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

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Ebook has 140 lines and 9940 words, and 3 pages

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

"It is the burning of the long coarse grass which covers the prairie in summer. This becomes very dry, and then, if a spark of fire chances to fall upon it, it is at once all in blaze."

"Does it make a very big fire, father?" asked Susie.

"That depends upon circumstances, my child. If the grass is very high and thick, as it sometimes is in the sloughs and moist places, it makes a big fire, as you call it."

"Oh, how I wish I could see a prairie-fire close by us! Don't you, mother?"

"I cannot say that I do, my child; they are sometimes rather mischievous visitors, and I would much prefer that they should keep at a respectful distance."

"Mr. Jenkins told me that a man some ten miles from here had his stacks and house and every thing he had, destroyed, a few days since, losing his whole year's labour and all his clothing and furniture. The family barely escaped with their lives.

"Is there any danger that the fire will come here, husband?" said Mrs. Allis.

"There is danger, I suppose; but I hope we shall have no trouble of that kind."

"Is there nothing that can be done to protect your property?"

One day, not long after, a long line of fire appeared on the prairie, several miles distant. It was, however, so distant that Mrs. Allis and the children did not feel alarmed, as the evening was still; and they were watching it with interest, as the flames assumed various fantastic shapes, now darting upwards like tongues of fire, and now weltering and bubbling like a sea of melted lava. Mr. Allis had not yet returned from town, where he had been engaged all that day, entirely unsuspicious of any approaching calamity; and Mrs. Allis was not aware how rapidly the flames were approaching her home, until she was startled by seeing a horseman ride rapidly to her door and hastily dismount, inquiring for Mr. Allis.

"Matter, woman! Don't you see that prairie-fire yonder? You'll be burnt out if you don't stir round lively."

"Burnt out, Mr. Jenkins! What do you mean? What shall we do?"

Not many minutes passed before Mr. Allis reached home. He had seen the fire at a distance, and, understanding the danger far better than his wife, hurried home as rapidly as possible.

It was two hours--but it seemed much longer to the poor little girls--before their mother came in; and then they scarcely knew her, for her face was blackened with smoke and dust, her hands were burned sadly, and the skirt of her dress torn and burned in many places. Although they were excited and curious, yet these good children undressed and went to bed, helping themselves all they could, that their mother might rest, and trying to wait until morning for all they wished to know.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Allis busied herself, weary as she was, in providing a comfortable supper for her husband, who had eaten nothing since dinner-time. It was past midnight when Mr. Allis and Mary came to the house, and they too were tired enough, as we may suppose.

But, above all, they were grateful to that kind heavenly Father who had so mercifully preserved and protected them from harm amid such dangers. Little did any of them sleep that night; and it was not strange that the morning, which came on wet and showery, found them but little refreshed after the unusual fatigue of the preceding night. But the children were awake with the first light, and eagerly asking questions about the fire.

THE BABY.

How tired every one was all day after the prairie-fire! Well would it have been if the matter had terminated in fatigue. Early in the day the feeble mother had to betake herself to her bed; and on the following morning Mr. Allis, to his great surprise, found himself rudely shaken by the ague. Not many days passed ere Mrs. Allis and Mary found themselves at the mercy of the same annoying visitor. Sometimes the three shook in concert; and then you may imagine that the little girls had enough to do to carry water to satisfy their thirst. Occasionally the chills would seem to be broken up for a few days, and then they would most unexpectedly return. Several times Mr. Allis thought himself perfectly well, and once or twice he went to the grove a number of miles distant, with his team, for a load of wood, and on the way there or back would be attacked with a chill, and it was only by a great effort that he reached home. The little girls were quite well; but they did not find their prairie home as pleasant in the cold winter as it was in the glad summer-time. Oh, how they longed for spring! And when it came how they rejoiced over the little lambs and calves in their father's yard, and how delighted were they when the first sweet violets peeped forth! Still their joy was to be increased: a sweeter prairie-flower than any of these bloomed in their humble cabin, opening a fount of untold gladness in the hearts of all. One bright morning a sweet little sister was presented to the delighted children.

It was long before they could be made to realize that it was their own dear babe, and always to be theirs and to stay with them. At last they recovered themselves sufficiently to ask its name.

"It has no name, Annie," said her father.

One evening the little girls came home with a petition that they might "go to school barefooted," and, as usual for the last few weeks, Susie said, "All the girls go without shoes."

"But, mother, it is so warm!" said Annie.

"What would you have thought, Annie, if I had told you to go to school barefooted while we lived in Massachusetts?"

"All the girls wore shoes and stockings there, mother."

"But was it not quite as warm there as here, my child?"

"I suppose so; but, mother, all the girls and boys laugh at us so. They say we are 'proud,' because we wear shoes and stockings."

"You must not mind being laughed at when you are doing right."

"But I can't see what wrong there is in going barefooted," said Annie.

"You are not now required to see the harm in it. All you have to do in this case is to obey."

ANNIE'S TEMPTATION.

A few days after, Susie was not very well, and her mother thought best to keep her at home. Annie, however, was sent to school, as usual. As she was preparing to set out, she thought to herself,--

"Now I am going all alone, and mother will never know it; I will not wear my shoes to-day." So, when she was just starting, she stole softly round to the back-side of the house, and hid her shoes behind the rain-barrel. On she skipped, but not so light-hearted and happy as usual. It was her first act of wilful disobedience. As she went on she at last repented that she had ventured to disobey her kind mother; but something seemed to whisper in her heart, "It will do you no harm: your mother will never find it out."

As she approached the school-room, she stopped near a huge pile of rocks at the road-side to gather some flowers for her teacher. She found a great many, and, among others, some which she had never seen before. As she stooped forward hastily to pluck them, she heard a sound close by her. Looking quickly about her, she spied a large snake just below her naked feet, among the loose stones. Uttering a loud scream, she sprang terrified from the spot; nor did she slacken her speed until she reached the schoolhouse, her delicate feet cut and bleeding in several places, and a large thorn in the side of one foot, which pained her sadly. The girls laughed at her fright, and one rude boy ran out, shouting, at the top of his voice,--

"Hallo, boys! hallo! Annie Allis has come to school barefooted."

Poor, foolish child! what would she have given if she had only obeyed her mother!

The little white feet swelled and ached all the day long. Annie had hardly ever felt so much pain in all her life, and there was nobody to pity her. But the pain in her feet was nothing to the pain in her heart. How could she meet her dear mother, after having so wickedly disobeyed her? At length school was out. Slowly and painfully she walked homeward. As she approached the house she shook with pain and dread. Down in the little grove at her right hand she saw Susie and Mary with the dear little baby, and they beckoned her to come to them; but she could not. Oh, how could the guilty child look into the clear, sweet eyes of that innocent one, with such a load of sin and disobedience on her heart?

"What is the matter, Annie?"

It is the mother, weary as she can be, and made still more weary and sorrowful by her little daughter's disobedience. She takes the child into the house and lays her upon the bed. The aching feet are bathed in water, the dirt is washed from the scratches and wounds, while poor Annie weeps and sobs as if her little heart would break. But the ugly thorn would not come out: it must ache on until father comes. Silently and sadly the mother bends over her suffering child, bathing her aching head. At length Annie said,--

Soon Susie and Mary came in with the baby; and, while they were pitying poor Annie and asking questions, they placed the child on the bed beside her. There it laughed and crowed merrily and stretched out its little dimpled hands, while Annie, unable to smile in return, wondered how it could be so happy when she was so wretched.

SUSIE'S TEMPTATION.

No sooner had Annie and Susie made acquaintance with some of the children in the neighbourhood than they began to make frequent visits at Mr. Allis's house. Both father and mother thought it desirable that the little girls should associate with other children; but they dreaded the effect of so much society and so many new influences on the hearts of the little girls. More than this: there were some among those that visited them frequently, who seemed to be almost any thing but desirable companions for the children. Once or twice Mrs. Allis had observed something in the manners and conversation of Jane Smith which led her to suspect that she was a bad girl. Accordingly, she told Annie and Susie that she wished they would, as much as possible, avoid her society. Notwithstanding all she could say, however, Jane was often at the house; and the children became very fond of her. She could tell so many interesting stories and say so many witty things, and had so much to communicate that was new to them, that they seemed almost fascinated by her.

One Saturday afternoon Mrs. Allis was unusually busy, and Jane came to pay another visit. In spite of her cares, she, however, contrived to find amusement for the girls in her own presence. After tea, Jane took her bonnet to go home, and Susie begged permission to walk a short distance with her, to gather prairie-flowers. Mrs. Allis hesitated, but at length gave her consent, specifying the distance which she might go.

Scarcely had they started on their walk, when Jane remarked,--

"I declare! it's mean in your mother to keep you so dreadful close, just as though you didn't know enough to take care of yourself!"

"Mother isn't mean; and you must not say so, Jane, or I shall go right home."

Susie now turned the conversation, and told Jane that Miss Wilson was making new bonnets for her and Annie. After some questions as to what kind of bonnets they were, and how they were trimmed, Jane asked,--

"When are they going to be done?"

"I suppose they are done to-day; but we shall not get them until some time next week, for it is too late for father to go to-night, and he is very tired besides."

"Why don't you go and get them yourself? I would."

"Oh, it's too far to go."

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