Life in the Backwoods | Page 4

for our dinner?" said the driver,
after he had seen to the accommodation of his teams.
"Pritters and pork, sir. Nothing else to be had in the woods. Thank God,
we have enough of that!"
D---- shrugged up his shoulders, and looked at us.

"We've plenty of that same at home. But hunger's good sauce. Come,
be spry, widow, and see about it, for I am very hungry."
I inquired for a private room for myself and the children, but there were
no private rooms in the house. The apartment we occupied was like the
cobbler's stall in the old song, and I was obliged to attend upon them in
public.
"You have much to learn, ma'am, if you are going to the woods," said
Mrs. J----.
"To unlearn, you mean," said Mr. D----. "To tell you the truth, Mrs.
Moodie, ladies and gentlemen have no business in the woods.
Eddication spoils man or woman for that location. So, widow (turning
to our hostess), you are not tired of living alone yet?"
"No, sir; I have no wish for a second husband. I had enough of the first.
I like to have my own way--to lie down mistress, and get up master."
"You don't like to be put out of your -old- way," returned he, with a
mischievous glance.
She coloured very red; but it might be the heat of the fire over which
she was frying the pork for our dinner.
I was very hungry, but I felt no appetite for the dish she was preparing
for us. It proved salt, hard, and unsavoury.
D---- pronounced it very bad, and the whiskey still worse, with which
he washed it down.
I asked for a cup of tea and a slice of bread. But they were out of tea,
and the hop-rising had failed, and there was no bread in the house. For
this disgusting meal we paid at the rate of a quarter of a dollar a-head.
I was glad when, the horses being again put to, we escaped from the
rank odour of the fried pork, and were once more in the fresh air.
"Well, mister; did not you grudge your money for that bad meat?" said

D----, when we were once more seated in the sleigh. "But in these parts,
the worse the fare the higher the charge."
"I would not hare cared," said I, "if I could have got a cup of tea."
"Tea! it's poor trash. I never could drink tea in my life. But I like coffee,
when 'tis boiled till it's quite black. But coffee is not good without
plenty of trimmings."
"What do you mean by trimmings?"
He laughed. "Good sugar, and sweet cream. Coffee is not worth
drinking without trimmings."
Often in after years have I recalled the coffee trimmings, when
endeavouring to drink the vile stuff which goes by the name of coffee
in the houses of entertainment in the country.
We had now passed through the narrow strip of clearing which
surrounded the tavern, and again entered upon the woods. It was near
sunset, and we were rapidly descending a steep hill, when one of the
traces that held our sleigh suddenly broke. D---- pulled up in order to
repair the damage. His brother's team was close behind, and our
unexpected stand-still brought the horses upon us before J. D---- could
stop them. I received so violent a blow from the head of one of them,
just in the back of the neck, that for a few minutes I was stunned and
insensible. When I recovered, I was supported in the arms of my
husband, over whose knees I was leaning, and D---- was rubbing my
hands and temples with snow.
"There, Mr. Moodie, she's coming to. I thought she was killed. I have
seen a man before now killed by a blow from a horse's head in the like
manner." As soon as we could, we resumed our places in the sleigh; but
all enjoyment of our journey, had it been otherwise possible, was gone.
When we reached Peterborough, Moodie wished us to remain at the inn
all night, as we had still eleven miles of our journey to perform, and
that through a blazed forest-road, little travelled, and very much

impeded by fallen trees and other obstacles; but D---- was anxious to
get back as soon as possible to his own home, and he urged us very
pathetically to proceed.
The moon arose during our stay at the inn, and gleamed upon the
straggling frame houses which then formed the now populous and
thriving town of Peterborough. We crossed the wild, rushing, beautiful
Otonabee river by a rude bridge, and soon found ourselves journeying
over the plains or level heights beyond the village, which were thinly
wooded with picturesque groups