When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois CountryParrish, Randall
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When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois Country
Parrish, Randall
Illinois -- Fiction
"You go upon this strange journey willingly, my son?"
"Yes, father."
"You will be both kind and thoughtful with Roger Matherson's little
girl?"
"She shall be to me as my own sister."
I felt the confiding clasp of his fingers, and realized how much to him
would be a successful termination of my journey.
"Kiss your mother, John," he said, a trustful look coming into his
kindly eyes. "We must all be astir early on the morrow."
Beneath the rived shingles of my little room, under the sloping roof,
how I turned and tossed through those long night hours! What visions,
both asleep and awake, came to me, thronging fast upon my heated
brain, each more marvellous than its fellow, and all alike pointing
toward that strange country which I was now destined by fate to travel!
Vague tales of wonder and mystery had come floating to me out of that
unknown West, and now I was to behold it all with my own eyes. But
marvellous as were my dreams, the reality was to be even more amazing
than these pictures of boyish imagination. Had I known the truth that
night, I doubt greatly whether I should have had the courage to face it.
At last the gray dawn came, stealing in at the only window, and found
me eager for the trial.
CHAPTER III
A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
I drew rein upon the upper river bank, before we finally plunged into
the dark woods beyond, and glanced back. I had to brush the gathering
tears from my eyes before I could see clearly; and when I finally rode
away, the picture of that dear old home was fixed in my memory forever.
Our house stood near the centre of an oak opening,--a little patch of
native prairie-land, with a narrow stream skirting it on one side, and
a dense fringe of forest all about. The small story-and-a-half cabin
of hewn logs, with its lean-to of rough hand-riven planks, fronted to
the southward; and the northern expanse of roof was green with moss. My
father sat in the open doorway, his uplifted hand shading his eyes as
he gazed after us; while my mother stood by his side, one arm resting
upon the back of his chair, the other extended, waving a white cloth
in farewell. Rover was without, where I had bidden him remain, eagerly
watching for some signal of relenting upon my part. Beyond stood the
rude out-buildings, silhouetted against the deep green. It was a
homely, simple scene,--yet till now it had been all the world to me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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