Rolf In The Woods by Ernest Thompson Seton (most popular ebook readers .txt) 📖

Had Been Wholly Neglected,

And When He Realized That He Might Be All Summer With Quonab He Said

Bluntly:

 

"You Let Me Stay Here A Couple Of Months.  I'll Work Out Odd Days,

And Buy Enough Stuff To Keep Myself Any Way."  Quonab Said Nothing,

But Their Eyes Met,  And The Boy Knew It Was Agreed To.

 

Rolf Went That Very Day To The Farm Of Obadiah Timpany,  And Offered

To Work By The Day,  Hoeing Corn And Root Crops.  What Farmer Is Not

Glad Of Help In Planting Time Or In Harvest?  It Was Only A Question

Of What Did He Know And How Much Did He Want?  The First Was Soon Made

Clear; Two Dollars A Week Was The Usual Thing For Boys In Those Times,

And When He Offered To Take It Half In Trade,  He Was Really Getting

Three Dollars A Week And His Board. Food Was As Low As Wages,  And At

The End Of A Week,  Rolf Brought Back To Camp A Sack Of Oatmeal,  A Sack

Of Cornmeal,  A Bushel Of Potatoes,  A Lot Of Apples,  And One Dollar Cash.

The Dollar Went For Tea And Sugar,  And The Total Product Was Enough To

Last Them Both A Month; So Rolf Could Share The Wigwam With A Good

Conscience.

 

Of Course,  It Was Impossible To Keep The Gossipy Little Town Of Myanos

From Knowing,  First,  That The Indian Had A White Boy For Partner; And,

Later,  That That Boy Was Rolf. This Gave Rise To Great Diversity Of

Opinion In The Neighbourhood.  Some Thought It Should Not Be Allowed,

But Horton,  Who Owned The Land On Which Quonab Was Camped,  Could Not

See Any Reason For Interfering.

 

Ketchura Peck,  Spinster,  However,  Did See Many Most Excellent Reasons.

She Was A Maid With A Mission,  And Maintained It To Be An Outrage That

A Christian Boy Should Be Brought Up By A Godless Pagan.  She Worried

Over It Almost As Much As She Did Over The Heathen In Central Africa,

Where There Are No Sunday Schools,  And Clothes Are As Scarce As Churches.

Failing To Move Parson Peck And Elder Knapp In The Matter,  And Despairing

Of An Early Answer To Her Personal Prayers,  She Resolved On A Bold Move,

"An' It Was Only After Many A Sleepless,  Prayerful Night," Namely,  To

Carry The Bible Into The Heathen's Stronghold.

 

Thus It Was That One Bright Morning In June She Might Have Been Seen,

Prim And Proper -- Almost Glorified,  She Felt,  As She Set Her Lips Just

Right In The Mirror -- Making For The Pipestave Pond,  Bible In Hand And

Spectacles Clean Wiped,  Ready To Read Appropriate Selections To The

Unregenerate.

 

She Was Full Of The Missionary Spirit When She Left Myanos,  And Partly

Full When She Reached The Orchard Street Trail; But The Spirit Was

Leaking Badly,  And The Woods Did Appear So Wild And Lonely That She

Wondered If Women Had Any Right To Be Missionaries.  When She Came

In Sight Of The Pond,  The Place Seemed Unpleasantly Different From

Myanos And Where Was The Indian Camp?   She Did Not Dare To Shout;

Indeed,  She Began To Wish She Were Home Again,  But The Sense Of Duty

Carried Her Fully Fifty Yards Along The Pond,  And Then She Came To An

Impassable Rock,  A Sheer Bank That Plainly Said,  "Stop!"  Now She Must

Go Back Or Up The Bank.  Her Yankee Pertinacity Said,  "Try First Up The

Bank," And She Began A Long,  Toilsome Ascent,  That Did Not End Until

She Came Out On A Bigh,  Open Rock Which,  On Its Farther Side,  Had A

Sheer Drop And Gave A View Of The Village And Of The Sea.

 

Whatever Joy She Had On Again Seeing Her Bome Was Speedily Queued In

The Fearsome Discovery That She Was Right Over The Indian Camp,  And

The Two Inmates Looked So Utterly,  Dreadfully Savage That She Was

Thankful They Had Not Seen Her.  At Once She Shrank Back; But On

Recovering Sufficiently To Again Peer Down,  She Saw Something Roasting

Before The Fire -- "A Tiny Arm With A Hand That Bore Five Fmgers," As

She Afterward Said,  And "A Sickening Horror Came Over Her.  " Yes,  She

Had Heard Of Such Things. If She Could Only Get Home In Safety!  Why

Had She Tempted Providence Thus?  She Backed Softly And Prayed Only To

Escape.  What,  And Never Even Deliver The Bible? "It Would Be Wicked

To Return With It!"  In A Cleft Of The Rock She Placed It,  And Then,

To Prevent The Wind Blowing Off Loose Leaves,  She Placed A Stone On

Top,  And Fled From The Dreadful Place.

 

That Night,  When Quonab And Rolf Had Finished Their Meal Of Corn And

Roasted Coon,  The Old Man Climbed The Rock To Look At The Sky.  The

Book Caught His Eye At Once,  Evidently Hidden There Carefully,  And

Therefore In Cache. A Cache Is A Sacred Thing To An Indian.  He Disturbed

It Not,  But Later Asked Rolf,  "That Yours?"

 

"No."

 

It Was Doubtless The Property Of Some One Who Meant To Return For It,

So They Left It Untouched.  It Rested There For Many Months,  Till The

Winter Storms Came Down,  Dismantling The Covers,  Dissolving The Pages,

But Leaving Such Traces As,  In The Long Afterward,  Served To Identify

The Book And Give The Rock The Other Name,  The One It Bears To-Day -

"Bible Rock,  Where Quonab,  The Son Of Cos Cob,  Used To Live."

Chapter 11 (The Thunder-Storm And The Fire Sticks)

 

When First Rolf Noticed The Wigwam's Place,  He Wondered That

Quonab Had Not Set It Somewhere Facing The Lake,  But He Soon

Learned That It Is Best To Have The Morning Sun,  The Afternoon

Shade,  And Shelter From The North And West Winds.

 

The First Two Points Were Illustrated Nearly Every Day; But It

Was Two Weeks Before The Last Was Made Clear.

 

That Day The Sun Came Up In A Red Sky,  But Soon Was Lost To View

In A Heavy Cloud-Bank.  There Was No Wind,  And,  As The Morning

Passed,  The Day Grew Hotter And Closer.  Quonab Prepared For A

Storm; But It Came With Unexpected Force,  And A Gale Of Wind From

The Northwest That Would Indeed Have Wrecked The Lodge,  But For

The Great Sheltering Rock.  Under Its Lea There Was Hardy A

Breeze; But Not Fifty Yards Away Were Two Trees That Rubbed

Together,  And In The Storm They Rasped So Violently That Fine

Shreds Of Smoking Wood Were Dropped And,  But For The Rain,  Would

Surely Have Made A Blaze. The Thunder Was Loud And Lasted Long,

And The Water Poured Down In Torrents.  They Were Ready For Rain,

But Not For The Flood That Rushed Over The Face Of The Cliff ,

Soaking Everything In The Lodge Except The Beds,  Which,  Being

Four Inches Off The Ground,  Were Safe; And Lying On Them The Two

Campers Waited Patiently,  Or Impatiently,  While The Weather Raged

For Two Drenching Hours.  And Then The Pouring Became A

Pattering; The Roaring,  A Swishing; The Storm,  A Shower Which

Died Away,  Leaving Changing Patches Of Blue In The Lumpy Sky,  And

All Nature Calm And Pleased,  But Oh,  So Wet!  Of Course The Fire

Was Out In The Lodge And Nearly All The Wood Was Wet.  Now Quonab

Drew From A Small Cave Some Dry Cedar And Got Down His Tinder-Box

With Flint And Steel To Light Up; But A Serious Difficulty

Appeared At Once -- The Tinder Was Wet And Useless.

 

These Were The Days Before Matches Were Invented. Every One Counted

On Flint And Steel For Their Fire,  But The Tinder Was An Essential,

And Now A Fire Seemed Hopeless; At Least Rolf Thought So.

 

"Nana Bojou Was Dancing That Time," Said The Indian.

 

"Did You See Him Make Fire With Those Two Rubbing Trees? So He

Taught Our Fathers,  And So Make We Fire When The Tricks Of The

White Man Fail Us."

 

Quonab Now Cut Two Pieces Of Dry Cedar,  One Three Fourths Of An

Inch Thick And Eighteen Inches Long,  Round,  And Pointed At Both

Ends; The Other Five Eighths Of An Inch Thick And Flat.  In The

Flat One He Cut A Notch And At The End Of The Notch A Little Pit.

Next He Made A Bow Of A Stiff,  Curved Stick,  And A Buckskin

Thong: A Small Pine Knot Was Selected And A Little Pit Made In It

With The Point Of A Knife.  These Were The Fare-Making Sticks,

But It Was Necessary To Prepare The Firewood,  Lay The Fire,  And

Make Some Fibre For Tinder.  A Lot Of Fine Cedar Shavings,

Pounded Up With Cedar Bark And Rolled Into A Two-Inch Ball,  Made

Good Tinder,  And All Was Ready.  Quonab Put The Bow Thong Once

Around The Long Stick,  Then Held Its Point In The Pit Of The Flat

Stick,  And The Pine Knot On The. Top To Steady It.  Now He Drew

The Bow Back And Forth,  Slowly,  Steadily,  Till The Long Stick Or

Drill Revolving Ground Smoking Black Dust Out Of The Notch.  Then

Faster,  Until The Smoke Was Very Strong And The Powder Filled The

Notch.  Then He Lifted The Flat Stick,  Fanning The Powder With

His Hands Till A Glowing Coal Appeared.  Over This He Put The

Cedar Tinder And Blew Gently,  Till It Flamed,  And Soon The Wigwam

Was Aglow.

 

The Whole Time Taken,  From Lifting The Sticks To The Blazing

Fire,  Was Less Than One Minute.

 

This Is The Ancient Way Of The Indian; Rolf Had Often Heard Of It

As A Sort Of Semi-Myth; Never Before Had He Seen It,  And So Far

As He Could Learn From The Books,  It Took An Hour Or Two Of Hard

Work,  Not A Few Deft Touches And A Few Seconds Of Time.

 

He Soon Learned To Do It Himself,  And In The Years Which

Followed,  He Had The Curious Experience Of Showing It To Many

Indians Who Had Forgotten How,  Thanks To The Greater Portability

Of The White Man's Flint And Steel.

 

As They Walked In The Woods That Day,  They Saw Three Trees That

Had Been Struck By Lightning During The Recent Storm; All Three

Were Oaks.  Then It Occurred To Rolf That He Had Never Seen Any

But An Oak Struck By Lightning.

 

"Is It So,  Quonab?"

 

"No,  There Are Many Others; The Lightning Strikes The Oaks Most

Of All,  But It Will Strike The Pine,  The Ash,  The Hemlock,  The

Basswood,  And Many More.  Only Two Trees Have I Never Seen

Struck,  The Balsam And The Birch."

 

"Why Do They Escape?"

 

"My Father Told Me When I Was A Little Boy It Was Because They

Sheltered And Warmed The Star-Girl,  Who Was The Sister Of The

Thunder-Bird."

 

"I Never Heard That; Tell Me About It."

 

"Sometime Maybe,  Not Now."

 

 

Chapter 12 (Hunting The Woodchucks)

Cornmeal And Potatoes,  With Tea And Apples,  Three Times A Day,

Are Apt To Lose Their Charm. Even Fish Did Not Entirely Satisfy

The Craving For Flesh Meat.  So Quonab And Rolf Set Out One

Morning On A Regular Hunt For Food.  The Days Of Big Game Were

Over On The Asamuk,  But There Were Still Many Small Kinds And

None More Abundant Than The Woodchuck,  Hated Of Farmers.  Not

Without Reason.  Each Woodchuck Hole In The Field Was A Menace To

The Horses' Legs.  Tradition,  At Least,  Said That Horses' Legs

And Riders' Necks Had Been Broken By The Steed Setting