Asleep on Her Mother’s Grave—Going a Fishing—True Until Death.

We left Amy and Drake with their pets at the mother’s grave. To force Amy from the spot that contained her mother, was calculated to deprive her of her reason. Thus, Drake remained a silent listener to her grief. She refused to return to the house, or be comforted, and cried herself to sleep on her mother’s grave with the cat in her arms and Rolla by her side.

Drake sympathized with her. He said to himself: Would I have loved my mother so intently, had I been permitted to live with and love her? But I have no recollections of ever seeing her. When I was a babe I was stolen from her. If she loved her babe as Amy loved her mother, how terrible must have been her feelings when she learned that I had been stolen. Undoubtedly she thinks that I am dead. I had a father—perhaps brothers and sisters. I wonder if they would be glad to see me! I know my mother would. They tell me a mother’s love for her child never dies. My father sailed a ship then—perhaps he does now. If I should go where these ships sail, I might find him. If he made that figure on my breast, he would know me.

Thus Drake reasoned over the matter, and came to the conclusion to go in search of his parents.

Yes, he said to himself, in searching for them, I may find Amy’s friends.

Presently a shadow passed him, and looking up, saw Cahoonshee approaching.

Sleeping, he exclaimed, and as unconscious as the mother that sleeps beneath her. Perhaps she would be better off if she was as cold and lifeless as her mother. But such is not nature’s decree. She is saved for some purpose, for what, we know not. None of us can fathom the ways of the Great Spirit. We have buried the mother. Now let us take care of the child. Take her in your arms, Drake, and take her to the cabin.

Drake took her up as tenderly as a mother would her babe and carried her to the house. Rolla and the cat followed, mute and silent.

Amy was so overcome by her grief that she did not awake, and Drake laid her and her cat Walt on the bed.

Poor girl, said Betsy, she can’t give her mother up. But she must have something to eat. She has not eaten anything since her mother died.

Don’t wake her up, said Cahoonshee, let her have her cry and sleep out, and in the morning she will be more reconciled.

That night the parties talked over what they would do with Amy, and came to the conclusion to keep her in the Quick family until they could hear from her friends. That when they went on their farm at Milford, they would take Amy with them, that there she would have some opportunity to attend school, and mingle in society with those of her own sex.

When the family arose in the morning, Amy was up and gone. Instinct led Drake to her mother’s grave, where he found Amy and Rolla.

Amy was sad, but composed, and was engaged in decorating the grave with flowers gathered from the mountain side.

Good morning, Amy, I see you still mourn the loss of your mother.

Yes, she replied, mother did all she could for me while living. Now that she is dead, I will visit her and her grave. I shall keep the flowers fresh and the grass green on her grave as long as I can. Won’t you help me Drake?

Certainly, he replied. What can I do for you?

You can help me build a wall around the grave. Down where mother came from, they build a wall around the graves, and set a stone with the name on it. I want to do so by mama’s grave, and Rolla and I will come to see it every day.

Yes, replied Drake, Tom and I will build the wall, and Cahoonshee will set the stone. Come sister, go to the house with me. It is breakfast time. After breakfast, Tom and I will build the wall.

Amy was reluctant to leave the place that contained all that was dear to her. Drake unconsciously put his arm around her.

Come Amy, you still have friends. There are those that love you.

At breakfast, little or nothing was said. Amy ate a hearty breakfast, and seemed to be reconciled to her lot.

She was then informed of the conclusion that had been arrived at night before—that she was to live with them until her friends could be found—that they would return to their farm at Milford in a few days, and that she was to go with them.

Amy scarcely knew what to do or say. She did not want to leave her mother’s grave so soon. She wished to be where she could make it daily visits and keep the grass green.

I would rather stay here with you, she said. You have been very good to me and mother. Let me stay here and keep house for the boys, at the same time glancing at Drake.

The boys go with us, replied the elder Quick.

Then I will go, but I want the wall built around the grave before I go.

That shall be done to-day, said Drake. Come and tell me how you want it built.

May I call you brother? said Amy.

Yes, he replied, and I shall be proud to have such a brave sister, and involuntarily he placed his arm around Amy’s waist, and they walked to the grave in silence.

Tom followed, and a wall was soon laid around the ground that enclosed the sacred dead, and in a few days Cahoonshee erected a stone on which was inscribed “Here lies Mary, the mother of Amy Powers.”

In a few days they went to live on the Milford farm. But Tom was seldom at home. He did not like school or books. He seemed to like the company of the Indians better than he did his father’s home, and hunted and fished with them until he acquired their language and habits.

Not so with Drake. He employed every opportunity to acquire knowledge and improve his mind, and would listen for hours to Cahoonshee, as he recited history, science and tradition.

Amy was now just blooming into womanhood, being nearly sixteen years old, with a tall and commanding figure, with auburn hair and dark blue eyes, cheeks the color of a peach-blossom. Her hair hanging in ringlets over her shoulders, her eyes sparkled, and were a fair index to her mind. Lively, and like the most of her sex—talkative.

They remained on the farm during the summer season, and at the cabin on the Shinglekill during the trapping season.

A few days after they had moved on the Milford farm, Amy and Drake, at the edge of evening, went fishing in the Delaware river. Up to this time, nothing had been said to Amy about her home or former friends. Drake had long wished to hear her story, but out of delicacy had refrained from questioning her. Amy often spoke of the loss she had sustained in the death of her mother, but went no further. She seemingly wished to conceal from the world her parentage.

The water was bubbling at their feet. The wind whistled through the branches of the trees. The birds sang. The squirrels chattered, but Drake and Amy remained silent.

Now and then they would exchange glances toward each other, as much as to say:

“Why don’t you speak?”

Some time before this, Drake had resolved to go in search of his parents, but now he felt it his duty to stay and protect this orphan child.

Duty, is that all? don’t I love her? he said to himself in an undertone, but loud enough to be heard by Amy.

Love who? Who do you love? she remarked with a blush.

Drake blushed, but could think of nothing to say to cover his confusion.

Amy placed her arm about his neck, seized his hand, and gazed intently into his eyes.

You love somebody. I know you do. Do you feel just as I do.

Do you love some one? asked Drake.

Yes, she replied, laying her hand on his breast. Yes, brother, I do love, I did love, I ever shall love, and bursting into tears, she cried like a child, and it was several minutes before she could control her feelings to finish the sentence.

Drake could not understand this. At first he thought that she had reference to him. But the language “I do love, I did love, I ever shall love,” indicated, that young as she was, she had not escaped cupid’s dart.

Calm yourself, Amy, perhaps I can assist you. Is it Tom that you love? and are you crying because he would rather be with the Indians than with you?

No brother, I like Tom, but I don’t love him.

What difference is there between liking and loving? asked Drake.

Oh, I don’t know, brother, but it seems to me that I feel different toward Walter than I do toward Tom and you or any one else. I don’t know what makes me. I only know that I do.

Who is Walter? and where does he live? asked Drake.

He was Walter Wallace, and lived by us on the Callicoon.

But where is he now?

I don’t know—probably dead. Yet something tells me that he is alive and that I shall see him again.

When did you see him last? Drake inquired.

I saw him last standing on the bank of the Callicoon, but he could not get to us. Mother and I and the cat were on the raft, and the river was running between us. He acted as if he was trying to tell us something, but the water made such a noise we could not hear him.

He probably thinks you were drowned, replied Drake.

He may think so, but he don’t know it, and as long as he don’t know, he will wait and look for me. He was a brave, bold, good boy. He loved me, and I loved him, and we were to be married. Oh, brother, I think I can see him now, standing on the bank of the river, and looking at me. But Drake, you said to yourself, (but I heard it,) that you “loved her.” Now tell me all about it as plainly as I have told you. We are brother and sister. Neither of us have a mother or relative that we know of.

Drake remained silent.

Have I offended you? Have I asked too much? If so forgive me.

I have nothing to forgive. I have no one to love in the sense you put it. I will be content in liking—not loving.

What do you mean, brother? I don’t understand you. Your words imply more than you say. You can trust Amy.

Yes, dear girl, I can, and do trust you. When I said “I love her,” I meant you. I did not intend it for your ears. I was thinking whether I did not feel different toward you than I would toward a sister. I am glad that you told me you loved Walter Wallace. Now we understand each other. I will still like you. I will still be your brother and friend, and, if possible, I will find your lost lover.

Good and generous boy! exclaimed Amy, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. I hope you don’t love me as I do Walter. If you do, how miserable you must feel—how unhappy you must be. How I would feel to meet Walter and he should tell me that he liked me but did not love me—that he loved another. But that can’t be. He loves me. I know it? I feel it here! (placing her hand upon her heart.)

Amy, said Drake, you are a good generous girl. Few of your sex would have been so honest. I have promised to find your lover if possible. I intend in a short time to go in search of my own parents, and I will then inquire for your friends. But so far you have said nothing to me about your parents that would assist me in finding them. Are you willing to give me a history of them as far as you know?

Yes, as far as I know, but I don’t know much about them. I have heard that my grand-father lived in England, and was very rich. That father married mother against his wish. That he gave father his choice to leave and abandon mother, or leave his house. Father refused, and was disinherited. Then father and mother came to this country and settled in Connecticut, not far from Manhattan, until they moved to Callicoon, and that is all I know about it.

That will help me, replied Drake. Now that we understand each other and ourselves, let us return to the house. And placing his arm around her, they returned in silence.

Before this interview, Drake had regarded Amy as a friendless orphan, and felt an interest in her welfare. Although he called her sister, and was addressed by her as brother, he was ignorant of the ties that usually exist between brother and sister. He never enjoyed the society of brother or sister, father or mother, and it was this that led him to remark “don’t I love her.” But now his eyes were open. Now he could understand what love was, “pure and unalloyed.” Now he could understand what had prompted his feelings toward Amy. His feelings were not of pure friendship for the orphan child he had promised to protect. He had a selfish motive. Her frank sincerity and child-like simplicity had raised her in his estimation. He saw in the girl, a noble, generous, woman, wife and mother. Yet he realized that she loved Walter Wallace, and be he dead or alive, she would never love another. She would only like him as a brother, and with that he must be content.

But I have promised to be her friend, and her friend I will be.

It cost Drake an effort to come to this conclusion, and it showed that he was a high-minded, generous man, and could appreciate Amy’s love for Walter, by his own love for Amy.

Noble Girl. Worthy of the love of Walter Wallace or any other man.