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Updated: June 22, 2025
"I begin to think that the poor birds were our friends, after all, and we shall now get our pay for killing them," said Fabens to Colwell, one day, while talking of the new annoyance. "Prospects for crops never looked so squally afore," said Colwell. "I can stand crows and blackbirds, I can stomach wolves and foxes, better'n them nasty worms."
But we all took a world of comfort; and what was pleasanter work than putting up log heaps and brush heaps in the cool of the night, and seeing them blaze again on our clean sweet fallows?" "A feast on bear's meat and metheglin, at Aunt Polly's," cried Colwell. "Picking bushels of wild strawberries, big as your thumb," added Mrs. Colwell. "And going four miles to raisins," added Thomas Teezle.
This was taken away from him, but while Colwell was at work trying to raise the tent, some one got the half-emptied can of pemmican, and by the time it was discovered had eaten its contents. The weaker ones were like children, petulant, rambling and fitful in their talk, absent, and sometimes a little incoherent.
I therefore took the book from my pocket, where I had fortunately kept it, and was on the point of opening its pages, when there came a ring at the door-bell below. As I have said before, my landlady was away. I consequently went to the door myself, where I was met by an unexpected visitor in the shape of the idiot boy, Colwell.
It was half-past eight o'clock in the evening as the cutter steamed around the rocky bluff of Cape Sabine and made her way to the cove, four miles farther on, which Colwell remembered so well from his hurried landing with the stores on the terrible night following the wreck of the "Proteus."
"Meanwhile one of the relief party, who in his agitation and excitement was crying like a child, was down on his knees trying to roll away the stones that held the flapping tent-cloth.... Colwell called for a knife, cut a slit in the tent-cover, and looked in. It was a sight horror. On one side, close to the opening, with his face toward the opening, lay what was apparently a dead man.
"And is that all, Miss Colwell?" came with a strange intonation from Dwight Pollard's lips, as she paused, with a triumphant look in my direction. "It is all I have to tell," was the reply; and it struck me that her tone was as peculiar as his.
"You'll have to cut the trees, or give 'em up," shouted Flaxman. "It's dark as Egypt up in them thick leaves," said Colwell. "Skin your keenest eye, Uncle Walt, and then I guess you won't spy your game." "Hold, boys! hold on, hold on!" cried Uncle Walter. "I spy one! Here, Colwell! you see that big limb, don't you? run a sharp look up that, and tell us what that black bunch is, eh?"
"It is amazing strange!" replied Mr. Nimblet. "I'll have one grab at him, any way," cried Uncle Walter, making for the hand, so warmly clasped by George Ludlow. "So'll I! So'll I, and take pay and interest for my four days' hunt," cried Wilson. "I loved to kiss him, too; and where is my part?" cried Aunt Huldah, joining in the group. "And mine!" "and mine!" cried Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Colwell.
That 'll wean him of his fright." "O, yes, tell a painter story," said Colwell. "Yes, that's the thing," added Wilson. "Fabens's run was only a jolly game o' gool, compared with your pull and squeeze with a painter," added Mr. Waldron.
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