The rays of the evening sun were now sinking beneath the horizon, shedding a golden glory over the landscape, and speaking in fair promise of a fine day on the morrow. “It is time we went home again, before the dews begin to fall,” said Mrs. Ward, as she rose from her seat; and then, pointing to the western sky, she added: “How beautiful!—‘These are thy glorious works, Parent of good. Let us praise God, whose glory is shown in the works of His hands; for day unto day uttereth speech; night unto night showeth knowledge.’ I hope you, my dear George, will never be one of those who have eyes that see not, and ears that cannot hear. Your dear grandfather was only a little boy when he began to think of the great things of another world, and at the age of fifteen he solemnly devoted himself to the service of God his Saviour.”

“Dear Grandmamma, I should like to know more about him. You promised to tell me about one of his journeys in Newfoundland; and now here we are, home again, and tea is set out in readiness, as I can see through the open window.” The little party was soon comfortably seated at the social meal, when Master George’s health was pledged in the cup “that cheers but not inebriates;” and he regaled himself on choice plum-cake made by the dear old lady herself for that special occasion, taking care, every now and then, to break off a bit and throw it to Boxa, who sat by his side, wagging her tail, in evident expectation of tit-bits.

“Shall we have candles?” asked Mrs. Ward, when the tea-things were being removed, “or would you like best to sit in the twilight and watch the rising moon?”

“I vote for twilight and the moon,” said George, placing his grandmother’s arm-chair in a cozy nook, from which she could see abroad; and then, seating himself on the stool at her feet, he waited till she should begin the promised story.

“It was in the spring of the year, 1835, when your grandfather undertook a tour of visitation to the southern and western shores of Newfoundland, for the purpose of ministering to the scattered families in the remote settlements of that region. He left me at St. John’s in the month of March, as travelling over the snow in the island is considered less difficult in that month than walking overland is at any other season of the year. When we parted I knew that he was going on a laborious and painful journey, but I had formed no idea of the dangers to which he would be exposed, or my heart would indeed have sunk within me. He took with him a guide to pilot him through the country; a man who was reckoned very skilful and experienced, and who had lived some time with the Micmac Indians, one of the aboriginal tribes. They had not advanced far on their way when they missed the route, and could only ascertain the points of the compass by observing the inclination of the topmost branches of the juniper or larch trees.”

“How could they know by that means, grandmamma?”

“Because the juniper or larch always points to the east, thus affording them a secure indication, by means of which they regained the path some time after night-fall.

“This was rather a bad start, and as it turned out, seemed ominous of evil to the travellers. As they proceeded on their way, your grandfather stopped at various places to preach, administer the sacraments, and visit the sick; and, in many instances, the poor people received him gladly, being like sheep scattered without a shepherd in solitary places, far from the means of grace. In one house which he visited he was moved with compassion at the sight of the poor ailing mother of the family. ‘Ah sir!’ said she, ‘if any of us be sick or sore, there is no one to come near us, or to care for our souls.’

“I doubt not you have often heard the saying, ‘One half the world little knows how the other half lives;’ and, indeed, we have but little idea of the shifts to which thousands of our fellow men are put, and of the discomforts and troubles of their daily life. These people lived, for the most part, in wretched cabins, which swarmed with men, women, and children, while every nook and corner not thus occupied was filled with pigs, fowls, sheep, or dogs; and the thick smoke, or, as the people emphatically call it, ‘cruel steam,’ is most distressing to the eyesight, which suffers greatly in consequence.”

“But, why don’t they make chimneys, and let it out grandma?”

“They have a sort of rude chimney constructed of upright planks stuffed between with moss; but the danger of the fire is great; indeed it is always a necessary to have buckets of water at hand ready to throw upon the flames. In some places the chimneys were fortified against this danger by being lined all the way up with a coating of tin, which is found to last some years.”

“I should be very sorry to have to live with the Newfoundlanders if they have such houses as these; it seems more like what we read of the savages in their wigwams.”

“Well, George, your grandfather fell in with some of these people, a party of Indians from Canada; and, as it was late at night when he reached their wigwams, the guide begged to be allowed to pass the night with them. This they courteously permitted, and showed every hospitality to their unexpected guests. It was a curious sight, the whole party, men, women, and children, lying around the fire in the middle of the tent, upon spruce boughs, spread like feathers, to form the couch. The softest and cleanest deer skin was most courteously offered to the guest, and he passed the night very comfortably, truly thankful for the accommodation thus afforded him, and without which he must have suffered greatly from exposure to the weather, for the snow fell fast during several hours.”

At this point of her narrative Mrs. Ward rang for a candle, and desired the servant to bring her writing desk. “I shall find there,” she said, “the original MS. given me by my dear husband on his return from this journey. He wrote it amid much difficulty, for very frequently the ink would freeze in spite of all the precautions he took. Paper, too, was very scanty, and had it not been for boxes, containing a supply of this article, which had been washed on shore from different wrecks, he would have found it impossible to procure enough for the purpose. Anxious, however, to preserve a diary of each day’s proceedings, he persevered to the best of his power, and the result was this scroll, now discoloured by age, and some of the leaves a good deal torn, but the hand is clear and legible throughout. I think you will like to have me read you a short extract, giving an account of a very dangerous part of his expedition. But, in the first place, I should mention that, when travelling into the interior, he was obliged to walk in Indian rackets, or snow-shoes, a very difficult matter to one unaccustomed to their use.”

“Why difficult, grandma? I thought snow-shoes kept you from slipping, and made it much easier to walk in winter.”

“The snow-shoes of which I speak, my dear, are very different from anything you have ever seen; nor could you imagine it possible to travel in them if you had a pair now before you. The racket is a machine consisting of a sort of net-work stretched upon ledges made of very hard wood. They are about two feet and a half long, and fourteen inches broad; and in the middle is fitted a kind of shoe, lined with wool or hair, which is tied on to the ankle. By means of these strange snow-shoes, the feet are prevented from sinking into the soft, deep snow. Even the Indians, shod in this fashion, occasionally meet with heavy falls, especially when descending very steep hills; and a foreigner feels terribly awkward and at a loss when first he attempts to use them. They are exceedingly fatiguing, too, as they become very heavy when wet; and the wearer is compelled to walk with long and rapid strides, in order to prevent the rackets from striking against each other. Sometimes, when the day’s journey was a long one, the faithful terrier which accompanied your grandfather throughout the whole route would howl for very exhaustion; and whenever his master stopped to look about him, or to set his compass, the poor brute would scratch about and make himself a bed for a few minutes’ rest in the soft snow.”

“Poor Doggy!” said George, “I can pity him for I remember once when I walked some miles through the snow, and my shoes got clogged up, I was so tired, what Uncle Tom called ‘dead beat,’ that I could not help crying the last mile before I reached home.”

“Imagine, then, your grandfather starting and making the best of his way over the snow-clad country until the afternoon began to warn him that he must make a halt. At about four o’clock the traveller has to begin his preparation for the night’s lodging, and this he does by clearing away the snow (which is sometimes ten feet deep) from a square space; for which purpose he makes a rude shovel, cut out of the side of some standing tree; and, as snow does not adhere to wood as it does to iron, this is the best thing to be used in removing the snow. When the ground is quite cleared, the wood for the fire is laid in the centre, about a foot of loose snow being left round the space in which it is to be kindled. Upon this, the spruce or fir branches, which easily break off when bent sharply backwards, are laid all one way, with the lower part of the bough upwards. Thus the bed is made. The excavated snow forms a lofty wall round the square; and here the traveller lies, with no covering from the weather, nor any other shelter than the walls of snow on each side of his cavern, and the surrounding trees, may afford.”

“I wonder,” said George, “how they got a light to make the fire with; perhaps by rubbing two pieces of wood together.”

“Your guess, though ingenious, is not correct, my dear,” said Mrs. Ward, “there is a certain yellow fungus which grows on the hazel tree that supplies tinder to the Indian, who is never without flint and steel; and he has a very expert method of rapidly whirling moss and dry leaves and bark in his hands, so as to cause a draught, and in a wonderfully short time he succeeds in making a cheerful blaze.”

“And what has he to eat?”

“Plenty of venison, for there are large flocks of deer in the country. You will wonder where these creatures find pasture; I will tell you. At the time when your grandfather travelled, the whole land was covered with snow, excepting on the tops of some of the hills, from which the snow had melted. These lofty, bare spots are called ‘naps,’ and they resemble island meadows in an ocean of snow. Upon these, the deer were grazing leisurely, like cattle, in numerous herds. They go in quest of food from one of these naps to another, in places near water, which after long frost becomes exceedingly scarce; in the interior, the tracks of the deer were as thick as of cattle in the snow in a well-stocked farmyard. There were, beside, plenty of ptarmigan, which abounded on these hills, searching for a species of cranberry, a food of which they are very fond.”

“Vension and grouse! dainty dishes, indeed, dear granny; after all, that is not quite a land of barrenness.”

“Nay, child! there is provision made in all places of our heavenly Father’s dominions for the supply of the necessities both of man and beast. But I must hasten on, or you will be weary of my tale.”