Rolf In The Woods by Ernest Thompson Seton (phonics story books .txt) 📕

Slowly,  "I Am Inclined To Think That You Must Be Master Peter

Vandam,  Of

Albany. If That's So,  This Letter Is For You,  Also This Cargo."

And So The Delivery Was Made.

Bill Bymus Has Not Delivered The Other Letter To This Day.

Presumably He Went To Stay With His Sister,  But She Saw Little Of

Him,  For His Stay At Albany Was,  As Usual,  One Long Spree. It Was

Clear That,  But For Rolf,  There Might Have Been Serious Loss Of

Fur,  And Vandam Showed His Appreciation By Taking The Lad To His

Own Home,  Where The Story Of The Difficult Identification

Furnished Ground For Gusty Laughter And Primitive Jest On Many An

After Day.

The Return Cargo For Warren Consisted Of Stores That The Vandam

Warehouse Had In Stock,  And Some Stuff That Took A Day Or More To

Collect In Town.

As Rolf Was Sorting And Packing Next Day,  A Tall,  Thin,  Well-Dressed

Young Man Walked In With The Air Of One Much At Home.

"Good Morrow,  Peter."

"Good Day To Ye,  Sir," And They Talked Of Crops And Politics.

Presently Vandam Said,  "Rolf,  Come Over Here."

He Came And Was Presented To The Tall Man,  Who Was Indeed Very

Thin,  And Looked Little Better Than An Invalid. "This," Said

Peter,  "Is Master Henry Van Cortlandt The Son Of His Honour,  The

Governor,  And A Very Learned Barrister.  He Wants To Go On A Long

Hunting Trip For His Health. I Tell Him That Likely You Are The

Man He Needs."

This Was So Unexpected That Rolf Turned Red And Gazed On The

Ground. Van Cortlandt At Once Began To Clear Things By

Interjecting: "You See,  I'm Not Strong. I Want To Live Outdoors

For Three Months,  Where I Can Have Some Hunting And Be Beyond

Reach Of Business.  I'll Pay You A Hundred Dollars For The Three

Months,  To Cover Board And Guidance. And Providing I'm Well

Pleased And Have Good Hunting,  I'll Give You Fifty Dollars More

When I Get Back To Albany."

"I'd Like Much To Be Your Guide," Said Rolf,  "But I Have A

Partner. I Must Find Out If He's Willing."

"Ye Don't Mean-That Drunken Bill Bymus?"

"No! My Hunting Partner; He's An Indian." Then,  After A Pause,  He

Added,  " You Wouldn't Go In Fly-Time,  Would You?"

"No,  I Want To Be In Peace. But Any Time After The First Of August."

"I Am Bound To Help Van Trumper With His Harvest; That Will Take

Most Of August."

As He Talked,  The Young Lawyer Sized Him Up And Said To Himself,

"This Is My Man."

And Before They Parted It Was Agreed That Rolf Should Come To

Albany With Quonab As Soon As He Could Return In August,  To Form

The Camping Party For The Governor's Son.

Bales Were Ready And The Canoe Newly Gummed Three Days After

Their Arrival,  But Still No Sign Of Bill.  A Messengers Sent To

The Brother-In-Law's Home Reported That He Had Not Been Seen For

Two Days. In Spite Of The Fact That Albany Numbered Nearly "Six

Thousand Living Human Souls," A Brief Search By The Docksharps

Soon Revealed The Sinner's Retreat. His Worst Enemy Would Have

Pitied Him; A Red-Eyed Wreck; A Starved,  Sick And Trembling

Weakling; Conscience-Stricken,  For The Letter Intrusted To Him

Was Lost; The Cargo Stolen -- So His Comforters Had Said -- And

The Raw Country Lad Murdered And Thrown Out Into The River. What

Wonder That He Should Shun The Light Of Day! And When Big Peter

With Rolf In The Living Flesh,  Instead Of The Sheriff,  Stood

Before Him And Told Him To Come Out Of That And Get Into The

Canoe,  He Wept Bitter Tears Of Repentance And Vowed That Never,

Never,  Never,  As Long As He Lived Would He Ever Again Let Liquor

Touch His Lips.  A Frame Of Mind Which Lasted In Strength For

Nearly One Day And A Half,  And Did Not Entirely Varnish For Three.

They Passed Troy Without Desiring To Stop,  And Began Their Fight

With The River. It Was Harder Than When Coming,  For Their Course

Was Against Stream When Paddling,  Up Hill When Portaging,  The

Water Was Lower,  The Cargo Was Heavier,  And Bill Not So Able. Ten

Days It Took Them To Cover Those Eighty Miles. But They Came Out

Safely,  Cargo And All,  And Landed At Warren's Alive And Well On

The Twenty-First Day Since Leaving.

Bill Had Recovered His Usual Form.  Gravely And With Pride He

Marched Up To Warren And Handed Out A Large Letter Which Read

Outside,  "Bill Of Lading," And When Opened,  Read: "The Bearer Of

This,  Bill Bymus,  Is No Good. Don't Trust Him To Albany Any More.

(Signed) Peter Vandam."

Warren's Eyes Twinkled,  But He Said Nothing.  He Took

Rolf Aside And Said,  "Let's Have It." Rolf Gave Him The Real

Letter That,  Unknown To Bill,  He Had Carried,  And Warren Learned

Some Things That He Knew Before.

Rolf's Contract Was For A Month; It Had Ten Days To Run,  And

Those Ten Days Were Put In Weighing Sugar,  Checking Accounts,

Milking Cows,  And Watching The Buying Of Fur. Warren Didn't Want

Him To See Too Much Of The Fur Business,  But Rolf Gathered

Quickly That These Were The Main Principles: Fill The Seller With

Liquor,  If Possible; "Fire Water For Fur" Was The Idea; Next,

Grade All Fur As Medium Or Second-Class,  When Cash Was Demanded,

But Be Easy As Long As Payment Was To Be In Trade.  That Afforded

Many Loopholes Between Weighing,  Grading,  Charging,  And

Shrinkage,  And Finally He Noticed That Albany Prices Were 30 To

50 Per Cent. Higher Than Warren Prices.  Yet Warren Was Reckoned

A First-Class Fellow,  A Good Neighbour,  And A Member Of The

Church. But It Was Understood Everywhere That Fur,  Like

Horseflesh,  Was A Business With Moral Standards Of Its Own.

A Few Days Before Their Contract Was Up,  Warren Said: "How'd Ye

Like To Renew For A Month?"

"Can't; I Promised To Help Van Trumper With His Harvest."

"What Does He Pay Ye?"

"Seventy-Five Cents A Day And Board."

"I'll Make It A Dollar."

"I've Given My Word," Said Rolf,  In Surprise.

"Hey Ye Signed Papers?"

"They're Not Needed. The Only Use Of Signed Papers Is To Show Ye

Have Given Your Word," Said Rolf,  Quoting His Mother,  With Rising

Indignation.

The Trader Sniffed A Little Contemptuously And Said Nothing. But

He Realized The Value Of A Lad Who Was A Steady,  Intelligent

Worker,  Wouldn't Drink,  And Was Absolutely Bound By A Promise;

So,  After Awhile,  He Said: "Wall,  If Van Don't Want Ye Now,  Come

Back For A Couple Of Weeks."

Early In The Morning Rolf Gathered The Trifles He Had Secured For

The Little Children And The Book He Had Bought For Annette,  A

Sweet Story Of A Perfect Girl Who Died And Went To Heaven,  The

Front Embellished With A Thrilling Wood-Cut. Then He Crossed The

Familiar Five-Mile Portage At A Pace That In An Hour Brought Him

To The Lake.

The Greeting At Van's Was That Of A Brother Come Home.

"Vell,  Rolf,  It's Goood To See Ye Back. It's Choost Vat I Vented.

Hi,  Marta,  I Told It You,  Yah.  I Say,  Now I Hope Ze Good Gott

Send Rolf. Ach,  How I Am Shpoil!"

Yes,  Indeed. The Hay Was Ready; The Barley Was Changing. So Rolf

Took Up His Life On The Farm,  Doing Work That A Year Before Was

Beyond His Strength,  For The Spirit Of The Hills Was On Him,  With

Its Impulse Of Growth,  Its Joy In Effort,  Its Glory In Strength.

And All Who Saw The Longlegged,  Long-Armed,  Flat- Backed Youth

Plying Fork Or Axe Or Hoe,  In Some Sort Ventured A Guess: "He'll

Be A Good 'Un Some Day; The Kind O' Chap To Keep Friendly With.

The Thunder Moon Passed Quickly By; The Hay Was In; The Barley

Partly So.  Day By Day The Whitefaced Oxen Toiled At The Creaking

Yoke,  As The Loads Of Hay And Grain Were Jounced Cumbrously Over

Roots And Stumps Of The Virgin Fields. Everything Was Promising

Well,  When,  As Usual,  There Came A Thunderbolt Out Of The Clear

Sky.  Buck,  The Off Ox,  Fell Sick.

Those Who Know Little About Cattle Have Written Much Of The Meek

And Patient Ox.  Those Who Know Them Well Tell Us That The Ox Is

The "Most Cussedest Of All Cussed" Animals; A Sneak,  A Bully,  A

Coward,  A Thief,  A Shirk,  A Schemer; And When He Is Not In

Mischief He Is Thinking About It.  The Wickedest Pack Mule That

Ever Bucked His Burden Is A Pinfeathered Turtle-Dove Compared

With An Average Ox. There Are Some Gentle Oxen,  But They Are

Rare; Most Are Treacherous,  Some Are Dangerous,  And These Are

Best Got Rid Of,  As They Mislead Their Yoke Mates And Mislay

Their Drivers.  Van's Two Oxen,  Buck And Bright,  Manifested The

Usual Variety And Contrariety Of Disposition.  They Were All

Right When Well Handled,  And This Rolf Could Do Better Than Van,

For He Was "Raised On Oxen," And Van's Over Voluble,  Sputtering,

Dutch- English Seemed Ill Comprehended Of The Massive Yoke

Beasts. The Simpler Whip-Waving And Fewer Orders Of The Yankee

Were So Obviously Successful That Van Had Resigned The Whip Of

Authority And Rolf Was Driver.

Ordinarily,  An Ox Driver Walks On The Hew (Nigh Or Left) Side,

Near The Head Of His Team,  Shouting "Gee" (Right),  "Haw" (Left),

"Get Up," "Steady," Or "Whoa" (Stop),  Accompanying The Order With

A Waving Of The Whip.  Foolish Drivers Lash The Oxen On The Haw

Side When They Wish Them To Gee -- And Vice Versa; But It Is

Notorious That All Good Drivers Do Little Lashing. Spare The Lash

Or Spoil Your Team.  So It Was Not Long Before Rolf Could Guide

Them From The Top Of The Load,  As They Travelled From Shook To

Shook In The Field.  This Voice Of Command Saved His Life,  Or At

Least His Limb,  One Morning,  For He Made A Misstep That Tumbled

Him Down Between The Oxen And The Wagon. At Once The Team

Started,  But His Ringing "Whoa!" Brought Them To A Dead Stop,  And

Saved Him; Whereas,  Had It Been Van's "Whoa!" It Would Have Set

Them Off At A Run,  For Every Shout From Him Meant A Whip Lick To

Follow.

Thus Rolf Won The Respect,  If Not The Love,  Of The Huge Beasts;

More And More They Were His Charge,  And When,  On That Sad

Morning,  In The Last Of The Barley,  Van Came In,  "Ach,  Vot Shall

I Do! Vot Shall I Do! Dot Buck Ox Be Nigh Dead."

Alas! There He Lay On The Ground,  His Head Sometimes Raised,

Sometimes Stretched Out Flat,  While The Huge Creature Uttered

Short Moans At Times.

Only Four Years Before,  Rolf Had Seen That Same Thing At Redding.

The Rolling Eye,  The Working Of The Belly Muscles,  The Straining

And Moaning. "It's Colic; Have You Any Ginger?"

"No,  I Hat Only Dot Soft Soap."

What Soft Soap Had To Do With Ginger Was Not Clear,  And Rolf

Wondered If It Had Some Rare Occult Medical Power That Had

Escaped His Mother.

"Do You Know Where There's Any Slippery Elm?"

"Yah."

"Then Bring A Big Boiling Of The Bark,  While I Get Some

Peppermint."

The Elm Bark Was Boiled Till It Made A Kettleful Of Brown Slime.

The Peppermint Was Dried Above The Stove Till It Could Be

Powdered,  And Mixed With The