The Thorn in the Nest. Finley Martha

by a hasty summons to the bedside of a sick woman at the other end of the village.

      "Come, Nell, and take a look at Chillicothe," the major said, leading the way to the grass plot in front of the house, where they seated themselves upon a log.

      There were many such lying about the streets, many trees and stumps of those which had been felled, still standing; in fact nearly the whole town was still a wilderness; yet though not a year old, it already contained, beside private dwellings, two taverns and several stores and shops of mechanics, but among them all there were but four shingled houses, and on one the shingles were fastened with pegs. The streets were very wide and straight, crossing at right angles; not all cleared yet, but marked out by blazing the trees of the thick wood in whose midst the town was located.

      There were many Indians in the vicinity. They had a town not far away, on the north fork of Paint Creek, and here in Chillicothe their wigwams were interspersed among the dwellings of the whites as Nellie noticed with some uneasiness.

      But her brother reassured her. "There is no danger," he said, "they are perfectly friendly."

      "Ah, but they are a treacherous race," she sighed with a dubious shake of the head.

      "Quite a change from Philadelphia, Nell," Clare remarked, joining them with her knitting in her hand.

      "Yes, but it is many weeks since I left there."

      "Is it nice in Philadelphia, Aunt Nellie?" asked Bess, the eldest of the children, hanging affectionately about the young girl. "Do tell us what it's like, and about the pretty things in the shop windows."

      "Another time, Bess," interposed the major. "Run away to your play now, and let older people talk. Nell, you saw Washington more than once?"

      "Ah yes! many times – and he asked for you, Percy, in the kindest way, speaking in the highest terms of your services to the country."

      "It is like him," the major exclaimed with emotion.

      "And this young doctor, Nell," pursued Clare, with a meaning smile, "what is he like?"

      "Just what he has shown himself to-night," the girl answered, blushing slightly, as she had a trick of doing, the rich blood showing readily through the clear, transparent skin.

      "A handsome, polished, courteous gentleman, intelligent and well informed above the generality, that is about all one could learn in so short an interview," and Clare laughed low and musically. "But you have had an opportunity to study his character pretty thoroughly."

      "A thing I never thought of doing," returned Nell, with some annoyance; "but I can tell you that he is very patient and very kind."

      "Any one might well be that to you, Nell," remarked her brother, regarding her with a proud, affectionate smile.

      "But it was not only to me, but to everybody, and to the very horses and dogs. He seems to be always thinking of others, never of himself, and to have a kind look or word or smile for the humblest and meanest creature that crosses his path, and," low and hesitatingly, "I believe it's because he is a real, true Christian."

      "I know it, one can read it in his face," said the major heartily, "and I am rejoiced; for such men are needed here."

      "There they are!" cried Nell, starting up. "See! the wagons are just crossing the ferry!"

      The Nashes and Barbours had been old friends and neighbors of the Lamars before the emigration of the latter to Ohio, and the major and his wife now hurried to meet and welcome them; Nell and the children following.

      Kenneth, having bestowed all needed attention upon his patient, was hurrying toward the ferry also, as indeed was nearly every man and women in the village, all alike rejoicing in every new accession to their numbers, and eager for news from the older settlements.

      There were joyous greetings, hearty handshakings, and quite a crowd gathered around Kenneth, giving him welcome, expressing unfeigned satisfaction with the advent among them of a good physician.

      "Why, hollo! I recognize an old friend! Kenneth Clenendin, I was never more surprised and delighted in my life!" cried a familiar voice, and our hero's hand was warmly grasped in that of a former schoolmate, a young man of pleasing, open countenance, and bluff, hearty manner.

      "Is it you, Godfrey Dale?" Kenneth exclaimed, shaking the hand cordially, his face lighting up with pleasure. "Why, where did you come from?"

      "From Tiffen's tavern over yonder, the sign of the General Anthony Wayne," returned Dale, laughing.

      "You are here as a settler?"

      "Yes, and as land agent and lawyer. It's a fine country, Kenneth, and men of both your profession and mine are needed in it. Come, let me show you my quarters. You must share them for the present, at all events."

      And linking his arm in that of his friend, he led the way, nearly all the men of the crowd following.

      The General Anthony Wayne was no spacious modern hotel, but like its neighbors a log building with windows of greased paper, its accommodations of the plainest.

      A cheerful wood fire blazed in its wide chimney, but the evening was a warm one for the time of year, and the company preferred the outer air.

      They grouped themselves about the door, sitting on stumps and logs, or leaning against the trees, while Kenneth, the centre of the throng, patiently answered questions and gave all the information in his power regarding matters of public interest both at home and abroad.

      The sun went down behind the hill overlooking the valley on the west, the stars shone from a clear sky overhead, and lights twinkled here and there among the trees.

      Nell, standing in the doorway of her brother's house, asked what they were, remarking:

      "They are many more in number than the cabins."

      "Yes," answered Clare, "do you not know that the Indians have a way of lighting up their wigwams with torches made of the splinters of birch and pine?"

      "I wish," murmured the girl, with a slight shudder, "that they could be kept away – miles away from the town."

      CHAPTER IV

      Early hours were the rule among the settlers in those primitive days, and by nine o'clock all was darkness and silence in the dwelling of the Lamars.

      A bed stood in one corner of the large family room, a trundle bed beneath it, which was drawn out at night; and here slept the parents and younger children.

      One of two smaller apartments between this and the kitchen was appropriated to Nell; the other occupied by the older children.

      The young girl was roused from her sleep in the middle of the night by something falling down the wall close to her side.

      "Percy! Percy!" she screamed in affright.

      "What is it, Nell?" answered the major, springing out of bed.

      "Oh, I don't know, I don't know! It's too dark to see! But, oh, come and bring a light quickly!"

      That was more easily said than done; friction matches were as yet an unknown luxury; the choice was between flint and steel and the fire covered upon the kitchen hearth.

      He chose the latter, but it was a work of time to hunt out a coal from the ashes, and blow it into life till it would ignite the wick of a candle.

      The thing was accomplished at last, however, and the light revealed a viper beneath Nell's bed.

      The major succeeded in killing it, and soothing his sister's alarm with a few kindly reassuring words, again retired to rest.

      It was some time before Nell's fears were forgotten in sleep, and a grumbling voice from the kitchen woke her early in the morning.

      "Dear me, who's been rakin' ober dis fire? It's clar out, every spark of it; an', Tig, you'll have to run over nex' do' for a bran' to start it wid."

      Silvy the cook was evidently very much out of humor.

      "Pshaw! you didn't cober it up right," returned the boy.

      "You git along!" was the wrathful answer. "I reckon you done raked it ober yourself;