University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Thousandacres had not altogether neglected forms,
though so much set against the spirit of the law. We found
a sort of court collected before the door of his dwelling,
with himself in the centre, while the principal room contained
no one but Prudence and one or two of her daughters.
Among the latter was Lowiny, to my surprise; for I had not
seen the girl return from the woods, though my eyes had
not been long turned from the direction in which I had hopes
of catching a glimpse of Dus.

Tobit led us prisoners into the house, placing us near the
door, and facing his father; an arrangement that superseded
the necessity of much watchfulness, as our only means of
escape would necessarily be by rushing through the throng
without—a thing virtually impracticable. But Chainbearer
appeared to have no thought of flight. He entered that
circle of athletic young men with perfect indifference; and
I remember that it struck me his air resembled that which
I had often seen him assume when our regiment was on the
eve of serious service. At such moments old Andries could,
and often did, appear grand—dignity, authority and coolness
being blended with sterling courage.

When in the room, Chainbearer and I seated ourselves
near the door, while Thousandacres had a chair on the turf
without, surrounded by his sons, all of whom were standing.
As this arrangement was made amid a grave silence, the
effect was not altogether without impressiveness, and partook
of some of the ordinary aspects of justice. I was struck
with the anxious curiosity betrayed in the countenances of
the females in particular; for the decision to which Thousandacres
was about to come, would with them have the
authority of a judgment of Solomon. Accustomed to reason
altogether in their own interests, I make no doubt that, in
the main, all of that semi-barbarous breed fancied themselves
invested, in their lawless occupation, by some sort of
secret natural right; ignorant of the fact that, the moment
they reduced their claim to this standard, they put it on the
level with that of all the rest of mankind. Nature gives
nothing exclusively to an individual, beyond his individuality,
and that which appertains to his person and personal
qualities; all beyond, he is compelled to share, under the
law of nature, with the rest of his race. A title dependent
on original possession forms no exception to this rule; for
it is merely human convention that gives it force and authority,
without which it would form no title at all. But
into mysteries like these, none of the family of Thousandacres
ever entered; though the still, small voice of conscience,
the glimmerings of right, were to be traced occasionally,
even amid the confused jumble of social maxims in which
their selfishness had taken refuge.

We live in an age of what is called progress, and fancy

that man is steadily advancing on the great path of his
destiny, to something that we are apt to imagine is to form
perfection. Certainly I shall not presume to say what is,
or what is not, the divine intention as to the future destination
of our species on earth; but years and experience must
have taught me, or I should have lived in vain, how little
there is among our boasted improvements that is really new;
and if we do possess anything in the way of principles that
bear on them the impress of inviolability, they are those
that have become the most venerable, by having stood the
severest tests of time.

I know not whether the long, silent pause that succeeded
our arrival, was the result of an intention to heighten the
effect of that strange scene, or whether Thousandacres
really wished time to collect his thoughts, and to mature his
plans. One thing struck me; notwithstanding the violence
that had so recently occurred between Chainbearer and
himself, there were no traces of resentment in the hardened
and wrinkled countenance of that old tenant of the forest;
for he was too much accustomed to those sudden outbreakings
of anger, to suffer them long to linger in his recollection.
In all that was said, and in all that passed, in the
course of that (to me) memorable day, I could trace no
manifestation of any feeling in the squatter, in consequence
of the rude personal rencontre that he had so lately had
with my friend. They had clenched, and he had been
overthrown; and that ended the matter.

The silence which occurred after we took our seats must
have lasted several minutes. For myself, I saw I was only
a secondary person in this interview; old Andries having
completely supplanted me in importance, not only in acts,
but in the estimation of the squatters. To him they were
accustomed, and accustomed, moreover, to regard as a sort
of hostile power; his very pursuit being opposed to the great
moving principle of their every-day lives. The man who
measured land, and he who took it to himself without measurement,
were exactly antagonist forces, in morals as well
as in physics; and might be supposed not to regard each
other with the most friendly eyes. Thus it was that the
Chainbearer actually became an object of greater interest to
these squatters, than the son of one of the owners of the

soil, and the attorney in fact of both. As for the old man
himself, I could see that he looked very Dutch; which implied
a stubborn resolution bordering on obstinacy; unmoved
adherence to what he conceived to be right; and a strong
dislike to his present neighbours, in addition to other reasons,
on account of their having come from the eastward; a race
that he both distrusted and respected; disliked, yet covertly
honoured, for many a quality that was both useful and good.

To the next generation, the feeling that was once so active
between the descendants of Holland among ourselves, and
the people of English birth, who came from the eastern
States, will be almost purely a matter of history. I perceive
that my father, in the manuscript he has transmitted to me,
as well as I myself, have made various allusions to the subject.
It is my wish to be understood in this matter. I have
introduced it solely as a fact that is beyond controversy;
but, I trust, without any undue bigotry of opinion. It is
possible that both Mr. Cornelius Littlepage and his son,
unconsciously to ourselves, may have been influenced by the
ancient prejudices of the colonies; though I have endeavoured
scrupulously to avoid them. At any rate, if either
of us has appeared to be a little too severe, I trust the reader
will remember how much has been uttered to the world in
reference to this dislike, by the Yankee, and how little by
the Dutchman, during the last century and a half, and grant
to one who is proud of the little blood from Holland that he
happens to possess, the privilege of showing, at least, one
of the phases of his own side of the story. But it is time to
return to our scene in the hut.

“Chainbearer,” commenced Thousandacres, after the
pause already mentioned had lasted several minutes, and
speaking with a dignity that could only have proceeded from
the intensity of his feelings; “Chainbearer, you 've been an
inimy to me and mine sin' the day we first met. You 're
an inimy by your cruel callin'; yet you 've the boldness to
thrust yourself into my very hands!”

“I 'm an enemy to all knaves, T'ousantacres, ant I tont
care who knows it,” answered old Andries, sternly; “t'at
ist my trate, ast well ast carryin' chain; ant I wish it to
pe known far and near. Ast for pein' your enemy by
callin', I may say as much of yourself; since there coult pe

no surveyin,' or carryin' of chain, tit all t'e people help
t'emselves to lant, as you haf tone your whole life, wit'out
as much as sayin' to t'e owners `py your leaf.”'

“Things have now got to a head atween us, Chainbearer,”
returned the squatter; “but seein' that you 're in
my hands, I 'm ready and willin' to reason the p'int with
you, in hopes that we may yet part fri'nds, and that this
may be the last of all our troubles. You and I be gettin'
to be oldish men, Chainbearer; and it 's fittin' that them
that be gettin' near their eends, should sometimes think on
'em. I come from no Dutch colony, but from a part of the
world where mankind fears God, and has some thoughts of
a futur' state.”

“T'at 's neit'er here nor t'ere, T'ousantacres,” cried Andries,
impatiently. “Not put what religion is a goot t'ing,
and a t'ing to pe venerated, ant honouret, and worshipet;
put t'at it 's out of place in a squatter country, and most of
all in a squatter's mout'. Can you telt me one t'ing, T'ousantacres,
and t'at ist, why you Yankees pray so much, ant
call on Got to pless you ever ot'er wort, and turn up your
eyes, ant look so temure of Suntays, ant t'en go ant squat
yourselfs town on a Tutchman's lant of a Montay? I 'm
an olt man, ant haf lifed long ant seen much, ant hope I
unterstant some of t'at which I haf seen ant lifed amongst,
put I do not comprehent t'at! Yankee religion ant Tutch
religion cannot come out of t'e same piple.”

“I should think not, I should think not, Chainbearer;
and I hope not, in the bargain. I do not wish to be justified
by ways like your'n, or a religion like your'n. That which
is foreordained will come to pass, let what will happen, and
that 's my trust. But, leaving religion out of this matter
atween us altogether—”

“Ay, you 'll do well to do t'at,” growled Chainbearer,
“for religion hast, inteet, very little to do wit' it.”

“I say,” answered Thousandacres, on a higher key, as
if resolute to make himself heard, “leaving religion for
Sabba' days and proper occasions, I 'm ready to talk this
matter over on the footin' of reason, and not only to tell
you my say, but to hear your'n, as is right atween man and
man.”

“I confess a strong desire to listen to what Thousandacres

has to say in defence of his conduct, Chainbearer,” I
now thought it best to put in; “and I hope you will so far
oblige me as to be a patient listener. I am very willing
that you should answer, for I know of no person to whom
I would sooner trust a righteous cause than yourself. Proceed,
Thousandacres; my old friend will comply.”

Andries did conform to my wishes, thus distinctly expressed,
but it was not without sundry signs of disquiet, as
expressed in his honest countenance, and a good deal of
subdued muttering about “Yankee cunnin' and holy gotliness,
t'at is dresset up in wolf's clot'in;” Chainbearer meaning
to express the native garment of the sheep by the latter
expression, but falling into a confusion of images that is by
no means rare among the men of his caste and people. After
a pause, the squatter proceeded.

“In talkin' this matter over, young man, I purpose to
begin at the beginnin' of things,” he said; “for I allow, if
you grant any value to titles, and king's grants, and sich
sort of things, that my rights here be no great matter. But,
beginnin' at the beginnin', the case is very different. You 'll
admit, I s'pose, that the Lord created the heavens and the
'arth, and that he created man to be master over the last.”

“What of t'at?” eagerly cried Chainbearer. “What of
t'at, olt T'ousantacres? So t'e Lort createt yonter eagle
t'at is flyin' so far apove your heat, put it 's no sign you are
to kill him, or he ist to kill you.”

“Hear to reason, Chainbearer, and let me have my say;
a'ter which I 'm willing to hear you. I begin at the beginnin',
when man was first put in possession of the 'arth, to
till, and to dig, and to cut saw-logs, and to make lumber,
jist as it suited his wants and inclinations. Now, Adam
was the father of all, and to him and his posterity was the
possession of the 'arth given, by Him whose title 's worth
that of all the kings, and governors, and assemblies in the
known world. Adam lived his time, and left all things to
his posterity, and so has it been from father to son, down
to our own day and giniration, accordin' to the law of God,
though not accordin' to the laws of man.”

“Well, admittin' all you say, squatter, how does t'at
make your right here petter t'an t'at of any ot'er man?”
demanded Andries, disdainfully.

“Why, reason tells us where a man's rights begin, you 'll
see, Chainbearer. Here is the 'arth, as I told you, given to
man, to be used for his wants. When you and I are born,
some parts of the world is in use, and some parts isn't. We
want land, when we are old enough to turn our hands to
labour, and I make my pitch out here in the woods, say,
where no man has pitched afore me. Now, in my judgment,
that makes the best of titles, the Lord's title.”[1]

“Well, t'en, you 've got your title from t'e Lord,” answered
Chainbearer, “and you 've got your lant. I s'pose
you 'll not take all t'e 'art' t'at is not yet peoplet, and I
shoult like to know how you wilt run your lines petween
you ant your next neighpour. Atmittin' you 're here in t'e
woots, how much of t'e lant woult you take for your own
religious uses, and how much woult you leaf for t'e next
comer?”

“Each man would take as much as was necessary for
his wants, Chainbearer, and hold as much as he possessed.”

“Put what ist wants, ant what ist possession? Look
arount you, T'ousantacres, and tell me how much of t'is
fery spot you 'd haf a mint to claim, under your Lort's
title?”

“How much? As much as I have need on—enough to
feed me and mine—and enough for lumber, and to keep the
b'ys busy. It would somewhat depend on sarcumstances:
I might want more at one time than at another, as b'ys grew
up, and the family increased in numbers.”

“Enough for lumper how long? and to keep t'e poys

pusy how long? For a tay, or a week, or a life, or a great
numper of lifes? You must tell me t'at, T'ousantacres,
pefore I gif cretit to your title.”

“Don't be onreasonable—don't be onreasonable in your
questions, Chainbearer; and I 'll answer every one on 'em,
and in a way to satisfy you, or any judgmatical man. How
long do I want the lumber? As long as I 've use for it.
How long do I want to keep the b'ys busy? Till they 're
tired of the place, and want to change works. When a
man 's a-weary of his pitch, let him give it up for another,
selling his betterments, of course, to the best chap he can
light on.”

“Oh! you 't sell your petterments, woult you! What!
sell t'e Lort's title, olt T'ousantacres? Part wit' Heaven's
gift for t'e value of poor miseraple silver and golt?”

“You don't comprehend Aaron,” put in Prudence, who
saw that Chainbearer was likely to get the best of the argument,
and who was always ready to come to the rescue of
any of her tribe, whether it might be necessary with words,
or tooth and nail, or the rifle. “You don't, by no manner
of means, comprehend Aaron, Chainbearer. His idee is,
that the Lord has made the 'arth for his crittur's; that any
one that wants land, has a right to take as much as he
wants, and to use it as long as he likes; and, when he has
done, to part with his betterments for sich price as may be
agreed on.”

“I stick to that,” joined in the squatter, with a loud hem,
like a man who was sensible of relief; “that 's my idee, and
I 'm detarmined to live and die by it.”

“You 've lifed py it, I know very well, T'ousantacres;
ant, now you 're olt, it 's quite likely you 'll tie py it. As
for comprehentin', you don't comprehent yourself. I 'll just
ask you, in the first place, how much lant do you holt on
t'is very spot? You 're here squattet so completely ant
finally as to haf puilt a mill. Now tell me how much lant
you holt, t'at when I come to squat alongsite of you, our
fences may not lap on one anot'er. I ask a simple question,
and I hope for a plain ant straight answer. Show me t'e
pountaries of your tomain, ant how much of t'e worlt you
claim, ant how much you ton't claim.”

“I 've pretty much answered that question already,

Chainbearer. My creed is, that a man has a right to hold
all he wants, and to want all he holds.”

“Got help t'e men, t'en, t'at haf to carry chain petween
you and your neighpours, T'ousantacres; a man's wants
to-tay may tiffer from his wants to-morrow, and to-morrow
from t'e next tay, ant so on to t'e ent of time! On your
toctrine, not'in' woult pe settlet, ant all woult pe at sixes
ant sevens.”

“I don't think I 'm fully understood, a'ter all that 's been
said,” returned the squatter. “Here 's two men start in life
at the same time, and both want farms. Wa-a-l; there 's
the wilderness, or may be it isn't all wilderness, though it
once was. One chooses to buy out betterments, and he
doos so; t'other plunges in, out o' sight of humanity, and
makes his pitch. Both them men 's in the right, and can
hold on to their possessions, I say, to the eend of time.
That is, on the supposition that right is stronger than
might.”

“Well, well,” answered Chainbearer, a little drily; “ant
s'pose one of your men ton't want to puy petterments, put
follows t'ot'er, ant makes his pitch in t'e wilterness, also?”

“Let him do 't, I say; t'is his right, and the law of the
Lord.”

“Put, s'pose bot' your young men want t'e same pit of
wilt lant!”

“First come, first sarv'd; that 's my maxim. Let the
sprighest chap have the land. Possession 's everything in
settling land titles.”

“Well, t'en, to please you, T'ousantacres, we 'll let one
get aheat of t'ot'er, and haf his possession first; how much
shalt he occupy.”

“As much as he wants, I 've told you, already.”

“Ay, put when his slower frient comes along, ant hast
his wants, too, ant wishes to make his pitch alongsite of his
olt neighpour, where is t'e pountary petween 'em to be
fount?”

“Let 'em agree on't! They must be dreadful poor
neighbours, if they can't agree on so small a matter as
that,” said Tobit, who was getting weary of the argument.

“Tobit is right,” added the father; “let 'em agree on
their line, and run it by the eye. Curse on all chains and

compasses, say I! They 're an invention of the devil, to
make ill blood in a neighbourhood, and to keep strife awake,
when our bibles tell us to live in peace with all mankind.”

“Yes, yes, I understant all t'at,” returned Chainbearer,
a little disdainfully. “A yankee piple ist a fery convenient
pook. T'ere 's autority in it for all sorts of toctrines ant
worshippin', ant prayin', ant preachin', ant so forth. It 's
what I call a so-forth piple, Mortaunt, ant wilt reat packwarts
as well ast forwarts; put all t'e chapters into one, if
necessary, or all t'e verses into chapters. Sometimes St.
Luke is St. Paul, and St. John ist St. Matt'ew. I 've he'rt
your tominies expount, and no two expount alike. Novelties
ist t'e religion of New Englant, ant novelties, in t'e
shape of ot'er men's lants, is t'e creet of her lofely chiltren!
Oh! yes, I 've seen a yankee piple! Put, this toes'nt settle
our two squatters; bot' of whom wants a sartain hill for its
lumper; now, which is to haf it?”

“The man that got there first, I 've told you, old Chainbearer,
and once tellin' is as good as a thousand. If the
first comer looked on that hill, and said to himself, `that
hill 's mine,' 't is his'n.”

“Well, t'at ist making property fast! Wast t'at t'e way,
T'ousantacres, t'at you took up your estate on t'e Mooseridge
property?”

“Sartain—I want no better title. I got here first, and
tuck up the land, and shall continue to tuck it up, as I want
it. There 's no use in being mealy-mouthed, for I like to
speak out, though the landlord's son be by!”

“Oh! you speak out lout enouf, ant plain enouf, ant I
shoultn't wonter if you got tucket up yourself, one tay, for
your pains. Here ist a tifficulty, however, t'at I 'll just
mention, T'ousantacres, for your consiteration. You take
possession of timper-lant, by lookin' at it, you say—”

“Even lookin' at isn't necessary,” returned the squatter,
eager to widen the grasp of his rights. “It 's enough that
a man wants the land, and he comes, or sends to secure it.
Possession is everything, and I call it possession, to crave
a spot, and to make some sort of calkerlation, or works,
reasonably near it. That gives a right to cut and clear,
and when a clearin's begun, it 's betterments, and everybody
allows that betterments may be both bought and sold.”

“Well, now we understant each o'ter. Put here ist t'e
small tifficulty I woult mention. One General Littlepage
and one Colonel Follock took a fancy to t'is spot long pefore
t'e olt French war; ant pesites fancyin' t'e place, and sentin'
messengers to look at it, t'ey pought out t'e Injin right in t'e
first place; t'en t'ey pought of t'e king, who hat all t'e lant
in t'e country, at t'at time, ast hatn't ot'er owners. T'en
t'ey sent surfeyors to run t'e lines, ant t'em very surfeyors
passet along py t'is river, ast I know py t'eir fielt-pooks (fieldbooks):
t'en more surfeyors wast sent out to tivite it into great
lots, ant now more still haf come to tivite it into small lots: ant
t'ey 've paid quit-rents for many years, ant tone ot'er t'ings
to prove t'ey want t'is place as much as you want it yourself.
T'ey haf hat it more ast a quarter of a century, ant
exerciset ownership over it all t'at time; ant wantet it very
much t'e whole of t'at quarter of a century, ant, if t'e trut'
was sait, want it still.”

A long pause followed this statement, during which the
different members of the family looked at each other, as if
in quest of support. The idea of there being any other
side to the question than that they had been long accustomed
to consider so intently, was novel to them, and they were a
little bewildered by the extraordinary circumstance. This
is one of the great difficulties under which the inhabitant
of a narrow district labours, in all that pertains to his personal
notions and tastes, and a good deal in what relates to
his principles. This it is that makes the true provincial,
with his narrow views, set notions, conceit, and unhesitating
likes and dislikes. When one looks around him and sees
how very few are qualified, by experience and knowledge
of the world, to utter opinions at all, he is apt to be astonished
at finding how many there are that do it. I make no
doubt that the family of Thousandacres was just as well
satisfied with their land-ethics, as Paley ever could have
been with his moral philosophy, or Newton with his mathematical
demonstrations.

“I don't wonter you 're callet T'ousantacres, Aaron Timperman,”
continued Chainbearer, pushing his advantage,
“for wit' such a title to your estate, you might as well pe
tarmet Ten T'ousantacres at once, ant more, too! Nay, I
wonter, while your eyes was trawin' up title teets, t'at you

shoult haf peen so moterate, for it was just as easy to possess
a patent on t'at sort of right, as to possess a single
farm.”

But Thousandacres had made up his mind to pursue the
subject no further; and, while it was easy to see that fiery
passions were burning within him, he seemed now bent on
bringing a conference, from which he doubtless expected
different results, to a sudden close. It was with difficulty
that he suppressed the volcano that was raging within, but
he so far succeeded as to command Tobit to shut up his
prisoner again.

“Take him away, b'ys, take him back to the store-'us',”
said the old squatter, rising and moving a little on one side
to permit Andries to pass, as if afraid to trust himself too
near; “he was born the sarvent of the rich, and will die
their sarvent. Chains be good enough for him, and I wish
him no greater harm than to carry chains the rest of his
days.”

“Oh! you 're a true son of Liperty!” called out the
Chainbearer, as he quietly returned to his prison; “a true
son of Liperty, accordin' to your own conceit! You want
efereyt'ing in your own way, and eferyt'ing in your own
pocket. T'e Lort's law is a law for T'ousantacres, put not
a law to care for Cornelius Littlepage or Tirck Follock!”

Although my old friend was escorted to his prison, no
attempt was made to remove me. On the contrary, Prudence
joined her husband without, followed by all her young
fry, and for a moment I fancied myself forgotten and deserted.
A movement in one corner of the room, however,
drew my attention there, and I saw Lowiny standing on
tiptoe, with a finger on her lips, the sign of silence, while
she made eager gestures with the other hand, for me to enter
a small passage that communicated by means of a ladder
with the loft of the hut. My moccasins were now of great
advantage to me. Without pausing to reflect on consequences,
or to look around, I did as directed, drawing to
the door after me. There was a small window in the sort
of passage in which I now found myself alone with the girl,
and my first impulse was to force my body through it, for
it had neither glass nor sash, but Lowiny caught my arms.

“Lord ha' massy on us!” whispered the girl — “you 'd

be seen and taken, or shot! For your life don't go out there
now. Here 's a hole for a cellar, and there 's the trap — go
down there, and wait 'till you hear news from me.”

There was no time for deliberation, and the sight of Chainbearer's
escort, as they proceeded towards the store-house,
satisfied me that the girl was right. She held up the trap,
and I descended into the hole that answered the purposes
of a cellar. I heard Lowiny draw a chest over the trap,
and then I fancied I could distinguish the creaking of the
rounds of the ladder, as she went up into the loft, which
was the place where she usually slept.

All this occurred literally in about one minute of time.
Another minute may have passed, when I heard the heavy
tread of Thousandacres' foot on the floor above me, and the
clamour of many voices, all speaking at once. It was evident
that I was missed, and a search had already been
commenced. For half a minute, nothing was very intelligible
to me; then I heard the shrill voice of Prudence calling
for Lowiny.

“Lowiny — you Lowiny!” she cried — “where has the
gal got to?”

“I 'm here, mother” — answered my friend, from her loft
— “you told me to come up, and look for your new bible.”

I presume this was true; for Prudence had really despatched
the girl on that errand, and it must have sufficed to
lull any suspicions of her daughter's being connected with
my disappearance, if any such had been awakened. The
movements of footsteps was now quick over my head, those
of several men being among them; and in the confusion of
voices, I heard that of Lowiny, who must have descended
the ladder and joined in the search.

“He mustn't be allowed to get off, on no account,” said
Thousandacres, aloud, “or we 're all ondone. Everything
we have will fall into their hands, and mill, logs and all,
will be utterly lost. We shan't even have time to get off
the gear and the household stuff.”

“He 's up stairs”—cried one—“he must be down cellar,”
said another. Steps went up the ladder, and I heard the
chest drawn from the trap; and a stream of light entering
the place, notified me that the trap was raised. The place I
was in was a hole twenty feet square, roughly walled with

stones, and nearly empty, though it did contain a meatbarrel
or two, and a few old tubs. In the winter, it would
have been filled with vegetables. There was no place to
hide in, and an attempt at concealment would have led to a
discovery. I withdrew to a corner, in a part of the cellar
that was quite dark, but thought myself lost when I saw a
pair of legs descending the ladder. Almost at the same moment,
three of the men and two of the women came into the
hole, a fourth female, whom I afterwards ascertained to be
Lowiny herself, standing in the trap in such a way as to
double the darkness below. The first man who got down
began to tumble the tubs about, and to look into the corners;
and the lucky thought occurred to me to do the same thing.
By keeping as busy as the rest of them, I actually escaped
detection in the dark; and Tobit soon rushed to the ladder,
calling out, “the window — the window — he 's not here —
the window!” In half a minute the cellar was empty again;
or no one remained but myself.

At first I had great difficulty in believing in my good luck;
but the trap fell, and the profound stillness of the place satisfied
me that I had avoided that danger, at least. This escape
was so singular and unexpected, that I could hardly believe
in its reality; though real it was, to all intents and purposes.
The absurd often strikes the imagination in an absurd way;
and so it proved with me on this occasion. I sat down on
a tub and laughed heartily, when I felt absolutely certain all
was right, holding my sides lest the sound of my voice might
yet betray me. Lowiny was similarly infected, for I heard
peals of girlish laughter from her, as her brothers tumbled
about barrels, and tubs, and bedsteads, in the upper part of
the building, in their fruitless and hurried search. This
merriment did not pass unrebuked, however; Prudence
lending her daughter a box on the side of the head, that, in
one sense, reached even my ears; though it probably aided
in saving the girl from the suspicion of being in my secret,
by the very natural character of her girlish indulgence.
Two or three minutes after the trap closed on me for the
second time, the sounds of footsteps and voices overhead
ceased, and the hut seemed deserted.

My situation now was far from comfortable. Confined
in a dark cellar, with no means of escaping but by the trap,

and the almost certainty of falling into the hands of my
captors, should I attempt such a thing, I now began to regret
having entered so readily into Lowiny's scheme. There
would be a certain loss of dignity in a recapture, that was
not pleasant in itself; and I will own, I began to have some
doubts of my eventual safety, should I again come under the
control of such spirits as those of Thousandacres and his
eldest son. Buried in that cellar, I was in a manner placed
immediately beneath those whose aim it was to secure me,
rendering escape impossible, and detection nearly unavoidable.

Such were my meditations when light again streamed into
the cellar. The trap was raised, and presently I heard my
name uttered in a whisper. Advancing to the ladder, I saw
Lowiny holding the door, and beckoning for me to ascend.
I followed her directions blindly, and was soon at her side.
The girl was nearly convulsed between dread of detection
and a desire to laugh; my emerging from the cellar recalling
to her imagination all the ludicrous circumstances of the
late search.

“Warn't it queer that none on 'em know'd you!” she
whispered; then commanding silence by a hasty gesture.
“Don't speak; for they 're s'archin' still, cluss by, and
some on 'em may follow me here. I wanted to get you out
of the cellar, as some of the young-uns will be rummagin'
there soon for pork for supper; and their eyes are as sharp
as needles. Don't you think you could crawl into the mill?
It 's stopped now, and wun't be goin' ag'in till this stir 's
over.

“I should be seen, my good girl, if any of your people
are looking for me near at hand.”

“I don't know that. Come to the door, and you 'll see
there is a way. Everybody 's lookin' on the right side of
this house; and by creepin' as far as them logs, you 'd be
pretty safe. If you reach the mill safely, climb up into the
loft.”

I took a moment to survey the chances. At the distance
of a hundred feet from the house there commenced a large
bed of saw-logs, which were lying alongside of each other;
and the timber being from two to four feet in diameter, it
would be very possible to creep among it, up to the mill

itself, into which even several of the logs had been rolled.
The great difficulty would be in reaching the logs through a
perfectly open space. The house would be a cover, as
against most of the family, who were busy examining everything
like a cover on its opposite side; no one supposing for
a moment I could be near the mill, inasmuch as it stood
directly in front of the spot where the crowd was collected
at the moment of my sudden disappearance. But the boys
and girls were flying around in all directions; rendering it
uncertain how long they would remain in a place, or how
long their eyes would be turned away from my path.

It was necessary to do something, and I determined to
make an effort. Throwing myself on the ground, I crawled,
rather slowly than fast, across that terrible space, and got
safely among the logs. As there was no outcry, I knew I
had not been seen. It was now comparatively easy to reach
the mill. Another dangerous experiment, however, was to
expose my person by climbing up to the loft. I could not do
this without running the risk of being seen; and I felt the
necessity of using great caution. I first raised my head
high enough to survey the state of things without. Luckily
the house was still between me and most of my enemies;
though the small-fry constantly came into view and vanished.
I looked round for a spot to ascend, and took a final survey
of the scene. There stood Lowiny in the door of the hut,
her hands clasped, and her whole air expressive of concern.
She saw my head, I knew, and I made a gesture of encouragement,
which caused her to start. At the next instant
my foot was on a brace, and my body was rising to the
beams above. I do not think my person was uncovered
ten seconds; and no clamour succeeded. I now felt there
were really some chances of my finally effecting an escape;
and glad enough was I to think so.