Chapter 11 - Page 2

yet, in that quarter. The captain had
commented on this peculiarity of the present struggle; all those which
had preceded it having, as a matter of course, taken the direction of
the frontiers between the hostile provinces.

"There is no use, Woods, in bothering ourselves about these things,
after all," observed captain Willoughby, one day, when the subject of
hanging the long-neglected gates came up between them. "It's a heavy
job, and the crops will suffer if we take off the hands this week. We
are as safe, here, as we should be in Hyde Park; and safer too; for
there house-breakers and foot-pads abound; whereas, _your_
preaching has left nothing but very vulgar and everyday sinners at the
Knoll."

The chaplain had little to say against this reasoning; for, to own the
truth, he saw no particular cause for apprehension. Impunity had
produced the feeling of security, until these gates had got to be
rather a subject of amusement, than of any serious discussion. The
preceding year, when the stockade was erected, Joel had managed to
throw so many obstacles in the way of hanging the gates, that the duty
was not performed throughout the whole of the present summer, the
subject having been mentioned but once or twice, and then only to be
postponed to a more fitting occasion.

As yet no one in the valley knew of the great event which had taken
place in July. A rumour of a design to declare the provinces
independent had reached the Hut, in May; but the major's letter was
silent on this important event, and positive information had arrived by
no other channel; otherwise, the captain would have regarded the
struggle as much more serious than he had ever done before; and he
might have set about raising these all-important gates in earnest. As
it was, however, there they stood; each pair leaning against its proper
wall or stockade, though those of the latter were so light as to have
required but eight or ten men to set them on their hinges, in a couple
of hours at most.

Captain Willoughby still confined his agricultural schemes to the site
of the old Beaver Pond. The area of that was perfectly beautiful, every
unsightly object having been removed, while the fences and the tillage
were faultlessly neat and regular. Care had been taken, too, to render
the few small fields around the cabins which skirted this lovely rural
scene, worthy of their vicinage. The stumps had all been dug, the
surfaces levelled, and the orchards and gardens were in keeping with
the charms that nature had so bountifully scattered about the place.

While, however, all in the shape of tillage was confined to this one
spot, the cattle ranged the forest for miles. Not only was the valley,
but the