Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1905-01-13
CHAPTER |.


but so far as | know, he is ever
the worst OF fathers. Even as grand
father lie is too near, for one poet can
lay a streak of poverty over three gem
eratiOns Doubt not | know whereof |
Speah, dear reader, for my mothers
father was poet-a French poet, too,
whose lines had crossed the Atlantic
long before that summer of 177O when
he came to Montreal. He died there,
leaving only debts and those who had
great need of a better legacy-my
mother and grandmother
AS to my father, he had none of
that fatal folly in him. He was a
mountaineer of Vermont-a man of
steely sinews that took well to the grip
of sword. He cut his way to fame
in the northern army when the British
came first to give us battle, and a
bloody way it was. | have now faded
letter from Ethan Allen, grim old war
rior, in which he calls my father "the
best swordsman that ever straddled a
horse" He was "gallous chap" in
his youth, SO said my grandmother,
with a great love of good clothes and
gunpowder He went to Montreal, as
boy to be educated; took lessons in
fencing, fought a duel, ran away from
school. and came home with little
learning and a wife. Punished by dis
inheritance, he took a farm, and left
the pillow to go into battle.
| l wonder often that my mother could
put up with the stress and hardship
of his life. for she had had gentle
, breeding of which | knew little until
| was grown to manhood. when / came
| to know also what a woman will do
] for the love of her heart. | remember
! well those tales of knights and ladies
! she used to tell me as we sat together
| of an evening, and also those adven-
/ lures of her own knight. my good
/ father, in the war with the British.
/ My love of arms and Of a just quarrel
began then.
After the way came hard times. My
/ father had not prospcrod handsomely,
when. near the end of the summer Of
/ 1903. he sold his farm. and we all
/ started west. over rough trails and
roadwaYs. There were seven of us,
rence-my father and mother. my two
sisters. my grandmother, D'ri. the
hired man, and myself then sturdy
boy of ten. We had an oX-team and
cart that carried our provision. the
sacred feather beds of my mother and
some few other things.
We drove with us the first flock of
sheep that ever went west. There were
40 of them. and they filed our days
with trouble. But for Our faithful dog
Rover. I fear we shOuld have lost
heart and left them to the wild
wolves. The cart had a low cover OF
canvas, and my mother and grand
mother sat on the feather beds, and
rode with small comfort even where
the roads We're level. My father let
me carry my little pet rooster in
basket that hung from the cart-aXle
when not in my keeping. The rooster
had a harder time than any of us,
fancy, for the days were hot and the
roads rough. He was always painting
with open mouth and thoughtful eye.
when | lifted the cover. But every
day he gave us an example of cheerful
ness not wholly without effect. He
crowed triumphantly, betimes, in the
hot basket, even when he was being
tumbled about on the swamp ways
. Nights | always found perch for him
on the limb of a tree, above the reach
of predatory creatures. Every morn
ing, as the dawn showed family in the
tree-tOps, he gave it lusty cheer.
tapping his wings with all the SEEM
ing of delight. Then. often, while the
echo rang, I would open my eyes and
watch the light grow in the dusky
cavern of the woods. He would sit
doing awhile after the first outbreak.
and presently as The food of light grew
clearer, lift himself a little, take an
other peep at the sky, and crow again,
turning his head to hear those weird,
hooking ROSTERS of the timbor-land.
e Then, shortly. 1 would hear my faith r
poling the fire or saying, as he patted
the rooster: Sass EN- back, ye noisy
little brat, Thet's right; holler Tell
D'ri it's time t bring some wood fer
the fire"
In a few minutes the pot and kettle
would be boiling and the camp all
astir We had trout ard partridge and
venison a-plenty for our meals. that
were served in dishes of tin. Break
= fast over, we packed our things. The
cart went on ahead, my father bring
ing the oxen, while l started the sheer
with Dri.
Those sheep were as many thorns In
our flesh that day We made off in the
deep woods from Lake Champlain
Travel was new to them, and what
70 with tearing through thickets and run
ming wild in every slash, they kept US
jumping. When they were leg-weary
and used TO travel, they began to &c