"
Still I hesitated. He stared at me, but with kindness.
"What is it, Davy?" he asked.
"Please, sir," I said, "if I might take my drum?"
At that he laughed.
"You may," said he, "you may. Perchance we may need it again."
I went out from his presence, vaguely troubled, to find Tom. And before
the early sun had set we were gliding down the Wabash in a canoe, past
places forever dedicated to our agonies, towards Kentucky and Polly Ann.
"Davy," said Tom, "I reckon she'll be standin' under the 'simmon tree,
waitin' fer us with the little shaver in her arms."
And so she was.
BOOK II
FLOTSAM AND JETSAM
CHAPTER I
IN THE CABIN
The Eden of one man may be the Inferno of his neighbor, and now I am to
throw to the winds, like leaves of a worthless manuscript, some years of
time, and introduce you to a new Kentucky,--a Kentucky that was not for
the pioneer. One page of this manuscript might have told of a fearful
winter, when the snow lay in great drifts in the bare woods, when Tom and
I fashioned canoes or noggins out of the great roots, when a new and
feminine bit of humanity cried in the bark cradle, and Polly Ann sewed
deer leather. Another page--nay, a dozen--could be filled with Indian
horrors, ambuscades and massacres. And also I might have told how there
drifted into this land, hitherto unsoiled, the refuse cast off by the
older colonies.
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