Produced by Imran Ghory, Stan Goodman, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Life in the Forests of Canada
Author of "Diamond Rock; or, On the Right Track," &c. &c.
1895
"I'm afraid there'll be no more school for you now, Frank darling. Willyou mind having to go to work?"
"Mind it! Why, no, mother; not the least bit. I'm quite old enough, ain't
I?"
"I suppose you are, dear; though I would like to have you stay at yourlessons for one more year anyway. What kind of work would you like best?"
"That's not a hard question to answer, mother. I want to be what fatherwas."
The mother's face grew pale at this reply, and for some few moments shemade no response.
* * * * *
The march of civilization on a great continent means loss as well asgain. The opening up of the country for settlement, the increase andspread of population, the making of the wilderness to blossom as therose, compel the gradual retreat and disappearance of interestingfeatures that can never be replaced. The buffalo, the beaver, and the elkhave gone; the bear, the Indian, and the forest in which they are bothmost at home, are fast following.
Along the northern border of settlement in Canada there are flourishingvillages and thriving hamlets to-day where but a few years ago theverdurous billows of the primeval forest rolled in unbroken grandeur. Thehistory of any one of these villages is the history of all. An open spacebeside the bank of a stream or the margin of a lake presented itself tothe keen eye of the woodranger traversing the trackless waste of forestas a fine site for a lumber camp. In course of time the lumber camp grewinto a depot from which other camps, set still farther back in the depthsof the "limits," are supplied. Then the depot develops into a settlementsurrounded by farms; the settlement gathers itself into a village withshops, schools, churches, and hotels; and so the process of growth goeson, the forest ever retreating as the dwellings of men multiply.
It was in a village with just such a history, and bearing the name ofCalumet, occupying a commanding situation on a vigorous tributary of theOttawa River—the Grand River, as the dwellers beside its banks are fondof calling it—that Frank Kingston first made the discovery of his ownexistence and of the world around him. He at once proceeded to makehimself master of the situation, and so long as he confined his effortsto the limits of his own home he met with an encouraging degree ofsuccess; for he was an