The Children of the New Forest

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER IX.

  Edward, having finished his meal, and had a good pull at the jug ofale, which was a liquor he had not tasted for a long while, rose fromthe table and went out of the back door, and found there OswaldPartridge. He accosted him, stating the reason for his coming over tohim. "I did not know that Jacob had a grandson: indeed I never knewthat he had a son. Have you been living with him long?"

  "More than a year," replied Edward; "before that, I was in thehousehold at Arnwood."

  "Then you are of the king's side, I presume?" replied Oswald.

  "To death," replied Edward, "when the time comes."

  "And I am also; that you may suppose, for never would I give a hound toany one that was not. But we had better go to the kennels. Dogs mayhear, but they can't repeat."

  "I little thought to have met any one but you here when I came," saidEdward; "and I will now tell you all that passed between me and the newintendant." Edward then related the conversation.

  "You have been bold," said Oswald; "but perhaps it is all the better. Iam to retain my situation, and so are two others; but there are manynew hands coming in as rangers. I know nothing of them, but that theyare little fitted for their places, and rail against the king all daylong, which, I suppose, is their chief merit in the eyes of those whoappoint them. However, one thing is certain, that if those fellows cannot stalk a deer themselves, they will do all they can to preventothers; so you must be on the alert, for the punishment is severe."

  "I fear them not; the only difficulty is, that we shall not be able tofind a sale for the venison now," replied Edward.

  "Oh never fear that; I will give you the names of those who will takeall your venison off your hands without any risk on your part, exceptin the killing of it. They will meet you in the park, lay down readymoney, and take it away. I don't know, but I have an idea, that thisnew intendant, or what you may call him, is not so severe as hepretends to be. Indeed, his permitting you to say what he did, and hisown words relative to the colonel, convince me that I am right in theopinion that I formed."

  "Do you know who he is?"

  "Not much about him, but he is a great friend of General Cromwell, andthey say has done good service to the Parliamentary cause; but we shallmeet again, for the forest is free at all events."

  "If you come here," continued Oswald, "do not carry your gun--and seethat you are not watched home. There are the dogs for your grandfather.Why, how old must you be, for Jacob is not more than sixty orthereabout?"

  "I am fifteen, past, nevertheless."

  "I should have put you down for eighteen or nineteen at least. You arewell grown indeed for that age. Well, nothing like a forest life toturn a boy into a man! Can you stalk a deer?"

  "I seldom go out without bringing one down."

  "Indeed! That Jacob is a master of his craft, is certain; but you areyoung to have learned it so soon. Can you tell the slot of a brocketfrom a stag?"

  "Yes, and the slot of a brocket from a doe."

  "Better still. We must go out together; and besides, I must know wherethe old man's cottage is (for I do not exactly), in the first place,because I may want to come to you, and in the next, that I may putothers on a false scent. Do you know the clump of large oaks which theycall the Clump Royal?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Will you meet me there the day after to-morrow, at early dawn?"

  "If I live and do well."

  "That's enough. Take the dogs in the leashes, and go away now."

  "Many thanks; but I must not leave the pony, he is in the stable."

  The keeper nodded adieu to Edward, who left him to go to the stable forthe pony. Edward saddled White Billy, and rode away across the forestwith the dogs trotting at the pony's heels.

  Edward had much to reflect upon as he rode back to the cottage. He feltthat his position was one of more difficulty than before. That oldJacob Armitage would not last much longer, he was convinced; even nowthe poor old man was shrunk away to a skeleton with pain and disease.That the livelihood to be procured from the forest would be attendedwith peril, now that order had been restored, and the forest was nolonger neglected, was certain; and he rejoiced that Humphrey had, byhis assiduity and intelligence, made the farm so profitable as itpromised to be. Indeed he felt that, if necessary, they could live uponthe proceeds of the farm, and not run the risk of imprisonment bystalking the deer. But he had told the intendant that he considered thegame as the king's property, and he was resolved that he would at allevents run the risk, although he would no longer permit Humphrey so todo. "If any thing happens to me," thought Edward, "Humphrey will stillbe at the cottage to take care of my sisters; and if I am obliged tofly the country, it will suit well my feelings, as I can then offer myservices to those who still support the king." With these thoughts andmany others he amused himself until, late in the evening, he arrived atthe cottage. He found all in bed except Humphrey, who had waited forhim, and to whom he narrated all that had passed. Humphrey said littlein reply; he wished to think it over before he gave any opinion. Hetold Edward that Jacob had been very ill the whole of the day, and hadrequested Alice to read the Bible to him during the evening.

  The next morning Edward went to Jacob, who for the last ten days hadaltogether kept his bed, and gave him the detail of what had happenedat the keeper's lodge.

  "You have been more bold than prudent, Edward," replied Jacob; "but Icould not expect you to have spoken otherwise. You are too proud andtoo manly to tell a lie, and I am glad that it is so. As for yourupholding the king, although he is now a prisoner in their hands, theycan not blame you or punish you for that, as long as you have notweapons in your hands; but now that they have taken the forest undertheir jurisdiction, you must be careful, for they are the ruling powersat present, and must be obeyed, or the forfeit must be paid. Still I donot ask you to promise me this or that; I only point out to you thatyour sisters will suffer by any imprudence on your part; and for theirsakes be careful. I say this, Edward, because I feel that my days arenumbered, and that in a short time I shall be called away. You willthen have all the load on your shoulders which has been latterly onmine. I have no fear for the result if you are prudent; these fewmonths past, during which I have only been a burden to you, have provedthat you and Humphrey can find a living here for yourselves and yoursisters; and it is fortunate, now that the forest laws are about to beput in force, that you have made the farm so profitable. If I mightadvise, let your hunting in the forest be confined to the wild cattle;they are not game, and the forest laws do not extend to them, and themeat is as valuable as venison--that is to say, it does not sell sodear, but there is more of it; but stick to the farm as much as youcan; for you see, Edward, you do not look like a low-born forester, norought you to do so; and the more quiet you keep the better. As forOswald Partridge, you may trust him; I know him well; and he will proveyour friend for my sake, as soon as he hears that I am dead. Leave menow--I will talk to you again in the evening. Send Alice to me, my dearboy."

  Edward was much distressed to perceive the change which had taken placein old Jacob. He was evidently much worse; but Edward had no idea howmuch worse he was. Edward assisted Humphrey in the farm, and in theevening again went to Jacob, and then told him of the arrangement hehad made to meet Oswald Partridge on the following morning.

  "Go, my boy," said Jacob; "be as intimate with him as you can, and makea friend of him--nay, if it should be necessary, you may tell him whoyou are; I did think of telling him myself, as it might be important toyou one day as evidence. I think you had better bring him hereto-morrow night, Edward; tell him I am dying, and wish to speak to himbefore I go. Alice will read the Bible to me now, and I will talk withyou another time."

  Early the next morning Edward set off to the appointed rendezvous withOswald Partridge. The Clump Royal, as it was called, from the peculiarsize and beauty of the oaks, was about seven miles from the cottage;and at the hour and time indicated, Edward, with his gun in his hand,and Smoker lying beside him, was leaning
against one of those monarchsof the forest. He did not wait long. Oswald Partridge, similarlyprovided, made his appearance, and Edward advanced to meet him.

  "Welcome, Oswald," said Edward.

  "And welcome to you also, my fine lad," replied Oswald. "I have beenhard questioned about you since we parted--first by the RoundheadHeatherstone, who plied me in all manner of ways to find out whetheryou are what you assert, the grandson of Jacob--or some other person. Ireally believe that he fancies you are the Duke of York--but he, couldnot get any more from me than what I knew. I told him that yourgrandfather's cottage was his own property, and a grant to hisforefathers; that you were brought up at Arnwood, and had joined yourgrandfather after the death of the colonel, and the murderous burningof the house and all within it by his party. But the pretty littledaughter was more curious still. She cross-questioned me in every waywhen her father was not present, and at last begged me as a favor totell you not to take the deer, as her father was very strict in hisduty, and, if caught, you would be imprisoned."

  "Many thanks to her for her caution, but I hope to take one to-day,nevertheless," replied Edward; "a hart royal is not meat forRoundheads, although the king's servants may feast on them."

  "That's truly said. Well, now I must see your woodcraft. You shall bethe leader of the chase."

  "Think you we can harbor a stag about here?"

  "Yes, in this month, no doubt."

  "Let us walk on," said Edward. "The wind is fresh from the easternquarter; we will face it, if you please--or, rather, keep it blowing onour right cheek for the present."

  "'Tis well," replied Oswald; and they walked for about half an hour.

  "This is the slot of a doe," said Edward, in a low voice, pointing tothe marks; "yonder thicket is a likely harbor for the stag." Theyproceeded, and Edward pointed out to Oswald the slot of the stag intothe thicket. They then walked round, and found no marks of the animalhaving left his lair.

  "He is here," whispered Edward; and Oswald made a sign for Edward toenter the thicket, while he walked to the other side. Edward enteredthe thicket cautiously. In the center he perceived, through the trees,a small cleared spot, covered with high fern, and felt certain that thestag was lying there. He forced his way on his knees till he had abetter view of the place, and then cocked his gun. The noise inducedthe stag to move his antlers, and discover his lair. Edward could justperceive the eye of the animal through the heath; he waited till thebeast settled again, took steady aim, and fired. At the report of thegun another stag sprung up and burst away. Oswald fired and wounded it,but the animal made off, followed by the dogs. Edward, who hardly knewwhether he had missed or not, but felt almost certain that he had not,hastened out of the thicket to join in the chase; and, as he passedthrough the fern patch, perceived that his quarry lay dead. He thenfollowed the chase, and, being very fleet of foot, soon came up withOswald, and passed him without speaking. The stag made for a swampyground, and finally took to the water beyond it, and stood at bay.Edward then waited for Oswald, who came up with him.

  "He has soiled," said Edward, "and now you may go in and kill him."

  Oswald, eager in the chase, hastened up to where the dogs and stag werein the water, and put a bullet through the animal's head.

  Edward went to him, assisted him to drag the stag out of the water, andthen Oswald cut its throat, and proceeded to perform the usual offices.

  "How did you happen to miss him?" said Oswald; "for these are my shots."

  "Because I never fired at him," said Edward; "my quarry lies dead inthe fern--and a fine fellow he is."

  "This is a warrantable stag," said Oswald.

  "Yes, but mine is a hart royal, as you will see when we go back."

  As soon as Oswald had done his work, he hung the quarters of the animalon an oak-tree, and went back with Edward.

  "Where did you hit him, Edward?" said Oswald, as they walked along.

  "I could only see his eye through the fern, and I must have hit himthereabouts."

  On their arrival at the spot, Oswald found that Edward had put the ballright into the eye of the stag.

  "Well," said he, "you made me suppose that you knew something of ourcraft, but I did not believe that you were so apt as you thoughtyourself to be. I now confess that you are a master, as far as I cansee, in all branches of the craft. This is indeed a hart royal.Twenty-five antlers, as I live! Come, out with your knife, and let usfinish; for if we are to go to the cottage, we have no time to lose. Itwill be dark in half an hour." They hung all the quarters of the stagas before, and then set off for Jacob's cottage, Edward proposing thatOswald should take the cart and pony to carry the meat home nextmorning, and that he would accompany him to bring it back.

  "That will do capitally," said Oswald; "and here we are, if I recollectright, and I hope there is something to eat."

  "No fear of that--Alice will be prepared for us," replied Edward.

  Their dinner was ready for them, and Oswald praised the cooking. He wasmuch surprised to see that Jacob had four grandchildren. After dinner,he went into Jacob's room, and remained with him more than an hour.During this conference, Jacob confided to Oswald that the four childrenwere the sons and daughters of Colonel Beverley, supposed to have beenburned in the firing of Arnwood. Oswald came out, much surprised aswell as pleased with the information, and with the confidence reposedin him. He saluted Edward and Humphrey respectfully, and said, "I wasnot aware with whom I was in company, sir, as you may well imagine; butthe knowledge of it has made my heart glad."

  "Nay, Oswald," replied Edward, "remember that I am still EdwardArmitage, and that we are the grandchildren of old Jacob."

  "Certainly, sir, I will, for your own sake, not forget that such is tobe supposed to be the case. I assure you, I think it very fortunatethat Jacob has confided the secret to me, as it may be in my power tobe useful. I little thought that I should ever have had my dinnercooked by the daughter of Colonel Beverley."

  They then entered into a long conversation, during which Oswaldexpressed his opinion that the old man was sinking fast, and would notlast more than three or four days. Oswald had a bed made up for him onthe floor of the room where Edward and Humphrey slept; and the nextmorning they set off, at an early hour, with the pony and cart, loadedit with venison, and took it across the forest to the keeper's lodge.It was so late when they arrived, that Edward consented to pass thenight there, and return home on the following morning. Oswald went intothe sitting-room to speak with the intendant of the forest, leavingEdward in the kitchen with Phoebe, the maid-servant. He told theintendant that he had brought home some fine venison, and wished hisorders about it. He also stated that he had been assisted by EdwardArmitage, who had brought the venison home for him in his cart, and whowas now in the kitchen, as he would be obliged to pass the night there;and, on being questioned, he was lavish in his praises of Edward'sskill and knowledge of woodcraft, which he declared to be superior tohis own.

  "It proves that the young man has had much practice, at all events,"replied Mr. Heatherstone, smiling. "He has been living at the king'sexpense, but he must not follow it up at the cost of the Parliament. Itwould be well to take this young man as a ranger if we could; foralthough he is opposed to us, yet, if he once took our service, hewould be faithful, I am sure. You can propose it to him, Oswald. Thehunches of that hart royal must be sent up to General Cromwellto-morrow: the remainder we will give directions for, as soon as I havemade up my mind how to dispose of it."

  Oswald left the room, and came back to Edward. "General Cromwell is tohave the hunches of your stag," said he to Edward, smiling: "and theintendant proposes that you should take service as one of the rangers."

  "I thank you," replied Edward, "but I've no fancy to find venison forGeneral Cromwell and his Roundheads; and so, you may tell theintendant, with many thanks for his good-will toward me, nevertheless."

  "I thought as much, but the man meant kindly, that I really think. Now,Phoebe, what can you give us to eat, for we are hungry?"
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  "You shall be served directly," replied Phoebe. "I have some steaks onthe fire."

  "And you must find a bed for my young friend here."

  "I have none in the house, but there is plenty of good straw over thestables."

  "That will do," replied Edward; "I'm not particular."

  "I suppose not. Why should you be?" replied Phoebe, who was rather oldand rather cross. "If you mount the ladder that you will see againstthe wall, you will find a good bed when you are at the top of it."

  Oswald was about to remonstrate, but Edward held up his finger and nomore was said.

  As soon as they had finished their supper, Phoebe proposed that theyshould go to bed. It was late, and she would sit up no longer. Edwardrose and went out, followed by Oswald, who had given up the keeper'shouse to the intendant and his daughter, and slept in the cottage ofone of the rangers, about a quarter of a mile off. After someconversation, they shook hands and parted, as Edward intended returningvery early the next morning, being anxious about old Jacob.

  Edward went up the ladder into the loft. There was no door to shut outthe wind, which blew piercingly cold and after a time he found himselfso chilled that he could not sleep. He rose to see if he could not findsome protection from the wind by getting more into a corner; foralthough Phoebe had told him that there was plenty of straw, it provedthat there was very little indeed in the loft, barely enough to liedown upon. Edward, after a time, descended the ladder to walk in theyard, that by exercise he might recover the use of his limbs. At last,turning to and fro, he cast his eyes up to the window of the bedroomabove the kitchen, where he perceived a light was still burning. Hethought it was Phoebe, the maid, going to bed; and with no verygracious feelings toward her for having deprived him of his own night'srest, he was wishing that she might have the toothache or somethingelse to keep her awake, when suddenly through the white window curtainhe perceived a broad light in the room--it increased every moment--andhe saw the figure of a female rush past it, and attempt to open thewindow--the drawing of the curtains showed him that the room was onfire. A moment's thought, and he ran for the ladder by which he hadascended to the loft, and placed it against the window. The flames wereless bright, and he could not see the female who had been at the windowwhen lie went for the ladder. He ascended quickly, and burst open thecasement--the smoke poured out in such volumes that it neatlysuffocated him, but he went in; and as soon as he was inside, hestumbled against the body of the person who had attempted to open thewindow, but who had fallen down senseless. As he raised the body, thefire, which had been smothered from want of air when all the windowsand doors were closed, now burst out, and he was scorched before hecould get on the ladder again, with the body in his arms; but hesucceeded in getting it down safe. Perceiving that the clothes were onfire, he held them till they were extinguished, and then for the firsttime discovered that he had brought down the daughter of the intendantof the forest. There was no time to be lost, so Edward carried her intothe stable and left her there, still insensible, upon the straw, in aspare stall, while he hastened to alarm the house. The watering-buttfor the horses was outside the stable; Edward caught up the pail,filled it, and hastening up the ladder, threw it into the room, andthen descended for more.

  By this time Edward's continual calls of "Fire! fire!" had aroused thepeople of the house, and also of the cottages adjacent. Mr.Heatherstone came out half dressed, and with horror on his countenance.Phoebe followed screaming, and the other people now hastened from thecottages.

  "Save her! my daughter is in the room!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherstone."Oh, save her, or let me do so!" cried the poor man, in agony; but thefire burst out of the window in such force, that any attempt would havebeen in vain.

  "Oswald," cried Edward to him, "let the people pass the water up to meas fast as possible. They can do no good looking on."

  Oswald set the men to work, and Edward was now supplied with water sofast that the fire began to diminish. The window was now approachable,and a few more buckets enabled him to put one foot into the room, andthen every moment the flames and smoke decreased.

  Meanwhile it would be impossible to describe the agony of theintendant, who would have rushed up the ladder into the flames, had henot been held by some of the men. "My daughter! mychild!--burned--burned to death!" exclaimed he, clasping his hands.

  At that moment a voice in the crowd called out, "There were four burnedat Arnwood!"

  "God of Heaven!" exclaimed Mr. Heatherstone, falling down in a swoon,in which state he was carried to a neighboring cottage.

  Meanwhile the supply of water enabled Edward to put out the firealtogether: the furniture of the room was burned, but the fire hadextended no farther; and when Edward was satisfied that there was nomore danger, he descended the ladder, and left it to others to see thatall was safe. He then called Oswald to him, and desired that he wouldaccompany him to the stable.

  "Oh, sir," replied Oswald, "this is dreadful! and such a sweet younglady too."

  "She is safe and well," replied Edward, "I think so, at least. Ibrought her down the ladder, and put her in the stable before Iattempted to put out the fire. See, there she is; she has not recoveredyet from her swoon. Bring some water. She breathes! thank God! There,that will do, Oswald, she is recovering. Now let us cover her up inyour cloak, and carry her to your cottage. We will recover her there."

  Oswald folded up the still unconscious girl in his cloak, and earnedher away in his arms, followed by Edward.

  As soon as they arrived at the cottage, the inmates of which were allbusy at the keeper's lodge, they put her on a bed, and very soonrestored her to consciousness.

  "Where is my father?" cried Patience, as soon as she was sufficientlyrecovered.

  "He is safe and well, miss," replied Oswald.

  "Is the house burned down?"

  "No. The fire is all out again."

  "Who saved me? tell me."

  "Young Armitage, miss."

  "Who is he? oh, I recollect now; but I must go to my father. Where ishe?"

  "In the other cottage, miss."

  Patience attempted to stand, but found that she was too much exhausted,and she fell back again on the bed. "I can't stand," said she. "Bringmy father to me."

  "I will, miss," replied Oswald. "Will you stay here, Edward?"

  "Yes," replied Edward. He went out of the cottage door, and remainedthere while Oswald went to Mr. Heatherstone.

  Oswald found him sensible, but in deep distress, as may be imagined."The fire is all out, sir," said Oswald.

  "I care not for that. My poor, poor child!"

  "Your child is safe, sir," replied Oswald.

  "Safe, did you say?" cried Mr. Heatherstone, starting up. "Safe!where'?"

  "In my cottage. She has sent me for you."

  Mr. Heatherstone rushed out, passed by Edward, who was standing at thedoor of the other cottage, and was in his daughter's arms. Oswald cameout to Edward, who then detailed to him the way in which he had savedthe girl.

  "Had it not been for the ill-nature of that woman Phoebe, in sending meto sleep where there was no straw, they would all have been burned,"observed Edward.

  "She gave you an opportunity of rewarding good for evil," observedOswald.

  "Yes, but I am burned very much in my arm," said Edward. "Have you anything that will be good for it?"

  "Yes, I think I have: wait a moment."

  Oswald went into the cottage and returned with some salve, with whichhe dressed Edward's arm, which proved to be very severely burned.

  "How grateful the intendant ought to be--and will be, I have no doubt!"observed Oswald.

  "And for that very reason I shall saddle my pony and ride home as fastas I can; and, do you hear, Oswald, do not show him where I live."

  "I hardly know how I can refuse him, if he requires it."

  "But you must not. He will be offering me a situation in the forest, byway of showing his gratitude, and I will accept of none. I have noobjection to save his daughter, as I would
save the daughter of myworst enemy, or my worst enemy himself, from such a dreadful death; butI do not want their thanks or offers of service. I will accept nothingfrom a Roundhead; and as for the venison in the forest, it belongs tothe king, and I shall help myself whenever I think proper. Good-by,Oswald, you will call and see us when you have time?"

  "I will be with you before the week is out, depend upon it," repliedOswald.

  Edward then asked Oswald to saddle his pony for him, as his armprevented him from doing it himself, and, as soon as it was done, herode away from the cottage.

  Edward rode fast, for he was anxious to get home and ascertain thestate of poor old Jacob; and, moreover, his burned arm was verypainful. He was met by Humphrey about a mile from the cottage, who toldhim that he did not think that the old man could last many hours, andthat he was very anxious to see him. As the pony was quite tired withthe fast pace that Edward had ridden, Edward pulled up to a walk, andas they went along acquainted Humphrey with what had passed.

  "Is your arm very painful?"

  "Yes, it is, indeed," replied Edward; "but it can't be helped."

  "No, of course not, but it may be made more easy. I know what will doit some good; for I recollect, when Benjamin burned his hand atArnwood, what they applied to it, and it gave him great relief."

  "Yes, very likely; but I am not aware that we have any drugs ormedicine in the cottage. But here we are: will you take Billy to thestable, while I go on to old Jacob?

  "Thank God that you are come, Edward," said the old forester, "for Iwas anxious to see you before I die; and something tells me that I havebut a short time to remain here."

  "Why should you say so! Do you feel very ill?"

  "No, not ill; but I feel that I am sinking fast. Recollect that I am anold man, Edward."

  "Not so very old, Jacob; Oswald said that you were not more than sixtyyears old."

  "Oswald knows nothing about it. I am past seventy-six, Edward; and youknow, Edward, the Bible says that the days of man are threescore yearsand ten; so that I am beyond the mark. And now, Edward, I have but fewwords to say. Be careful--if not for your own sake, at least for yourlittle sisters'. You are young, but you are strong and powerful aboveyour years, and can better protect them than I could. I see darker daysyet coming--but it is His will, and who shall doubt that that is right?I pray you not to make your birth and lineage known as yet--it can dono good, and it may do harm--and if you can be persuaded to live in thecottage, and to live on the farm, which will now support you all, itwill be better. Do not get into trouble about the venison, which theynow claim as their own. You will find some money in the bag in mychest, sufficient to buy all you want for a long while--but take careof it; for there is no saying but you may require it. And now, Edward,call your brother and sisters to me, that I may bid them farewell. Iam, as we all are, sinful, but I trust in the mercy of God throughJesus Christ. Edward, I have done my duty toward you, as well as I havebeen able; but promise me one thing--that you will read the Bible andprayers every morning and evening, as I have always done, after I amgone; promise me that, Edward."

  "I promise you that it shall be done, Jacob," replied Edward, "and Iwill not forget your other advice."

  "God bless you, Edward. Now call the children."

  Edward summoned his sisters and Humphrey.

  "Humphrey, my good boy," said Jacob, "recollect, that in the midst oflife we are in death; and that there is no security for young or old.You or your brother may be cut off in your youth; one may be taken, andthe other left. Recollect, your sisters depend upon you, and do nottherefore be rash: I fear that you will run too much risk after thewild cattle, for you are always scheming after taking them. Be careful,Humphrey, for you can ill be spared. Hold to the farm as it now is: itwill support you all. My dear Alice and Edith, I am dying; very soon Ishall be laid by your brothers in my grave. Be good children, and lookup to your brothers for every thing. And now kiss me, Alice; you havebeen a great comfort to me, for you have read the Bible to me when Icould no longer read myself. May your death-bed be as well attended asmine has been, and may you live happily, and die the death of aChristian! Good-by, and may God bless you. Bless you, Edith; may yougrow up as good and as innocent as you are now. Farewell,Humphrey--farewell, Edward--my eyes are dim--pray for me, children. OGod of mercy, pardon my many sins, and receive my soul, through JesusChrist. Amen, Amen."

  These were the last words spoken by the old forester. The children, whowere kneeling by the side of the bed, praying as he had requested, whenthey rose up, found that he was dead. They all wept bitterly, for theydearly loved the good old man. Alice remained sobbing in Edward's arms,and Edith in Humphrey's, and it was long before the brothers couldconsole them. Humphrey at last said to Alice, "You hurt poor Edward'sarm--you don't know how painful it is! Come, dears, let us go into theother room, and get something to take the pain away."

  These requests diverted the attention, at the same time that it rousedfresh sympathy in the little girls--they all went into thesitting-room. Humphrey gave his sisters some potatoes to scrape upon apiece of linen, while he took off Edward's coat, and turned up hisshirt sleeves. The scraped potatoes were then laid on the burn, andEdward said they gave him great relief. Some more were then scraped bythe little girls, who could not, however, repress their occasionalsobs. Humphrey then told them that Edward had had nothing to eat, andthat they must get him some supper. This again occupied them for sometime; and when the supper was ready, they all sat down to it. They wentto bed early, but not before Edward had read a chapter out of theBible, and the prayers, as old Jacob had always done; and this againcaused their tears to flow afresh.

  "Come, Alice, dear, you and Edith must go to bed," said Humphrey.

  The little girls threw themselves into their brothers' arms; and havingwept for some time, Alice raised herself, and taking Edith by the hand,led her away to her bedroom.