Through Forest and Fire | Page 2

the explanation was not
satisfactory.
True, they had a big Maltese cat, but he was hardly strong enough, even
if he had the disposition, to hoist a plump baby over such a gate, out of
pure mischief.
But the most remarkable thing took place the next week, when Nick not
only fell out of the door and over the obstruction, but a few minutes
later fell in again. In fact, it looked as if from that time forward Nick
Ribsam's position was inverted almost as often as it was upright.
"There's one thing I want my little boy to learn," said the father, as he
took him on his knee and talked in the language of his Fatherland "and
that is, 'God helps them that help themselves.' Don't ever forget it!"
"Yaw, I ish not forgots him," replied the youngster, staring in the broad
face of his parent, and essaying to make use of the little English he had
picked up.
The good father and mother acted on this principle from the beginning.
When Nick lost his balance he was left to help himself up again; when
he went bumping all the way down the front steps, halting a moment on
each one, his father complacently smoked his long pipe and waited to
see how the boy was going to get back, while the mother did not think
it worth while to leave her household duties to look at the misfortunes
of the lad.
"God helps them that help themselves."
There is a great deal in this expression, and the father of Master

Nicholas Ribsam seemed to take in the whole far-reaching truth. "You
must do everything you possibly can," he said, many a time; "you must
use your teeth, your hands, and your feet to hang on; you must never let
go; you must hammer away; you must always keep your powder dry;
you must fight to the last breath, and all the time ask God to help you
pull through, and _He'll do it!_"
This was the creed of Gustav Ribsam and his wife, and it was the creed
which the children drew in with their breath, as may be said; it was
such a grand faith that caused Nick to develop into a sturdy, self-reliant,
brave lad, who expected to take his own part in the battle of life
without asking odds from any one.
The parents of our hero and heroine proved their faith by their works.
By hard, honest toil and economy, they had laid up a competence
which was regularly invested each year, and of which the children were
not allowed to know anything, lest it might make them lazy and
unambitious.
The little house and fifty acres were paid for, and the property was
more than sufficient to meet the wants of the family, even after the
youngsters became large enough to go to school.
The morning on which young Nick Ribsam started for the country
school, a half mile away, was one which he can never forget. He was
six years old, and had picked up enough of the English language to
make himself understood, though his accent was of that nature that it
was sure to excite ridicule on the part of the thoughtless.
As Nick had a large head, he wore of necessity a large cap, with a long
frontispiece and with a button on the top. His coat was what is called a
"roundabout," scarcely reaching to his waist, but it abounded with
pockets, as did the vest which it partly inclosed. His trousers were
coarse, thick, and comfortable, and his large boots were never touched
by blacking, Nick's father having no belief in such nonsense, but
sticking to tallow all the time.
Nick carried a spelling book and slate under his arm, and, as he started

off, any one looking at him would have been struck by his bright eyes,
ruddy cheeks, and generally clean appearance. As he was so very good
natured, he was certain to become quite an acquisition to the school.
There are no more cruel, or perhaps thoughtless people in the world
than a number of school-boys, under certain conditions. The peculiar
dress and the broken language of little Nick excited laughter at once,
and this soon turned into ridicule.
Nick was beset continually at recess and at noon by the boys, who
immediately christened him "Dutchy." He laughed and did not seem to
mind it, for his philosophy was that no words applied to him could
injure him, and so long as the boys kept their hands off he did not care.
Among the pupils was Herbert Watrous, a spruce young gentleman
from the city, who dressed better than the others, and who threw out
hints about the sparring lessons he had taken at home,