The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1881-03-25
A STRANGE STORY.

nothing to do with it, for | am a baCkwOOds-
mans daughter accustomed to the wild
sounds of the forest, the loneliness, and all
that is terrifying to a novice.
My father was good man, serving God
after his own simple fashion, seeing Him and
loving Him in all his works have heard
him hold forth on the provident ways of the
beaver: ''Why, the little critter'd starve in
the cold season if it hadn't used its little fiat
tail for buiIdm' its house. and then filled it
with food in time - l Ihave heard him tell o1
the caribou. ''Loolz at that too he would
say, fand at the moose Now, the caribou
has to travel often matter of twenty miles
for he's dainty un, and only eats the long
gray moss that hangs from the trees so God
gave him snow shoes, good as an Indian could
make 'em, to skim over the ice crust, while
the big, heavy moose there sinks right in.
His dinner is close to hand. He could live
for months on an acre lot" He would speak
of the loon, and its adoption in every way to
its watery home, always ending such talk
with ''All Gods works are pom honor ::
there's no half way with Him"
/ was the only one left ont of ten children
My father wheE mourning over and missing
the others, would never complain but only
say They're better off. Why, if we can
trust the children, that don't know what
wrong doing is, and don't know the mean
ing of sin, then there amt any chance for US
men - And 50 he lived his quiet life-hfs
heart beating close to natures heart, and his
soul unconsciously seeking and finding ma
lures God.
Ny mother must have been beautiful in her
youth. She was loreste CaDddieuue and
her bright French spirits carried her gaily
over many hard trial in her life of frequent
deprivation. One great over -shadowing sor-
row of her life was the unaccOunJabIe disap-
pearance Of her little year old daughter, her
own image whom from the first she loved
with peculiar tenderness.
The child had been LEFT alone in her little
birch bark crib for a short half hour, while
mother was busy at the spring, a mile from
home, in the midst Of the woods. I, little
six-year-oId, was of in the canoe with my
father, as treat for being especially good
the day before. Father and had a splendid
time-we always did when out together
and. our canoe full of trout, we were COM
ing gaily home toward evening. when a cold
chill fell on our happiness, and my child's
heart felt a strange thrill as 7 read sudden
anxiety i'm my fathers face, whose every
change I knew. His quick ear had caught
the sound of mothers voice, and after a
while /. too, could hear hopeless moan, a
dreadful heart-brokem sound We found
mother kueeline on the floor, her head lean
ing on the empty crib, and moaning as one
who could not be cOmfOrted. The baby was
gone. How or where, we could not tell
we never knew. Weeks were spent in search
ing for her and, at length, to save mothers
reason, father forced her to leave the pretty
log cabin in the woods by the lake, where
this last sorrow had come upon her, and we
went to Montreal.
There we lived quietly for years during the
winter-time. The nuns Of the great convent
of the Gray Sisters took charge Of my educa
ton. Mother and had neat little rooms in
the French quarter, while father went moose
hunting for weary months but the summer
times we always spent with him. He would
choose lovely spots for our summer encamp
mants, but never on the site of the log cabin
deserted after the baby's loss, until the sum
mer of my nineteenth year. Then 4 great
desire took possession Of my mother to gC
once more to the old home. She had beer
very delicate that winter and my great, rougI
father denied her nothing l shudder wher
I think of that beautiful, direful place now
it seems as though our evil fate hoyereC
about it. All the anguish ever knew cen
I tres there,
We passed one peaceful month togethe
/ disturbed only by distant rumors of the diph
/ liberia, a scourge which seemed to be strid
/ ing along from village to village, first on tn,
river, then nearer us on the great lake bu
we never thought of its touching us, unit
. one miserable night, when father came home
langujd and feverIsh, from one Of his nUner
/ Gus expeditions, and we read in his face tina
the CHASTITY finger Of the scourge had set it
mark upon him. After the second day o
anxiety about father all strength seemed {
desert my delicate little mother. From tn
fist she had despaired about him, and now
saw that, if fathers life were taken, 1 shoul,
have to part with both.
Her life would die with his, for sorrow
1 forges stronger bonds even than JOY, an
they have suffered so much together his lov
always supporting her, that he had becom
life of her life. She could not exist alone.
I struggled hand to hand, and sick at hear
against what ] felt to be an inexorable fate
and, on the afternoon of the eighth day
found myself alone and almost despairing
save for the thought of the happiness of tn
two had loved best in the world.
The sunset came, as l sat by the lake side
flooding my desolate world with a heavenl
glory, like sign from them to me of thei
new found Joy.
The stars had come ont before I venture
TO return to the worse than deserted housC
! could not hope for help from any neighbo
until / sought it myself the next day, and
had to look forward to a night how horribl
did not forsee, or could not have endure
It, What follows could scarcely credit my
self, if I did not bear on my hand tangibl
proof of it in a we'll defined scar and, eve
now, [ could not bear to write Of that night
experience, had not my children's laughte
and my loving husbands care long since ban
ished all unnatural gloom from my life.
While had been sitting alone on the lax
shore, toward the evening, had heard di.
tant shot it scarcely reused me. a sport,
man, thought, had wandered from bis cl
campment, or the opposite shore, had see
some game in our wild wood, killed it, an
his canoe had long since carried him ava,
In the gathering darkness groped my wa
back through the familiar little path, an
reached my own door. I alone should pa:
the threshold in the future their feet wei
still the busy feet that had toiled for m,
followed me, and had been ever near me
was TO go on my rugged path alone Hear
sick and overcome, ! stopped at the doc
and leaning my head against it sobbed