Brown, and Miss White are going to help us dish
up the a ee:

Shortly after, the welcome summons to supper was obeyed
guests. Mr. and’ Mrs. Giles sat at the head, Susan and

arry to the right, Kitty and Josiah to the left, the minister
next on the left; Mr. Carter next on the right, and the other

ests in a long row down the extensive dining-room.

ere were also two side tables, equally well filled—and when

we report that not only did the company do ample justice to
every course of, the eatables,; from the roast turkey to the
soft-shelled almonds, but that each one left the table with a

; et or a handkerchief well stuffed with the choicest bits, it

ill be séen that to supply the guests for such a wedding was
no small undertaking.

. That hour at the head of a brilliantly-lighted table was the

most triumphant of Debby’s life. She was a married woman,
and she’ was her landlady of Giles’ tavern. Nothing more
was wanting to her heart or to her ambition, and she could
afford to smile benignly upon 'the young couple at her right.

After Supper, the sedater of the guests withdrew. There
were still’a few couples of young people keeping up the
dance, avowing their purpose of waiting till’ the bridal par-
ties had retired, and then paying them the accustomed visit.
But Kitty was a spirited lassie, and she proposed to weary
them out. ron 3 :

“Come, Harry,” she said, drawing him and Susan into a
quiet corner of the deserted front-toom, ‘‘ come, Josiah, let’s
have a talk—let’s hold a grand Indian pow-wow, all by our-
selves, Josiah has not told me one word about your adven-
tures yet.” Susan stole her hand into Harry’s, and he began
his narrative:

“Twas driving cautiously along the road beyond the widow _
through the twilight for the glimmer of |

Sturgiss’, lookin
Susie’s frock. I got out of my buggy, and led my horse, for
there were branches hanging low, and logs scattered here and
there. Suddenly I was seized and gagged. I ae of my
wife, and resisted like a‘mad tigress when her cubs are in

danger.’ I made such good work of it, that one of the rob- —
bers ‘seized a knot of wood from a moldering tree and
knocked me senseless, What happened after that I do not |

know, until the morning broke over me, and T aroused my-
self from a deep stupor, with a sickening weight in my limbs,
and a terrible feeling in my head. I looked about me. I
was in a forest, but it did not seem tome the same. I laid

down again, and remained some time, thinking I should die.

 

 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

‘But the thought of Susan roused me again, and.I crept on, I

knew not where, whether deeper into or out of the woods.
Coming to alittle brook trickling through the moss, I wet
my head and quenched my thirst; gaining courage to stagger’
on for perhaps an hour, when I canie out upon a by-road
near alog cabin. I reached the house, and knocked; but
when a woman came and opened the door, I fell forward in-
sensible, and was raving for the next ten days.

‘When I did.come to my senses, I was so reduced I. could
hardly whisper. It was two weeks before I could wield &
pen, and the woman who nursed me could: not: write.
found from her that I was twenty miles or more from the set-
tlement. She had a single sheet of paper, and an old pen
which had been used by her husband, and she squeezed out
the juice from some berries forme to write with. I had just
change enough in my pocket to pay the postage on the letter,
and a stray bill which had been overlooked by the robbers.
I put the billinto the letter, thinking Sue would need it to
get tome. I had not even my watch or chain—my trunk,.
papers, “ae and watch were all gone. I told the woman
my story, and she was very kind tome. She took my letter
to the little house at the cross-roads, where the mail stopped
once a week, taking in the few tributes from the scattered in-
habitants. :

“There was something strange about her living all alone in
a but in the woods. She did not seem to lack for provisions,

‘though how she got them, I did not know. She told me her

husband was off on the prairies hunting—that he spent his
summers so. She had twochildren; but I did not believe
they were her own.

‘““ When time sufficient had passed for me to expect Susan,
my state of suspense and excitement told a on my weak-
ened frame. The woman warned me that I would bring
back my fever if I did not control myself. My sense of
hearing became preternaturally acute. Night and day, I lis
tened for the expected roll of buggy-wheels. Through the
day I satin the door or by the little dim window, just able to
hold myself up, looking, listening, and every night suffering
from such an acute sense of disappointment, that, as my nurse
foretold, brought back my fever. For six weeks I never lef*
my bed. Oh, how I longed for some stranger to come along,
and happen into that little house, that I might beg him to
write another letter for me. Was Susan sick? was she dead?
why did she not come? I asked the woman to go to the
cross-roads and get a letter written there for me, but for some
reason she refused. She did not seem to wish to meet her few
neighbors, and I remembered that when she went before,
she chose the evening for her errand.-

“T began to regard her asa suspicious character. | At last
company came to the cabin—two men, who camein the even
ing, and only stayed over night. There were two rooms to
the hut, and, as [laid in the smaller one, I could hear them whis-
pering together nearly all night. The men came in and took
a look at me, and asked me what was the matter with me, and .
if I would be able to pay my baard if I got well. I answered
that I should reward the woman well for her services when I
got able to return to my friends, but that I had no money then
as I had been robbed: They showed some curiosity upon
hearing of the robbery, inquiring the place and time—just |
then I saw, by the flash of the light in the other room, that
one of them was wearing my watch-guard. I knew it in an
instant. The chain and seal were both too peculiar for me
to be mistaken. I asked him where he got the chain, saying
it was a curious pattern, and I’d like to buy it if I were able.
He answered that he had bought it from afriend. TI did not
tell them it was mine, for Iwas weak and in their power en-
tirely. I suspected them, now, to be members of a gang,
other members of which had been engaged in kidnapping me.
After they returned to the larger room, I heard them stowing
away sundry articles ina little loft, which they could reach
by standing on a bench, so low was the ceiling. I concluded
that the woman was a confederate and receiver of stolen
goods. y

‘“‘ As I just told you, my hearing was preternaturally acute;
and I could distinctly understand portions of the conversation
carried on in the lowest whisper, while they supposed me to
be sleeping.

““¢ He must be the same,’ said one. ;

“Yes” said the other, ‘Bill Ellis told me all about it.
They thought they had stopped his’ clapper effectually. But
it aa they didn’t. I wonder if he noticed whose chain I
had on?’

“He's too used up to notice any thing. I think the old
woman better keep a-nursing him up. 1eil pay. I know all.

 

 
 

 

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE. 29

about him. He’s rich and liberal; he treated them fellows all

night, that served him such a dirty trick. They say he was

in love with Carter’s girl—did you ever see her?—she’s deuced
retty.”

‘“*No! but her father’s a reg’lar old trump—and obstinate
asa° mule. He was one of the conspirators. He’s moved
aor nd. them parts now.’

““My heart gave such a great thump as [heard the latter sen-
tence it seemed to me as if they must hear it.

““* Where’s he gone?

““* Don’t know.. Moved off, ’cause he was mad about this
young fellow—took his girl off, to get rid of him.’

““* Maybe they’d like us to make an end of him. I know
Bill and Jim have got his papers, and are makin’ a good thing
out of ’em. What do you say, old woman, to givin’ him a
dose?’ :

““* Wouldn’t like to,’ she grumbled.
him, and I does myself.’

“** Oh, well, we won’t trouble you. A little blow with this
will do the job; and the villain struck something which he
held lightly against the wall. ;

“Despite my long sickness, I was in no mood to resign life;
and silently as a shadow I slipped out of bed, put on my
clothes, which hung at the foot, and crept out the little square
window, through which I could just squeeze my body. It
was the first time I had stood on my feet for some days; I
was dizzy and weak; but I crawled back into the wood, and
wandered I knew not whither.

“ Delirium must have come on, and with the fictitious
strength which it gave, I ran a great distance, sometimes
ere and shouting, sometimes imagining that I was pur-
sued by panthers or hissed at by rattlesnakes. :

‘‘ By daylight I had come out on a strange road in a more
civilized part of the country, as I found afterward, for I
knew nothing of it then, sinking insensible to the ground,
where I was shortly after picked up by a kind-hearted farmer,
taken to his house, and skillfully nursed by his wife and
daughters for the next month. If. my constitution had not
been excellent, I never should have rallied.

““T think, Sue, (with a light laugh), one of the good farmer's
daughters was falling in love with me, I was so interesting a
patient—but I took care to let it be known that I was a mar-
ried man. From this place I wrote to my lawyer, who then
discovered the forgeries imposed upon him.

“I was just thinking of venturing my strength and leaving
the farm-house, when that strange chance threw Mr. Carter
inte my vicinity and made me instrumental in the rescue of
my own wife.” yess

‘*Didn’t you reward those kind nurses?” asked Sue, ‘Tf
it had not been for them, I should never, never have seen you
again.

ec I have not yet, I declare,” cried Harry. ‘I could think
of nothing but my lost wife sinceshe is found. But youshall
go to Peter’s store to-morrow, and pick out three of the hand-
somest silk dresses he has, and any other trifles you think will
delight the girls, and I will send the package by the first wa-
gon that passes that way.”

“Oh, let me go along!” said Kitty,‘ I do so love to buy
ee things!” :

“When I reached this place,” continued Harry, ‘the
widow Sturgiss told me of the delay of my letter, and that
Josiah had started only three days before, to find Susan and
deliver it to her.”

“This is a bad world, isn’t it?” sighed Kitty.

Sine Kitty, you don’t think so to-night, do you?” asked

i

“It’s good and it’s bad, but mostly good to me now, since
I am so happy,” said Sue.

“Why yes; it’s good and it’s bad,” remarked Harry. “1
thought, a while ago, it was mostly bad; but since those disin-
terested farmers took such good care of me, and since Josiah
here performed so Pyne an action, and your father, Sue,
has behaved so finely, and since I found what a sweet, what
a eg treasure a wife is, I certainly believe it is mostly

‘ood.

‘“ Say, children,” said Aunt Debby, coming into the room,
“the company’s all gone, and everybody is retired. Don’t
you think it’s time to shut up the house?”

“The children likes

 

CHAPTER. X V.
THE SQUATTERS’ CANDIDATE.

Tue infair at Mr. White’s the evening after the wedding was
a joyous affair, second only in feasting and music to the wed-
ding itself. Mrs. Deborah Giles was. the queen of the occa-
sion. The ancient bride wore her honors with a grace which
was allher own. She snubbed Prudence Burdell, the sole re-
maining old maid of the neighborhood, looking down. out of
the hights of her own superior estate, with a pitying dignity..

Among the men of the party, the infair partook something
of the nature of a political meeting. The November election
of State officers was about coming off, and in this particular
district a man was wanted for the honorable offise of repre-
sentative to the Cengress of the United States. Elated with the
noble generosity which the young landowner had displayed,
the people could now not only acknowledge his liberality
about the lands, but could open their-eyes to all his other vir-
tues—his graceful speech, his refined manners, his superior
education.

‘* He’s jest the man!” said Mr. Giles, emphatically slapping
his knee, to give force to his assertion.

“* He’s jest the man!” echoed Mr. Carter. :

‘* He’s jest the man!” cried one and all—and they immedi
ately made up their minds to run him as an independent can-
didate and to work with all their might and main for his elec
tion, irrespective of party or party interest.

It was a curious instance of the unreliability of popular
opinion—this almost religious enthusiasm of the masses in
favor of the young man whom, one little year before, they
had threatened with the pond, the tar-barrel, and the rope.

The history of his struggles with the squatters, and of the
manner in which he had reconciled his difficulties with them,
spread through the adjoining counties. Mr. Carter had
nothing to do but ride about in his wagon, and talk people
into voting for his son-in-law. Harry rose upon the highest
wave of popular good-will. His praise was in everybody's
mouth.

The influence of women was not wanting. How powerful
that may become in the hands of one of the strong-minded of
the sex, was proved by Debby upon this occasion.

She said nothing to any one about her plans, except that
her nephew should be elected. For a week before the day of
election, she, and those around her, were kept at a high pres-
sure state of industry, cooking up enough provisions to feast
anarmy. Never before had Giles’ tavern held so fabulous an
amount of ‘‘ the best of every thing,” one small room, in the
second story, was actually overflowing with pies and crullers
alone, piled up to the ceiling.

On the decisive morning, she put on her dove-colored dress
and best bonnet, and rode to the court-house, which had once
witnessed the scene of the young man’s trial, and before
which were the polls. Here she announced to the assembling
crowd, that every man who would assert upon his honor that
he had voted for Harry Gardiner that day, should have a free
pass at Giles’ tavern to the best dinner the country could af-
ford. This announcement was hailed with tremendous cheer-
ing, and she rode back again to see to the dinner, feeling that
she possessed an invisible thread of influence which would
gently but irresistibly draw every voter worth having in her
direction. And she was right. e double motive of a good
man and a good dinner was too much for the wavering; and
the regular candidates, seeing their own hopes burst, like
glittering soap-bubbles, into airy nothing, concluded to cast
their own votes in favor of their rival, and thus win a part in
the grand free festival which was to be the feature of the day..

Upon the shoulders of the same men who once before, after
his trial for murder, hurried him off with the most horrible of
intentions, Harry was lifted—against his will, certainly, but
not so much against it as on that previous occasion—and
borne the entire distance from the court-house to the grove
in the rear of the tavern, where he was hoisted upon a plat-
form, and compelled to make a speech.

It was a warm, delicious Indian summer day, and tables
had been erected with the most impromptu speed in a choice
spot of the grove where they received irregular ornamenta-
tion from the gorgeous leaves which dropped upon them,

aad

- here and there, like brilliant butterflies. A splendid as of

the same beautiful material lay thickly upon the groun

; We venture to assert that not all the jewels and the gas
lights, the thousands of dollars’ worth of decoration, at the
last night’s ball to His Royal Highness, Albert Edward,
Prince of Wales, gave more of beauty, nor as much of enjoy-
ment, as these simple ornaments which Mother Nature hung

 
    

 

 

 

 

30

 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

around, above and beneath the tables spread for the political
feasting of the rough wolverines.
stifle, no want of fresh air, there was abundance of room for
all—the trees flouted their royal banners, and hung out their
golden chandeliers, full only of the sunlight of heaven—the
winds played a soft and whispering music, without any envy
or jealousy of rival breezes—and_ there was but a single re-
porter present to view “‘ the occasion,” with that satirical,
humorous, wise, solemn, wondrous critical gaze, which so
often proves this class superior to all mortal attempts to con-
ciliate them. And if we may believe this single reporter’s
enthusiastic account of the affair, in the next issue of the
Wolverine Eagle, that surprising faculty of viewing every
thing through a crooked quizzing glass, had not yet been at-
tained by him.

The magnificence of money purchases some of the poorest
enjoyments of life; no splendor of preparation, no earte-blanche
to Delmonico, and dresses ordered from Paris; can be sure of
a success superior to’ crowding, accident, criticism, and dis-
appointment—but Drssy’s DINNER was a triumph which
kings and aristocracy might envy, if real, bona-fide pleasure
be the object of festal gatherings.

Brief speeches and humorous toasts increased the merri-
ment of the diners:out—out in the grand old woods, we mean
—and Debby herself, flying about with herhandmaidens, and
beaming upon all, as she never could have done in the winter
of her unwedded discontent, made’a little speech in favor of
the people’s candidate herself, which was received with loud,
but not uproarious applause.

The dinner carried the day; and if the allurements of a
feast like that was‘the temptation which brought over some
who would not otherwise have voted for our hero, let wiser
men of greater ambition be silent—they have beams in their
own eyes which should prevent their discovering this mote.

And thus it was that our backwoods belle went to Wash-
ington, and shone among the garish’ beauties there, with a

here was no heat to |

 

pure and simple loveliness no art could imitate. The simple
girl who peed so highly her single, and long-preserved silk
dress, had beautiful dresses in abundance, and could choose
out of a dozen satin, silk, or velvet robes, that which suited
her fancy for the time. But Susan was the same at Washing-
ton as she had been in her father’s cabin—gentle, pure; un-
pretending. She had one set of jewels, exquisite pearls which
she had purchased in New York, on their way to the capital,
with a sum of money made up by the squatters on the day of
the dinner, and presented to her husband for the purchase of
a bridal present to his wife.

While his only child was so far from him, moving in a
sphere so different, Mr. Carter, a much less growling and dis-
satisfied man than formerly, boarded at Giles’ tavern, and
was made comfortable by his sister, as in the days of old.
His arm gave him no pain, except a few twinges in damp
weather; and as he had no occasion for work, beyond trifling
services in assisting Debby in her hurried days, the loss of
its ean strength was not very seriously felt.

he vacations were spent by the young married couple
with Harry’s mother, in New York, as journeying West, in
those days, was a serious attempt; and it was not until the
term of his office expired, that Susan could offer her father a
permanent home with them.

Debby made a glorious landlady; the fame of the tavern
spread far and wide. She had no babies of her own, but her
feminine instincts showed themselves in the quantities of fine
socks she knitted, of winter evenings, for her niece’s babies.

The part of Michigan which was the scene of those troubles
and excitements, is now thickly settled and prosperous.
Harry, haying once got into the stream of politics, could not
get to shore again, and has been wafted on from honor to
honor; he still shines in the brilliant circles of the Capital,
and Susan, alternately shining at home and abroad, is a fair,
fresh matron, some of whose pretty daughters is sure to carry
away her old distinction of being the Backwoods Belle.

enor oa END.

 
 

 

THE NEXT’ ISSUE OF ‘

NEW AND O1L:D FRIENDS,

a Ir 4 m7 ore" td « y JULY 17th) cr gp = pt rr, eC" aT *

Will place before readers one of the most. delightful tales of pioneer life in all the wide range of American literature, viz, ;

 

“ Stop!" he shouted, “ or I will shoot.”

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE.

It. is aromance of ‘‘ squatter” or pre-emptor life in early Michigan, from the pen of Mrs. M. V. Victor, who, being a

western born woman, writes of border and wilderness life as no living author can write. Pe eT oe oe
This story of a WiDERNEsS, Bitrpw is instinctive with the very fact, feeling, fun, fortunes, fears, fates and follies of the
early frontier society; and as a story is charming throughout, as is every thing from this popular lady’s pen. ee eee
In this new shape the favorites of the reading public are having a wide-spread audience for their most excellent and in-
teresting productions.

The list of works, as already issued, comprises ; wate
No. 1—Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier. By Edward §. Ellis.
No, 2—Bill Biddon, Trapper. By Edward §. Ellis.
No, 3—Malaeska; or, The Indian Wife of the White Hunter. By Mrs. Ann §. Stephens,
No, 4—Nat Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. By Edward §. Ellis. ao
No. 5—Light-house Lige; or, the Firebrand of the Everglades. By Capt. J. F, C, Adams.
No. 6—Alice Wilde, the Raftsman’s Daughter. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. :
No. 7—The Frontier Angel. By Edward §. Ellis. :

The above are for sale by Newsdealers and’ booksellers throughout the United States and Canadas, or-will be sent to any
address, post-paid, on receipt of price, ten cents each, twelve numbers for one dollar, by oe

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, N. ¥.»

 
A NOBLE INDIAN!
In the.coming ‘lous (Number 9) of —

NEW AND O1L1:D FRIENDS,

ready on Friday, AuguSt'8th, the lovers of Forest Romance and Life among the Pioneers will have laid, before them in: this
beautiful and popular form

 

 

 

 

 

MONOWANO, T

BY EDWARD S. ELLIS,

AvurHor or ‘‘Srrn Jonus,” ‘‘ Brun Brppon,” ‘‘ Nar Topp,” “ Frontrmr ANGEL,” ETO.

A series of historic characters serve to make this splendid story of permanent interest and value, for, ‘though @ romance,
it is yet almost of historic truthfulness, presenting life and experience in the Ohio and Kentucky wilderness nearly one
hundred years ago in all their intensely exciting and interesting aspects. The novel is one of the few that will be read and
reread for a great many years yet to come—a worthy companion volume to ‘‘ Deer-Slayer” and ‘‘ Pathfinder.”

The list of works, as already issued, comprises : : e ;

No, 1—Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier. By Edward S. Ellis,

No. 2—Bill Biddon, Trapper. By Edward §. Ellis,

No, 3—Malaeska; or, The Indian Wife of the White Hunter. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens,
No. 4—Nat Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. By Edward §. Ellis.

No, 5—Light-house Lige; or, the Firebrand of the Everglades. By Capi. J. F. C. Adams,
No. 6—Alice Wilde, the Raftsman’s Daughter. By Mrs. M.V. Victor. |

No, 7—The Frontier Angel. By Edward §. Ellis.

No. 8—The Backwoods Bride. A Romance of Squatter Life.’ By Mrs. M. V. Victor.

The above are for sale by Newsdealers and booksellers throughout the United States and Canadas, or will be sent to any
address, post-paid, on receipt of price, ten cents each, twelve numbers for one dollar, by

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, N. Y,