"The man certainly was a fool," said my father that evening as he sat smoking his pipe. He had taken part in a political quarrel the evening before, and so did not go down to the Tremont to play cards, but read the Democrat and made promiscuous comments as he went along.

"What man?" asked mother.

"Why that Gaynor! The idea of selling out a good home in a prosperous State and coming out here! If I could get out of this mud hole to-morrow I just would."

"Oh, no you wouldn't. You have said many a time that Chicago would lead all the Western cities when she was fairly on the march."

"Well—he will never see any of his money or values back again!"

"He disposed of half his plot to Farlie this morning," I interposed.

"What!" The tone was sharp enough to take one's head off.

I repeated my assertion.

"And swapped for another mud hole?"

"No, he wanted lumber and various materials. The rest is in notes."

"Yes, yes, well Farlie'll shave him. Yankees think they are very smart and shrewd, but he will find!" and father nodded vindictively.

"I think that an excellent thing. They want a comfortable home and they must have some one to help out that child. She ought to go to school. She's too little to keep house. I must go over and see her."

"Oh, do," I entreated. "It's hard to have her there alone."

"Yes, men as a general thing haven't much sense about rearing gals."

"Norman," began my father rather abruptly, "you go over to Hubbard's. I heard he wanted some help—a boy good at figuring. When I was twelve years old I turned out to work. You've had a pretty good chance at schooling."

My heart beat with a quick throb. Why, if I could get a situation there I could see the Little Girl every day!

"I'll go the first thing," I replied cheerfully.

"And you needn't stick out about wages. Boys nowadays think they are worth a heap of gold, but they're not. Be content to begin down to the bottom of the line, and thankful that you have the chance."

I was amused. I think I was a rather meek boy and not given to exalting myself.

The three younger ones went to school, and then it was from eight to five, seven months of the year, from nine until four through the winter months. It might have been hard on the teachers, but no one complained.

The next morning when I started out my mother said, "Go and see if that little Gaynor girl is well, and how they managed last night."

I went to the warehouse first. It looked big and business-y in those days. Vessels were lading, men were running to and fro, a few negroes among them. Even at this early period there were protests against slavery in all the Northern States, and the Missouri Compromise was supposed to have settled it. There were hardly a hundred negroes in the town at that time, and some were tall, strong fellows. A few Indians were loitering about, though most had been sent out on the new reservations. They were still considered rather treacherous, though no longer to be feared.

I picked my way among the piles of goods to the sort of counting room. Fortunately I saw a familiar face, Mr. Abner Harris, who had been one of our neighbors, and had now gone over on the north side.

"Well," he began, looking me over from top to toe, "what can I do for you? We're short handed this morning, and if you could take a turn—something of a scholar, ain't you?"

I told him my errand and that my father had sent me.

He nodded in a kind of cheerful way, "Yes, we want an office boy who isn't afraid of work and doesn't take a nap oftener than every three hours. Can you do lettering? These things should have started yesterday. While we have the promise that the world will be burned up, and not drowned out we can't always count on the wind nor this deceitful lake, which can smile at you and then drive you heaven only knows where! My opinion is that when the old Greek gods were dispersed Neptune took up his residence at the bottom of this lake and enjoys the rumpus he kicks up."

"Neptune?" I was not much acquainted with the Greeks in those days.

"There, don't stand talking all day." I had only uttered one word. "Take that bit of board and copy this, and let's see whether it will be in Latin or High Dutch. This little brush, and here's the paint."

I copied out the address consigned to a Buffalo firm.

"That's fair. You needn't stop to flourish. Now go on with these boxes and bales, seven of them."

It came a little awkward at first, but I saw that I was making a decided improvement. Mr. Harris nodded. Then there was something else. But before noon the boat started off, and as I watched her I half wished I was aboard of her. I had not been a dozen miles out of Chicago in my fifteen years.

Then I thought of the Little Girl.

"You seem to be a likely fellow, Hayne, and you are not continually asking why the sun rises in the East. That stands for any foolish boy question. I half engaged a young fellow yesterday, Sim Chase; his father is deacon in the church, but he hasn't put in any appearance yet. I shouldn't like to go back on his father. Tell you what I'll do. You come in Sat'day and I'll know then."

"I should like very much to have the place," I ventured; standing on one foot, boy fashion.

He gave a funny twinkle with one eye and said, "Oh, I guess it'll be all right."

I went off with a light heart. It was not far to the Gaynors'. A load of lumber had come and two men were laying a foundation driving piles. Mr. Gaynor was giving orders here and there. Few things escaped his sharp eye. But he only said to me with a curt sort of nod, "Go round there and see if you can't help Ruth."

I was only too glad. She was trying to make the fire burn, and the smoke had filled her eyes with tears. The wood was rather damp and dozy. I looked around for some dry brush; we were not a well-wooded country, and presently I had a cheerful blaze.

"What are you going to have for dinner?" I asked. "Or have you had it?"

"No; father brought in some potatoes and some fish. I can't bear to touch raw fish," and she shuddered.

"Have you any sort of a kettle?"

"Only this," and she exhumed a long-handled stewing pipkin, that the folks farther south called piggins.

"That will do for potatoes if we can find a cover."

"And this frying pan."

"For the fish. We'll have a fine dinner."

"I'm so glad you came. I wonder what I ought to call you?" with a kind of delicate perplexity in her face.

"Why! Norman if you like. Mother and pop shorten it into Norme."

"Did you come from—England—Normandy?"

"No," I laughed. "Pop, I believe, came from York State, and mother's folks from down farther south. You know Chicago isn't a very old place."

"I'd like to hear about it. It seems very queer. And you know we have Plymouth Rock. There were English Governors too, and it is more than two hundred years old."

There was a certain pride in her as she stood there in her faded gown, her tangled curls about her small face, her eyes shining with strength through their lucent light. I could have knelt and kissed her hand.

"And they had to cook dinners two hundred years ago. I suppose they brought over pots and pans in the Mayflower, and salt and pepper. I couldn't find any salt this morning," she laughed merrily, "and I've come in a wagon from Massachusetts. I am an emigrant, am I not? But I almost wish I had not come."

Her voice sank to a pathetic cadence that pierced my heart.

"Oh, no, don't wish that!" I cried earnestly. "And there are some curious stories about Chicago—sad ones, too. We will go to old Fort Dearborn. And for a good many years one man lived here all alone, and LaSalle and Joliet and travellers went to and fro and left romances in their steps. We will hunt them up some day. But I must clean the fish. Oh, what nice plump fellows!"

"How good you are. I shall like to see those places. I like stories." Her face was aglow with interest. The potatoes were boiling splendidly. I poked in some rough pieces of wood to make another bed of coals, then I addressed myself to the fish and soon had them in frying order. But certainly I must have some salted pork.

I ran down the street a short distance and begged some from a neighbor. Then I drew out the coals and we soon had a savory fragrance.

"Oh, how delicious!" Her eyes fairly shone with pleasure.

Mr. Gaynor came in, his face piquantly wrinkled with expectation.

"I shall have to hire you for cook, my lad," he exclaimed in a joyous tone. "I'm hungry as a bear in March."

"Why March particularly?" I asked.

"When he wakes out of his winter's nap."

"And he doesn't need any table," said the Little Girl glancing about in a lugubrious fashion, with the corners of her mouth quivering.

"I'll fix that. You two deserve a table for such a feast."

He brought in a board and laid it on two boxes; but he decided that we must sit on the floor.

"And we have sat under a tree on the grass many a time, haven't we, father?"

There was such a sound of joyous comfort in her tone it warmed one's heart.

What a feast it was! The fish were browned to a turn, the potatoes we seasoned with the gravy, and there was bread and butter. I can recall a little girl in after life who sat on my knee and never wearied of hearing about this feast.

"Does fall set in early here?" Mr. Gaynor asked. "I want to get the other room done—it will be two, really, for this is nothing but a shack. That Towner must have viewed it with the eye of faith, which is the evidence of things unseen, and they say the winds are something terrible."

"Yes, you'll get them here off the lake, but not so bad as further down."

"What a tremendous lake! It fairly takes one's breath away. And those prairies! Are they good for wheat? A new country ought to be. The corn I see looks fine. Why, it fairly stirs one's blood."

Now and then the Little Girl glanced up with a happy half smile and a light coming and going in her eyes. How she seemed to enjoy it all.

"We're mightily obliged to you, young fellow," Mr. Gaynor said as he rose. "That was a good dinner. But Ruth is too little to shoulder this rough sort of life. I thought I'd see if your mother couldn't find us a woman to come in part of the time, and we want some furniture—table and chairs, and some sort of a cot to sleep on. By the great Mogul! this is coming to a new country! and it's beginning from the very foundation."

"Mother spoke of coming over," I said. "I think she can find some one. And next week I hope to go to work at Mr. Hubbard's; then I shall see you often. Oh, I know my mother is very much interested in you."

"And we need a good woman friend, don't we, Little Girl?" as he softly pinched his daughter's cheek. "We can imagine how it was when they came over in the Mayflower. We've come to a new country."

Then he went out to look after his men. We tidied up a little, washed the few dishes and had a merry time, and to my surprise I saw the portly form of my mother peering about as if not quite sure of her bearings. I ran out to her.

"Well, well," and she kissed the Little Girl. "You have had some dinner I know by the smell, and I have brought you a loaf of bread an' a cake an' part of a boiled ham an' a jar of fruit. It's the grandmother bringing something to little Red Riding Hood, only you are not very red. You must get some color in your cheeks."

After we had talked awhile I called in Mr. Gaynor, who laid a few of his plans and his wants before her, and she spoke of some help she thought she could get.

Then she asked to look over Ruth's clothing. There was not much of it, and tied up in a pillow case. Mother gave a few sage nods over it.

"She'll want a couple of woollen winter frocks. I'll conjure them out for her, though I'm quick to say I know more about jackets and breeches. They can wait awhile, but she ought to have a new gingham. You go to church?"

"Well—I'd like her to go if 'twas handy."

"You'll want some dishes an' things, and pervisions. But you can't bake nothin' 'cept johnny cake. You'll get a stove? They're mighty handy when you don't have an oven. Though ther's a bake pan that answers."

"When we get in the new room we'll be a little more forehanded as to things. Well, do what's about right," and he gave her some money.

The Little Girl looked with wide open shining eyes as we went along Kinzie Street and turned into LaSalle, where the Cayses kept a country store at that time. There were two or three higher toned ones, where articles were not so promiscuously mixed. At first glance it seemed like moving day. It was long and low, with two counters, one for dry goods and a yard measure, and the other with scales for weighing everything from powder and shot to an ounce of spice, coffee, sugar, honey, molasses, butter, pork, hams, even game that had been traded off for other wants, along with more bulky wares and farming implements.

Ma'am Cayse, as she was generally called, was a short, stout, strong-looking woman with a square jaw, large white teeth, a rather flat nose and a forehead that took full one-half of her face. Her sandy hair was twisted in a tight knot at the back of her head, her skirt was short, showing both homespun stockings and home-made shoes. A sort of loose sacque enveloped the upper part of her body with the sleeves rolled over in a wad nearly to the shoulder.

"Who's gal is that?" she asked abruptly.

"Her father took the Towner place. He's buildin' onto it."

"Some one must have money in sech times as these. It's skace as hen's teeth. I declare to man if I could get holt of half a dollar I'd pinch the eagle 'til he squealed, an' ther's goin' to be a vandue, too."

"Whose vanduin'?" asked mother with a look of interest. People in newly settled places are apt to coin words, I have noticed, and after awhile some of them get regularly accepted.

"Why the Simses, goin' back to Cahoky before cold weather, but I'd go way down to Noo Orleens if I was them and wanted to keep warm. An' 'tother folks go to Canady or up to Mackinac. Ye jest can't count for tastes. What'll ye have?"

Mother ordered with an air of slow indifference. The gingham was really pretty I thought, with some fine lines of blue and red with the black and little squares of white. Some eatables followed in turn, and the ordinary country gossip until the next customer came in. It was rather early for the men to be congregating in a line across the front, smoking their pipes. Those who tarried here were mostly church-going people who would not be seen at the taverns, but dearly loved to argue politics or religion.

"I'm glad she spoke of that vandue," said mother when we were out of hearing. "Ther' may be a chance to get a bargain."

For bargains were as dear to women's hearts then as now.

We rambled down the river side, then crossed the bridge and came up to recross it again. Mr. Gaynor had impressed some new workmen in his service and matters were being pushed ahead rapidly.

"And while mother goes to the vandue we will take a walk," I said. "We'll go to Fort Dearborn, and I'll tell you the story. Only it is very sad."

"The Indian stories always are," she said with a sigh. "Do you suppose God made them cruel like because they had to fight each other so much? And what is there clear out west when they get there?"

I shook my head. We had not much faith in the noble red men in those days, and those lingering about Chicago were rather disreputable.

Mother settled with Mr. Gaynor about going to the Simses' sale, and I arranged to take Ruth to Fort Dearborn. I would have only two days more.

Father was confident the mantle of honor would fall upon me. Sim Chase he declared a lazy lout. They had tried him at the mill.

The weather was still superb. Ruth and I crossed the bridge and picked our way over the dusty roads. Surely we needed rain—we were always either dust or mud.

No one remarked the Little Girl in her faded frock and sun-bonnet, now nearly white. Now and then someone looked sharply at me, and it brought the color to my cheek. I had never thought about girls. I had gone to a boys' school and had been pretty busy with lessons and rather fond of staying home with mother and hearing her talk of her young days. I had no especial consciousness about a girl now, my only wish being that she was truly my sister and lived with us.

It is all swept away but the tablet and the monument. But before the last century had ended, by the treaty of Granville with five Indian tribes, a piece of ground six miles square at the entrance of the Chicago river was set aside for the building of a fort where there had once been a French trading post. It was a stockade with block houses, to be one of the chain for outposts of defence for the trade growing of more importance every year. Down here came Captain Whistler and his son and the two wives from Detroit, with the company for work and for defence, and bravely they went at their task. On the north side was the sally port or passage leading from the parade ground to the river, to be used as an escape in time of emergency. There were no horses or oxen and the men hauled the wood. There were Indian outbreaks now and then, but the little colony increased and all about the fort clustered a settlement.

And so it remained for about nine years. The women had learned to be as brave as the men, as fearless too. Then came the sudden and unexpected orders from Detroit to evacuate the fort, as Detroit was to be surrendered to the English. There had been numerous Indian raids on other forts.

The Pottawattamies had been very good friends with the soldiers and the dwellers about. But when they heard that General Hull had ordered that the property in the fort was to be distributed among the Indians they secretly joined the marauding bands, though they promised a safe-conduct to those within. Captain Wells ordered the whiskey to be poured into the river, and the powder to be destroyed, knowing the liquor would make fiends of the savages. So one August day they started, women, children and wagons, guarded by the soldiers; but when they had gone a mile or so from the fort, they found themselves almost surrounded by Indians, the remnants of various tribes that had not moved to the reservation, and the Pottawattamies joining them, the dreadful massacre occurred. A number were carried prisoners to St. Joseph.

Mrs. Heald, who had brought with her from Kentucky, on her marriage, a beautiful mare, which had aroused the envy of two Indian chiefs, who had made several attempts to steal it, rode out of the fort, but as soon as the raid was made she was forced to dismount and see her favorite in the hands of the savages, and she was led back to the fort a prisoner, while her husband was killed and treated with cruel indignity. Then the Indians took possession of the fort and held pandemonium for a few days. Afterward the Indians went off to attack Fort Wayne.

We rambled about the fort that had been rebuilt later on, and was now being evacuated for the second time, the victories over the rambling bands of Indians having made the country quite secure. Ruth Gaynor had heard of massacres in her native State not less cruel.

"But Mrs. Heald and her beautiful horse?" she queried with pathos in both eyes and voice.

"No money could buy it back. Some Indian chief thought too highly of his four-footed prisoner to give it up. Mrs. Heald, badly wounded, for she had fought bravely for her freedom, was left for a few days with an Indian trader at St. Joseph's and was finally permitted to return to Louisville. Some of the prisoners were taken up to Michigan and given their liberty on the recapture of Detroit. The fort was set on fire and made a heap of ruins. Several of the prisoners returned, but for a long while the station was well-nigh deserted by immigrants."

It looked deserted now. A drooping flag waved over it, but there was no glitter of arms or soldiery tread of sentinels. Business was taking the place of picturesque romance.

"You know," Ruth said in an awed voice, "there are stories of ghosts appearing. Did no one ever see Mrs. Heald on her beautiful horse riding out, or around?"

It was growing toward night now, and the drifting clouds had obscured the sunset. The lake stretched off weird and dark. We had climbed some steps and now we looked and listened and then glanced at each other. The spirited form of the woman who had fought for her life should have appeared.

"Come, we must go home," I said. I was conscious of a curious impression stealing over me.

"I should like to see her," Ruth said longingly. "I do not think I should be a bit afraid."

I took her hand and helped her down. "We will come again," I said, "but mother will wonder what has become of us."