In The Boyhood of Lincoln Part 35

"The forester continued to be sad. He would sit outside of his door at early evening and pound his hands upon his knees so--c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k--and think of the gay city. Then he would strike his hands on his knees again. He did not know that it was fool's gold, all.

"He grew more and more discontented with his simple lot. One day he went out into the forest alone to cut wood. When he had become tired he sat down by a running stream to hear the birds sing and to strike his hands on his knees.

"A shadow came gliding across the mosses of the stream. It was like the form of a dark man. Slowly it came on, and as it did so the flowers on the banks of the stream withered. The woodman looked up, and a black giant stood before him.

"'You look unhappy to-day,' said the black giant. 'You did not use to look that way. What is wanting?'

"The woodman looked down, clasped his hands, and struck them on his knees--c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k.

"'Ah, I see--money! The world all wants money. Selfishness could not thrive without money. I will give you all the money that you want, on one condition.'

"'Name it.'

"'That you will exchange your heart.'

"'What will you give me for my heart?'

"'Your heart is a human heart, a very simple human heart. I will put in its place a heart of stone, and then all your wishes shall turn to gold.

Whatever you wish you shall have.'

"'Shall I be happy?'

"'Happy! Ha, ha, ha! are not people happy who have their wishes?'

"'Some are, and some are happy who give up their wishes and wills and desires."

"The woodman leaned his face upon his hands for a while, seemed in great doubt and distress. He thought of his wife, who used to say that contentment was happiness, and that one could be rich by having a few wants. Then he thought of the city. The vision rose before him like a Vanity Fair. He clasped his hands again, and struck them on his knees--c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k--and said, 'I will do it.'

"Suddenly he felt a heart within him as cold as stone. He looked up to the giant, and saw that he held his own good, true heart in his hands.

"'I will put it away in a gla.s.s jar in my house,' he said, 'where I keep the hearts of the rich. Now, listen. You have only to strike your locked hands on your knees three times--c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k--whenever you want for gold, and wish, and you will find your pockets full of money.'

"The woodman struck his palms on his knees and wished, then felt in his pockets. Sure enough, his pockets were full of gold.

"He thought of his wife, but his thought was a cold one; he did not love her any more. He thought of his little ones, but his thoughts were frozen; he did not care to meet them any more. He thought of his parents, but he only wished to meet them to excite their envy. The stream no longer charmed him, nor the flowers, nor the birds, nor anything.

"'I will dissemble,' he said. He hurried home. His wife met him at the door. He kissed her. She started back, and said:

"'Your lips are cold as death! What has happened?'

"His children kissed him, but they said:

"'Father, your cheeks are cold.'

"He tried to pray at the meal, but his sense of G.o.d was gone; he did not love G.o.d, or his wife, or his children, or anything any more--he had a stone-cold heart.

"After the evening meal he told his wife the events of the day. She listened with horror.

"'In parting with your heart you have parted with everything that makes life worth having,' said she. But he answered:

"'I do not care. I do not care for anything but gold now. I have a stone-cold heart.'

"'But will gold make you happy?' she asked.

"He started. He went forth to work the next day, but he was not happy.

So day by day pa.s.sed. His gold did not make his family happy, or his friends, or any one, but he would not have cared for all these, for he had a stone-cold heart. Had it made him happy? He saw the world all happy around him, and heavier and heavier grew his heart, and at last he could endure it no longer.

"One day he was sitting in the same place in the woods as before, when he saw the shadowy figure stealing along the mosses of the stream again.

He looked up and beheld the giant, and exclaimed:

"'Give me back my heart!'"

"Have you learned the lesson?"

CHAPTER XXII.

THE INDIAN PLOT.

One sultry August night a party of Sac and Fox Indians were encamped in a grove of oaks opposite Rock Island, on the western side of the Mississippi. Among them were Main-Pogue and Waubeno.

The encampment commanded a view of the burial hills and bluffs of the abandoned Sac village.

As the shadow of night stole over the warm, glimmering twilight, and the stars came out, the lights in the settlers' cabins began to s.h.i.+ne; and as the Indians saw them one by one, their old resentment against the settlers rose and bitter words pa.s.sed, and an old warrior stood up to rehea.r.s.e his memories of the injustice that his race had suffered in the old treaties and the late war.

"Look," he said, "at the eyes of the cabins that gleam from yonder sh.o.r.e. The waters roll dark under them, but the lights of the canoes no more haunt the rapids, and the women and children may no more sit down by the graves of the braves of old. Our lights have gone out; their lights s.h.i.+ne. Their lights s.h.i.+ne on the bluffs, and they twinkle like fireflies along the prairies, and climb the cliffs in what was once the Red Man's Paradise. Like the fireflies to the night the white settlers came.

"Rise up and look down into the water. There--where the stream runs dark--they shot our starving women there, for crossing the river to harvest their own corn.

"Look again--there where the first star s.h.i.+nes. She, the wife of Wabono, floated there dead, with the babe on her breast. Here is the son of Wabono.

"Son of Wabono, you ride the pony like the winds. What are you going to do to avenge your mother? You have nourished the babe; you are good and brave; but the moons rise and fall, and the lights grow many on the prairie, and the smoke-wreaths many along the sh.o.r.e. Speak, son of Wabono."

A tall boy arose, dressed in yellow skins and painted and plumed.

"Father, it is long since the rain fell."

"Long."

"And the prairies are yellow."

"Yellow."

"And they are food for fire."

"Food for fire."