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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
96
Corney,
a
superb
specimen
of
a
six-foot
Irish-Canadian
in
early
manhood,
now
led
away
to
the
log
shanty
where
the
very
scarcity
of
luxuries
and
the
roughness
of
their
lives
were
sources
of
merriment.
For
the
Colts,
though
born
and
bred
in
the
backwoods
of
Canada,
had
lost
nothing
of
the
spirit
that
makes
the
Irish
blood
a
world-wide
synonym
of
heartiness
and
wit.
Corney
was
the
eldest
son
of
a
large
family.
The
old
folks
lived
at
Petersay,
twenty-five
miles
to
the
southward.
He
had
taken
up
a
"claim"
to
carve
his
own
home
out
of
the
woods
at
Fenebonk,
and
his
grown
sisters,
Margat,
staid
and
reliable,
and
Loo,
bright
and
witty,
were
keeping
house
for
him.
Thorburn
Alder
was
visiting
them.
He
had
just
recovered
from
a
severe
illness
and
had
been
sent
to
rough
it
in
the
woods
in
hope
of
winning
some
of
the
vigor
of
his
hosts.
Their
home
was
of
unhewn
logs,
unfloored,
and
roofed
with
sods,
which
bore
a
luxuriant
crop
of
grass
and
weeds.
The
primitive
woods
around
were
broken
in
two
places:
one
where
the
roughest
of
roads
led
southward
to
Petersay;
the
other
where
the
sparkling
lake
rolled
on
a
pebbly
shore
and
gave
a
glimpse
of
their
nearest
neighbor's
house--four
miles
across
the
water.
Their
daily
round
had
little
change.
Corney
was
up
at
daybreak
to
light
the
fire,
call
his
sisters,
and
feed
the
horses
while
they
prepared
breakfast.
At
six
the
meal
was
over
and
Corney
went
to
his
work.
At
noon,
which
Margat
knew
by
the
shadow
of
a
certain
rampike
falling
on
the
spring,
a
clear
notification
to
draw
fresh
water
for
the
table,
Loo
would
hang
a
white
rag
on
a
pole,
and
Corney,
seeing
the
signal,
would
return
from
summer
fallow
or
hayfield,
grimy,
swarthy,
and
ruddy,
a
picture
of
manly
vigor
and
honest
toil.
Thor
might
be
away
all
day,
but
at
night,
when
they
again
assembled
at
the
table,
he
would
come
from
lake
or
distant
ridge
and
eat
a
supper
like
the
dinner
and
breakfast,
for
meals
as
well
as
days
were
exact
repeats:
pork,
bread,
potatoes,
and
tea,
with
occasionally
eggs
supplied
by
a
dozen
hens
around
the
little
log
stable,
with,
rarely,
a
variation
of
wild
meat,
for
Thor
was
not
a
hunter
and
Corney
had
little
time
for
anything
but
the
farm.
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