In the records of individual experience, as well as in the history of the world, there are certain points of time which are rendered memorable by important events. By referring to a chronological table, the young reader will see the great events which have marked the progress of civilized nations from the lowest depths of barbarism up to their present enlightened state. Every individual, if he had the requisite wisdom, could make up a list of epochs in his own experience. Perhaps he would attach too little importance to some things, too much to others; for we cannot always clearly perceive the influences which a.s.sist in forming the character. Some trivial event, far back in the past, which inspired him with a new reverence for truth and goodness, may be forgotten. The memory may not now cherish the look, the smile of approbation, which strengthened the heart, when it was struggling against the foe within; but its influence was none the less potent. "It is the last pound which breaks the camel's back;"

and that look, that smile, may have closed the door of the heart against a whole legion of evil spirits, and thus turned a life of woe and bitterness into a life of sunshine and happiness.

There are hundreds of epochs in the experience of every person, boy or man--events which raised him up or let him down in the scale of moral existence. Harry West had now reached one of these epochs in his pilgrimage.

To meet a little girl in the woods, to kill a black snake, and thus relieve her from a terrible fright, to say the least, was not a great event, as events are reckoned in the world; yet it was destined to exert a powerful influence upon his future career. It was not the magnitude of the deed performed, or the chivalrous spirit which called it forth, that made this a memorable event to Harry; it was the angel visit--the kindling influence of a pure heart that pa.s.sed from her to him. But I suppose the impatient reader will not thank me for moralizing over two whole pages, and I leave the further application of the moral to the discretion of my young friends.

Harry felt strangely--more strangely than he had ever felt before. As he walked back to the cabin everything seemed to have a.s.sumed a new appearance. Somehow the trees did not look as they used to look. He saw through a different medium. His being seemed to have undergone a change. He could not account for it; perhaps he did not try.

He entered the cabin; and, without dropping the train of thought which Julia's presence suggested, he busied himself in making the place more comfortable. He shook up the straw, and made his bed, stuffed dried gra.s.s into the c.h.i.n.ks and crannies in the roof, fastened the door up with some birch withes, and replaced some of the stones of the chimney which had fallen down. This work occupied him for nearly two hours, though, so busy were his thoughts, they seemed not more than half an hour.

He had scarcely finished these necessary repairs before he heard the light step of her who fed him, as Elijah was fed by the ravens, for it seemed like a providential supply. She saw him at the door of the cabin; and she no longer dallied with a walk, but ran with all her might.

"O, Harry, I am so glad!" she cried, out of breath, as she handed him a little basket, whose contents were carefully covered with a piece of brown paper.

"Glad of what, Julia?" asked Harry, smiling from sympathy with her.

"I have heard all about it; and I am so glad you are a good boy!"

exclaimed she, panting like a pretty fawn which had gamboled its breath away.

"About what?"

"Father has seen and talked with--who was he?"

Harry laughed. How could he tell whom her father had seen and talked with? He was not a magician.

"The man that owned the dog, and the horse and the boat."

"O! George Leman," replied Harry, now deeply interested in the little maiden's story. "Where did he see him?"

"Over at the store. But I have brought you some dinner; and while you are eating it, I will tell you all about it. Come, there is a nice big rock--that shall be your table."

Julia, full of excitement, seized the basket, and ran to the rock, a little way from the cabin. Pulling off half a dozen great oak leaves from a shrub, she placed them on the rock.

"Here is a piece of meat, Harry, on this plate," she continued, putting it on an oak leaf; "here is a piece of pie; here is some bread and b.u.t.ter; here is cheese; and here is a piece of cold apple pudding.

There! I forgot the sauce."

"Never mind the sauce," said Harry; and he could hardly keep from bursting into tears, as he saw how good the little angel was.

It seemed as though she could not have been more an angel, if she had had a pair of wings. The radiant face was there; the pure and loving heart was there; all was there but the wings, and he could easily imagine them.

And what a dinner! Roast beef, pudding, pie! He was not much accustomed to such luxuries; but just then he did not appreciate the sumptuousness of the feast, for it was eclipsed by the higher consideration of the devotion of the giver.

"Come, eat, Harry! I am so glad!" added Julia.

"So am I. If you feed me as high as this, I shall want to stay here a good while."

"I hope you will."

"Only to-day; to-morrow I must be moving towards Boston."

"I was hoping you would stay here a good long while. I shall be so pleased to bring you your breakfast, and dinner, and supper every day!"

"Your father would not like it."

"I don't know why he shouldn't. You are not very hungry; you don't eat as you did this morning."

"I ate so much then. Tell me, now, what your father said, Julia."

"He saw George Leman; and he told him how you tied his horse to the fence, and how careful you were to put the blanket on him, so that he shouldn't catch cold after his hard run. That was very kind of you, Harry, when you knew they were after you. Father said almost any one would have run the horse till he dropped down. That one thing showed that you were not a bad boy."

"I wouldn't have injured George Leman for anything," added Harry.

"He's a good fellow, and never did me any harm."

"He said, when he found his horse, he was so glad he wouldn't have chased you any farther for all the world. He told father what Mr.

Nason said about you--that you were a good boy, had good feelings, and were willing to work. He didn't blame you for not wanting to go to Jacob Wire's--wasn't that the man?"

"Yes."

"And he didn't blame you for running away. n.o.body believes that you set the barn afire; and, Harry, they have caught the other boy--Ben Smart, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that was his name."

"They caught him in the woods, over the other side of the river."

"Did you find out whether the dog was killed?" asked Harry.

"Mr. Leman said he thought he would get over it; and he has got his boat again."

"I am glad of that; and if anybody ever catches me with such a fellow as Ben Smart again, they'll know it."

"You can't think how I wanted to tell father where you were, when he spoke so well of you. He even said he hoped you would get off, and that you must be in the woods around here somewhere. You will let me tell him now--won't you, Harry?"

"I think not."

"Why not, Harry?"

"He may hope I will get off, and still not be willing to help me off."

Julia looked very much disappointed; for she had depended upon surprising her father with the story of the snake, and the little fugitive in the woods.

"He will be very good to you," pleaded she.

"I dare say he would; but he may think it his duty to send me back to Redfield; and Squire Walker would certainly make me go to Jacob Wire's."

"But you won't go yet."

"To-morrow, Julia."

"I'm afraid you will never get to Boston."