Part 11 (1/2)
”It's a clergyman's wife and children,” said the clerk, in a lower tone.
”O, well,” replied the other, rising to his feet, ”they shall go along, pay or no pay;” and he followed the clerk, who introduced the parties to each other with,--
”Mr. Sawyer--Mrs. Payson. He will take you as far as he goes.”
”And how far is that?” she inquired.
”About twenty miles.”
”But how shall I get over the remainder of the distance?”
”Don't be concerned about that,” replied the man, heartily. ”I guess there'll be a way to forward you all right.”
And in a half hour his team was before the door, waiting to take her farther into the wilderness. A pair of stout iron-grays harnessed into a long, open wagon, affording s.p.a.ce for a large variety of boxes and packages, and three rows of cus.h.i.+onless seats, const.i.tuted the conveyance. Its owner had been on a trading expedition, but, with an eye to ”the main chance,” was prepared to catch some of the travel going westward. The wagon was crowded with pa.s.sengers; and, disposing of the three children,--a delicate, intelligent little boy and his two sisters--in the laps of those already seated, the teamster a.s.sisted the mother to a seat at his side. Their presence, it was evident, excited much interest; for the manner and dress of the little family betrayed New England birth and culture.
”Your husband,” said the owner of the conveyance, as his horses trotted st.u.r.dily along, ”rode up with me the other day. He had been down to the Mississippi waiting for you a whole week, and the landlord at McGreggor's Landing said he was the bluest man he ever saw, because you did not arrive.”
”I am sorry that he was anxious on my account,” replied the wife, with a merry laugh. ”He didn't wish me to venture on the journey alone with the children, and wrote that he would return for me if I could not find suitable company; but, not wis.h.i.+ng to take him from his labors, I packed up, and took our darlings along.”
”I hope you didn't meet with any accident on the way,” observed a man on the back seat. ”You was pretty resolute.”
”No; but I came near losing one of my little girls.”
”How did it happen?” asked a motherly-looking woman.
”It was in the depot at Springfield. The children were thirsty, and, charging them not to stir until I came back, I crossed the room for water. There was a great crowd rus.h.i.+ng here and there, trains were coming and going, all was bustle and confusion, and I hurried, not having been away but a moment; but little Fannie, my youngest girl, was missing. Helen, the eldest, had been so taken up with the sights and sounds about her, that she did not know that her sister was gone.
I was almost frantic with fear, she had so suddenly and completely disappeared. So, throwing my bonnet back upon my shoulders to attract attention, I cried at the top of my lungs,--
”My child! my child! I've lost my child!”
”Child lost! child lost!” shouted a number of voices, repeating the description I gave of her. n.o.body seemed to have seen her; and a terrible dread that I might not find her wrung my heart, when, to my joy, above the din, I heard some one exclaim,--
”She's found! she's found! Where's the mother?” and a gentleman, holding her aloft, brought her to me. He was deeply agitated, and said,--
”Your little girl, madam, came very near being killed. I found her under the car between two of the wheels, playing with them, saying, 'Car may hurt a me; car may hurt a me.' The last bell had rung, and I had barely time to drag her off the track when the train started.”
”It must have been a great care for you,” remarked a pa.s.senger, ”to bring your children on so long a journey.”
”It was, indeed,” she replied. ”Generally the worst part of it was in getting them into the trains: the children are so small, and the rush of pa.s.sengers so great, that they were in danger of being trampled on, or prevented from getting aboard in season.”
”Everybody looks out for Number One at such times,” said a man. ”I often think that we see more of the selfishness of human nature while travelling than under any other circ.u.mstances. I suppose you were left to get along as best you could with your little ones.”
”Usually,” she replied. ”Sometimes, however, a stranger, bound the same way, would give us a helping hand; but often he would blunder so as to make matters worse. Once I was both amused and frightened. I was struggling to place my children on a train just starting, and, making little headway. I called out, 'Will some one help my children into the cars?' when one of the largest, fattest men I ever saw, who was panting and puffing from his unusual efforts at hurrying, caught up my little boy, and, trotting on like an elephant, he struck his foot against a stone, and came down sprawling into the sand, uttering a great, wild cry, and giving my little boy a throw at the same time. I felt sorry for the man, but thought I should die laughing at the queer figure he cut. And, ungrateful as it seemed, I was obliged, in going for my boy, to pa.s.s around our huge friend, and ride off, leaving him to pick himself up at his leisure.”
There was much merriment at this recital, which was increased by a portly Englishman behind her saying, in a jolly way,--
”Hi feel as if hi could happreciate that story, mem!”
”But how do you think you'll like living west?” asked the motherly woman. ”It seems to me that the likes of you won't know how to put up with our rough ways.”