The Shadow of the North: A Story of Old New York and a Lost CampaignAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Shadow of the North: A Story of Old New York and a Lost Campaign
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Juvenile fiction
"You were eleven then," said Robert, "and I was just a shade
younger. You were as strange to me as I was to you, and I thought, in
truth, that you were going to run away into the wilderness. But you
didn't, and you began to learn from books faster than I thought was
possible for one whose mind before then had been turned in another
direction."
"But you helped me, Dagaeoga. After our first and only battle in the
garden, which I think was a draw, we became allies."
"Und you united against me," said Mynheer Huysman.
"And you helped me with the books," continued Tayoga. "Ah, those first
months were hard, very hard!"
"And you taught me the use of the bow and arrow," continued Robert,
"and new skill in both fishing and hunting."
"Und the two uf you together learned new tricks und new ways uf making
my life miserable," grumbled Mynheer Huysman.
"But you must admit, Jacob," said Willet, "that they were not the
worst boys in the world."
"Well, not the worst, perhaps, David, because I don't know all the
boys uf all the countries in the world, but when you put an Onondaga
lad und an American lad together in alliance it iss hard to find any
one who can excel them, because they haf the mischief uf two nations."
"But you are tremendously glad to see them again, Jacob. Don't deny
it. I read it over and over again in your eyes."
Willet's own eyes twinkled as he spoke, and he saw also that there was
a light in those of the big Dutchman. But Huysman would admit
nothing.
"Here iss your room," he said to Robert and Tayoga.
Robert saw that it was not changed. All the old, familiar objects were
there, and they brought to him a rush of emotion, as inanimate things
often do. On a heavy mahogany dresser lay two worn volumes that he
touched affectionately. One was his Caesar and the other his
algebra. Once he had hated both, but now he thought of them tenderly
as links with, the peaceful boyhood that was slipping away. Hanging
from a hook on the wall was an unstrung bow, the first weapon of the
kind with which he had practiced under the teaching of Tayoga. He
passed his hand over it gently and felt a thrill at the touch of the
wood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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