Chapter 19
Soon after we returned from Emerson, Graham, having a very large harvest of potatoes, engaged a little boy to come and help him get them in. This child’s name was Joe Bradley and his family lived about five miles from us, as the crow flies, but fifteen by road. I found this little lad great company, as Graham had to go away for a day or two several times. They had come from Hamilton some years before and had had exceedingly hard times. Little by little the child told of their trials. They had come up with a neighbor called Foster and they had managed to buy a yoke of oxen between them, but Mr. Bradley’s ox died. He had no money to buy another, so could do no plowing. There were six little children all younger than Joey and how they existed I often wondered. Joey was very pleased to talk about his home and soon told me the names of all his brothers and sisters. Then I began to talk to him of the Lord but then his face got blank; he had never been told of Jesus. Perhaps he knew there was a God; he had often heard men swear. He listened with great interest and during the six weeks he was with us learned a great deal.
“What do you do at Christmas, Joe?” I asked. He laughed. “Oh nothing.” “Do you ever have presents?” “I guess the girls never had such a thing in their lives.” When he left I gave him some books and cards for them, with which he was very pleased. Louie and Edie and I felt very sad over seven children who had never had a Christmas present and we racked our brains to find ways of making some. My grandmother had given me some little toys, bought at Mr. Mullins, to give away, and with some balls made from wool wound around corks, we succeeded in getting enough things to go round for our immediate neighbors, the Coopers and Millers and little Alice Burrell, but these seven extra children were a problem. At last Edie found a packet of small pictures and some foolscap paper. They came and spent an evening and we made seven cornucopias. The girls had persuaded the mail man, who brought the letters now to their house, to buy us a pound of cheap candy—our united funds only amounted to 35 cents—and with this we filled our little receptacles, and the same kind man carried the parcel done up in newspaper to the post office nearest the Bradley’s house. It was a long time before we heard of the success of our efforts, but I think I will finish the story here. On the 24th December, Mrs. Bradley sent Joe to the post office. It was eight miles and bitterly cold, but Joe was a sturdy little chap. He was gone most of the day and when he returned about dusk, he found a Christmas present had already arrived in the person of a new little sister, making six girls in the family. The Parcel was received with great joy and stowed away until the little ones were in bed. Then Joe and Emmie, who was eleven, helped undo it, and the seven cornucopias appeared. Then arose the question, who sent them, but Joe said at once, “It was Miss Boulton; no one else ever asked the names of the children and here they are all marked down.” The delighted mother at once asked my name and the new baby was promptly called “Fanny”. The next morning great joy was in that household. Each cornucopia was emptied by its delighted owner and the biggest picked out for mother. Each child had to taste every other child’s and various “trades” were made. I have given I daresay hundreds of Christmas presents in my life, but none seemed to me so eminently satisfactory.
Our own Christmas was quiet and happy. There were home presents, which had arrived by the last mail. Mother had sent me a blue jersey, the first attempt at the modern sweater. It was made of very fine wool, fitted to the figure, and buttoned with about twenty-four small buttons down the back. As this was impossible for me, I fastened it in front and wore a belt with it. To go back to Christmas, we had the Woods to dinner and dined on roast wild duck. After dinner Graham took out the horses and we went around and distributed our little presents.
I fear that I am lingering too long over this period of my life and yet I would like to relate one more little incident. Soon after returning from Emerson, in October I think, Bredin mentioned one day that Hunter, of whom I have spoken, had brought his old father-in-law. “He is a nice old man,” he said, “but Hunter treats him terribly, won’t give him any tobacco and is just planning to get his money.” A few days after this, on a Sunday afternoon, I saw a feeble old man coming up the slope in front of our house. I asked him in, guessing at once who he was. He seemed quite exhausted and I made him a cup of tea. He enjoyed the cream and sugar in it, but before touching it took off his hat and gave thanks. I found he was a Christian and very unhappy. He was quite eighty, could not see to read and longed for his Bible. I dared not keep him, as it was getting late and he had two miles to go, but promised to come and read to him. Graham was much interested in the old man, but said I could not go if Hunter was at home. About a week afterwards I saw Hunter coming along the trail past our house with his wagon and oxen. I spoke to him and he said he was going to Nelsonville. I at once decided to go over and see my old man, Graham quite approving. As soon as the dinner was cleared up, I started with Flossy. It was a long way and I had never been before in that direction. I crossed the river, skirted Graham’s ploughed land, went through a thick wood, then skirted a cranberry marsh, and came to the house. It was a low log cabin, surrounded on three sides by forest. I think you could hardly imagine a more lonely place. I knocked at the door without an answer, knocked louder, finally tried to open it. It was locked. Then I noticed that on the wood pile, in front of the house, all the old man’s clothes were laid out, also a feather bed. I went around to the back and called the old man by name but all was silent. The loneliness was intense. A horror came over me I had never felt before. I turned away and hurried home, lost my way in the wood and finally reached the house feeling very much perplexed. The next day about noon I saw Hunter returning but he did not stop. Where he had been I do not know, as he could not have even reached Nelsonville in twenty-four hours. In a couple of hours he appeared again and came and knocked at the door. “You are back,” I said. “Yes,” he said, “and the old man’s gone and died while I was away.” He was afraid to go back and insisted on staying at our house all night, much to our disgust. Graham called the other young men and they all went over and buried him, using most of the wood we had brought for our partition for a coffin. It always remained a mystery as to the fate of the poor old man. The boys said he looked dreadful and they felt sure he was dead when I went over. They expressed themselves as very thankful that I had not got in. I felt very strongly that it was the Lord’s merciful care over me.
One more little incident and I have finished this chapter. One morning in November, the first snow was beginning and the ground freezing up, Graham said to me, “Do you think you could take the team over to Bill Gorrey’s and have them shod?” I was rather startled at the suggestion but said I could certainly try to. “You see,” he said, “Frank Wood’s horses want shoeing too and if he knows I am going he will want me to take them too; he will never expect you to.” So he found my pony, put on the red saddle, and attired in my blue habit and a warm coat I set off.
The horses never seemed so big before and I felt very small and helpless as I led them off. We got on nicely for a mile or more, well past the Wright’s house, when something happened—I forget what—and I had to dismount. My difficulty settled, I tried to mount again, but could I and hold those two horses? No indeed and I walked wearily on, leading my three steeds. Just as I came to the Cooper’s where I turned off, a heavy flurry of snow came on. I felt it providential, as all the boys were at Christie’s putting an addition to his house and I would have hated them to see me in such a plight. But I passed by unseen and soon after I came to a fence, to which I tied the team while I mounted little Dick. After that all was plain sailing and following Graham’s directions I soon reached the Gorrey homestead. I had never been there before and was glad to meet Miss Gorrey, of whom Bredin had told me many tales. She kept house for her father and brothers, who had the blacksmith’s shop, and was terribly afraid of Indians. On one occasion Bredin came to the house and could get to response to his knocks, so he walked in. After a few minutes she shamefacedly appeared from under the bed, being alone in the house and thinking he was an Indian. On another occasion they killed an ox and after selling some of it, put the rest outside to freeze. Indians really came along that time and seeing no one around, began to help themselves, poor Miss Gorrey, watching them in wrath and terror from some secret spot. But when they placed the head, from which she had hoped to make many delectable dishes, on their sleigh, she could bear it no longer and, anger overcoming fear, she rushed out. It was all that was needed. They quickly threw down their ill gotten gains and took to their heels. However, when I reached Miss Gorrey’s house and saw how clean and tidy everything was, though she was both baking and washing, I felt she was far ahead of me in skill and order, even if she was afraid of Indians.
One always got such a warm welcome in those early days; you felt they were really glad to see you and share whatever they had with you. Jim soon took the horses off to the stable and I had a cheerful dinner and much good fare. About four everything was ready. Jim or Bill saddled my pony and the mares, knowing they were going home, trotted off in fine style. It was all Dick could do to keep up and, much to the astonishment of the boys busy at Christie’s house still, I passed at full speed. They told me afterwards how, not having seem me go by before, they could not imagine who I was or where I came from, in the twilight.