Catherine DuBois
A Heroine Of Ancient Wildwyck

    It was early in the month of June--that season of the year in which nature assumes her holiday garb, ere the sun has parched vegetation or the heat be. Come unbearable-that the following incidents are said to have transpired.  The wheat-fields of ancient Wildwyck were undulating gracefully before the summer breeze; the rustling blades of corn gave promise of a rich and abundant harvest, and the forest were gorgeous with the blossoming laurel and May-apple.
The high stockade fence, the block-houses and bastions, and log cabins pierced with port-holes, seemed out of place in such a scene of pastoral beauty and repose. But the surrounding wilderness, melodious with wild-bird song, and fragrant with the perfume of wild flowers, was the covert of beasts of prey and lurking savages; hence the utmost circumspection was necessary to protect themselves against surprise. A guard was always stationed at the fort, and when the inhabitants went to labor in the fields they did so with their arms close at hand.
     It was on the morning of the memorable 7th day of June that  Lewis Du Bois arose and went about his morning duties. Returning to his log cabin for breakfast at the usual time, and the meal not being ready, acting under the impulse of the moment, he gave vent to his feelings in some unpleasant words.  The gentle Catherine, who had left her beloved home in the Fatherland, where she possessed every comfort, choosing to follow the fortune of Lewis in a new and savage country, under all the privations of a backwoods life,-Catherine looked at her husband in surprise at his unwonted words; a tear started to trickle down the cheek of the young wife, as she seemed on the point of giving way to a burst of sobs, but she suddenly checked herself, and assuming the dignity of injured innocence, curtly answered him.  In short this couple, on this eventful day, had their first serious misunderstanding.
     The breakfast was over at last. Unlike all other meals no brisk conversation was kept up. In fact this particular breakfast was partaken of in silence, and at its close Lewis arose to go.  It was his turn to labor in the field; his work lay some distance from home, and he was to take his noonday repast with him.  His wife had prepared a choice venison steak, some fresh fish from the creek, a cake of the sweetest corn bread, and butter made by her own skilled hands; these she now handed him, packed carefully away in a neat little basket fashioned of white birch-bark.  This she did with an averted glance, without proffering the accustomed good-bye.
     Lewis was deeply pained at this: He could but think he was to blame for it all. Still his pride stood in the way of an acknowledgement on his part. Once on the threshold he was tempted to return and plead forgiveness; as he passed the little window he saw Catherine seated at the puncheon table, with her face buried in her hands.  He would have gone back, but hearing his name called by other members of the working party who were awaiting him, he turned to accompany them.



                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
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