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come song of supper, and the odor of
some delicious tea which Dr. Gordon had
given as a, treat to the men, in addition
to their ordinary rations, appeared to
exert a refreshing influence, even before
it was tasted.
And now, as they gather round their
ruddy fire to enjoy their evening meal,
the group is so picturesque that we are
tempted to pause a moment and look at
them.
Seated on the only camp stool to be
seen, and marked as the only one of the
company habited in citizen’s attire is Dr.
Gordon, a man of ordinary height and
middle age, with a countenance of thought
ful, habitual cheerfulness, but pale now
from distress, and wearing at times an
expression of inexpressible anxiety, lie
occupies a place near the door of his tent,
listening to the lively jests of the men,
and occasionally throwing in a kindly
word to make them feel more at their
ease. Hear him, on a log rolled there for
the purpose, is the stalwart form of Ser
geant Tomkins. Ho one who looks into
his calm grey eyes will doubt that he is
a man of courage, and the quick, merry
twinkle of that same eye proves that he
is good-natured, too, and can enjoy a joke
as well as any of them. But Sergeant
Tomkins is withal a martinet in his ideas
of order, and can never for a moment for
get that the military command of the
company devolves on him, and that a cer
tain degree of persistent dignity is neces
sary to discipline. Standing respectfully
beside and somewhat in the rear of Dr.
Gordon is Wildcat, whose intelligent face
is lighted up with pleasure at a remark
just addressed to him by his patron. His
dress is neither that of the soldier nor of
the citizen, but of the Indian. The ma
terials are of dressed deerskin, buff-color
ed and properly ornamented. A hunting
shirt, with a broad cape over the shoul
ders, and with a deer-skin fringe on all
its edges, covers his body and reaches
half way down his thigh. Leggings of
the same, and fringed in like manner,
cover his legs from hip to ankle, while
moccasins heavy with small, bright-color
ed beads, enclose his feet, and a flap or
apron, still more adorned than the moc
casins, and having pockets, protects the
stomach. His head is enveloped in a
handkerchief worn as a turban. This
dress was prepared by the skillful fingers
of his mother, and Wildcat would feel
denationalized if he doffed it for any other
costume. At the moment we look upon
him, he is starting from his position by
Dr. Gordon to the men beside the fire,
where he is to take his share of supper.
BUEKE’S WEEKLY.
Wheeler and his men are seated on the
clean sand, each with his tin plate and
tin cup in hand, preparing to enjoy the
contents. He is a man of well-knit frame,
and in his aspect it is hard to determine
which predominates, the soldier, the
sailor, or the hunter. Os the other men,
the swarthy visage, heavy figure and
down look of Simpson are in striking
contrast with the open, laughing face,
light complexion and agile figure of a
pleasant-looking man beside him of the
name of Jones. Thompson, (Swan Thomp
son he calls himself,) an Irishman, but
recently imported from the Green Isle, is
cook ; and Magruder, a raw-boned, sandy
whiskered Scotchman, treads the margin
of the bluff as sentry over both camp and
boat.
On the edge of the bluff, within a few
paces of the fire, glisten the bright mus
kets of the men, stacked according to
military rule, while the barge, within full
reach of the firelight, tilts heavily upon
the sand, where she lies aground ; and
the shelly beach stretches like a broad
white belt between the sleeping waters
of the cove, on the one side, and the dark
forest of pines and cedars on the other,
illumined from below by the rich red of
the resinous fire, and from above by the
silvery light of a moon, nearly overhead,
and more than half at the full.
Christ’s Sympathy.
While the storm was fiercely blowing,
While the sea was wildly flowing,
Angry wind and angry billow.
Only rocked the Saviour’s pillow :
Jesus slept.
But when sudden grief was rending
Human hearts in sorrow bending;
Wheu> he saw the sisters weeping,
Where their brother’s form was sleeping,
“Jesus wept.”
♦♦♦-
THE CROOKED PICKLES.
BHE sound of brisk steps,
directions in subdued
tones, the carefully laid
tea table with its china
and silver, all confirmed
nnie Warren’s whispered
;ot company. Aren’t you
e ? Uncle Aaron’s come.”
Aunt Lucy had granted
the inmost wish of her little heart by al
lowing her to think herself useful on this
great domestic occasion.
“ May I get the pickles ?”
“ Mind and pick out all the straight
ones, dear.”
“ Yes’m;” and back she skipped with a
plateful, so green, so hard, so sure to be
brittle, that even fastidious Aunt Lucy
was satisfied.
Minnie dropped into her little chair,
watching for a good opportunity “to
take a step for auntie,” and as she sat,
grave lines were drawn upon the serious
little face, and drew Aunt Lucy’s eyes to
ward her, busy as she was.
•• Why did you tell me to get straight
pickles, Aunt Lucy ?”
“ Because they look a little nicer for
company. Crooked ones taste as well.”
Minnie fell back, pondering the idea
she could not express.
“ Aunt Lucy !”
“ What, dear!”
“ Do you love L T ncle Aaron better than
you do Uncle John ? Didn’t you tell me
Uncle John was a dear, good man. Aren’t
they both your brothers, just the same?”
“ Indeed they are, and I love them
both,” answered Miss True, quick tears
dimming her glasses.
“ But—but ” —the earnest eyes, the
quivering lip asked permission to go on.
Miss True’s smile granted it.
“ You have made toast, and cooked
chicken, and put on the prettiest dishes
for Uncle Aaron, but when Uncle John
was here you said, ‘Hevermind, the blue
dishes are just as well,’ and didn’t tell
me to get the straight pickles, either.—
But, auntie, I’m very sure you told me to
treat my little playmates just alike.”
“Well, Minnie, I knew that Uncle
Aaron was more particular about his eat
ing than Uncle John. He is used to hav
ing things very nice at home, while Uncle
John is not.”
“ I know,” chimed in the flexible, ex
pressive child’s voice. “ I know why—
because Uncle John is poor. But, auntie,
if he don’t get nice things often, won’t
he like them better when he does ?”
This naive home question, put with
moist eyes and deprecating tone, was too
much for Aunt True. She would have
boxed a pert child's ears, but she answered
Minnie (would that all of us could be as
wise !) humbly :
“ Dear child, Aunt Lucy was wrong;
she loves her brothers just alike, and
means to treat them so, and when Uncle
John comes again, he shall have a nice
supper.
“Yes, and the straight pickles, too!”
“ I declare,” said Aunt Lucy, shutting
herself into the buttery, while the four
years of experience outside walked away
with a happy face, “ I declare, Lucinda,
that child of yours does ask such ques
tions ; did you hear her? I shall never
see a crooked pickle again without being
ashamed of myself. You must be care
ful ; that pickle jar has taught Minnie
more about the sin of respect to persons
than the whole second chapter of James
would have done.”
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