The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1875-12-17
CHAPTER II.

Ine JerTlnc gaze having SuOSlueO, Gne
leaden heavens seemed to have settled
themselves for an endless season of
mist and rain. The bunch-grass of the
beautiful prairie, that had cracked un-
der foot like over-dried hay in the first
days of golden October, and that every
where waved in luxuriant plenty, as
stirred by the autumn breezes, it sang
requiem to the departed summer, much
to the surprise Of Mrs. Morrison, turned
green in single night, and became as
succulent and tender as if it were spring
time.
What to do, with winter approach
ing, of the probable severity of which
she had no means of judging; with a
disabled husband, upon whose strong
arms she had depended in all her worst
forms of helplessness, during their mar
ried years; with nearly helpless family
of children dependent upon her exer-
tions for livelihood; with nothing to
work with, and no means of procuring
anything; her own constitution broken
by hardship and suffering, and, most
hopeless prospect Of all, no neighbors,
and no prospect of any within fifty
miles; indeed, it was not to be wondered
at that the problem of what they should
eat, where they should find shelter, and
wherewithal they should be clothed, be-
came a weighty one, which no practical
arithmetic with which the woman was
acquainted had ever given a rule for
solving.
Mark Morrison, well knowing the
helpless, dependent disposition of the
mother of his children, lay upon the
rude litter, which, with the help of the
friendly Indian, had been placed within
the family tent, and then, carrying
away the stipulated dollar and a suffi-
cheney of bread and bacon to have fed
the family for a fortnight, he betook
himself to distant quarters, and they
saw him no more.
Mrs. Morrison seemed stupefied with
the effect of the sudden disaster that
had befallen her husband. For day or
two she watched beside his lowly couch
while the broken limb racked the suf-
ferer with horrible agony that made
him delirious at times, and again ex-
cessively cross and petulant.
Alice Morrison and her sister Madge,
though resembling each other some-
what in person, were in reality as un-
like as sisters could be. Alice was
much the handsomer of the two, though
no stretch of Imagination could have
succeeded in making even her beautiful.
She was also exceedingly indolent by
nature, unless allowed to choose her oc-
cupation, which, when chosen, was al
ways of an order which her mother
considered too frivolous to be INDUCED,
being generally some crude form Of
fancy work, that nevertheless evinceG
the first unfoldings of genius, which,
if cultivated and encouraged in the
proper direction, might have stamped
her in time as an inventor of no mean
order. But Madge, hoidenish, strange,
homely, square-shouldered, wierd-look-
ing Madge, with her ungovernable tenn.
per, flowing hair, black, coarse, and
straight as a wild Indians; her black
eyes glaring with fierce, wild light
that made you invOluntarily shudder a:
you gazed into their flashing depths
Madge, with the strength of young OF
and the agility of a wild animal, wai
certainly not promising specimen o
embryo, ideal womauh ood, upon who's
career one might hope to build an at
tractive, entertaining and useful book
but she is our heroine, nevertheless
good reader, and, as such, behold he
now, defantly upbraiding her mothe
for her stupidity in hOpelessly yielding
to adverse circumstances.
"What would you have me to do
child ?" asked her mother, at last, as
after perfect volley of impertinen
abuse from Madge, she arose from tn
side of the rude litter and stood in
half-bent position in the low, leak,
tent, which merely served to sift th
mist into yet finer fog, that settle,
everywhere in the one dismal apart
ment.
'If you can't do anything else, yor
can at least stop whiningp' exclaime
the saucy child.
"What do you intend to do ?' aske
Alice, who had been trying in vain
coax her long straight hair into rud
semblance of natural ringlets.
"Why, build a house, to be SURE
We've got an axe and saw, and a
adj and frower-pity we can't build
house!u
"What nonsensep exclaimed th
mother.
There's no nonsense about it !" erie
Madge. 81 and the boys can cut tn
polesi and we can saw and rive th
boards and get everything ready; an
there'll be other immigrants along her
after while, and we'll get them to hel
us. Depend upon it, We'll have hous
If we'll build it, and we ought to d
without if we don't do anything bu
blubber ~
"What can we live upon If we do gs
. house ?n asked the mother. 'py