St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1880-11-12

Sldch w DdC WOulu you C1lDk OF Walk
in on a snow-drift right up on to the
roof of the highest mill . Or of walkin'
on the crust over train of cars as COM
pletely buried out of sight as potato
you've just planted 2 Eve done that, as
late as the 18th day of April, too.
The hardest of it was when the trains
couldn't run for days together, and we
were just shut into that white world of
snow. And that happened pretty often.
No, Sir, you folks down here don't know
anything about snow-the beauty of it
nor the terror of it either.
Last till midsummer Well, that's
the Queerest thing about it. When it
goes it makes business of it. 1t don't
melt and melt, and drizzle away by
inches. 1t just sinks right down into
the sandy soil and vanishes; and be-
fore you can catch your breath there
are green things and flowers every
where, and birds a-singin', and all the
woods are pink and white with May
flowers. You make such fuss about
'em down here when you happen to find
handful. Why, they used to blossom
out right under our feet in the mill
yard, and it was as much as we could
do to keep the dainty little beauties off
the railroad track Fact, Sir.
Trailing arbutus9 Well, yes. / be-
lieve that's what some folks call it. But
I was going to tell you about Gentle
man Jim. We got to callin' him that
in the first place because we were a set
of blackguards, / suppose, and wanted
to run some sort of rig on him. He
dropped down on us one day out o. the
sky, as it were, and wanted work. John
Smith had broke his leg the day before,
and Mr.. Sterile was just goin' up to Ne
gaunce, to see if he could find hand.
So he looked Gentleman Jim over
sharply for a minute, and then stepped
off the platform. ''All right" says he.
''There's work enough to do here, if you
can do it."
81 can try" says the fellow, quietly
like, and the next day he went into the
woods.
1 was foreman of the gang, and as
was only my duty with new hand,
watched him pretty close; and to this
day, Sir, can't tell what it was about
the man that made me mistrust at
once't he WANT quite one of us. But
'twa'n't none of my business, so l said
nOthin'. The men didn't take to him at
first. They sneered at him behind his
back, and called him "the dandy" and
Miss Nancy" | don't know why. His
clothes were as rough as the toughest !;
but somehow be wore 'em different
wore 'em like man who had been used
to better ones. He'd been with US
day or two, when some one called out:
"LoOk -a-here, stranger, what might
yer name be, if 'ta'n't too good to be
spoken here?
He pulled his cap down over his eyes
and he colored up clear to his forehead.
Then he said: "Call me Jim. Jim
Leonard, if you like"
But somebody muttered: 'Twon't do
to be so familiar, boys" (And 1 won't
say but what there was a word with
two DIS to it before that word familiar
AS you seem to be a minister, I'll leave
out the swearin'.) "BeUter call him Gen
Hemdn jim" So Gentleman Jim he was
from that day. 1t was just a bit o.
deviltry. There want any downright
malice in it, and he took it in good part
enough, just laughin' and touchin' his
his cap to the first man that called him
so. But it WANT two weeks before the
sting had all gone out of it, and the
men called him Gentleman Jim just as
they called me Judd Mason. The name
fitted him, somehow.
There want steadier or a harder
worker in the woods that winter than
Gentleman Jim. He was a slight-bhilt
man, thirty-fv maybe, though his hair
was as gray as badger. He looked as
if he'd seen trouble. And he Want
over'n above strong. But he made his
wits serve him in place of muscle, and
whoever else shirked hard job, it was
not Gentleman Jim. He asked no odds
of any man and always played fair.
He never had much to say and was
the one man in the woods who never
told a rough story never seemed to
hear 'em, either, for that matter.
AS the months went on, used to
wonder what became of his wages. He
was paid up prompt every week. There
was nobody belonging to him as we
could find out. He didn't write any
letters nor get any. He never touched
any liquor and he spent next to nothin'
There was a savings bank down to
Marquette, but he had no account there.
| Yet in one way or another, bein' fore
man and kind o. head man amongst 'em
| used to learn a good deal about
tions. l most generally found out by
Monday night he hadn't red cent in
his pocket-not cent.
We cut down some splendid trees
that winter, regular old stagers. de-
clare | was as proud as peacock of
that lumber. One day, along in March,
the men were at work upon one of the
biggest, when l happened to think that
maybe Mrs. Sterile would like to see it
come down. So piled some buffalo
skins and blankets on one of the OK
sleds and went after them.
How far, did you ask Oh, only four
or FIVE miles. But we had sort of a
camp up there-a roughly built house,
with two rooms down below and loft
overhead, with hunks for thirty men.
One of the hands lived there with his
wife and boarded the rest of us. But
as was saying, 1 went down after the
boss and his lady. She was ready
enough for the lark; and after she had
wrapped herself in her furs and hood,
with some soft, white, heecy thing over
all, we tucked her up in the buffaloes,
and off we started.
| Ever been in the woods in winter,
Sir7 Then you've lost good deal.
Though 1 don't suppose the woods
hereabOuts are like those up north,
anyhow 1t does seem kind of imper-
tinent to meddle with 'em. Don't it
now? l leave it to you, Sir Just to
think of cuttin' down trees that have
been CROWN and growin' and drinkin'
in the sunshine and the dew for hun
! dreds OF years, just to make hoorin'
and timber for the use of such a short