Mass George | Page 3

it has never been
inhabited more than by a few Indians, who passed through it when
hunting. No houses; not so much as a road."
"Then there won't be no taverns, Sarah," said Morgan, giving her a
nudge.
"And a very good thing too," she replied.
"So that," continued my father, "I shall have to help cut down the trees
to build my own house, make my own furniture, and fence in the
estate-- in short, do everything."
"Well, I don't see nothing to grumble at in that, sir, so long as there's
plenty of wood," said Morgan.
"There'll be too much wood, my man," said my father, smiling, "and we
shall have to ply the axe hard to clear our way."

"Any stone or slate, sir?"
"Plenty of stone, but no slate that I am aware of."
"No," cried Morgan, triumphantly. "I knew there'd be no slate. That
proves as it won't come up to Wales. There isn't such a country for slate
anywhere as Wales. Well, sir, but even if there's no slate, we can make
shift. First thing we do as soon as we get out, will be for me to rig the
missus up a bit of a kitchen, and we shall take a few pots and pans in a
box."
"Oh, I shall go well provided with necessaries," said my father.
"Then pray don't forget a frying-pan, sir. It's wonderful what the missus
here can do with a frying-pan."
"Do be quiet, Morgan Johns," said Sarah.
"Shan't," he growled. "I'm a-telling of the truth. It's wonderful, sir, that
it is. Give her a frying-pan and a bit o' fire, and we shan't never hurt
for a bit o' well-cooked victuals."
"But--" began my father, when Morgan rushed in again.
"Washin', sir, I forgot all about the washing. We shall want a tub and a
line. Trees 'll do for tying up to, and you'll see we shall none of us ever
want for clean clothes."
"Do be quiet, Morgan."
"I shan't, Sarah. It's only fair as the master should know what you can
do, look you."
"But I wish you people to think seriously now, while there is yet time,"
said my father.
"Seriously, sir? Oh yes, we've been thinking of it seriously enough,
and--I say, missus, do try and do without flat-irons; they're very heavy
kind o' traps for a man to take in his kit."

"Come, come," said my father; "you had better think better of it, and
not embrace such a rough life."
"We have thought better on it, sir, and the very best too. We're coming,
and if you won't take us, we'll come without. And look you, sir, of
course you'll take some guns, and swords, and powder and shot."
"Of course."
"Then don't forget some tools: spades, and hoes, and seeds, and some
carpenter's things and nails. You can't think what a deal can be done
with a hammer, a saw, and a few nails."
"Then you mean to come?"
"Mean to come, sir?" cried Morgan, in astonishment. "Why we got
married o' purpose; didn't we, Sarah?"
"Oh yes, sir; that's the very truth."
"And we shall be obliged to go now."
I did not see where the obligation came in, but I supposed it was all
right.
"Then I can only say thank you heartily," cried my father, warmly;
"and for my part, I'll do my duty by you both."
"Of course we know that, don't we, Sarah? Or else we shouldn't go."
"My dear master!" said Sarah, and she bent forward and kissed his
hand before clapping her handkerchief to her eyes, and rushing out of
the room.
"She'll be all right, sir, soon," whispered Morgan. "And look you, I'll
begin getting together all sorts of little tackle, sir, as I think 'll be useful
out yonder. Knives and string, and--look you, Master George, strikes
me as a few hooks and lines wouldn't be amiss. A few good fish in a
frying-pan, cooked as Sarah can cook 'em, arn't to be sneezed at now

and then."
He gave us both a sharp nod, and hastily followed his wife, while I
stayed to pester my father with endless questions about our new home.
CHAPTER TWO.
The month which followed was one scene of excitement to me. We
went into lodgings in Bristol, and my father seemed to be always busy
making purchases, or seeing the different gentlemen who were going
out with us in the same ship.
I recollect many of their faces. There was the General, a firm,
kindly-looking man, who always seemed to me as if he could not
possibly be a soldier, he was too quiet. Then there was Colonel Preston,
a handsome, florid gentleman, ten years older than my father, and I
heard that his wife, two