CHAPTER III.
Do you understand what Tim Hunter did? Had the mass of timberdescending upon him and his sister been unchecked, they would not havelived an instant. Had it been shattered into small fragments by thecyclone, the ingenious precaution which a wonderful presence of mindenabled hint to make, would have been of no avail.
Take a block of seasoned oak, six inches through, and two feet inheight, and interpose it squarely against an approaching body and it isalmost as powerful in the way of resistance as so much metal. It wouldtake an ironclad to crush it to pulp, by acting longitudinally or alongits line of length. This block stood upright, and received a portionof the rafters, covered by the shingles and held them aloft as easilyas you can hold your hat with your outstretched arm. From this pointof highest support, the debris sloped away until it rested on thefloor, but the open space, in which the brother and sister lay, was assafe as was their situation, before the gale loosened the structure.
Tim called to his sister and found that not so much as a hair of herhead had been harmed, and it was the same with himself. All wasdarkness in their confined quarters, but the wrenched framework gavethem plenty of air to breathe.
Who can picture the feelings of the father, when he saw the collapse ofthe roof of the barn and knew that his two children were beneath? Herushed thither like a madman, only to be cheered to the highestthankfulness the next moment at hearing their muffled assurances thatboth were all right. A brief vigorous application of his axe and thetwo were helped out into the open air, neither the worse for theirdreadful experience.
The parent could hardly believe what had been done by his boy, whenMaggie told him, until an examination for himself showed that it wastrue. He declared that neither he nor anyone would have thought of themeans and applied it with such lightning quickness. It certainly wasan extraordinary exhibition of presence of mind and deserved all thepraise given to it. The Brereton _Intelligencer_ devoted half a columnto a description of the exploit and prophesied that that "young man"would be heard from again. For weeks and months there was nothing atthe disposal of Mr. Hunter which was too good for his boy and it isprobable that the indulgence of that period had something to do withmaking Tim dissatisfied with the prospect of spending all his life as a"hewer of stone."
Gradually as the effects of the remarkable rescue wore off, theimpatience of the parent grew until we have seen him on the point ofcalling to account the boy who had really been the means of saving twolives, for his own was as much imperilled as the sister's. Once moreshe appealed to that last recourse, and once more it did not fail her.When he recalled that dreadful scene, he could not help feeling anadmiring gratitude for his boy. Although silent and reserved some timelater, when the three gathered round the table for their evening meal,nothing unpleasant was said by the parent, though the sharp-witted Timfelt a strong suspicion of the cause of his father's reserve.
Later in the evening, the latter sat down by the table in the sittingroom and took up his copy of the Brereton _Intelligencer_, which hadarrived that afternoon. He always spent his Thursday evenings in thismanner, unless something unusual interfered, the local news andselected miscellany affording enough intellectual food to last himuntil retiring time.
While he was thus occupied, Tim and Maggie played checkers, there beinglittle difference in their respective skill. They were quiet, and whennecessary to speak, did so in low tones, so as not to disturb theparent.
An hour had passed, when he suddenly turned, with his spectacles on hisnose, and looked at the children. The slight resentment he still felttoward Tim caused him to address himself directly to his sister:
"Maggie, do you know who has been writing these articles in the paperfor the last few weeks?"
She held a king suspended as she was on the point of jumping a coupleof Tim's and asked in turn:
"What articles?"
"They are signed 'Mit' and each paper for the last two or three monthshas had one of them."
"No, sir; I do not know who wrote them."
"Well, whoever he is he's a mighty smart fellow."
"Maybe it's a 'she,'" suggested Maggie, as she proceeded to sweep offthe board the two kings of Tim that had got in the path of her singleone.
"Fudge! no woman can write such good sense as that. Besides, some ofthem have been on the tariff, the duties of voters, the Monroe Doctrineand politics: what does any woman know about such themes as those?"
"Don't some women write about them?"
"I haven't denied that, but that doesn't prove that they know anythingof the subjects themselves."
The miss could make no suitable response to this brilliant remark anddid not attempt to do so, while Tim said nothing at all, as if thesubject had no attraction to him.
By and by the parent uttered a contemptuous sniff. He was reading"Mit's" contribution, and for the first time came upon something withwhich he did not agree.
"He's 'way off there," remarked the elder, as if speaking to himself.
"What is it, father?" asked Maggie, ceasing her playing for the moment,for her affection always led her to show an interest in whateverinterested him.
"The article is the best I have read until I get toward the end.Listen: 'No greater mistake can be made than for a parent to force achild into some calling or profession for which he has no liking. Theboy will be sure to fail.' Now, what do you think of _that_?"
"The latter part sounds very much like what you said to me thisafternoon."
"It isn't that, which is true enough, but the idea that a boy knowsbetter than his father what is the right profession for him to follow.That doctrine is too much like Young America who thinks he knows itall."
"Read on, father; let me hear the rest."
The father was silent a minute or two, while he skimmed through thearticle.
"It isn't worth reading," he remarked impatiently, thereby proving thathe had been hit by the arguments which he found difficult to refute.Maggie made no comment, but smiled significantly at Tim across theboard, as they resumed their game.
In truth, Mr. Hunter had come upon some sentiments that set him tothinking, such, for instance, as these: "It may be said with truth inmany cases, that the father is the best judge of what the future of hisson should be. In fact no one can question this, but the father doesnot always use that superior knowledge as he should. Perhaps he hasyielded to the dearest wish of the mother that their son should becomea minister. The mother's love does not allow her to see that her boyhas no gifts as a speaker and no love for a clergyman's life. He longsto be a lawyer or doctor. Will any one deny that to drive the youngman into the pulpit is the greatest mistake that can be made?
"Sometimes a father, with an only son, perhaps, intends that he shallbe trained to follow in his footsteps. The boy has a dislike for thatcalling or profession,--a dislike that was born with him and whichnothing can remove. His taste runs in a wholly different channel;whatever talent he has lies there. While it may be convenient for himto step into his parent's shoes, yet he should never be forced to doso, but be allowed to select that for which he has an ability andtoward which he is drawn. Parents make such sad mistakes as these, andoften do not awake to the fact until it is too late to undo themischief that has been done. Let them give the subject their mostthoughtful attention and good is sure to follow."
It was these words, following on the talk he had had with Maggie ashort time before that set Mr. Hunter to thinking more deeply than hehad ever done over the problem in which his son was so intimatelyconcerned. After his children had retired and he was left alone, heturned over the paper and read the article again. It stuck to him andhe could not drive it away. Laying the journal aside, he lit his pipeand leaned back in his chair.
"It is not pleasant," he mused, "to give up the idea of Tim becoming mysuccessor, for he is the only one I have ever thought of as such. Butthere is force in what 'Mit' says about driving a boy into a calling orprofession that he hates; he will make a failure o
f it, whereas hemight become very successful if left to follow his own preferences. Iwonder who 'Mit' is; his articles are the best I have ever read in the_Intelligencer_; I must ask the editor, so I can have him out here andtalk over this question which is the biggest bother I ever had."
Before Maggie and Tim separated to go to their rooms, and while at thetop of the stairs they whispered together for a few minutes. Theparent had got thus far in his musings, when he heard the voice ofMaggie calling from above:
"Father, do you think 'Mit' is a smart fellow?"
"Of course, even though I may not agree with all his views," repliedthe parent, wondering why his child was so interested.
"Would you like to know who he is?"
"Of course, but you told me you didn't know."
"I didn't at that time, but I have learned since. If you will spellthe name backwards and put it before your surname, you will have thatof the youth who wrote the articles you admire so much."
The parent did as suggested, and behold! the name thus spelled out wasthat of his only son, whose writings he had praised before the youngman's face.
The Jungle Fugitives: A Tale of Life and Adventure in India Page 42
