The Irish standard., 1905-02-18
Copyright, 1901. by Lothrop Publishing Company
CHAPTER l.

A poet may be good companion
but, so far as | know, he is evel
the worst of fathers. Even as grand.
father he is too near, for one poet can
lay streak OF poverty over three gen.
erations. Doubt not | know whereof
speak, dear reader, for my mothers
father was poet--a French poet, too
whose lines had crossed the Atlantic
long before that summer of ITO when
he came to Montreal. He died there
leaving only debts and those who had
great need OF better lesacy--my
mother and grandmother.
AS to my father, he had none OF
that fatal folly in him. He was a
mountaineer OF Nermont-a man oil
steely sinews that took we'll to the grip
of sword. He cut his way to fam
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 this
best swordsman that ever straddled a
horse He was a '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 dIe. ran away from
school, and came home with little
learning ant. q Wife. Punished by dis
inheritance, he TOOK farm. and left
the p!Ow to 90 into battle.
| Wondef often that FAY mother could
put UP with the stress and hardship
OF his life. for size had had gentle
breeding, OF which new little until
| was crown to manhood, when came
to know also villa Il woman will do
for The love of hcr heart remember
we'll those tales of i.niehts and ladies'
She used to tel! ME as we sat togeth 81
OF an evening. and also those adven-
lures Of her own kni.ht. my good
father, in the war with the British.
My love OF arms and of a Just quarrel
began then.
After the war came hard times. My
father had not prospernd handsomely.
when. near the end of the summer Of
1903, he sold his farm, and we al!
started west. over rough trails an!
roadwaEs. There were seven of us,
bound for the valley of the ST. Law
rence--my father and mother, my two
sisters, my grandmother. D'ri. the
hired man. and myself. then a sturdy
boy Of ten. We had an oN-team and
cS1t that carried our provision, the
capral |, Of
some few other things.
We drove with us the first flock Of
sheep that ever went west There were
40 of them and they filled our days
with trouble. But for our faithful dog
Rover, | 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 were level. My father let
me carry my little pet rooster in a
basket that hung from the cart-axle
when not in my keeping. The rooster
had 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 cove. Bat every
day he gave us an example of cheerful
ness not wholly without effect. He
crowed trlmphantly, bctimes. in the
hot basket even when he was being
tumbled about on the swamp ways.
Nights ALWAYS found a 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
Mapping his wings with all the SEEM
ing of delight. Then. often. while the
echo rang. | would open my eyes and
watch the li-ht grow in the dusliy
cavern of the woods. lie would sit
doing awhile after the first outbreak,
and presently as the t!ocd of light grew
clearer. lift himself IL little. take an
other peep at the SLY, and crow again,
turning his head to hear those weird,
mocl'insr ROSTERS Of the understand.
Then, shortly. | would hear my father
poAing the fire or saying. rs he patted
the rooster: Sass 'om back, We noisy
little brat. Thet's right; boiler. 7 |
D'ri it's time t bring some wood fer
the fire."
In few minutes the pot and kettle
would be boiling and The camp all
astlr. 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. E;y father bring
ing the oxen, while | started the sheen
with D'ri.
Those sheep were rs many thorns in
our flesh that day we made off in the
deep woods from Lake Champlain.
Travel was new to them, and what
with tearing through thickets and run
ming wild in every slash they kept us
jumping. When they We're leg-weary
and used to travel they began to go
quietly But slow work it was at best,
10 Or II miles a day being all we could
do, for the weather was hot and our
road like the way of the transgrassor.
Our second night in the woods we
could hear the wolves bowling as we
camped at dusk. We built our fire
near the shore of a big pond, its still
water framed in the vivid green of
young tamaracks. A great hill rose
on the farther side of it, with galleries
Of timber sloping to the summit, and
peopled with many birds. We huddlad
the sheep together in place where
the trees were thick, while father
brought from the cart coil of small
rope. We wound it about the trees