Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1881-03-17
A STRANGE STORY.

l nave II strange, almost Incredible,
story to tell of IN experience of my
own fearful night in the woods. I'M
agination had nothing to do with it, for
| am a backwoodsmans daughter, ac-
customed to the wild sounds Of the
forest, the lonliness and all that is ter
rifying to novice.
My father was good man, serving
God after his own simple fashion, see
ing Him and loving him in 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 flat
tail for buildin' its house and then fill
ed it with food in time' | have heard
him tell Of the caribou: Look at that
too" he would say, "and at the moose.
Now the caribou has to travel over II
matter of twenty miles for his dinner
for he's dainty 'un, and only eats the
long gray moss that hangs from the
trees-so God gave him snow shoes good
rs any Injun could make EN-, 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 LOTT He would
speak of the loon and its adoption in
every way to its watery home-always
ending such talk: "All Gods works
are pom honor; there's no half way
with Him.
| was the only one left ften children
My father when mourning over and
missing the others, would never COM
plain, but only say: They're better
off! Why! if you can't trust the little
children, that don't know what wrong
doing is, and don't know the meaning
of sin, then there amt any chance for
us menY And SO he lived his quiet
live-his heart beating close to nature's
heart, and his soul unconsciously seek,
ing and finding natures God.
My mother must have been bcauti-
full in her youth. She was iorette
Gunodienne, and her bright French
spirits carried her gayly over many II
hard trial in her life of frequent de
privations. One great, overshadowing
sorrow of her life was the unaCcounta-
BILE disappearance of her little year old
daughter, her only beautiful child-the
one In her own image, whom from the
first she loved with "A peculiar tender
ness,
The child had been left alone in her
little birch bark crib for short halt
hour. while mother was busy ut the
spring, mile from home, in the midst
of the woods. |, "A little 6-year old, was
off in the canoe with my father, rs n
treat for having been especially good
the day before. Father and l had had
splendid time--we always did when
we went away together-and, our canoe
full Of trout, we were coming gayly
home, toward evening, when n cold
chill fell on our happiness, and my
child's heart felt a strange thrill rs |
read sudden anxiety iii my father
face, whose every change knew, His
quick ear had caught the sound of my
mothers voice, and, after while, |,
too, could hear hopeless moaning, n
dreadful heart-broken sound. We
found mother kneelng on the floor,
her head leaning ON the crib, and
mourning rs one that could not be COM
forted The baby was gone. How or
where we could not tell-wo never
know Weeks were spent in searching
for her and, at length, to save moth
ere reason, father forced her to leave
the pretty log cabin in the woods 10y the
lake, where this last sorrow had come
upon her, and~we went to Montreal.
There we lived quietly for years dur
ing the winter time The nuns Of the
great convent of the Gray Sisters took
charge of my education, Mother and
| had neat little rooms in the French
quarter, while father went off moose
hunting for weary months; but the sum
mer time we always spent with him.
He.would choose lovely spots for our