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Updated: April 30, 2025
Rubens lost no time in procuring his liberty, which he did by becoming his surety, took him into his own house, and treated him with the greatest kindness. Brower did not continue long in the hospitable mansion of Rubens, whose refined and elegant manners, love of literature, and domestic happiness were less congenial to this erratic genius than the revels of his pot-companions.
"I'd let you ride my horse and take Meigs's old skate myself," I said to Brower, "but when you first get on him this bronc of mine is a rip-humming tail twister. Ain't he, Meigs?" "He's a bad caballo," corroborated Meigs. "Does he buck?" queried Brower, indifferently. "Every known fashion. Bites, scratches, gouges, and paws. Want to try him?" "I got a headache," replied Brower, grouchily.
Suddenly he turned to Elizabeth Brower and said, very soberly, 'Will you bring me some water in a glass? Then he opened his chest of medicine, made some powders and told us how to give them. 'In a few days I would take him into the big woods for a while, he said. 'See how it agrees with him. Then he gathered up his things and mother went with him to the gig.
'I thank you for what you have done, Brower, said he, 'but I tell you I am licked. I shall not carry a single state. I am going to be slaughtered. He had read his fate and better than he knew. In politics he was a great prophet. The north country lay buried in the snow that Christmastime.
The sun made it about three o'clock of the afternoon. Our adventures had certainly brought us a good sleep! After we had satisfied our thirst from a canteen we began to ask and answer questions. Artie Brower had made the ranch without mishap, had told his story, and had promptly fallen asleep.
'The night man! I exclaimed, pulling up a moment to observe him. Then a buggy came in sight, and presently we heard a loud 'hello' from David Brower, who, worried by our long stay, had come out in quest of us. Hope's love of music became a passion after that night. Young Mr Livingstone, 'the city chap' we had met at the church, came over next day.
'Please let him stay, the girl pleaded again. 'David, said the woman, 'I couldn't turn the little thing away. Won't ye hand me those cookies. And so our life began in Paradise Valley. Ten minutes later I was playing my first game of 'I spy' with little Hope Brower, among the fragrant stooks of wheat in the field back of the garden.
Quick, quick! ere he has time to talk, you know, time to talk." In less than half an hour Dierich Brower and four constables entered the hosier's house, and demanded young Gerard of the panic-stricken Catherine. "Alas! what has he done now?" cried she; "that boy will break my heart." "Nay, dame, but a trick of youth," said Dierich.
"It seems so." Then the sound of an opening door startled them. "It's strange that Madge has left everything in such a careless way," said a masculine voice. "Ho! Madge, where are you?" "Hold up thar," uttered another voice. "I reckin the old gal know'd what she was doin'. Thar's some skulduggery goin' on down here, or my name ain't Nick Brower.
'Yes! an' thet's another secret, said he. I tol' David Brower what I thought o' your writing thet essay on bugs in pertickier an' I tol' 'im what people were sayin' o' your work in school. 'What d' he say? I asked. 'Said Hope had tol' him all about it that she was as proud o' you as she was uv her curls, an' I believe it. "Well," says I, "y' oughter sen' that boy t' college."
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