Read Ebook: The Allis Family; or Scenes of Western Life by Eddy Velda Allis American Sunday School Union Publisher

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THE ALLIS FAMILY;

OR,

SCENES OF WESTERN LIFE

THE ALLIS FAMILY.

First of all, let them try to fancy a large meadow, either perfectly flat or a little uneven, as large, perhaps, as can be measured with the eye, and sometimes without a single tree, or scarcely a clump of bushes. There will be no fences in sight, and sometimes no streams of water, but the surface of the ground is covered with high, coarse grass. This is what Western people call a "prairie."

In order to "make a farm," this ground must be ploughed, or, as Western people say, "broken up." Some of the children would smile, I think, if they were to see a regular "breaking team" before a "breaking plough." This plough is quite unlike that which is used in the older States, and it takes five, six, and sometimes as many as eight yoke of oxen to draw it. This ploughing is usually done in June. After ploughing, the ground must be enclosed, and then it is ready for the seed.

After a while he found out his mistake, but it was too late for him to help it, for his money was nearly all expended for land. But Mr. Allis was a resolute man, and he immediately set himself to work to do the best he could. It was a long walk to the grove where he went every day to cut down trees for his cabin, and to split rails for his fence, and a whole day's work to go twice with his oxen to draw the logs and rails to his farm. But he rose early, and was ready to begin his work with the dawn. On rainy and stormy days, when he could not be out, he was at work in a shop near his house, making doors and window-frames, and cupboards, and other things for his new house.

Early in the spring the cabin was reared, and soon all was in readiness for the removal of the family, which consisted of Mrs. Allis, Mary, a distant relative whose home was with her, and two little twin-daughters, Annie and Susie, who were about five years old at this time. These little girls loved each other very much, and usually played very pleasantly together. But it was sometimes the case that, like other children, they had their little troubles, and were selfish, and of course unhappy.

One day Mrs. Allis was very sick, and she called the little girls to her, and told them they might go up-stairs and play, but they must try to be very good girls, and very quiet, for she could not bear the noise of their voices. The little girls loved their mother very dearly, and were very sorry that she was so sick. So they promised to be good children, and then away they skipped up-stairs on tip-toe, that they might not disturb their mother.

At first there was the patter of light feet and a subdued murmur of voices, but after a while scarcely a sound could be heard. Thus passed two hours, or more, and at last Mrs. Allis sent Mary to see what they were about. Mary reported that they were playing very pleasantly together, and seemed very happy.

"But what can they be doing, Mary?"

"Oh, they have a whole regiment of ragbabies, besides the kittens, for scholars. Susie says they are playing school."

At last it was tea-time, and, when the girls had eaten their supper, their mother called them to her.

"Oh, mother! mother! we have had such a nice time."

"Softly, softly, children," said Mr. Allis; "be careful, or you will make your mother sick again."

"Are you better now, mother?" said little Susie, going softly towards her bed.

"Yes, my dear child, I am much better, and you two little girls have helped to make me so."

"I can guess how," said Annie. "Mother means we didn't make any noise: don't you, mother?"

"Oh, it was so pleasant: wasn't it? Why, mother, don't you think, we played school; and first I let Susie be teacher, and then she let me; and we played I was a little girl come to school, and by-and-by, when we got tired of that, we got out the dolls, Bessie and Jessie, and the pussy, and then we made three more little girls out of our sun-bonnets and Susie's pink apron, and then we both played teacher, like Miss Jackson and Miss Williams in the academy where we used to live, you know."

"Oh, yes, mother," interrupted Susie; "and, don't you think, sometimes Annie would pull pussy's tail and make her say 'Mew,' and we made believe that one of the little girls cried to go to her mother."

"Yes," said Annie, "and after a while we made believe she was naughty, and sent her home."

"Very well, my dear; I see you have had a very pleasant time,--much more pleasant than if you had been cross and unkind to each other, or had made a noise to disturb me. I see you have loved one another, and this is what has made you so happy this afternoon. Tell me, now, which you had rather be, teacher or scholar, when you play school."

"Oh! a teacher, a great deal, mother," said Annie.

"Then why did you not be teacher all the time, and let Susie be the scholar?"

"That wouldn't be right. Susie likes to be teacher as well as I," replied Annie, timidly.

"But don't you think you would have been happier to have been teacher all the time, Annie?"

"I did want to be at first, but then I thought Susie would like it too; and, after all, it was just as pleasant."

"I presume it was, my dear, and much more pleasant; no person can be happy who is selfish. Do you know what it is to be selfish, my little Susie?"

"Yes, mother; you told Annie and I one day that it was selfish to want every thing just to please ourselves."

"Do you love to run about the room, and laugh and play?"

"Oh, yes; you know we do, mother."

"Would you not rather have stayed down-stairs to play to-day?"

"Only what, my dear?"

"Annie means that you were sick, and didn't want us to make a noise; and, really, we did try to play just as still as we possibly could."

"Why did you take so much pains to be quiet?"

"You told us to be still, didn't you, mother?"

"I did; but were you afraid I would punish you if you made a noise, Susie?"

"Oh, no, indeed; but we did not want to make you sick," said Susie, clinging to her mother, and looking into her face with her loving eyes.

"Then you love your mother, do you, girls?"

"Indeed we do," said the children, in one breath.

The girls hesitated a moment, and then Annie said,--

"I think it would, mother; for it would be very cruel to make anybody suffer, I have heard you say."

"Then you could love a poor stranger enough to deny yourself some of your own pleasures for her sake; and you think it would make you happier to do so, do you?"

"Oh, yes, I am sure we should be happier," said little Susie.

"Well, my dear children, I cannot talk any longer now, but I want you to repeat this little verse after me until you can remember it:--

THE PRAIRIE FIRE.

It was a trying summer for the Allis family. The weather was hot and dry, and Mr. Allis, unaccustomed to labour in the fields, often almost fainted in the sun. His work seemed to him to progress very slowly. He had no one to assist him in sowing and planting and gathering in his crops; for, in the first place, there were few people to be hired, and, more than that, he had no money to pay his workmen if he had been able to obtain them. Every morning he had to go more than a mile with his oxen for water, which he brought in a barrel for family use; and it was often nine o'clock before he got to his work in the fields.

At length November came and found his summer's work completed. He had no barn in which to store his grain, and could only secure it by "stacking" it until it could be threshed.

The potatoes, squashes, pumpkins, beets, turnips and other vegetables which the garden had produced for winter use were as securely housed as possible and protected from the frost; and Mr. Allis began to hope that now he might take that rest which he so much required.

For a number of weeks the children had been excited by wonderful lights in the sky, just above the horizon. Sometimes eight or ten of these could be seen in different directions at once, and occasionally some one of them would seem to shoot up suddenly, not unlike the flame of a distant volcano. To the eager inquiries of the little ones, they were answered that these singular lights were called prairie-fires.

"What is a prairie-fire, father?" asked both the children at once.

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