Roughing It in the Bush. Susanna Moodie
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know more about it in a few days,” said James, looking up from his work. “That bottle is not brought here for nought.”
I could not unravel the mystery, and thought no more about it, until it was again brought to my recollection by the damsel herself.
Our united efforts had effected a complete transformation in our uncouth dwelling. Sleeping-berths had been partitioned off for the men; shelves had been put up for the accommodation of books and crockery, a carpet covered the floor, and the chairs and tables we had brought from—— gave an air of comfort to the place, which, on the first view of it, I deemed impossible. My husband, Mr. Wilson, and James, had walked over to inspect the farm, and I was sitting at the table at work, the baby creeping upon the floor, and Hannah preparing dinner. The sun shone warm and bright, and the open door admitted a current of fresh air, which tempered the heat of the fire.
“Well, I guess you look smart,” said the Yankee damsel, presenting herself once more before me. “You old country folks are so stiff, you must have every thing nice, or you fret. But, then, you can easily do it; you have stacks of money; and you can fix everything right off with money.”
“Pray take a seat,” and I offered her a chair, “and be kind enough to tell me your name. I suppose you must live in the neighbourhood, although I cannot perceive any dwelling near us.”
“My name! So you want to know my name. I arn't ashamed of my own; 'tis Emily S——. I am eldest daughter to the gentleman who owns this house.”
“What must the father be,” thought I, “if he resembles the young lady, his daughter?”
Imagine a young lady, dressed in ragged petticoats, through whose yawning rents peeped forth, from time to time, her bare red knees, with uncombed elf-locks, and a face and hands that looked as if they had been unwashed for a month—who did not know A from B, and despised those who did. While these reflections, combined with a thousand ludicrous images, were flitting through my mind, my strange visitor suddenly exclaimed—
“Have you done with that 'ere decanter I brought across yesterday?”
“Oh, yes! I have no occasion for it.” I rose, took it from the shelf, and placed it in her hand.
“I guess you won't return it empty; that would be mean, father says. He wants it filled with whiskey.”
The mystery was solved, the riddle made clear. I could contain my gravity no longer, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, in which I was joined by Hannah. Our young lady was mortally offended; she tossed the decanter from hand to hand, and glared at us with her tiger-like eyes.
“You think yourselves smart! Why do you laugh in that way?”
“Excuse me—but you have such an odd way of borrowing that I cannot help it. This bottle, it seems, was brought over for your own convenience, not for mine. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have no whiskey.”
“I guess spirits will do as well; I know there is some in that keg, for I smells it.”
“It contains rum for the workmen.”
“Better still. I calculate when you've been here a few months, you'll be too knowing to give rum to your helps. But old country folks are all fools, and that's the reason they get so easily sucked in, and be so soon wound-up. Cum, fill the bottle, and don't be stingy. In this country we all live by borrowing. If you want anything, why just send and borrow from us.”
Thinking that this might be the custom of the country, I hastened to fill the decanter, hoping that I might get a little new milk for the poor weanling child in return; but when I asked my liberal visitor if she kept cows, and would lend me a little new milk for the baby, she burst out into high disdain. “Milk! Lend milk? I guess milk in the fall is worth a York shilling a quart. I cannot sell you a drop under.”
This was a wicked piece of extortion, as the same article in the town, where, of course, it was in greater request, only brought three-pence the quart.
“If you'll pay me for it, I'll bring you some to-morrow. But mind—cash down.”
“And when do you mean to return the rum?” I said, with some asperity.
“When father goes to the creek.” This was the name given by my neighbours to the village of P——, distant about four miles.
Day after day I was tormented by this importunate creature; she borrowed of me tea, sugar, candles, starch, blueing, irons, pots, bowls—in short, every article in common domestic use—while it was with the utmost difficulty we could get them returned. Articles of food, such as tea and sugar, or of convenience, like candles, starch, and soap, she never dreamed of being required at her hands. This method of living upon their neighbours is a most convenient one to unprincipled people, as it does not involve the penalty of stealing; and they can keep the goods without the unpleasant necessity of returning them, or feeling the moral obligation of being grateful for their use. Living eight miles from——, I found these constant encroachments a heavy burden on our poor purse; and being ignorant of the country, and residing in such a lonely, out-of-the-way place, surrounded by these savages, I was really afraid of denying their requests.
The very day our new plough came home, the father of this bright damsel, who went by the familiar and unenviable title of Old Satan, came over to borrow it (though we afterwards found out that he had a good one of his own). The land had never been broken up, and was full of rocks and stumps, and he was anxious to save his own from injury; the consequence was that the borrowed implement came home unfit for use, just at the very time that we wanted to plough for fall wheat. The same happened to a spade and trowel, bought in order to plaster the house. Satan asked the loan of them for one hour for the same purpose, and we never saw them again.
The daughter came one morning, as usual, on one of these swindling expeditions, and demanded of me the loan of some fine slack. Not knowing what she meant by fine slack, and weary of her importunities, I said I had none. She went away in a rage. Shortly after she came again for some pepper. I was at work, and my work-box was open upon the table, well stored with threads and spools of all descriptions. Miss Satan cast her hawk's eye into it, and burst out in her usual rude manner—
“I guess you told me a tarnation big lie the other day.”
Unaccustomed to such language, I rose from my seat, and pointing to the door, told her to walk out, as I did not choose to be insulted in my own house.
“Your house! I'm sure it's father's,” returned the incorrigible wretch. “You told me that you had no fine slack, and you have stacks of it.”
“What is fine slack?” said I, very pettishly.
“The stuff that's wound upon these 'ere pieces of wood,” pouncing as she spoke upon one of my most serviceable spools.
“I cannot give you that; I want it myself.”
“I didn't ask you to give it. I only wants to borrow it till father goes to the creek.”
“I wish he would make haste, then, as I want a number of things which you have borrowed of me, and which I cannot longer do without.”
She gave me a knowing look, and carried off my spool in triumph.
I happened to mention the manner in which I was constantly annoyed by these people, to a worthy English farmer who resided near us; and he fell a-laughing, and told me that I did not know the Canadian Yankees as well as he did, or I should not be troubled with them long.
“The best way,” says he, “to get rid of them, is to ask them sharply what they want; and if they give you no satisfactory answer, order them to leave the house; but I believe I can put you in a better way still. Buy some small article of them, and pay them a trifle over the price, and tell them to bring the change. I will lay my life upon it that it will be long before they trouble you again.”
I was impatient to test the efficacy of his scheme That very afternoon Miss Satan brought me a plate of butter for sale.