upon each other. What they might have done if Reverdy had not managed them out of the kindness of his heart and with a certain adroitness is past conceiving. It seemed to me that a riot was on the point of breaking loose at any minute. But having satisfied themselves, they began to file out. Some lingered to wish the bride and groom a happy life. Reverdy spoke with each one in such friendliness of voice and manner, in which there was neither nervousness nor resentment. He took it all as a matter of course. But Sarah was visibly distrait. I could see that she was relieved as they began to depart. A few yells, a few intermittent shots marked their going away. Then all was silent. The guests now began to leave. And as I was going back to my hut for the night I came to Reverdy and Sarah to bid them God-speed. I had never seen Sarah look so charming. Her bridal dress was made of striped calico. She had a bonnet to match. Reverdy had a new suit of blue jeans. He looked handsome and strong. And he turned his eyes upon Sarah with a look of protecting tenderness. I took their hands in mine to emphasize my blessing with the closeness of affectionate contact. Sarah kissed me on the cheek; and I left, bestriding my horse at the gate, and riding through the darkness to my hut.
Zoe was to come to me the next morning.
CHAPTER XII
The next morning while I was sitting near the door, cleaning my rifle, I heard the soft pounding of a horse's hoofs on the heavy sod, and looking up saw Reverdy and Sarah. He was in the saddle, she was riding behind. I was about to ask for Zoe when I saw her peeping mischievously around the shoulder of Sarah, showing her white teeth in a happy smile. It was not Reverdy's Indian pony that was carrying so many travelers, but a larger horse. They all got down and came in to see my hut. Sarah was greatly pleased with it, and Zoe could not contain her delight. Reverdy and Sarah were on their way to Winchester to pay a brief visit to Sarah's aunt. They were soon off, Reverdy giving me the assurance that it would only be a few days before he would again be at work on my new house. Meanwhile the other men would continue getting the logs.
Zoe did not delay a minute in taking charge of the house. I had not cleared the breakfast table. She did so, then made my bed. I told her to spread it with clean sheets as it was to be hers now, but she would not hear to this. She was afraid to be on the ground floor where an intruder could walk in upon her, or a stray wolf push the door open and wake her with its unfriendly nose against her cheek. I told her then to look at the loft. She climbed the ladder and took a peek, descended with the remark that she liked it and would take it for hers. Almost at once we had perfect order in the hut.
Zoe cooked, and cleaned the rooms. I was busy with my new dwelling. I killed enough game to keep us in meat. Sometimes standing in the doorway I could bring down a deer. Then we had venison. But we were never without quail and ducks and geese. Zoe made the most delicious cornbread, baking it in a pan in the fireplace. The Engles brought us some cider. I had bought a fiddle and was learning to play upon it. We never lacked for diversion. In the evenings I played, or we read. My days were full of duties connected with the new house, or the crops and improvements for the next year. And spring would soon be here.
I was beginning to be looked upon as a driving man. They had scoffed at me as a young Englishman who could not endure the frontier life, and who knew nothing of farming. But they saw me take hold with so much vigor and interest that I was soon spoken of as an immediate success. My coming to the hut and living and doing for myself had helped greatly to confirm me in their esteem. I saw nothing hazardous or courageous in it. As for the daily life I could not have been more happily placed.
The fall went by. The winter descended. The brook was frozen. I had to break the ice with the ax to get water. I had to spend an hour each day cutting wood for the fireplace and bearing it into the hut. These were the mornings when the cold bath, which I could never forego, no matter what the circumstances were, tested my resolution. For I was sleeping in the loft where the bitter wind fanned my cheeks during the night. Zoe had found it too rigorous, and preferred the danger of an intruder to the cold. Even snow sifted on my face from rifts in the shingles which we had overlooked. But nevertheless I adhered to the morning lustration, sometimes going to the brook to do it. I had never experienced such cold.
Yet the months of November and December, which at the time I thought were the extreme of winter weather, were as nothing to the polar blasts that poured down upon us in January and February. I had no thermometer. But judging by subsequent observations I am sure that the temperature reached twenty degrees below zero. I took no baths in the brook now but contented myself with a hurried splash from a pan. At night I covered myself with all the blankets that I could support. I protected my face with a woolen cap, which was drawn over the ears as well. Zoe, though sleeping near the immense fire which we kept well fed with logs, got through but a little better than I. We heated stones in hot water to take to bed with us. All kinds of wild animals coming forth for food were frozen in their tracks. I found wolves and foxes in abundance lying stiffened and defeated in the woods. Some nights, seeing the light of our candle they would howl for food and shelter; and I heard them run up and down past the door, wisping it with their tails. Then Zoe would cling to me. And I would take up the rifle in anticipation of the wind opening the door and admitting the marauder. We were snowbound the whole month of February. I had to shovel a path to the brook. But it was out of the question for any one to go to town, or for any one to come to us. And of course during these bitter days nothing was done on my new house. The logs were all cut. They stood piled under the snow, except for a few that had been put in place.
One brilliant morning in the last of February I had gone to the brook for water. The cold had moderated to some extent. But the snow remained deep in the woods and on the fields. For though the sun shone, the sky was nevertheless hazed with innumerable particles of frozen mist, having the appearance of illuminated dust, or powdered mica. Somewhere in the depths of this screen I heard the joyous cry of a jay. And Zoe, who was by my side, said that spring was at hand.
The next day the air was milder. Soon the snow began to melt. We heard musical droppings from our eaves. The brook broke from its manacles. I could see patches of dead grass and dark earth between the disappearing snow on the fields. At break of day we heard the chirrup of the chickadee, the sparrow. I now resumed my plunge at the brook. And as we were depleted of cornmeal and other provisions, Zoe and I went to town, riding one of the horses which Engle had brought over to me. Bad news waited us here. Mrs. Spurgeon had died during the bitter weather, about three weeks before. Sarah was very much depressed. And Reverdy seemed almost as unhappy over the loss.
He had much to do, but he would now set to work upon my house.
Soon he came out bringing the men. I had made a drawing for the work and I was much about watching to see that it was followed. We could have had bricks for the chimney, though it was a good deal of labor to haul them. But why not a chimney of stone? There were plenty of stones of adequate size along the bed of the brook. And so we used them. But I did buy lumber for the floors. I sent to St. Louis for the kind of doors I wanted, and windows too. I was having a house built with regard to roominess and hospitable conveniences; a large living room, two bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, downstairs. The second floor was to have four chambers. I had selected a site back from the road. It was in a grove of majestic oaks, not far from the brook and the hut. The work progressed none too rapidly. Some of the men had to be away at times to attend to their farming. As for myself I had learned to plow, and was at it from early morning until sundown. I had many laborers working for me, plowing, sowing, building fences, clearing; in a word, reducing the land to cultivation. It was a big job.
I had won the respect of the community by the energy with which I had undertaken the task. The neighbors said I was an improvement on my father. They wondered, however, if I would be as far-sighted and acquisitive as he, if I would add to what I had or lose it.
In March I had a letter from my grandmother. She expressed
