The House of Death.

We will now return to the house of death, on the banks of the Shinglekill. There lay the marble form of Mary Powers, the mother of Amy. She was lovely in life; in death, a model for an artist. Her countenance would indicate that she died in a peaceful state of mind, and perfectly resigned to the fate that had overtaken her. At the head of the bed stood Amy, crying as if her heart would break. At her side, stood her faithful dog, lapping her hand and rubbing his head against her seemingly trying to console her for the loss she had sustained in the death of her mother. Tom and Drake were interested spectators. This was the first natural death that either of them had ever witnessed. The senior Quick stood in the door, with his back to the corpse, apparently much affected. Cahoonshee stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the face of the dead. Betsy gently led Amy out of doors, and taking a seat under the butternuts, attempted to console her.

Don’t cry child, it is God that has called your mother home, and He has promised to be a Father to the fatherless.

But I have no mother now, said Amy.

Yes, dear child, I will be your mother, and Tom and Drake shall be your brothers.

Let the girl vent her feelings, said Cahoonshee, who unperceived had approached. Let her mourn her loss. Let her learn from this how uncertain all things are.

God did it, said Betsy. He does all things well. He did it for the good of this child.

That may be, replied Cahoonshee. Your old Bible says so. It speaks in thunder tones, that God works in a mysterious way his wonders to perform. But the girl cannot understand that. She can’t understand why in a day she is deprived of both her parents, and cast among strangers in this wilderness world. Blame her you must not—console her you cannot. Older and wiser heads cannot reconcile these things. But we must prepare to bury her. We can give the mother a christian burial, and then take care of her orphan child.

A grave was dug on a rise of ground on top of the river bank. The body was wrapped in furs, and this little group of mourners walked to the house prepared for all living. Cahoonshee and the Senior Quick led the way; Tom and Drake followed, bearing the corpse on a roughly constructed litter; then came Amy, Betsy walking on one side of her and Rolla on the other. The grave is reached, the body is lowered and covered with green boughs, and Tom and Drake are about to perform the last offices to the dead, when Rolla raised his head, looked intently, whined, and sprang toward a tree. Instantly all eyes are turned in that direction.

Walt! Walt! passionately exclaimed Amy, there is my Walt! Come Walt! Come and see Amy! Father dead—mother dead—none left but Walt and Rolla. Come kitty—kitty, come to Amy!

There in a tree sat the white cat that had been seen on the raft, but owing to the excitement of the occasion, had been forgotten. Hearing her name called, she slowly came down the tree.

Thus, another was added to the list of mourners. The grave was filled, the mound erected, when Cahoonshee said:

This is nature’s decree. “Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return.” Let us return to the house. And setting the example he walked away.

But Amy refused to go. Throwing herself on her mother’s grave, she cried:

Oh! my own dear mother, I cannot, I will not leave you! Oh! let me die here; let me lay by your side. Who will love and look after me now?

Rolla looked up into her face—the cat mewed and nestled more closely to her bosom.

Leave her to her own thoughts, and that of her friends, said Cahoonshee looking back.

But Drake lingered. The scene put him in mind that he too once had a mother. That he too had been torn from her. That he too, by circumstances over which he had no control, had been thrown among strangers. And, as he saw the tears flow down Amy’s cheeks, moisture came in his own eyes.

Come Amy, come with me. I will be your brother and friend.

Amy raised her eyes to those of her friend and said:

Brother, you are good to think of me—you are good to promise to look after me. But who can look after me like my own dear mother that is now buried out of my sight?

Yes, replied Drake, I trust she is in the heaven that Cahoonshee and Betsy talks about. But I don’t know much about such things. I never had any mother to tell me about God and heaven.

But Drake, you had a mother, and if she was a good mother, she would have told you all about the bible and God. My mother used to read to me how God made the world in six days, and everything there was in it. That people lived in a big garden, and were very good and happy. Then they got to doing naughty things, and God made it rain very hard and the people were drowned, all except one family, and they escaped in the ark. I suppose that it was just such a big rain that came on the Callicoon and drowned father and mother. But they wan’t bad, and I don’t see what he wanted to drown them for.

This was a subject that Drake knew but little about, and he could think of nothing to say that would be consoling to the girl. But at last he said;

Cahoonshee, the big Indian, will tell you all about those things. He knows. He has crossed the water in a big canoe. He studies books. Let us go to the house and talk with him.