The Young Ship Builders of Elm Island 32

The Young Ship Builders of Elm Island 32

The moment they were alone, Charlie said,--

 

“Guess what I have done since you came away.”

 

“Built a boat.”

 

“Yes; I’ve sold her, and built five more; sold all but one of them, and

I came up in _her_.”

 

“What a boy you are, Charlie! We’ll have some sails in her; there’s a

glorious chance to sail in this harbor in the summer, and a splendid

fishing ground. There are lots of acorns on Hog Island, and walnuts on

Mackie’s Island.”

 

“Yes; but guess what else I’ve done.”

 

“It’s no use to guess, you do so many things.”

 

“Bought a farm.”

 

“Bought a farm!”

 

“Yes, and paid for it! almost four hundred acres; all kinds of land. O,

the prettiest harbor! and a pond, a brook, and the handsomest elm tree

you ever saw. All kinds of land, and bears on it, John; only think,

bears on it, and wolves. O, I forgot a little duck of an island, where

the Indians made canoes.”

 

“Is there a great long point that crooks round like a horseshoe? and

does the elm stand on a little tongue that the water runs almost round?”

 

“Just so.”

 

“O, I know; that’s a splendid place! I’ve been there many a time,

frost-fishing. Cross-root Spring is there, a regular boiling spring;

but I never was far from the beach. I didn’t know there was a pond.”

 

“Now, John, some time when we get through here, you, and I, and Fred

will go and have a chowder there; go all over it, and have a good time.”

 

After this they spent Sundays together, and sat side by side at meeting.

 

When Charlie began to work at Stroudwater the timber was not cut;

thus he had an opportunity to help cut the timber, and begin at the

foundation. Modern improvements were unknown then, and he found Mr.

Foss built his vessels very much as he built his boats--by setting up

stem and stern posts, a few frames, and working by ribbands.

 

It was late in the fall when Charlie went away, and Ben was obliged to

work on the boats when he ought to have been putting his winter wood

under cover. The moment the boats were done, he hauled up an enormous

pile of wood, both green and dry, and had cut up a good part of the

dry, when there came a great fall of snow and covered it all up; and

not only so, but the dry chips that had come from hewing the frame of

the shed, which were scattered over the ground, and that he meant to

have put under cover. Thus the wood was all covered up in snow, and the

new wood-shed stood empty.

 

Sally Merrithew had returned home; the snow was deep; the weather,

though fair, extremely cold; and communication between Elm Island and

the main pretty much suspended. Joe Griffin was building a log-house on

his own land; but the snow being so deep that it was quite difficult to

work in the woods, Peter Brock had persuaded him to assist in making

axes.

 

Uncle Jonathan Smullen lived about half way between Joe’s father’s and

the blacksmith’s shop, on a little rise, just where the road makes a

short turn and goes down to Peterson’s spring. Thus Joe passed the

house several times a day, going to and returning from labor.

 

Sally Merrithew did not approve of his practical jokes: he knew it, and

endeavored with all his might to restrain himself. It was now a long

time since Joe had been uncorked, and Sally was beginning to hope he

never would be again.

 

Uncle Smullen had a cross ram: he would often run at the old man, who,

being old and clumsy, was afraid of him. The barn-yard was very large,

being used for both sheep and cattle. In the middle was a large patch

of ice. The old man had stocking feet drawn over his shoes, to prevent

slipping, and whenever the ram made demonstrations, would run on the

ice; the ram, unable to follow, would stand at the edge and keep him

there till some one came, or the ram got tired.

 

Half the cause of the trouble was, that the ram wanted the hens’ corn,

and, because the old man wouldn’t let him have any, meant to proceed to

blows. Joe, finding the old gentleman beleaguered one day, relieved him.

 

“The pesky creetur, Mr. Griffin, has kept me here most all the

forenoon.”

 

“I’d cut his head off.”

 

“I would, Joseph; but he’s an excellent breed; I bought him of Seth

Dingley.”

 

This incident suggested an idea to Joe’s but too fertile brain in an

instant. The spirit of mischief invigorated by a long repose, and with

difficulty suppressed, rose in arms. That night he made shoes for

the ram’s feet, with sharp calks, and nails to put them on with. Mr.

Smullen was very methodical in his habits, and Joe was well acquainted

with them.

 

It was his custom, before turning the cattle out in the forenoon, to

put a little salt hay in the yard for the sheep, then carry out the

corn for the hens, and bring in the eggs in the same measure; and he

never varied a hair’s breadth.

 

After Bobby had gone to school, Joe went into the sheep-house, nailed

the shoes on the ram, and after plaguing and irritating him till he was

thoroughly mad, hid himself behind the log fence, in the sun, to see

what would come of it.

 

The ram did not offer to molest the old gentleman while he was bringing

out the hay. Soon afterwards he came out with a wooden bowl full of

corn, going to the barn, when the ram started for him.

 

“You won’t catch me this time, you pesky sarpint you,” said the old

gentleman, quickening his pace for the ice, and soon reached what he

supposed his harbor of safety. The brute had found out he was shod,

and running backward half the length of the yard to obtain momentum,

rushed forward and struck the old gentleman in the rear with the force

of a battering-ram. Away went the corn in all directions over the

yard, to the manifest delight of the hungry sheep. Uncle Smullen lay

prostrate on the ice: one half the wooden bowl flew over the fence, the

other into the water trough, while the ram, who had exerted his utmost

strength in a dead rush, not meeting with the resistance upon which he

had calculated, turning a summerset upon the body of his antagonist,

went end over end. Before he could pick himself up, he was seized by

Joseph, and flung into the barn.

 

[Illustration: UNCLE JONATHAN AND THE RAM. Page 282.]

 

The moment Joe saw Uncle Smullen fall, his better nature awoke:

hastening to his aid, he inquired,--

 

“Are you much hurt, Uncle Jonathan?”

 

“I don’t know! I’m in hopes there ain’t no bones broke; it’s a marcy

there ain’t. If I’d gone backwards, it would sartainly have killed me.”

 

“Your face is bleeding,” said Joe, wiping it with his handkerchief.

 

“Yes; I’m terribly shook all over, and I feel kind o’ faint.”

 

The old man was bruised on his forehead, and his lip was cut by the

edge of the bowl; but though much frightened, he was not seriously

injured.

 

Joe took him in his arms, and carried him into the house, secretly

resolving that this should be the last thing of the kind he would ever

be guilty of.

 

Depositing the old man on the bed, he went to the barn and tore the

shoes off the ram’s feet, but, in his haste to get back, dropped one on

the floor of the tie-up.

 

“I thought I was safe on that spot of ice, Joseph. He never followed

me there before. I didn’t think he could stand on the ice.”

 

“You see he couldn’t very well,” replied Joe, who was in agony lest his

agency in the matter should get wind; “for you see he went end over

end.”

 

“We ought to be thankful,” said Mrs. Smullen, “it’s no worse. There was

old Mrs. Aspinwall broke her hip only by treading on a pea, and falling

down on her own floor. What we’re going to do about wood and the cattle

I’m sure I don’t know! I’m so lame, I couldn’t milk to save my life.”

 

“Don’t worry the least mite about the cattle, Mrs. Smullen. I’ll take

care of them, and cut you up a lot of wood.”

 

“I’m sure I don’t know how we shall ever repay you, Joseph. It’s of the

Lord’s marcies you happened to be here.”

 

This was perfect torture to Joe. His cheeks burned, and his conscience

stung.

 

“I’m sure,” said the old man, “I don’t know what I shall do with that

ram, now he’s got to be master.”

 

“I’ll take care of him,” said Joe.

 

He persuaded Sally Merrithew to go there, and stay till the old

gentleman got better, then went and tied the ram’s legs, and, flinging

him on his shoulders, carried him over to his father’s.

 

Sally was a girl of keen wit and excellent judgment. She had not the

least doubt but that, in some way or other, Joe Griffin was at the

bottom of the whole matter.

 

“How came he there at that time of day, when he ought to have been in

Peter Brock’s shop?” was the query she raised in her own mind. His

assiduous attentions to the old people had to her a suspicious look,

and appeared very much like an effort to atone for an injury. The ram

had never ventured on the ice before--how came he to then? Still these

surmises afforded not a shadow of proof. She was greatly perplexed.

 

One morning she was milking, and, perceiving that her pail didn’t set

even on the floor, moved it, and underneath was one of the ram’s shoes

that Joe had dropped. In an instant she had a clew to the mystery.

Perceiving that no one was in sight, she went to the spot of ice, found

the prints of the ram’s corks, and compared them with the shoe.

 

“What a creature he is!” said Sally. “I was in hopes he had left off

such things, after having been most smothered in a honey-pot, and

scorched in the brush. He’s broke out again, worse than ever.”

 

Sunday night he came to see her, as usual.

 

“Joe,” said she, “do they shoe at Peter’s shop?”

 

“Yes, Peter shoes lots of horses; but they go round to the houses to shoe oxen, carry the shoes and nails, and cast the cattle in the barn floor” (slings were not in use then) “to nail them on.”