AN ITINERANT PIONEER PREACHER

MAURICE THOMPSON

At one time Elder Thompson was making a journey on horseback from the eastern part of the State of Indiana to the Wabash valley. On his saddle he had a pair of leather saddle-bags, in one of which were his changes of clothing, while in the other was his food. Crosswise on the pommel he bore his long rifle, while strapped to the rear of his saddle was a comfortable blanket. At his side hung a coonskin bullet pouch, containing, besides bullets and patching, a good supply of punk and flints and a piece of steel with which to strike fire.

The punk used by pioneers was a peculiar, dry, spongy wood found in the knots on the trunks and larger branches of trees. Hickory trees, especially, furnished excellent punk. But the substance was not plentiful, and so had great value as a necessary part of the hunter's and traveller's supplies. It was absolutely necessary to keep it dry; the least dampness rendered it useless. Hence, it was usually wrapped carefully in a piece of

buckskin, and carried either in the pocket or at the bottom of the bullet pouch.

To start a fire, a small bit of the punk was held close to the edge of a flint, which, when smartly struck with a piece of steel, let fall a shower of sparks upon it. When one of these sparks took hold, the punk was surrounded loosely with dry tow or leaves, which were fanned into flame by being whirled in the hand. Then with dry kindling wood, a good fire was soon built, and the hungry traveller could broil his venison and parch his corn, or roast his "roasting-ear."

One day about noon Elder Thompson found himself on a thinly wooded ridge of land many miles from any white settlement. A slow, fine rain was falling, and the air was raw and went to the marrow with its chill. The trees were dripping; the underbrush was beaded with water. Tired and hungry, Elder Thompson stopped here to prepare his dinner; but how could he make a fire in this rain with all the fuel wet? His punk and tow were perfectly dry; that part of the requisites was all right. The trouble was to find wood that could be set on fire by the tow's weak and short-lived flame.

With a light hatchet which he carried in the saddlebags he began chipping and testing every stump and log in the vicinity. All were thoroughly water-soaked, and he had nearly exhausted his patience, when at last,

in splitting open a small beech knot, he found the dry nest of a mouse, filling a hollow at the centre. In this he placed the handful of burning tow; the knot caught well and he soon had a fire, by which he broiled his last remnants of pork and venison. As was his way, he invoked the divine blessing before he began to eat this lonely meal, and just then five Indian men stalked into his presence and grunted a friendly salute.

This was very embarrassing, for the good elder saw that the savage visitors were hungry and expected to join him in the repast. Moreover, Indian etiquette required him to offer his food, and he felt it dangerous to neglect the formality. Imagine his feelings, then, by trying to put yourself in his place, when the five stalwart men silently accepted his hospitality and ate every morsel of the meat!

As soon as they had made an end of the feast, they grunted forth thanks, and stolidly went their way. Elder Thompson continued his journey, hungry, wet, and cold, until nearly nightfall. He could see no game, not even a squirrel. It is safe to say that he remembered his savage visitors with no pleasant feeling for them; and now, all of a sudden, they came upon him again, well mounted and armed. He was not glad to see them; but they made friendly signs of recognition, and one of them spoke :

"White man give Indian to eat. Indian give white man to eat."

Thereupon they made a great fire in a hollow, where they had a camp, and gave the preacher a banquet, took care of him through the night, and next morning loaded him with provisions for his day's journey. Nor was this more than he might have expected; for Indians rarely, if ever, failed to be grateful for a kindness and to return it with interest. Had the elder done them an injury, they would have avenged it just as rigidly as they rewarded his enforced hospitality.

A SPRING MORNING

ROBERT BROWNING

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;

The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven-

All's right with the world.