For a good, long period, fruitful seasons and liberal blessings came on the Lake Country. The last was a year of unusual abundance. Plenty poured her horn at every happy farmer's. Barns looked as if ready to burst with fulness, and stacks of hay and grain studded the pleasant fields. Cribs were piled full of corn, and cellars were stowed with provisions.

But earth would be heaven too soon if all evil and vicissitude were ended. Checks upon our prosperity must fall, and changes tax and interrupt our gains; and he is not most of a man who meets least evil, and loses least of the reward of toil; but he who endures with the manliest courage, the mightiest will to overcome, and most dexterous hand to manage for decided good, all troubles that assail him.

In the autumn of that abundant year, it was predicted that cold seasons were near at hand. The Indians saw their approach in the fur of the foxes, and the masonry of beavers. Farmers were confirmed in the prophecy by the extra stores of the bees, and extra husks on the ears of corn. A cold and snowy winter would certainly come, and they were but too truly assured that a cold spring and summer would follow. Several people heeded the warning, and hauled extra supplies of fire-wood, kept larger stores of provisions, and lived more thoughtfully and saving. Fabens took forethought, and prepared for the winter. He sold but little of his abundance, saying, "If cold seasons were to follow, stores of provisions were better to lay up than money or notes." He talked with his neighbors on the subject, and a number heeded his advice. He proposed making wood bees for several of the poor, and succeeded in seeing ample piles of beech and maple at their doors. He got up a committee to visit the poor throughout the winter, and see that no child of God suffered in so bountiful a world. Some people thought he was taking a great deal of trouble on his hands, without the prospect of any reward; but he assured them that, with every fire of comfort he built on a poor man's hearth, he built a new fire of pleasure in his own cheerful heart; and in the thing itself which they called trouble, he received such full and flowing tides of bliss, as made him think heaven could begin on earth. "It is not the crusty turtle," said he one day to Wilson, "it is not the crusty turtle, that slinks into his selfish shell, and twinkles so coldly his little haughty eye, that receives or communicates most pleasure or delight. No, it is the kindly lamb, that gives you his fleece for a winter garment; it is the sweet-hearted robin, that carries the seeds of abundance over God's plantations, and sings of His love by the poor man's cabin, and feeds and covers the babes in the woods."

There were some who laughed at his superstition for believing things in nature could warn men of the weather a month ahead; and they made no preparation for a change. But he remained confident, and believed God was speaking to him in symbols to set his house in order.

"God must stoop a good 'eal, I reckon, to become an almanic maker," said Colwell.

"God forges the snow-flake, and sprinkles down every drop of rain," said Fabens. "God teaches the squirrels to prepare for winter, and instructs the ant, and beaver, and bee; and why would it be stooping for him to teach as, by signs in nature, to be ready for the changes he may bring? He does his own work, and speaks his own mind on this world every single day; and if we look for his signs we shall be acquainted with his ways."

The prediction began to fulfil. On the last day of October a snow-storm fell, and Gloom cast her shadow on the chilling scene. Fabens called Fanny to the window to gaze at the scudding clouds and driving snow. With wondering eyes and open mouth, she stared and sighed on the dreary, howling winter. "We must train you, my dear," said he, "to court the winter blast, and laugh, and be thankful amid storms. That goodness of our Father which pours in the rain, blooms in the flowers of summer, and smiles in the sweet spring mornings, speaks also in the wind, floats on the clouds, and sifts softly down in the white, white snows of winter."

That is called the cold winter to this day. It was deep, and long, and dreary. Snow that fell in October was not melted away till the last April rains dissolved it. Wild animals died of cold and hunger; sheep and cattle perished in numbers in the warmest pens; tame and wild fowls were killed by the cutting frosts; and several families suffered extremely, notwithstanding the committee kept astir on the busiest labors of love. Fabens' woods were easiest to enter, and by the exertions of many, a road was every week opened to them, and the destitute were furnished free with new supplies. Yet, such was the pinch of one long storm, that Dickey Shymer burned up the bark he designed to sell for grog; and the poor mischief of a Troffater, having not so much as bark, burned his best bedstead, then burned his eel-rack, and was unstocking his musket for a last lonely fagot, when Fabens drove up with a towering load of green maple wood. Grog-dealers were kept from freezing and starving, but they did no business to speak of that winter. Even Tilly, with his desperate bandy legs, could not lead his gang to worry a way often to a tavern. They were forced to live soberly.

The spring at last came on, and by the tenth of May it was quite warm; and many believed the cold season story was told; and some laughed at Fabens and others, for sowing the last fall so many acres of wheat, and putting into the ground now such crops of peas, potatoes, and oats. Some sold off grain they had laid up in store for a famine, and the May sun shone so warmly, they planted considerable corn, expecting speculation.

The corn came up finely, and looked thrifty and dark. The forests were heavy with foliage. Fruit trees and meadows contended for the fairest blossoms. Dairies were diminished, so great was the prospect of summer grain; and Hope smiled sweetly on Summerfield. But clouds came over when the corn was at the first hoeing, and terror and disappointment stormed upon the land. Snow fell three feet deep on a level, and the cold stung all nature with a chill, that seemed blown from the lips of February.

The sun again shone, and the snow went off; but the corn drooped, and the leaves of the trees withered, as if a fire had scorched them. And the season proved a cold and frosty one; and many there were that wished they had sown winter grain, and oats, and peas; ploughed up less green sward, and kept larger dairies. Another cold winter and summer followed, and drearier days were never seen in the Lake Country. A few speculators thrived, and the forehanded had chances to make much money; but the poor, and those who had laid up small supplies before, and lived sparingly, were overtaken as by a wild storm on a moor, and suffered greatly.

Mr. and Mrs. Fabens made every exertion in their power to mitigate the griefs of the neighborhood; and they influenced several to join them in missions and labors of relief and love. Agreements were made, that they would sell all they could spare at the lowest possible prices, be lenient about pay, inculcate and practise the sternest economy, and regard speculators, in that time, as foes and oppressors of the people.

More forethought was exercised, and the last of the cold seasons was met with preparations that mitigated and cheered the grievous glooms. Dairies were enlarged, corn was abandoned, and the hardier grains supplied; and though suffering and anxiety abounded, the people were enabled to escape a famine; and with hearts poured out in thanks, they welcomed the return of seasons warm and fruitful.

There were many good people staggered by that stern and afflictive vicissitude. They could not conceive why it came. They could not reconcile it with the goodness of God. They saw not why, if He was good, there should be winter and storms at all; and not perpetual sunshine and summer. They questioned Fabens on the subject. Mr. Nimblet questioned him, and Colwell asked him to "clear up the character of his God." Mr. Nimblet had heard Fabens express a hope that God would overrule evil for good, questioned him on that hope, and adduced the cold seasons as illustrations.

"And how can you explain these things in accordance with such a hope, Squire Fabens?" asked he. "And why are there so many sufferings in which we can see no good?"

"Because with our blind eyes we cannot see the result of all that happens," said Fabens, "does it follow that we never shall behold them issuing in good?"

"O no; but why should we have winter at all, when continual summer would be so much more pleasant?"

"To me perpetual summer would not be more pleasant. We are so constituted that diversity of air, weather and prospects, is indispensable to our enjoyment, and progress. Would you appreciate the beauty and blessing of spring, summer and autumn, you must experience in their unfailing turn, the gloomy rigors of winter."

"But why have these last been colder than others, causing so much suffering and need?"

"I cannot see all the Divine design, but I can see a lesson of good in the cold seasons. We learn wisdom, and get strength and breadth of life by suffering. These last winters have taught many of us wisdom and forethought; made us prudent; showed us how dependent we are, and yet learned us self-dependence. After this I'll warrant, the people of Summerfield will do and save more in the summer, to lay up comforts for the winter; and provide for unseen needs. And I feel in my heart a warmer sympathy for suffering, and know a little of the satisfaction one enjoys assisting his neighbors; while I see our neighborhood bound together in stronger bonds of love, by the concern which those bitter cold storms forced us to take of one another. What would become of charity if there were no wants to relieve? or hope, if we could not keep looking for pleasanter springs and more fruitful summers?"

"But, cold summers came, and the corn was all cut off, giving nobody good for the labor of ploughing and planting."

"Good was done to our lands, neighbor Nimblet, good was certainly done to our lands. We had run our corn lands too hard; fruitful seasons tempted us to imprudence, and we were running them all out. They have had a long rest now and will be more productive. Beside, we have found out that there are many honest ways to get a living, and have learned how to shift from right hand to left. A knack like that is well worth learning."

"From lessons of evil?"

"Yes, from lessons of evil. Would the maples stand the storms as they do, and grow all the more; would the oaks get so great, if they sprung from a city hot-house?"

"Are you as happy as you would be, Squire, if you could remember no affliction?"

"I enjoy happiness of a higher, sweeter and solider kind, I assure you, as I think of all past sorrows. Who can have so sweet an enjoyment of health, as one that has recovered from sickness, and walks out in the animating air and light? Yes, some of my best joys come and cheer me and strengthen me, after I have suffered. From anguish and bereavement the brightest views of God have shone on my soul, as you have seen rainbows shine brightest in the darkest skies."

"I cannot see everything as you do," said Mr. Nimblet, and went his way, while Fabens was preparing to speak of several more blessings, that would follow the cold seasons.