Left on the Prairie

Little Jack Wilson had been born in England; but when he was quite a baby his parents had sailed across the sea, taking him with them, and settled out on one of the distant prairies of America. Of course, Jack was too small when he left to remember anything of England himself, but as he grew older he liked to hear his father and mother talk about the old country where he and they had been born, and to which they still seemed to cling with great affection.

Sometimes, as they looked out-of-doors over the burnt-up prairie round their new home, his father would tell him about the trim green fields they had left so far behind them, and say with a sigh, 'Old England was like a garden, but this place is nothing but a wilderness!'

Longview was the name of the lonely western village where George Wilson, his wife, and Jack had lived for eight years, and although we should not have thought it a particularly nice place, they were very happy there. Longview was half-way between two large mining towns, sixty miles apart, and as there was no railway in those parts, the people going to and from the different mines were obliged to travel by waggons, and often halted for a night at Longview to break the journey.

It was a very hot and dusty village in summer, as there were no nice trees to give pleasant shade from the sun, and the staring rows of wooden houses that formed the streets had no gardens in front to make them look pretty. In winter it was almost worse, for the cold winds came sweeping down from the distant mountains and rushed shrieking across the plains towards the unprotected village. They whirled the snow into clouds, making big drifts, and whistled round the frame houses as if threatening to blow them right away.

Jack was used to it, however, and, in spite of the heat and cold, was a happy little lad. His parents had come to America, in the first place, because times were so bad in England, and secondly, because Mrs. Wilson's only sister had emigrated many years before them to Longview, and had been so anxious to have her relations near her.

Aunt Sue, as Jack called her, had married very young, and accompanied her husband, Mat Byrne, to the West. He was a miner, and when he worked got good wages; but he was an idle, thriftless fellow, who soon got into disfavour with his employers, and a year or two after the Wilsons came he took to drink, and made sad trouble for his wife and his three boys. George Wilson had expostulated with him often, and begged him to be more steady, but Mat was jealous of his honest brother-in-law, who worked so hard and was fairly comfortable, and therefore he resented the kind words of advice, and George was obliged to leave him alone.

George Wilson made his living by freighting-that is, carrying goods from place to place by waggons, as there was no rail by which to send things. Sometimes, when he took extra long journeys, he would have to leave his wife and boy for some weeks to keep each other company.

'Take care of your mother, Jack, my boy,' he would say, before starting. 'She has no man to look after her or do things for her but ye till I get home.' And right well did the little fellow obey orders. He was a most helpful boy for his age, and was devoted to his mother, who was far from strong. He got up early every morning, and did what are called the chores in America; these are all the small daily jobs that have to be done in and around a house. First, he chopped wood and lit a fire in the stove; after that he carried water in a bucket and filled the kettle, and then leaving the water to boil, he laid the breakfast-table and ground the coffee.

When breakfast was over, he ran off to school, and afterwards had many a good romp with his cousins, Steve, Hal, and Larry Byrne, who lived quite close to his home. Jack was very fond of his Aunt Sue; she was so like his gentle mother. He often ran in to see her, but he always fled when he heard his Uncle Mat coming, whose loud, rough voice frightened him.

Jack was very sorry for his cousins, as they did not seem to care a bit for their father; indeed, at times they were very much afraid of him, and Steve, the eldest, who was a big fellow, nearly sixteen, told Jack that if it wasn't for his mother, he would run away from home and go off to be a cowboy, instead of working as a miner with his father. But he knew what a sad trouble it would be to the poor woman if he went away from her, and he was too good a son to give her pain.

When his father was away freighting, Jack, even while he was at play, kept a good look-out across the prairie, watching every day for his return. He could see for miles, and when he spied the white top of the familiar waggon appearing in the distance, he would rush home shouting, 'Mother! Mother! Daddy's coming! I see the waggon ever such a long way off.' And then the two would get to work and prepare a nice supper for him.

Jack could help his father, too, when he arrived home, for there were four tired horses to unharness, and water, and feed. Jack knew them all well; Buck and Jerry in front as leaders, and Rufus and Billy harnessed to the waggon. George Wilson was very proud of his horses, and they certainly had a good master, for he always looked after them first, and saw them comfortably into their stable before he began his own supper.

'JACK COULD HELP HIS FATHER, TOO,

WHEN HE ARRIVED HOME.'

Trouble, however, was dawning over the happy household. The life in the hot village had never suited Mrs. Wilson, and it told on her more as time went on. She looked white and thin, and felt so tired and weary if she did any work, that her husband got alarmed and brought in a doctor to see her. The doctor frightened him still more. He said the place was slowly killing her, as the air was so close and hot.

'You must take her away at once,' he said emphatically, 'if you want to save her life. She has been here too long, I fear, as it is. Go away to the mountains and try the bracing air up there; she may come back quite strong after a year there if she avoids all unnecessary fatigue. Take my advice and go as soon as you can. There's no time to lose!'

These words came as an awful shock to George Wilson, who had no idea his wife was so ill, and had hoped a few bottles of tonic from the doctor would restore her failing strength. But the medical warning could not be disregarded, and he could see for himself now how fast she was wasting away. They must go away from Longview as soon as possible.

It was a sad thing for the Wilsons to contemplate the breaking up of their home, but there was no help for it. They talked matters well over, and came at last to the conclusion that it would be better not to take Jack with them. They would probably be moving on from place to place, and in a year he would forget all he had learnt at school. After a long consultation with Aunt Sue, it was arranged that Jack should stay at the Byrnes' house and keep on at his lessons, his Uncle Mat having given his consent after hearing the Wilsons would pay well for his keep.

George Wilson and his wife felt keenly the idea of leaving Jack, and it was agreed that if they decided to stay in the mountains altogether, someone should be found who would take the boy to them.

It was terrible breaking the news to poor little Jack that his parents were going away from him, and for a time he was quite inconsolable. His father talked very kindly and quietly to him, and at last made him see that the arrangement was really all for the best.

'Ye see, Jack,' he said, 'the doctor says your mother is seriously ill, an' the only chance for her is to take her off to the mountains.'

'Can't I go too, Daddy?' pleaded Jack, with tears in his eyes. 'I'll do such lots o' work.'

'No, my lad; it won't do for ye to miss yer schoolin', as ye'd be bound to do if ye came wanderin' about with us. It's only fur a year, so ye must try an' be a brave boy, an' stay with yer good Aunt Sue until we come back agin or send fur ye. We know what's best fur ye, an', laddie, won't it be fine if Mother gets strong and well agin?'

'Aye, dad! That would be grand!' said Jack, brightening up.

'Well, it's a sad partin' fur us all; but there's nothin' else to be done, an' ye must try an' keep up a good heart fur yer mother's sake, as I doubt she'll fret sadly o'er leavin' ye.'

Jack promised to be brave, but there was a troubled look on his usually bright face as he watched the rapid preparations going on for the departure. The things had to be sold out of the house, as they could not take much with them. The sale at first excited Jack, as so many people came to buy; but when he saw their furniture, beds, chairs and tables all being carried oft by strangers, he realized fully what the breaking up of his home meant, and it made him feel very sad.

There was a lot to be done. Jack went with his father to buy a stock of provisions for their long journey, and then they tried to make the clumsy waggon as comfortable as possible for the sick mother. Aunt Sue packed up, as her sister was so weak, and the trial of leaving Jack was proving almost too much for her slender stock of strength. All the same, she bravely tried to hide the pain the parting gave her, and for her boy's sake tried to be cheerful even to the last.

Alone with Aunt Sue, she opened her heart, and received true sympathy in her trouble from that good woman, who knew well that the chief sorrow to her sister was the fear she might never see her little lad again.

'You mustn't get so down-hearted, Maggie,' said Mrs. Byrne kindly, 'but hope for the best. I have heard the air in them mountains is just wonderful to cure cases like yours, and perhaps ye'll get quite strong afore long.'

'If it pleases God,' said her sister gently. 'And now, Sue, ye'll promise me to look well after Jack. I know ye're fond o' him fur his own sake as well as mine; but I'm feared if Mat gets one o' his mad fits on he might treat him badly.'

'Don't you fear, Maggie,' returned Mrs. Byrne soothingly; 'I'll treat him as one o' my boys, an' ye know I manage to keep them out o' their father's way when he's too quarrelsome. Besides, Mat knows as ye're payin' well for Jack, and that, if naught else, will keep him civil to the lad.'

'I hope so,' murmured the mother sadly; 'an' if all goes well we'll have our boy with us again in a year.'

'Aye, a year'll go quick enough, never fear!' concluded her sister cheerfully; 'an' Jack'll get on finely at his schoolin' in that time.'

The night before they started came, and Jack, who had gone early to bed, lay sobbing quietly to himself, quite unable to go to sleep. Before long his mother came softly into the room and stood beside him. She noticed the flushed, tear-stained face on the pillow, and exclaimed in a grieved voice, 'Oh, Jack, darling, don't take on so! It'll break my heart if I think o' ye frettin' all the time.'

'I can't help it, Mother!' cried Jack. 'What shall I do without Dad an' ye?'

'Ye must think o' the meeting ahead, dearie. P'raps if Daddy does well in this new part of the country, an' I can get strong again, we may make our home up near the grand mountains as ye've never seen. It's so different from this hot prairie, fur there are big trees to shade ye from the sun, an' little brooks, called creeks, running down the sides of the hills.'

'Aye, I'd like to go an' live up thar,' cried Jack. 'I hope ye'll send fur me soon, an' I'll try an' be good. I do love Aunt Sue, but I'm scared o' Uncle Mat at times.'

'Never fear, Jack,' said his mother, putting her arms round him; 'Aunt Sue'll see as ye come to no harm. But, oh! dearie, how I wish I could take ye with me!' And the poor woman broke down and mingled her tears with Jack's.

But the boy suddenly remembered his promise to his father, and, knowing how bad the excitement was for his mother, he made a great effort to stop crying, and, rubbing his tears away, he said, 'Mother! this won't do; I promised Dad I'd be brave!'

'You're right, Jack. We mustn't give way again. I ought to have kept up better. I must be goin' now, dearie, an' before I say good-night, will ye promise me not to forget to say yer prayers every day, an' ask God to take care of us all till we meet again?'

'I promise,' said Jack gravely.

'An' ye'll sing the hymns I've taught ye sometimes, won't ye, laddie?' asked his mother softly.

'I won't forget,' returned Jack, as he kissed her wet cheek; and then she went away with a feeling of comfort in her heavy heart.

'A year isn't so very long,' murmured the boy to himself, and before long fell asleep.

Next morning his parents started, and Jack, after the terrible good-byes had been said, stood watching the retreating waggon until it became like a speck in the distance. At last it vanished altogether, and then the boy's loss seemed to overwhelm him. In a frenzy of grief he rushed off to the woodshed, and wept as if his heart would break.

'HE RUSHED OFF TO THE WOODSHED, AND

WEPT AS IF HIS HEART WOULD BREAK.'

But Aunt Sue guessed the tumult of sorrow that was going on in the young heart, and she soon came to find him and offer comfort. She was so like his dear mother, with her sweet voice and gentle manner, that she soothed him in his trouble; and when she proposed he should help her to get the house brushed out and tidied up, he gladly threw himself into the work.

He was helping his aunt to lay the things on the table when his uncle came in. He had not seen the boy before, and even he felt a bit sorry for the poor lad, so he said not ungraciously, 'That's right, Sue, make him useful. There's nothin' so good fur sick hearts as work.'

Poor Jack flushed at this speech, as it touched him on a sore point; but he saw his uncle did not intend to hurt his feelings by the words, and he tried to swallow the lump that would rise in his throat. The three boys came in for supper, and Hal and Larry looked curiously to see how Jack was taking his trouble; but he was determined they should see no sign of tears from him, and they did not suspect that the little heart was nearly bursting.

Steve was a most good-natured lad, rough to look at, but with a large slice of his mother's kind heart, and he now looked quietly after Jack, seeing that he had a good supper. He was very fond of his small cousin, who in return was devoted to him, and the big boy felt sorry when he noticed the effort Jack was making to keep up a brave face before Hal and Larry.

Very soon Aunt Sue suggested he should go to bed, which he was glad to do, and once there, he was so tired out with his grief he fell fast asleep.