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32X

CANADIAN TRAPPER

Page J05.

LOS T
IX TlIE BACKWOODS.

/X. Tale of the CTimabian X^vOrcst.

/7j
.J/A-j-. TRAILL,

Author of " /;, the Fonst," .i-V.

)^'2TH Thirty-Two ^ngravings.

X^oulion:

T. XELSOX AND SOXS, PATEIIXOSTER ROW.

EntXBlRflH; AM) XKW YOUK.

i8y2.

'F;>rcfiuc,

The intercstitig talc contained in this volume of
romantic adventure in the forests of Canada, was
much appreciated and cjijoyed hy a large circle of
younf^ readers when first published, under the title of
"The C-anadian Crusoes." After being many years
out of print, it will now, we hope and believe, with a
new and more descriptive title, prove equally attrac-
tive to our young friends of the present time.

EDiNBunuH, 1882.

^i0t of 'illustrations.

A CANADrAN TRAPPER,

TIIK WOODPElKKIl,

LOUIH CONrESSlNd HIS DECEPTION,

THE KIltST nRKAKFAST, ..

THE SENTINEL WOLF,

CATHARINE FOIINK BY THE OLB DOCI,

WII.n BEES,

THE (IHAV SgUlllREL,

TIIK WOLVERINE,

THK ATTACK ON THE DEER,

I'KCCARIES,

RAFTS ON THE ST. LAWitESCE,

THE WOUNDED DOE,

HECTOR IIRINOINO THE INDIAN OIKL,

COB OK INDIAN CORN,

A MOCCASIN,

SHOOTINd WILD FOWL,

DEATH OF THE CHIEF'S SON,

CANADIAN LAKE SCENERY,

CHIPPEWA INDIANS OF THE PRESENT DAY

A SNOW-SHOE,

Frontispiece

.. 27

., 100

. . 105

. IOC

.. Ill

.. 118

.. 125

.. 142

.. 151

.. 160

.. 104

.. 181

.. 190

.. 201

.. 213

.. 222

LIST OF ILLl'STRATlONA

CIIITMISKM,

AT WOHK IV THE FOHEST,

A KOllEST ON FIIIE,

VISIT OK THE INIJ.A.N FAMII.V,

CATHARINE CAIinlEI) OFF,

KINOFISIIEK AND DIlAliONFI.V,

AN INDIAN CUADI.E,

AN INDIAN CAMI",

INDIANA llEFOnE THE llALU EACILE,

INDIANA AT THE HTAKE, ..

THE RETURN HOME,

220
231
23&
245
252
200
208
271
294
2i)!»
310

LOST IN THE liACiaA'OODS.

CHAPTER I.

" The inorninn; h.irt shot her briRht streHmcrs on hlgli,
O'er Ciiiiaila, opciiiriK all piilc; t(i tlip sky ;
Still (liizzlinK nnil white was the nilie that she wore,
Kxcept where tho ocean wave lashcil on the shore."

JneitbUe Soiiij.

[PIERE lies, between tlie Rico Lake and the
Ontario, a deep ami fertile valley, sur-
rounded l)y lofty wood - crowned liilLs,
clothed chiefly with groves of oak and
pine ; the sides of the hills and the alluvial bottoms
display a variety of noble timber trees of various
kinds, as the useful and beautiful maple, beech, and
hemlock. This beautiful and highly pictui-e,si(ue
valley is watered by many clear streams, whence it
derives its ap}»ropriate appellation of " Cold Springs."'
At the period my little history counnences, this
now highly cultivated spot was an unbroken wilder-
ness, — all but two clearings, where dwelt the only
occupiers of the soil, — which previously owned no

I'AST AND PHESENT.

other possessors than tlio \vanclerin<]f hunting tribes
of wiKl Indians, to whom the right of the liunting
grounds north of Rice Lake appertained, according to
their forest hiws.

I speak of tlie time wdien tlie neat and flourishing
town of ('')]»ourg, now an important port on Lake
Ontario, Avas but a village in endnyo, — if it contained
even a log -house or a block-house, it was all that it
did, — and the wild and picturescjue ground upon which
the fast increasing village of Port Hope is situated
had not yielded one forest tr(>e to the axe oi" the
settler. No gallant vessel spread lier sails to waft
the abundant produce of grain and C'anadian stores
along tlie waters of that noble sheet of water; no
steamer ha<l then furrowed its bosom with her iron
paddles, bearing the stream of emigration towards
the wilds of our northern and western forests, there
to render a lonely trackless desert a fruitful garden.
What will not time and the industry of man, assisted
by the blessing of a merciful Go<l, effect? To liim l)e
the glory and honour; for wo are taught that " unless
the Lord build the house, their labour is but lost that
build it: without the Lord keep the city, the watch-
man waketh but in vain."

But to my tale. And first it will be necessary to
introduce to tli(! acciuaintance of my young readers
the founders of our little settlement at Cold Springs.

Duncan Maxwell was a young Highland soldier, a
youth of eighteen, at the famous battle of Quebec,
Avhere, though only a ])rivate, he received the praise
of his colonel for his brave conduct. At the close of

TIIK YOUNG IIUIULANDEU.

the battle Duncan was wounded ; and as the hospital
was full at the time, he was billeted in the house
of a poor French Canadian widow in the Quebec
suburb. Hero, though a forei^nier and an enemy,

he received much

attention from his excellent

hostess and lu'r fuuiiiy, consistin*^ of a youn^ man
about his own a^'e, and a pretty black -eyed lass not
more than sixtc'ii The widow Perron was so much
occupied with other lodgers — for she kept a sort of
boarding-house — that she had not nuich time to give
to Duncan, so that Ik was left a great deal to her son
Pierre, and a little to Caiharine, her daughter.

Duncan Maxwell was a fine, open-tf^mpcred, frank
lad, and he soon won the regard of Pierre and his
Bister. In spite of the prejudices of coimtiy, and
the difference of language and national customs, a
steady and increasing frivndship grew up between
the young Highlander and the children of his hostess;
therefore it was not wltlujut feelings of deep regret
that they heard the news that the regiment to which
Duncan belonged was ordered for embarkation to
England, and Dinican was so far convalescent as to
be pronounced (juite well enough to join it. Alas
for poor Catharine! she now found that parting with
her patient was a .source of the dee})est sorrow to her
young and guileU'ss heart; nor was Duncan less
moved at the separation from his gentle nurse. It
might be for years, and it might be for ever, he could
not tell ; but he could not tear himself away without
telling the object of his affections how dear .she was
to him, and to whisper a liope that he .might yet

CHANGES.

return one day to claim her as liis bride; and
Catharine, weeping and bliisliing, promised to wait
for that happy day, or to remain single for his sake.

They say the course of true love never did run
smooth ; but with the exception of this great sorrow,
the soiTow of separation, the love of our young High-
land soldier and his betrothed knew no other inter-
ruption, for absence served only to strengthen the
affection which was founded on gratitude and esteem.

Two long years passed, however, and the prospect
of reunion was yet distant, when an accident, which
disabled Duncan from serving his country, enabled
him to retire with the usual little pension, and return
to Quebec to seek his uffianced. Some changes had
taken place during that short period : the widow
Perron was dead; Pierre, the gay, lively -hearted
Pierre, was married to a daughter of a lumberer; and
Catharine, who had no relatives in Quebec, had gone
up the country with her brother and his wife, and
was living in some little settlement above Montreal
with them.

Thither Duncan followed, and shortly aftcrwai'ds
was married to his faithful Catharine. On one point
they had never difiered., both being of the same
religion.

Piei're had seen a good deal of the fine country on
the shores of Lake Ontario; he had bei'U hunting with
h.iUe friendly Indians between the great waters and
the llice Lake ; and lie now thought if Duncan and
himself could make up their minds to a (juiet life in
the woods, there was not a better spot than the hill

IN THE HACKWOODS.

pass between the plains and the big lake to fix them-
selves upon. Duncan was of the same opinion when
he saw tlic spot. It was not rugged and bare like his
own Highlands, but softer in cliaracter, yet his heart
yearned for the liill countiy. In those days there
was no obstacle to taking possession of any tract of
lan<l in the unsiu'veyed forests ; tliereforo Duncan
agreed with his brother-in-law to pioneer the way
with hiin, get a dwelling put up, and some ground
prepared and " seeded down," and then to return for
their wives, and settle as farmers. Others had suc-
ceeded, had formed little colonies, and become the
heads of villages in due time ; why should not they ?
And now behold our two backwoodsmen fairly com-
mencing their arduous life : it was nothing, after all,
to Pierre, by previous occupation a hardy lumberer,
or the Scottish soldier, accustomed to brave all sorts
of hardships in a wild country, himself a mountaineer,
inured to a stormy cliuiate ami scanty fare from his
earliest youth. But it is not my intention to dwell
upon the trials and difficulties courageously met and
battled with by our settlers and their young wives.

There Nva; '.a those days a spirit of resistance
auiong the first settlers on the soil, a spirit to do and
bear, that is less commonly mot with now. The
s])irit of civilization is now so widely ditiused, that
her comforts are felt even in t]w depths of the forest,
so that the n«>wly come emigrant feels comparatively
few of the physical evils that were endured by the
earlier inhabitants.

The first seed-wheat that was cast into the ground

THE FRENCHMAN AND THE SCOT.

by Duncan and Pierre was bronj^'ht with infinite
trouble a distance of fifty miles in a little skiflf,
navigated along the shores of Lake Ontario by the
adventurous Pien-e, and from the nearest landing-placo
transported on tlie shoulders of himself and Duncan
to their homestead. A day of great laboiu' but great
joy it was when they deposited their precious freight
in safety on the shanty fioor. They wei'e obliged to
make two Journeys for the contents of the little craft.
What toil, what privation they endured for the first
two years ! and now the fruits of it began to appear.

No two creatures could be more unlike than Piei're
and Duncan. Th(^ Highlander, stern, steady, per-
severing, cautious, always giving ample I'easons for
his doing or his not doing. The Canadian, hopeful,
lively, fertile in expedients, and gay as a lark; if one
scheme failed, another was sure to pi'esent itself.
Pierre and Duncan were admirably suited to b'^,
friends and neighbours. The steady perseverance of
the Scot helped to temper the volatile temperament
of the Frenchman. Th(>y generally contrived to
compass the same end l»y different means, as two
streams descending from opposite hills will meet in
one broad river in th<> same valley.

Years passed on : the farm, carefully cultivated,
began to yield its increase ; food and warm clothing
were not wanting in the homestead, ('atharine had
become, in course of time, the happy mother of four
healthy children ; her sist(H*-in-law had exceeded her
in these welcome contributions to the population of a
new colonv.

A PATTERN OP AFFECTION.

Between the children of Pierre and Catharine the
most charming harmony pievailed ; they grew up as
one family, a pattern of affection and early friendship.
Though different in tempers and dispositions, Hector
Maxwell, the eldest son of the Scottish soldier, and
his cousin, young Louis Perron, wore greatly attached:
they, with the young Catharine and M.ithilde, formed
a little coterie of inseparables ; their anmsements,
tastes, pursuits, occupations, all blended and harmon-
ized delightfully ; there were none of those little
envyings and l)ickerings among them that pave the
way to strife and disunion in after-li^e.

Catharine Maxwell and her cousin Louis were more
like brother and sister than Hector and Catharine ;
but Mathilde was gentle and dove-like, and formed a
contrast to the gi-avity of Hector and the vivacity of
Louis and Catharine.

Hector and Louis were fourteen — strong, vigorous,
industrious, and hardy, both in constitution and
habits. The girls were turned of twelve. It is not
with MathiMe that our story is connected, but with
the two lads and Catharine. With the gaiety and
im'ivete of the Frenchwoman, Catharine })ossessed,
when occasion called it into action, a thoughtful and
well-regulated mind, abilities which would well have
repaid the care of mental cultivation; but of book-
learning she knew nothing beyond a litth^ reading,
and that but imperfectly, acquired from her father's
teaching. It was an accomplishment which he had
gained when in the ainiy, having been taught by his
colonel's son, a lad of twelve years of jige, who had

HOME TRAIXING.

taken a groat fancy to liini, and had at parting given
liim a few of his school-books, among wlucli was a
Testament without cover or title-page. At parting,
the young gentleman recommended its daily perusal
to Duncan. Had the gift Iteen a Bihle, perhaps the
soldier's obedience to his priest might have rendered
it a dead letter to him ; but as it fortunately liappened,
he was unconscious of any prohiljition to deter him
from becoming acquainted with the truths of the
gospel. He connnunicated the power of perusing his
books to his children Hector and Catharine, Duncan
and Kenneth, in succession, with a feeling of intense
reverence ; even the labour of teachin-' was regarded
as a holy dtity in itself, and was not undertaken
without deeply impi'essing the obligation he was con-
ferring upon them whenever they were brought to
the task. It was indeed a precious boon, and the
children leai-ned to consider it as a pearl beyond all
price in the trials tluit awaited them in their eventful
career. To her knowledge of religious truths young
Catharine added an intimate ac(|uaintance with the
songs and legends of her father's romantic country ;
often would her plaintive ballads and old talcs,
related in the hut or the wigwam to her . ;ntive
auditors, wile away heavy thoughts.

It was a lovely sunny day in the flowerj' month of
June. Canada had not only doffed that "dazzling
white robe" mentioned in the songs of her Jacob-
ite emigrants, but hvA assumed the In-auties of her
loveliest season; tne last week in ^lay ami the first
three of Junt; being parallel to the English May,

(721)

..j##

15 THE FLOWERY MONTH OF JUNE.

full of buds and flowers and fair promise of ripening
fruits.

The high slopmc,' hills stirrounding the fertile vale
of Cold Sprin;^ were clothed with the blossoms of
the gor<;:i-«us jicarlet castilegia cuccinca, or painted
cup ; the lai^-, pnre, white blossoms of the lily-like
trilliunj grandiflonim ; the delicate and fragile lilac
wraniuui, wh^j(T#'^ cTace ful Howers woo the hand of the
flower-gatb<(-r',T only to fade almost within his grasp:
the golden cypripedium or moccasin flower, so
singular, ^t lovely in its colour and formation,
waved heaxaly its yellow blossoms as the breeze
shook the ^t*--m.s ; and there, mingling with a thou-
.sand variou* floral b^'auties, the azure lupine claimed
its place, sh<:*lding almost heavenly tint upon the
earth, Tliou^amd-s of roses were blooming on the
more level groond, sending forth their rich fragivance,
mixed with ther delicate scent of the feathery ceano-
thus (New J(c-rs*ry tea). The vivid greenness of the
young leav<.'~f of the forest, the tender tint of the
sijringing CK^ym, was contrasted with the deep dark
fringe of waving pines on the hills, and the yet
darker f<Jja'l<." of the spruce and balsams on the
borders of tW- creeks, for so our Canadian forest rills
are universallv termed. The briiiht Manciniif winffs
of the fsiunnier red-bird, the crimson-headed wood-
pecker, the gay blue-bird, and noisy but splendid
pi amed jay might be seen among the branches ; the
air was filled with beauteous sights and soft murmur-
ing .sounds

Under the *hade of the luxuriant hop-vines that
(7a) 2

AN INVITATION.

covered the rustic porch in front of the little
dwelling, the light step of Catharine Maxwell might
be heard mixed with the drowsy whiiring of the
big wheel, as she passed to and fro guiding the
thread of yarn in its course. And now she sang
snatches of old mountain songs, such as she had
learned from her father ; and now, with livelier air,
hummed some gay French tune to the household
melody of her .spinning-wheel, as she advanced and
retreated with her thread, unconscious of the laugh-
ing black eyes that were watching her movements
from among the embowering foliasre that shielded her
from the morning .sun.

" Come, ma belle cousine," for so Louis delighted to
call her. " Hector and I are waiting for you to go
with us to the ' Beaver Meadow.' The cattle have
strayed, and we think we shall tind them there. The
day is delicious, the very flowers look as if they
wanted to be admired and plucked, and we shall find
early strawberries on the old Indian clearing."

Catharine cast a longing look abroad, but said, " I
fear I cannot go to-day ; for see, I have all these
rolls of wool to spin up, and my yarn to wind off' the
reel and twist ; and then, my mother is away."

" Yes, I left her with mamma," replied Louis, " and
she said she would be home shortly, .so her absence
need not stay you. She said you could take a Vjasket
and try and bring home some berries for sick Louise.
Hector is sure he knows a spot where we .shall get
some fine ones, ripe and red." As he spoke Louis
whisked away the big wheel to one end of the porch,

LEAVING HOME.

gathered up the hanks of yarn and tossed them into
the open wicker basket, and the next minute the
large, coai'se, Happed straw hat, that hung upon the
peg in the porcli, was stuck not very gracefully on
Catharine's head and tied beneath her chin, with a
meny rattling laugh, which drowned effectually the
small lectiu-e that Catharine began to utter by way
of reproving the light-hearted boy.

"But where is Mathilde?"

" Sitting like a dear good girl, as she is, with .sick
Louise's head in her 1 p, and would not disturb her
for all the fruit and Howers in Canada. Mai'ie cried
sadly to go with us, Init I promised her and Louise
lots of Howers and berries if we get them, and the
dear children were as happy as (|ueens when I left."

" But stay, cousin, you are sure my mother gave
her consent to my going ? We shall be away chief
part of the day. You know it is a long walk to the
Beaver Meadow and back again," said Catharine,
hesitating as [jouis took her hand to lead her out from
the porch.

" Yes, yes, ma belle," .said the giddy boy quickly ;
" so come alonij, for Hector is vvaitinsr at the barn.
But stay, we shall be hungry before we return, so let
us have .some cakes and butter, and do not fortret a
tin cup for water.'

Nothing doubting, Catharine, with buoyant spii-its,
set about her litth; preparations, which were soon
completed ; but just as .she was leaving the little
garden enclosure, slu; i-an back tf) kiss Kenneth and
Duncan, her young brothers. In the farm-yard she

IN THE FOREST.

found Hector with his axe on his shoulder. " What
are you takinrif the axe for, Hector i' yuu will find it
lieavy to carry," said his sister.

"In the lirst place, I have to cut a stick of blue
beech to make a broom for sweepini,' the house, sister
of mine, .and that is for your use. Miss Kate ; and in
the next place, I have to hud, if possible, a piece of
rock elm or hickory for axe handles : so now you
have the reason why I take the axe with me."

The children left the dearinrj and struck into one
of the deep detiles tliat lay between the hills, and
cheerfully they laughed and sinig antl chattered, as
they sped on their pleasant path ; nor were they loath
to exchanrje the <dowin<:j sunshine for the sober <>loom
of the forest shade. What handfuls of flowers of all
hues, red, blue, yellow, and white, were gathered, onl}-
to be gazed at, carried for a while, then cast aside for
others fresher and fairei\ Anil now they came to
cool rills that flowed, softly mvu'muring, among mossy
limestone, or blocks of red or gray granite, wending
their way beneath twisted njots and fallen trees; and
often Catharine lingered to watch the eddying dimples
of the clear water, to note the tiny bright fragments
of quartz or crystallized limestone that formed a
shining pavement below the stream. And often she
paused to watch the angry movements of the red
.s(iuirrel, as, with feathery tail erect, and sharp scold-
ing note, he ci'osscd their woodland path, and swiftly
dartinix up the rutxued bark of some neicjhbouriu'T
pine or hemlock, bade the intruders on his quiet
haunts defiance; yet so bold in his indignation,

W00i)..ANU SOUNDS

he scarcely condo-
sconded to ascend
beyond tlicir reach.
The long - con-
tinued, hollow tap-
ping of th(! large
red - headed wood-
pecker, or the sin-
gular Kuhterranean
sound caused by
the drunnuing of
the partridge strik-
ing his witigs upon
his breast to woo
his gentle mate, and
the soft whispering-
note of the little
tree-creeper, as it
flitted from one
hemlock to anothei',
collecting its food
between the fissures
of the bark, were
among the few
sounds that broke
the noontide still-
ness of the woods ;
but to such siijhts
and sounds the
lively Catharine
and her cousin

TlIK WdOIlPECKini

WAITING FOR IIF.CTOH.

wcro not indifferent. And often they wondered that
Hector gravely pursued his onward way, and seldom
lingered as they did to mark the hright colours of
the flowers, or the sparkling of the forest rill, or the
hurrying to and fro of the turkeys among the
luxuriant grass.

" What makes Hec .so grave ? " said Catharine to
her companion, as they seated themselves upon a
mos.sy trunk to await his coming up; for they had
giddily chased each other till they liad far outrun
him.

"Hector, sweet coz, Is thinking perhaps of how
many bushels of corn or wheat this land would grow
if cleared, or he may be examining the soil or the
trees, or is lookinif for his stick of blue beech for
your broom, or the hick(n'y for his axe handles, and
never heeding such nonsense as woodpeckers, and
squirrels, and lilies, and moss, and ferns ; for Hector
is not a giddy thing like his cousin Loui.s, or — "

" His sister Kate," interrupted Catharine merrily,
" But when shall Ave come to the Beaver Meadow ? "

"Patience, ma belle, all in good time. Hark ! was
noi that the ox-bell ? No ; Hector whistling." And
.soon they heard the heavy .stroke of his axe ringing
among the trees; for he had found the blue beech, and
was cutting it to leave on the path, that he miglit
take it home on their return : he had also marked
some hickory of a nice size for his a.xe handles, to
bring home at some future time.

The children had walked several miles, and wore
not sorrv to sit down and rest till Hector ioined them.

HEAVER MEADOW.

He was well pleased with his success, and declared
he felt no fatigue. " As soon as we reach the old
Indian clearing, we shall find strawberi'ies," he said,
" and a fresh cold spring, and then we will have our
dinner."

" Come, Hector, — come, Louis," said Catharine,
jumping up, " I long to be gathering the strawberries;
and see, my Howcrs are faded, so I will throw them
away, and the basket shall be filled with fresh fruit
instead, and we must not forget petite Marie and sick
Louise, or dear Mathilde. Ah, how I wish she were
here at this minute ! But there is the opening to the
Beaver Meadow."

And the sunlight was seen streaming through the
opening trees as they approached the cleared space,
which some called the " Indian clearing," but is now
more generally known as the little Beaver Meadow.
It was a pleasant spot, green, and suiTounded with
light bowery trees and flowering shrubs, of a diflferent
growth from those that belong to the dense forest.
Here the children found, on the hilly ground above,
fine ripe strawberries, the eai^liest they had seen that
year, and soon all weariness was forgotten while pur-
suing the delightful occupation of gathering the
tempting fruit ; and Avhen they had refreshed them-
selves, and filled the basket with leaves and fruit,
they slaked their thirst at the stream which wound
its way among the bushes. Catharine neglected not
to reach down flowery bunches of the fragrant wliitc-
thorn, and the high-bush cranberry, then radiant with
nodding umbels of snowy blossoms, or to wreathe the

IN PEUPLKXITV.

handle of tlio little basket with th(> graceful trailing
runners of the lovely twin-flowered plant, the Linna^a
borealis, which she always said reminded her of the
twins Louise and Marie, her little cousins. And now
the day began to wear away, for they had lingered
long in the little clearing ; they liad wandered from
the path by which they entered it, and had neglected,
in their eagerness to look for the strawberries, to
notice any particular mark by which they might re-
gain it. Just when they began to think of returning,
Louis noticed a beaten path, where tliere seemed
recent prints of cattle hoofs on a soft spongy soil
beyond the creek.

" Come, Hector," said he gaily, " this is lunky ; wo
are on the cattle-path; no fear Init it will had us
directly home, and that by a nearer track."

Hector was undecided about following it; he fancied
it bent too much towards the setting sun ; but his
cousin overruled his objection. " And is not this our
own creek ? " he said. " I have often heard my father
say it had its rise somewhere about this old clearing."

Hector now thought Louis might be right, and
the}^ boldly followed the path among the poplars,
thorns, and bushes that clothed its banks, surprised
to see how open the ground became, and how swift
and clear the stream swept onward.

" Oil, this dear creek," cried the delighted Catharine,
"how pretty it is! I shall often follow its course
after this ; no doubt it has its source from our own
Cold Springs."

And so they cheerfully pursued their way, till the

HKWIIiDERKD.

sun, sinking beliind the range of westerly hills, soon
left them in glooin ; but they anxiously hurried for-
ward when the stream wound its noisy way among
steep stony banks, clothcfl scantily with pines and a
few scattered silver-barked poplars. And now they
became bewildered by two paths leading in opposite
directions; one upward among the rocky hills, tho
other through tho opening gorge of a deep ravine.

Here, overcome with fatigue, Catharine seated her-
self on a large block of granite, near a great bushy
pine that grew beside the path ])y the ravine, unable
to proceed ; and Hector, witli a grave and troubled
countenance, stood beside her, looking round with an
air of great perplexity. Louis, seating himself at
Catharine's feet, surveyed the deep gloomy valley
before them, and sighed heavily. The conviction
forcibly struck him that they had mistaken the path
altogether. The very as])cct of the country was
different ; the growth of the trees, the flow of the
stream, all indicated a change of soil and scene.
Darkness was fast drawing its impenetrable veil
around them ; a few stars were stealing out, and
gleaming down as if with pitying glance upon the
young wanderers ; but they could not light up their
pathway or point their homeward track. The only
sounds, save the lulling murmur of the rippling
stream below, were the plaintive note of the whip-
poor-will, from a gnarled oak that grew near them,
and the harsh grating scream of the night hawk,
darting about in the higher regions of the air, pursu-
ing its noisy congeners, or swooping down with that

A CONFESSION.

peculiar hollow rushing sound, as of a person blowing
into some empty vessel, when it seizes with Avide-
extended bill its insect prey.

Hector was the first to break the silence, " Cousin
Louis, we were wronij in followinit the course of the
stream ; I fear we shall never find our way back to-
nisfht."

Louis made no reply ; his sad and sid)dued air
failed not to attract the attention of his cousins.

" Why, Louis, how is this ? you are not used to be
cast down by difficulties," said Hector, as he marked
something like tears glistening in the dark eyes of his
cousin.

Louis's heart was full ; he did not reply, l)ut cast
a troubled glance upon the weary Catharine, Avho
leaned heavily against the tree beneath which she
sat.

" It is not," resumed Hector, " that I mind passing
a summer's night under such a sky as this, and with
such a dry grassy bed below me ; but I do not think
it is good for Catharine to sleep on the l)are ground
in the night dews, — and then they will be so aiixious
at home about our alxsence."

Louis burst into tears, and solibed out, — " And it
is all my doing that she came out with us; I deceived
her, and my aunt will l)e angry and much alarmed,
for she did not know of her going at all. Deai*
Catharine, good cousin Hector, pray foig-ivc me ! '

But Catharine was weeping too much to re]ily to
his i)assionate entreati(>s ; and Hector, who never
swerved from the truth, for which he had almost a

IIKCTORS INDIGNATION.

be
ed

lis

ast
•ho
she

ith
ink
md

oiis

IH'll,

)eav

y to
ever
st a

LOITS ((IVl'K.ssINil 111^ IT' l:l'T|ii\".

stern I't'veivnce, liardly rcpivs.sei I liis iiidin-natiou at
what appoarcil to liim a most culpahle act of deceit
on the part of Louis.

The sight of her cousins grief ami solf abasement
touched the tender lieart of Catharine; for she was

CATHARINE INTERCEDES.

kind and dove-like in hci- disposition, and loved
Louis, with all his faults. Had it not been for the
painful consciousness of the grief their unusual
absence would occasion at home, Catharine would
have thought nothing of their present adventure ;
but she could not endure the idea of her high-prin-
cipled father taxing her with deceiving her kind
indulgent mother and him. It was this humiliating
thought which wounded the proud heart of Hector,
causing him to upbraid his cousin in somewhat harsh
terms for his want of truthfulness, and steeled him
against the bitter grief that wrung the heart of the
penitent Louis, who, leaning his wet check on the
shoulder of Catharine, sobbed as if his heart would
break, heedless of her soothing words and affectionate
endeavours to console him.

" Dear Hector," she said, turning her soft pleading
eyes on the stern face of her brother, " you must not
be so very angry with poor Louis. Remember it was
to please me, and give me the enjoyment of a day of
liberty with you and himself in the woods, among
the flowers and trees and birds, that he committctl
this fault."

' Catharine, Louis told an untruth, and acted
deceitfully. And look at the consequences: we shall
have forfeited our parents' confidence, and may have
some days of paii A privation to endure before we
regain our home, if we ever do And our way back to
Cold Springs," replied Hector.

"It is the grief and anxiety our dear parents will
endure this night," answered Catharine, " that dis

■■

■■1

A CALL TO WORK.

tresses iny inind ; l)ut," slic added, in more cheerful
tones, " let us not despair, no doubt to-morrow wo
sliall bo able to retrace our steps."

With tlie young there is ever a mngical spell in
that little word to-rnorrotv, — it is a point which they
pursue as fast as it recedes from them ; sad indeed
is the young heart that does not look forward with
hope to the future!

The cloud still hung on Hector's brow, till Catha-
rine gaily exclaimed, " Come, Hector! come Louis! we
must not stand idling thus ; we must think of pro-
viding some shelter for the nitj'ht: it is not <rood to
I'est upon the bare ground exposed to the night dews.
— See, here is a nice hut, half made," pointing to a
large upturned root wliich some fierce whirlwind had
hurk'(l from the lufty bank into the gorge of the
dark glen.

" Now you must mak(^ haste, and lop off a few
pine boughs, and stick them into the ground, or even
l('an them against the roots of this old oak, and
thei'o, you see, will be, a capital house to shelter us.
T(j work, to Avork, you idle boys, or poor wee Katty
must turn squaw and build her own wigwam," sho
playfully added, taking up the axe which rested
against the feathery pine beneath which Hector was
leaning. Now, Catharine cared as little as her
Itrother and cousin about passing a wai-m sunnner's
night under the shade of the forest trees, for she was
both hardy and healthy; but her wonum's heart
taught her that the surest means of reconcilih<r the
cousins would be by mutually interesting them in

nuiLDING A WIGWAM.

the same object, — and slie was rii^ht. In cndcavoiu'-
ing to provide for tlie comfort of their dear com-
panion, all angry feelings M-ere forgotten by Hector,
■while active emj)loyment chased away Louis's melan-
choly.

Unlike the tall, straight, naked trunks of the pines
of the forest, those of the plains are adorned with
l)ranches often to the very ifroun<l, varvinL^ in form
and height, and often presenting m<jst picturesque
groups, or rising singly among scattered groves of
the silver-barked poplar or graceful birch trees ; tlu;
dark mossy greenness of the stately pine contrasting
finely with the light waving foliage of its slender,
gi'aceful companions.

Hector, with his axo, soon lopped boughs from cme
of the adjacent pines, which Louis shaipened with
his knife and, with (,'atharine's assistance, dnne into
the ground, arraniriii'f them in sudi a wav as to make
the upturned oak, with its roots and the earth which
adhered to them, foi-m the back part of the hut,
which when completed formed by no means a con-
temptible shelter. Catharine then cut f-rn and <leer
grass with Lome's con fen ii de eh ussr, which he always
carried in a sheath at his girdle, and spread two beds,
— one, parted otfby ilry boughs an<l bark, for herself,
in the interior of the wi'nvam ; and o)ie for her
brother and cousiji, nearer the entrance. When all
was finished to her satisfaction slie called the two
boys, and, according to the custom of her ]iarents,
joined them in tin; liftiTig up of thi-ir hands as an
evening sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. Nor

raiMBI THE SHADOW OF THK ALMUillTY.

were thcNe simple-hearted children backward in
implorinj,' Ijelp antl protection from the Most High.
They eameKtSv prayed that no (hvngerous creature
migiit coiJi^? nitar to molest them during the hours of
dai'kness an<l Lelplessness, no evil spirit visit them,
no unholv or w-k-ke-tl thougiits intrude into their
minds; Lut tfuat LJy angels and heavenly thoughts
might hov<-r ov«.-r them, and fill their hearts with the
peace of Q<A whifsh passeth all understanding. And
the prayer of tJse p«jor wanderers was heard; they
slept in peaw, tinharmed, in the vast solitude. So
passed their first night on the Plains.

CHAPTER II.

" Fear not: ye are of more value than many sparrows." — St. Lttkc.

HE sun had risen in all the splendour of
a Canadian sunnner morning when the
sleepers arose from their leafy beds. In
spite of the novelty of their situation,
they had slept as soundly and tranquilly as if they
had been under the pi"otecting care of their beloved
parents, on their little palliasses of corn straw ; but
they had been cared for by Him wlio neither slum-
bereth nor slcepeth, and the}' waked full of youthful
hope, and in fulness of faith in His mercy into Avhose
hands they had commended their souls and bodies
before they retired to rest.

While the children slept in peace and safety, what
terrors had filled the uiinds of their distracted parents!
what a nig-ht of anguish and sorrow had they passed!
When night had closed in without bringing back
the absent children, the two fathers, lighting torches
of fat pine, went forth in search of tlie wanderers.
How often did they raise their voices in hopes their
loud halloos miirht reach tlie hcarinix of the lost ones!
How often did they check their hurried steps to

IN SEAKCIi OP THK WAXDEUERS.

listen for some replying call ! But the sighing breeze
in the pine tops, or sudden rustling of the leaves
caused by the flight of the birds startled by the
unusual glare of the torches, and the echoes of their
own voices, were the only sounds that met their
anxious ears. At daybreak they returned, sad and
dispirited, to their homes, to snatch a morsel of food,
endeavour to cheer the drooping hearts of the weep-
ing mothers, and hurry off, taking different directions.
But, unfortunately, they had little clue to the route
which Hector and Louis had taken, thei*e being many
cattle-paths through the woods. Louis's want of
truthfulness had caused this uncertainty, as he had
left no intimation of the path he purposed taking
when he quitted his mother's house. He had merely
said he Avas going with Hector in search of the cattle,
"ivincj no hint of his intention of asking Catharine
to accompany them ; he had but told his sick sister
that he would brinij home strawberries and flowers,
and that he Avould soon return. Alas! poor, thought-
less Louis ! how little did you think of the web of
woe you were then weaving for yourself, and all
those to whom you and. your companions were so
dear! Cliildrcn, think twice ere ye deceive once.

Catharine's absence would have been quite unac-
countable but for the testiuKmy of Duncan and Ken-
neth, who had received her sisterlv caresses before
she joine'il Hector at tlu> barn ; and much her mother
marvelled what could have induced her good, dutiful
Catharine to have left her work and forsnken her
household duties to go ramblini; away with the bovs,

(72t) 3

NO TiDixas.

for she never left the house when her mother was
absent from it without her express permission. And
now she was gone, — lost to them perhaps for ever.
There stood the wheel she had been turning ; there
hung the untwisted hanks of yarn, her morning task ;
and there they remained week after week, and month
after month, untouched, — a melancholy memorial to
the hearts of the bereaved parents of their beloved.

It were indeed a fruitless task to follow the
agonized fathers in their vain search for their chil-
dren, or to paint the bitter anguish that tilled their
hearts as day passed after day, and still no tidings of
the lost ones. As hope faded, a deep and settled
gloom stole over the sorrowing parents, and reigned
throughout the once cheerful and gladsome homes.
At the end of a week the only idea that remained
was, that one of these three casualties had befallen
the lost children, — death, a lingering death by famine;
death, cruel and horrible, by wolves or bears ; or, yet
more terrible, with tortures by the hands of the
dreaded Indians, who occasionally held their councils
and hunting-parties on the hills about the Rice Lake,
which was known only by the elder Perron as the
scene of many bloody encounters between the rival
tribes of the Mohawks and Chijipewas. Its localities
were scarcely ever visited by the settlers, lost haply
they should fall into the hands of the bloody Mohawks,
whose merciless disposition made them in those days
a by-word even to the less cruel Cliipjiewas and
other Indian nations.

It was not in the direction of the Rice Lake that

TIIK PAXfiS OP DOtJBT.

Maxwell and his brotlior-in-law souj^lit their lost
children; and even if they had done so, among the
deep glens and hill passes of what is now commonly
called the I'iains, they would have stood little chance
of discovering the poor wanderers. After juany days
of fatigue of liody and distress of mind, the sorrowing
parents sadl3' relin(piished the seai'ch as utterly hope-
less, and mourned in hitterness of spirit over the
disastrous fate of their Hrst-liorn and heloved chil-
dren. " There was a voice of Avoe, and lamentation,
and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her chil-
dren, and refusing to lu' coniforted, because they were
.

The miscrahle uncertainty that involved the fate
of the lost ones was an aggravation to the suflerings
of the mournei's. C'ould they but have been certified
of the manner of their deaths, they fancied they
should be more contented ; but, alas ! this fearful
satisfaction was withheld.

" Oh, were their tale of sorrow known,

'Twori' snnii'thiiit,' to tho lircakiiiLC luart;
The pane's (if (loiilit woiihl tlicn he i,'oi>(',
Ami faiK'y's finllcss (h'caiiis driKut."'

Ihit let us ([uit the now mom-id'id settlement of
(Jold Springs, aiul sec how it really fared with the
young Avanderers.

When they awoke, the valley was tilled with a
wliite creamy mist, that arose from the bed of the
stream (now known as Cold (/reek), and gav(^ an
indistinctness to the whole landscape, investing it
with an appearance perfectly ditterent to that which

THE I-OST OXKS.

it had worn by the bri^jht, clear light of the moon.
No trace of their footsteps remaintMl to guide them
in retracing thoir jiath ; so hard and (hy was the
stony ground that it left no impression on its surface.
It was V ith some difficulty they found the creek,
which was concealed from sight by a lofty screen of
gigantic hawthorns, high-bush cranberries, poplars,
and birch trees. The hawthorn was in blossom, and
gave out a sweet perfume, not less fragrant than the
"May," which makes the lanes and liedgerows of
" merrie old England " so s\\eet and fair in }.Iay and
June.

At length their path began to m'ow more dilUcult.
A tangled mass of cedars, balsams, birch, black ash,
alders, and tamavdch (Indian name for the larch),
with a dense thicket of bushes and shrubs, such as
love the cool, damp soil of marshy ground, warned
our travellers that they must ([uit the banks of the
friendly stream, or they might become entangled in
a trackless swamp. Having taken copious and re-
freshing draughts from the bright waters, and bathed
their liands and faces, they ascended the grassy bank,
and, again descending, found themselves in one of
those lonij; valleys, enclosed betNveen lofty sloping
l)anks, clothed with shrubs and oaks, with here and
there a stately pine. Through this second valley
they pursued their way, till, emerging into a wider
space, they came among those singularly picturesque
groups of rounded gi'avel hills, where the Cold Creek
once more met their view, winding its way towards a
grove of evergreens, where it was again lost to the eye.

HICK LAKK

This lovoly spot was known as Sackville's Mill-
<like. The liand of man liad curbed tlie freo course
of the wild forest stream, and made it subservient to
his will, but could not destroy the natural beauties of
the scene.

Fearinj^ to entan<:flc themselves in the sM-amp, they
kept the hilly ground, winding their way up to the
summit of the lofty ridge of the oak hills, the highest
ground they had yet attained ; and here it was that
the silver waters of the Rice Lake in all its beauty
burst upon the eyes of tlie wondering and delighte<l
travellers. There it lay, a sheet of litjuid silver, just
emerging from the blue veil of mist that hung upon
its surface and concealed its wooded shores on either
side. All feeling of dread, and doubt, and danger
was lost for the time in one rapturous glow of admir-
ation at the scene so unexpected and so l)eautiful as
that which they now gazed upon from the elevation
they had gained. From this ridge they looked <l()wn
the lake, and the eye could take in an extent of many
miles, with its verdant W(Joded islands, which stole
into view one by one as the rays of the morning sun
drew up the moving curtain of mist that enveloped
them ; and soon both northern and southern shores
became distinctly visible, with all their bays, and
capes, an<l swelling oak and pine crowned hills.

And now arose the question, " Where are we ?
What lake is this ? C^an it be the Ontario, or is it
the Rice Lake ? Can yonder shores be those of the
Americans, or are they the hunting-grounds of the
dreaded Indians ? " FTeetor remembered havinir often

A PLKASANT SPOT.

heard his fathci- say tlmt the Ontario was like an
inland sea, and tlic opposite slioves not visible unless
in some reniavk.'ible state of the atnios[)here, wlien
they had l)een oocasionally diseerne*! l)y the naked
eye; wliile liere they eould distinetly see objects on
the otlier side, the jx^cidiar f,n'0\vth o^" the; trees, and
even fUiflits of wild fowl win<,dntf their way among
the rice and low l)nshes on its maigin. The breadth
of the lake from shore to shore cotdd not, they
thought, exceed three or four nules ; while its length,
in an easterly direction, seemed far greater, — beyond
what the eye could take; in.*

They now quitted the lofty ridge, and bent tlieir
steps towartis the lake. Wearietl with their walk,
they seated themselves beneath the shade of a beau-
tiful feathery })ine, on a liigh promontory that com-
inanded a magnificent view down the lake.

" How pleasant it would l)e to have a house on this
delightful bank, overlooking the lake ! " said Louis.
' (*nly think of the fish we could take, and the ducks
nnd wild fowl we coidd shoot ; and it would be no
very hard matter to hollow out a log canoe, such a
one as I have heard my father s.-v he has rowed in
across many a lake and broad rivtir below, wlieu he
was lund^cn-ing."

"Yes, it woulil, indeed, l)e a pleasant spot to live
upon," .said Hector, " though J am not (piite sure that
the land is as good just here as it is at Cold (Springs;
but all those Hats and rich valleys would make fine

* Tlie length of the Rice Lake, from its head-waters near I!lacl<'s LaiidinK to
tlie iiioutli of the Trent, is said to he twenty-five miles; its lircadth, from nortli
to south, varies from tlirco to six.

HO.MK THOUGHTS.

pastures, and produce plenty of grain, too, if culti-
vated."

" You ahvay.s look to tlio main chance, Hec," said
Louis, lan^diinj,^ ; " -well, it was worth a few hours'
walking this niorning to look upon so lovely a sheet of
water as this. I would spend tw<j nights in a wigwam,
— would not you, ma l)elle ?— to enjoy such a sight."

"Ye.s, Loui.s," replied his cousin, hesitating as she
spoke; " it is very pretty, and T did not mind .sleeping
in the little hut ; hut then I cannot enjoy myself a.s
much as I should have done had my father and
mother been aware of my intention of accompanying
you. Ah, my dear, dear parents ! " she added, as the
thought of the anguish the absence of her companions
and herself would cause at home came over her. " How
I wish I had remained at home ! Selfish Catharine !
foolish, idle girl ! "

Poor Louis was overwhelmed with grief at the
sight of his cousin's tears ; and as the kind-hearted
but thouglitless boy bent ovvv her to .soothe and con-
sole her, his own tears fell upon the fair locks of the
M'ceping girl, and droj^ped on the hand he held
between his own.

" If you cry tl.iis, cou.sin," he whispered, "you will
])reak poor Louis'.s heart, already sore enough with
thinking of his fooli.sh conduct."

" Be not cast down, Catharine," said her brother
cheeringly ; " we niivy not be so far from home as
you think. As soon as you arc rested, we w'11 set
out again, and we may find something to eat ; there
nuist be strawberries on these sunny banks."

A J)ISCOVEUY.

Catharine soon yielded to the voice of her brother,
and drying her eyes, proceeded to descend the sides
of the steep valley that lay to one side of the high
ground where they had been sitting.

Suddenly darting down the bank, she exclaimed,
" Come, Hector ! come, Louis ! hero indeed is pro-
vision to keep us from starving ; " for her eye had
caught the bright red strawberries among the flowers
and herbage on the slope — large ripe strawberries,
the very finest she had ever seen.

" There is, indeed, ma belle," said Louis, stooping
as he spoke to gather up, not the fruit, but a dozen
fresh partridge's eggs from the inner shade of a thick
tuft of grass and herbs that grew beside a fallen tree.
Catharine's voice and sudden movements had startled
the ruffed grouse* from her nest, and the eggs were
soon transferred to Louis's straw hat, while a stone
flung by the steady hand of Hector stunned the parent
bird. Tlie boys laughed exultingly as they displayed
their prizes to the astoni.shed Catharine, who, in .spite
of hunger, could not help regretting tlie death of the
mother bird. Girls and women rarely .sympathize
with men and boys in their field sports, and Hector
laughed at his sister's doleful looks as he handed
over the bird to her.

" It was a lucky chance," said he, " and the stone
was well aimed, but it is not the first partridge that
I have killed in this way. They are so stupid you

* The C.inacllan partridge Is a species of Rrousc, larger tlmn tlic Englisli or
Frencli pcirtridgc. We refer our yoiiiiK readers to tlic llnely arranged specimens
in tlio liritlsli Museum (open to tlie puljlie), where tliey may discover " Louis's
partriilijo."

ON THK HEArn.

may even run them down at times ; I hope to get
anotlier before the day is over. Well, tliere is no
fear of starving to-day, at all events," he added,
as ho inspected the contents of his cousin's hat;
" twelve nice fresh eggs, a bird, and plenty of
fruit."

" But how shall we cook the bird and the eijgs ?
We have no means of getting a lire made," said
Catharine.

"As to the eggs," said Louis, "we can eat them
raw; it is not for hungry wanderers like us to be
over-nice about our food."

"They would satisfy us nnich better were they
boiled, or roasted in the ashes," observed Hector.

"True. Well, a fire, I think, can be got v.'ith a
little trouble."

" But how ? " asked Hector.

" Oh, there are many ways, but the readiest would
be a Hint with the help of my knife."

"A flint?"

" Yes, if we could get one ; but I see nothing Ijut
granite, which crumbles and shivers when struck —
we could not get a spark. However, I thiidc it s very
likely that one of the round pebbles I sec on the
beach yonder may be found hard enough for tlie pur-
pose."

To the shore they bent their steps as soon as the
little basket had been well filled with strawberries ;
and descending the precipitous bank, fringed with
young saplings, birch, ash, and poplars, they i[uiekly
found themselves beside the bri<dit water- of the

LOniSS PROPOSAL.

lake. A flint was soon found among the water-worn
stones that lay thickly strewn upon the shore, and a
handful of dry sedge, almost as inflammable as tinder,
was collected without trouble : though Louis, with
the I'ecklessness of liis nature, had coolly proposed to
tear a strip fro':i his cousin's a|ii"ai as a substitute
for tinder, — a proposal th{;,t !•'>) l>at raised the
indignation of the tidy Catharine, whose ideas of
economy and neatness were greatly outraged, especi-
ally as she had no seA\'ing implements to assist in
mending the rent. Louis thought nothing of that;
it was a part of his character to think only of the
present, little of the past, an(.l to let the future pro-
vide for itself. Such was Louis's ixrc&t failinir, which
had proved a fruitful source of trouble lioth to him-
self and others. In this respect he bore a striking
contrast to his more cautions companion, who pos-
sessed much of the gi'avity of his father. Hector was
as heedful and steady in his decisions •■'•= (jku's was
rash and impetuous.

After many futile attempts, and souw. sk.i K- jcked
off their knuckles thiough awkward handling o'" the
knife and flint, a good lire was at last kindled, as
there was no lack of diy wood on tlx^ shore.
( \'»tharine then triumpiianl-ly jji'oduced her tin pot,
an<l th(^ <'ggs w(>re boiled, greatly to the satisfaction
of all parties, who were by this time sufficiently
hungry, having eaten nothing sin« the previous
evening more substantial than the . i> berries they
had taken fluring the time they were guuiciing them
in the morninir.

A N'ATUliAI. liOWKK.

Catliavino had selected a pretty, cool, shady recess,
a natural hower, under the overhangini;- growth of

TiiK riiisr iiKi-.AKrAsr

et'dars, poplars, ;iiiil liircli, which were wreathed
together by the llexible ln'anehes ot" the wild grape
vine and hittei'-swect, MJiicli elindHMl to a hei'dit of

FOREST FARE.

fifteen feet* among the branches of the trees, which
it covered as with a mantle. A pure spring of cold,
delicious water welled out from l»eneath the twisted
roots of an old hoaiy-barked cedar, •and found its
way among the shingle on the Ix-ach to the lake, a
humble but constant tributary to its waters. Some
large blocks of water-worn stone fonned convenient
seats and a natural table, on which the little maiden
arranged the forest fare ; and never was a meal made
with greater appetite or taken with more thankful-
ness than that which our wanderei-s ate that mor-n-
ing. The eggs (part of which they reserved for
another time) were declared to l>e better than those
that were daily produced from the little hen-house at
Cold Springs. The strawlxirries, set out in little
pottles made with the shining leaves of the oak,
ingeniously pinned together by Catharine with the
long spurs of the hawthorn, wore voted delicious, and
tlie pure water most refreshing, that they drank, for
Jack of better cups, from a large mus.sel-shell wliich
Catharine had picked up among thj weeds and
pebbles on the beach.

Many children would have wandered about weep-
ing and disconsolate, lamenting their sad fate, or have
imbittcrcd the time by useless repining, or, perhaps,
by venting their mieasiness in reviling the principal
author of their calamity — poor, though tles.s Louis; but
Rucii were not the dispcjsitions of our young Canadians.
Early accustomed to the hardships inci<k'ntal to the

• Cdastnis scfiHifciM,— bittorswect or woo<1y niKhtshadf. This pinnt, liko
tho reii-hcrrieil lirynny uf KukIhikI, is !ii|;hly omanienUl. It imiuicsHeg powerful
liropcrtica as a medicine, and ih in liigli reputation among the Indians.

I'SEFUL KXO\VLP:iKiE.

lives of tlj^:- wellJerH in the bush, these young people
had ]eami-^<i to U?ar with patience and cheerfulness
privations tJaat would have cruslifd the spirits of
children mori- 4(frlicat»ly nurtured. They had known
every degr^eie' of hangL-r an<l nakedness : during the
first few yeair> of their lives they had often been
compelled to -^nj^tnist for days and weeks upon roots
and herbs, wUd fruits, and game which their fathers
had learne<l U* ifmtrap, to decoy, and to shoot. Thus
Louis and Hiector had early been initiated into the
mysteries of th»- chase. They could make dead-falls,
and j)its. ajjd tta|)H, and snares ; they were as expert
as Indians in the u^i of the Ijow ; they could pitch a
stone or ilui^ a wtjotlnu dait at partridge, hare, and
squirrel with almost unerring aim; and were as .swift
of foot as youn^ fawns. Now it was that they
learned to valuti- in its fullest extent this useful and
)nact!'al knowk-fllge. which enabled them to face with
fortitude tlji- privations of a life so precarious as that
to which ih^y wrK-rv? now exposed.

It was on<.- of the elder Maxwells maxims, — Never
let (lifficultie* overcome yoii. but rather strive to
concjuer them: let the head direct the hand, and the
hand, like a well-di^riplined .soldier, obey the head as
chief, \\1jen hi** children expressed any doubts of
not 1»eing ahh to accomplish any work they had
begmi, jje wouS'l ■^y, " Have you not hands, have
you not a h«u<l. hn\e you not eyes to see, and reason
to guide you * Ah for iinpo.ssil»ilities, they do not
Ix^Iong to the trade of a soldier, — he daie not see
them." Thus were energy and })erseverance early

TIIK boys' TUKASLUKS.

instilled into the minds of hi.s children. They were
now called upon to give practical proofs of the pre-
cepts that had heen taught them in childhood.
Hector trusted to his axe, and Louis to his coutcait
(le chdsne and pocket-knife,— the latter was a present
from an old forest friend of his fathers, who ha<l
visited them the previous winter, and which, by good
luck, Louis had in his ])ocket,— a capacious pouch, in
which were stored many precious things, such as
coils of twine and string, strips of leather, with odds
and ends of various kinds — nails, hits of iron, leather,
and such miscellaneous articles as Hnd their way most
mysteriously into l»oys' pockets in general, and Louis
Perrons in ])artieular, who was a wonderful collector
of such small nuitter.s.

The children v.'ere not easily dauntcil hy the
pi'ospect of passing a fmv days abroad on so charming
a spot, and at such a lovely season, where fruits were
so abundant; and when they had finished their
morning meal, so providentially placed within their
reach, they gratefully acknowledged the mercy of
God in this thing.

Having refreshed themselves by bathing their
hands and faces in the lake, they cheerfully renewed
their wanderinfrs, thouuh somethin'' loath to leave the
cool shade and the spring for an untrodden path
among the hills and dei'p ravines that furrow the
shores of the Rice Lak(! in so remarkable a manner ;
and often did our Avcaiy wanderers pause to look
upon the wihl glens and precipitous hills, where the
fawn and the shy deer found safe retreats, unharmed

IX THE VALLKY OF TIIK ROCK.

by the rifle of the hunter, where the osprey and
white-headed eagle built their nests, unheeded and
unharmed. Twice that day, misled by following the
track of the deer, had tliey returned to the same spot,
— a deep and lovely glen, which had once been a
watercourse, but was now a green and shady valley.
This they named the Valley of the Rock, from a re-
markable block of n d granite that occupied a central
position in the narr >\v defile; and here they prepared
to pass their seco id niglit on tlie Plains. A few
boughs cut down and interlaced with the .shrubs
round a small space cleared with Hector's axe, formed
shelter, and leaves and grass, strewed on the gi'ound,
formed a bed — though not so smooth, perliaps, as the
l)ark and cedar bouglis that the Indians spread
within their summer wigwams iov carpets and
couches, or the fresh heather that the Highlanders
gather on the wild Scottish liills.

While Hector and Louis were preparing the .sleep-
ing-chamber, Catharine busied herself in preparing
the partridge for their supper. Having collected
some thin peelings from the rugged bark of a birch
tree that grew on the side of the steep bank to which
she gave the appropriate name of the " Birken Shaw,"
she dried it in her bosom, and then beat it line upon
a big stone, till it resembled the finest white paper.
This proved excellent tinder, the aromatic oil con-
tained in the bark of the birch being highly inflam-
inalile. Hector had prudently retained the flint that
they had used in the morning, and a flre was now
lighted in front of the rocky stone, and a forked

I'KNSIONEKS ON GODS I'ROVIJJENCE.

stick, stuck in the ground, and bent over the coals,
served as a spit, on which, gipsy-fasliion, the partridge
was suspended, — a scanty meal, hut thankfully par-
taken of, though they knew not how they should
breakfast next morning. The children felt they were
pensioners on (Jod's providence not less than the wild
denizens of the wilderness around them.

When Hector — who by nature was less sanguine
than his sister or cousin — expressed some anxiety for
their provisions for the morrow, Catharine, who had
early listened with trusting piety of heart to the
teaching of her father, when he read portions from
the holy Word of (Jod, gently laid her hand upon her
brothers head, which rested on her knees, as he sat
u})on the grass beside her, and said, in a low and
earnest tone, " ' Consider the fowls of the air : they
sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into Imrns-,
yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not
much better than they ? ' Surely, my brother, God
careth for us as much as for the wild creatures that
have no sense to praise and glorify his holy name.
God cares for the creatures he has made, and supplies
them with knowletlge where they .shall find food
when they hunger and thirst. So I have heard my
father say ; and surely our father knows, for is he
not a wise man, Hector ? "

"I remember," .said Louis thoughtfully, "hearing
my mother repeat the Avords of a good old man slie
knew when she lived in Quebec. ' Wh^n you are in
trouble, Mathilde,' he used to say to her, ' kneel down
and ask God's help, nothing doubting but that he has

FAITH AND WORKS.

the power as well as the will to serve you, if it be for
your good; for he is able to bring all things to pass.
Jt is our own want of faith that prevents our prayers
from being heard.' And, truly, I think the wise old
man was right," he added.

It was strange to hear grave words like these from
the lips of the giddy Louis. Possibly they liad the
greater weight on that account. And Hector, look-
ing up with a serious air, replied, " Your mother's
friend was a good man, Louis. Our want of trust
in God's power must displease him. And when we
think of all the great and glorious things he has
made, — that blue sky, those sparkling stars, the
beautiful moon that is now shining down upon us,
and the hills and waters, the mighty forest, and little
creeping plants and flowers that grow at our feet, — it
must, indeed, seem foolish in his eyes tlmt we should
doubt his power to help us, who not only made all
these things but ourselves also."

" True," said Catharine ; " but then. Hector, we are
not as God made us ; for the wicked one cast bad
seed in the field where God had sown the good."

" Let us, however, consider M'hat \ve shall do for
food ; for you know God helps those that help them-
selves," said Louis. " Let us consider a little. There
must be plenty of fish in the lake, both small and
great."

" But how are we to get them out of it ? " rejoined
Catharine. " I doubt the fish will swim at their ease
there, while we go hungry."

" Do not interruj)t me, ma chore. Then, we see the

(721) 4

FOREST DAINTIES.

track of deer, and the holes of the wood-chuck ; we
hear tlie cry of squirrels and chitmunks, and there
are jilenty of partridges, and ducks, and quails, and
snipes ; — of course, we have to contrive some way to
kill them. Fruits there are in abundance, and plenty
of nuts of different kinds. At present we have plenty
of fine strawberries, and huckleberries will be ripe
soon in profusion, and bilberries too, and you know
how pleasant they arc ; as for raspberries, I see none;
but by-and-by there will be May-apples {Podophyllum
peltatum) — I see gi'eat quantities of them in the low
grounds ; grapes, high-bush cranberries, haws as large
as cherries, and sweet too, squaw-berries, wild-plums,
choke-cherries, and bird-cherries. As to sweet acorns,
there will be bushels and bvishels of them for the
roasting, as good as chestnuts, to my taste, and butter-
nuts, and hickory -nuts, with many other good things."
And here Louis stopped for want of breath to con-
tinue his catalogue of forest dainties.

" Yes; and there are bears, and wolves, and raccoons
too, that will eat us for want of better food," inter-
rupted Hector slyly. " Nay, Katty, do not shudder,
as if you were already in the clutches of a big bear.
Neither bear nor wolf shall make mincemeat of thee,
my girl, while Louis and thy brother ai'e near to
wield an axe or a knife in thy defence."

"Nor catamount spring upon thee, ma belle cousine,"
added Louis gallantly, " while thy bold cousin Louis
can scare him away."

" Well, now that we know our resources, the next
thing is to consider how we are to obtain them, my

A PnOVOKINO HOY.

dears," said Catharini!. " For fisliing, you know, we
must have a liook and line, a rod, or a net. Now,
where are these to be met witli ? "

Louis nodded his liead sagaciously. " The line I
think 1 can provide ; the hook is more; difficult, hut I
do not despair oven of that. As to tlx; rod, it can he
cut from any slender sa})ling on the shore. A net,
ma chore, 1 could make with very little trouble, if 1
had but a piece of cloth to sew over a lioop."

Catharine laughed. " You are very ingenious, no
doubt, Monsieur Louis ; but where are you to get the
cloth and the hoop, and the means of sewing it on ? "

Louis took up the corner of his cousin's apron with
a provoking look.

" My apron, sir, is not to be appropriated for any
such pui'pose. You seem to covet it for everytliing."

"Indeed, ma petite, I think it very unbecoming
and \ery ugly, and never could see any good reason
why you, and mannna, and Ahithildc; should wear
such frightful things."

" It is to keep our gowns clean, Louis, when we are
milking, and scrubbing, and doing all sorts of house-
hold duties," said (Mharine.

"Well, ma belle, you have neither cows to milk
nor house to clean," replied the annoying boy; "so
there can be little want of the apron. I could turn
it to fifty useful purposes."

" Pooh, nonsense," said Hector impatiently ; " let
the child alone, and do not tease her about her
apron."

" Well, then, there is another good thing I did not

MATERIAL POK KISIUNO-LINKS.

think of before — water nms.sel.s. I have heart! my
father and oUl Jacob the lumberer say that, roasted
in their shells in the ashes, with a seasoning of salt
and pepper, they arc good eating when nothing better
is to be got."

" No doubt, if the seasoning can be procured," said
Hector ; " but, alas for the salt and the pepper ! "

" Well, we can eat them with the best of all sauces
— hunger. And then, no doubt, t^ 're are crayfish in
the gravel under the stones; but nust not mind a
pinch to our fingers in taking th.

" To-morrow, then, let us breakfast on fish," said
Hector. " You and I will try our luck, while Kate
gathers strawberries ; and if our line should break,
we can easily cut those long locks from Catharine's
head and twist them into lines." And Hector laid
his hands upon the long fair hair that hung in shin-
ing curls about his sister's neck.

" Cut my curls ! This is even worse than cousin
Louis's proposal of making tinder and fishing-nets of
my apron," said Catharine, shaking l)ack the bright
tresses which, escaping from the snood that bound
them, fell in goklen waves over her shoulders.

" In truth, Hec, it were a sin and a shame to cut
her pretty curls, that become lier so well," said Louis.
" But we have no scissors, ma belle, so you need fear
no injury to your precious locks."

" For the niattcr of that, Louis, we could cut them
with your couteau de ehasse. I could tell you a
story that my father told me, not long since, of
Charles Stuart, the second kinir of that name in Enij-

IIKCTOK S HTOHY.

land. You know he was the grandunclo of the young
chevalier, Charles Edward, that my father talks of,
and loves so much."

"I know all ahout him," said Catharine, nodding
sagaciously ; " let us hear the story of his granduncle.
But I shoidd like to know what my hair and Loui.s's
knife can have to do with King Charles."

" Wait a bit, Kate, and you shall hear — that is, if
you have patience," said lier brother. " Well then,
you nuist know, that after some great battle, the
name of which I forget,* in which the king and his
handfid of brave soldiers were defeated by the forces
of the Parliament (the Roundheads, as they were
called), the poor young king was liunted like a part-
ridge upon the mountains ; a large price was set on
his head, to be given to any traitor who should slay
him or bring him prisoner to Oliver Cromwell. He
was obliged to dress himself in all sorts of queer
clothes, and hide in all manner of strange, out-of-the-
way places, and keep company with rude and humble
men, the better to hide his real rank from the cruel
enemies that sought his life. Once he hid along with
a gallant gentleman,-!- ""'^' ^^ ^'^^ own brave officers,
in the l)ranches of a jxreat o;>k. Once lie wa.s hid in
a mill ; and another time he was in the house of one
Pendril, a woodman. The soldiers of the Parliament,
who were always prowling about, and popping in
unawares wherever they suspected the poor king to
be hidden, were at one time in the very room where

he was standing be.side the tire."

' Hattlc of Worcester.

t Colonel Careless.

III'X'TORS STOltY.

" Oh ! " exclaimed Catliavinc, " that was frightful.
And did they take him prisoner ? "

"No; for the wise Avoodnian and his brothers,
fea.ring lest the soldiers should discover that lie was
a cavalier an<l a gentleman, hy the long curls that the
king's men all wore in those days, and called love-
locks, begged of his majesty to let his hair be cropped
close to his head."

"That was very hard, to lose his nice curls."

"I dare say the young king thought so too; but it
was better to lose his hair than his head. So, I sup-
pose, the men toM him; for he .suffered them to cut it
all close to his head, layiug down his ]u\ad on ar( ugh
deal table, or a chopping-block, while his faitliful
friends with a large knife trinnned off the curls."

" 1 wonder if the young king thought at that
minute of his pooi- father, wluj, you know, was forced
by wickeil men to lay down his head upon a block
to have it cut from his shoulders, because Cromwell,
and others as hard-hearted as himself, willed that he
should die."

"Poor king!" said Catharine, sighing; "I see that
it is better to be poor children, wandering on the.sc
plains under God's own care, than to be kings and
princes at the mercy of bad and siiifid men."

" Who tohl your father all these tilings, llec ? " said
[jouIs.

" It was th(> sou of his brave colomd, who knew a
great deal about the history of the Stuart kings ; for
our colonel had been with Prince Charles, the young
chevalier, and fought by his side when he was in

IIKCTOUS STORY.

Scotland. Ho loved him dearly, and after the battle
of CuUoden, where the prince lost all, and was driven
from place to place, and had not where to lay hi.s
head, he went abroad in hopes of better times. But
those times did not come for the poor prince ; and
our colonel, after a while, tlu^ough the friendship of
General Wolfe, got a commission in the army that
was embarking for Quebec, and at last commanded
the regiment to which my father belonged. He was
a kind man, and my father loved both him and his
son, and grieved not a little when he parted from

In
am.

" Well," said Catharine, "as you have told mo such
a nice stoiy, Mister Hec, I shall forgive the affront
aliout my curls."

" Well, then, to-morrow we are to try our luck at
fishing, and if we fail, we will make us bows and
arrows to kill deer or small game ; I fancy we shall
not be over-particular as to its (juality. Why should
not we be able to find subsistence as well as the wild
Indians ? "

"True," said Hector; "the wild men of tlie wilder-
ness, and the aninsals and birds, all are fed by the
things that He provideth ; then wherefore should
His white child on fear;'"

" I have often heard my father tell of the priva-
tions of the lumberers, M-hen they have fallen short
of provisions, and of the c(mtrivances of hiuiself and
old Jacob Morelle when tliey were lost for several
days, nay, weeks I beliexc it was. Like the Indians,
they made themselves l>ows and arx'ows, using the

LOUIS S STORY.

sinews of the deei", or fi^esli thongs of leather, for
bow-strings ; and when they could not get game to
eat, they boiled the inner bark of the slippery elm to
jelly, or birch bark, and drank the sap of the sugar
maple when they could get no water but melted
snow only, which is unwholesome : at last they even
boiled their own moccasins."

" Indeed, Louis, that must have been a very un-
savoury dish," said Catharine.

"That old buck -skin vest would have made a
famous pot of soup of itself," added Hector, "or the
deer-skin hunting shirt."

" They might have been reduced even to that," said
Louis, laughing, " but for the good fortune that befell
them in tlie way of a half-roasted bear."

"Nonsense, Cousin Louis; bears do not run about
ready roasted in the forest, like the lambs in the old
nursery tale."

" Kate, this was a fact ; at least it was told as one
by old Jacob, and my father did not deny it. Shall ^
tell you about it ? After passing several hungry days,
with no better food to keep them alive than the
scrapings of the inner bark of the poplars and elms,
which Avas not very substantial for hearty men, they
encamped one night in a thick dark swamp, — not the
sort of place they would have cliosen, but they could
not helj) themselves, having been enticed into it by
the tracks of a deer or a moo.se, — and night came
upon them unawares, so they .set to work to kindle a
fire with spunk, and a Hint and knife ; riHe they had
none, or maybe they would have had game to eat.

LOUIS S STORY.

Old Jacob fixed upon a hugo hollow pine that lay
across their path, against which he soon piled a
glorious heap of boughs and arms of trees, and what-
ever wood he could collect, and lighted up a fine fire.
The wood was dry pine and cedar and birch, and it
blazed away, and crackled and burned like a pine-
torch. By-and-by they heaml a most awful groAvling
close to them. ' That's a big bear, as I live,' said
old Jacob, looking all about, thinking to see one
come out from the thick bush. But Bruin was nearer
to him than he thought; for presently a great black
l)e<ar buist out from the butt-end of the great burn-
ing log, and made towards Jacob. Just then the Avind
blew the flame outward, and it caught the bear's
thick coat, and ^ ■> was all in a Maze in a moment.
No doubt the li- , i of the fire liad penetrated to the
hollow of the log, wlnix' he iiad Iain himself snugly
up for the winter, and w.-Ju-ned him. Jacob seeing
the huge black brute all in a. Hame oi fire, roared
with fright; the bear roared with pain and rii ■,'('; and
my father roared with laughing to .sec Jacob s terror.
But he did not let the bear laugh at him, for ho seized
a thick \)oh\ that he; had used for closing in the
brands and logs, and soon demolished th<- bear, who
was so blinded with tlu? tin^ and smuKr ''.at he made
no fight ; j.nd they fcastcil on roast i 'car's fiesh for
many days, and got a capital skin to cover them beside."

" What, Louis ! after the fur was all singed i " said
Catharine.

" Kate, you are too particular," said Louis; "a story
never loses, you know.'

A SCANTY MEAL.

Hector laughed heartily at the arlventurc, and en-
joyed the dilemma of the lK?ar in his winter quartei's;
but Catharine was souicwhat shocked at tlie levity
displayed by her cousin and brother when recounting
the terror of old Jacob and the .suflerings of the poor
bear."

"You boys arc always so unfeeling," she said
gravely.

" Indeed, Kate," said her brother, " the day may
come when the sight of a good piece of roast bear's
Hesh will be jio unwelcome sight. If we do not find
our way back to ('()]<] Springs l»efure the winter sets
iu, we n)ay be reduced to as bad a state as poor Jacob
and my uncle were in the pine swamps on the banks
of the St. John."

"Ah !" said Catharine, trcmlding, "that would be
too bad to happen."

"Courage, ma belle; let ns not despair for the
morrow. Let us sec what to-rnoiTOW will do for us ;
meantime, avc will not ne'dect the blessings we still
possess. .See, our partridge is ready ; let us eat our
supper, and l»e thankful; and for grace let us say,
* Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' "

Long exposure to the air had .sharpened their
appetites. Till' hungry wanderei-s needeil no further
invitation. The scanty meal, equally divided, was soon
despatched.

It is a common saying, but excellent to be remem-
bered by uiiy wanderers in our forcst wilds, that
those who travel by the sun travel in a circle, and
usually find themselves at niglit in the same place

A BITTTER DISAPPOINTMENT.

from whencK' thtrj .starte<l in the mornini^ ; so it Avas
with our M-aiA-rifrrH. At stmsct they found themselves
once njore m tlii<-r ravine, beside the bi^^ stone, in
Avhiclj thej laaiKl rt'->rt»'d at noon. They liad imagined
tliemsehes niiilcf'^f di.'stant from it : tliey were griev-
ously ilisajijM.niimitfML They hud encouraged each
other with dn-*- ocinHrk'nt hope that they were di'aw-
ing near tu slan" end of their bewildering journey:
they wei-e a-* far from their home as ever, without
the slightK;;!st dnai--- to guide them to the right path.
Despair is mjit at ff:f:;Iing which takes deep root in the
youthful br4-a.-iL TTie young are always hopeful ; so
C(jnfideijt in t3i)«-^ir nwn wisdom and skill in averting
or conquerirjiT "iaUKg^r; so trusting; so willing to be-
lieve that ih'-rir in a peculiar Providence watching
over them. Vmrr eiuldreii ! they had indeed need of
such a Ixdief t«> strengthen their minds and encourage
then'j to froJa K-x-^rtions, for new trials were at hand.
The broa<3 jiiiK)*>n had airfjidy Ht)oded '.he recesses
of the glen w'nh light, and all looked fresh and
lovely in tlj<.* "k-w wliich glittered on tree and leaf,
on herb anJ !}l«>»vr. (.'atharine, who, though weary
with her faitigfinDiiig wanderings, could not sleep, left
the little Ijuit ■'xf it>n;ghs her companions hail put up
near the <j;mmi«' px-k in the valley f<ir her accommoda-
tiitn, an<l <i.^-*fi*<l<-A the western liank, where the last
jutting spur o»f h!>t steep side formed a lofty elitl-likc
proinontor}'. at tlwr extreme verge of which the roots
of one tall spn-ai'Img oak formed a most inviting seat,
from whenoe tin*- eraveller looked down into a level
tract, wliich rtretehed away to the edge of the lake.

AN APPARITION.

This flat had been the estuary of the mountain
stream wliich had once rushed down between the
hills, forming a narrow gorge ; but now all was
changed : the watei-s had ceased to flow, the granite
bed was overgrown and carjietcd with deer-grass and
flowers of many hues, wild fruits and bushes, below,
while majestic oaks and pines towered above. A sea
of glittering foliage lay beneath Catharine's feet ; in
the distance the eye of the young girl rested on a
belt of shining waters, which girt in the shores like
a silver zone ; beyond, yet more remote to the north-
ward, stretched the illimitable forest.

Never had Catharine looked upon a scene so still
or so fair to the eye ; a holy calm seemed to shed its
influence over her young mind, and peaceful tears
stole down her cheeks. Not a sound was there
abroad, scarcely a leaf stirre<l ; she could have stayed
for hours there gazing on the calm beauty of nature,
and communing with her own heart, when sudderJv
a stirrinfj rustling sound caught her ear: it came
from a hollow channel on one side of the promontory,
which was thickly overgrown Avith the slirubby dog-
wood, wild roses, and bilberry bushes. Imagine the
terror which seized tlu; poor girl tm perceiving the
head of a black elk breaking through the covert of
the bushes. With a scream and a bound, Avhich the
most deadly fear alone could hav(! inspired, C^itliarine
sprung from the svipporting trunk of the oak, and
dashed down the precipitous side of the ravine; now
clinging to the bending sprays of the flexile dogwood,
now to some fragile birch or poplar — now trusting to

catiiauine's terror and mishap.

the yielding heads of the sweet-scented ccanothus, or
tilling her hands with sharp thorns from the roses
that clothed the bank, — flowers, grass, all were alike
clutched at in her rapid and fearful descent.

A loose fragment of granite on which she had un-
wittingly placed her foot rolled from under her ; un-
able to regain her balance she fell forwards, and was
precipitated through the bushes into the ravine below,
conscious only of unspeakable teiTor and an agoniz-
ing pain in one of her ankles which rendered her
quite powerless. The noise of the stones she had
dislodged in her fall, and her piteous cries, brought
Louis and Hector to her side, and they bore her in
their arms to the hut of boughs, and laid her down
upon her bed of leaves and grass and young pine
houghs. When Catharine was able to speak, she
related to Louis and Hector the cause of her fright.
She was sure it must have been a wolf by his sharp
teeth, long jaws, and grizzly coat. The last glance
she had had of him had iilleil her with terror ; he was
standing on a fallen tree, with liis eyes iixed upon
her. She could tell them no more that happened ;
she never felt the ground she was on, so great was
her fright.

Hector was half disposed to scold his sister for
rambling over the hills alone ; but Louis wa„s full of
tender compassion for Jit, belle connine, and would not
suffer her to be chidden. Fortunately, no bones had
been fractured, though the sinews of her ankle were
severely sprained ; but the pain was intense, and
after a sleepless night, the boys found, to their grief

THE WAXDEBEKS DETAINKD.

and dismay, that Catharine was unable to put her
foot to the ground. This was an unlooked-for afjgra-
vation of their misfortunes ; to pursue their wander-
ings was for the present impossible ; rest was their
only remedy, exeepting tlie application of such cool-
ing medicaments as circumstances would supply them
with. Cold water constantly applied to the swollen
joint, was the lirst thing that was suggested ; hut,
simple as was the lotion, it was not easy to obtain it
in sufficient quantities. They were full a (|uarter of
a mile from the lake shore, and the cold springs near
it were yet further off; and then the only vessel
they had was the tin pot, which hardly contained a
pint ; at the same time the thirst of the fevered
sufferer was intolerable, and had also to be provided
for. Poor Catharine, what unexpected misery she
now endured !

The valley and its neiuhbourino- hills abounded in
strawberries; they were now ripening in abundance;
the ground was scarlet in places with this delicious
fruit; they proved a blessed relief to tluj poor
sufferer's burning thirst. Hector and Louis were
unwearied in supplying her with them.

Louis, ever fertile in expedients, crushed the cool-
ing fruit and applied them to the sprained foot ;
rendering the application still more grateful by
spreading them upon the large smooth leaves of the
sapling oak : these he bound on with strips of the
leathery bark of the moose-wood,* which he had

* " Tiircn fuihi.ftrif.," moose-wood. American mezereon, leather- wood. From
the Greek, Uirka, i\ fountain or wet iiliico, its usual place of growth.

(iOOU NKWri.

found growing in great abundance near the entrance
of the ravine. Hector, in the meantime, was not
idle. After having collected a good supply of ripe
strawberries, he climbed the hills in search of birds'
eggs and small game. About noon he returned with
the good news of havijig discovered a spring of fine
water in an adjoining ravine, beneath a clump of
bass-wood and black cherry trees ; he had also been
so fortunate as to kill a woodchuck, having met with
many of their burrows in the gravelly sides of the
hills. The woodchuck seems to be a link between
the rabbit and badirer ; its colour is that of a leveret:
it climbs like the raccoon, and burrows like the
rabbit; its eyes are large, full, and dark, the lip
cleft, the soles of the feet naked, claws sharp, ears
short ; it feeds on grasses, grain, fruit, and berries.
The flesh is white, oily, and, in the summer, rank,
but is eaten in autumn by the Indians and woods-
men ; the skin is not nmch valued. They are easily
killed by dogs, though, being expert climbei's, they
often baffle their enemies. clin<rinii to the bark
beyond their reach. A stone or stick well aimed soon
kills them ; but they sometimes bite sharply.

The woodcliuck proved a providential supply ; and
Hector cheered his companions with the assurance
that they could not starve, as there were plenty of
these creatures to be found. They had seen one or
two about Cold Springs, but they are less common
in the deep forest lands than on the drier, more open
])lains.

" It is a great pity we have no larger vessel to

MAKING A WATKK-JAlt.

bi'ing our water from the spring," said Hector, look-
ing at the tin pot ; " one is so apt to stumble among
stones and tangled underwood. If we had only one
of our old bai'k dishes we could get a good supply at
once."

" There is a fallen birch not far from this," said
Louis. " I have here my trusty knife ; what is there
to hinder us from constructing a vessel capable of
holding water, a gallon if you like ?"

"How can you sew it together, cousin?" asked
Catharine ; " you have neither deer sinews nor
war-tap." The Indian name for the flexible roots
of the tamarack, or swamp larch, which they make
use of in manufacturing their birch baskets and
canoes.

" I have a substitute at hand, ma belle;" and Louis
pointed to the strips of leather- wood he had collected
for binding the dressings on her foot.

When an idea once struck Louis, he never rested
till he worked it out in some way. In a few minutes
he was busily employed, stripping sheets of the ever-
useful birch-bark from the birch tree that had fallen
at the foot of the " Wolf's Crag;" for so the children
had named the memorable spot where poor Catha-
rine's accident had occurred.

The I'ough outside coatings of the bark, which are
of silvciy whiteness, but ragged from exposure to
the action of the weather in the larger and older
trees, he peeled off, and then cutting the bark so
that the sides lapped well over and the corners were
secured from cracks, he proceeded to pierce holes

VOLATILE LOl l.s.

opposite to each otlior, and with .some trouhlo inan-
aj^ed to stitch tlicin ti,i,ditly toj^fcther, by drawing
strips of tlie moose or loatlicr-wood through and
throiigli. The first attempt, of eovn-so, was l)nt rude
and ill-sliaped, l)ut it answered the purpose, and oidy
leaked a little at the corners fur want of a sort of
flap, which he had forgotten to allow in cutting out
the bark, — this flap in the Indian baskets and dishes
turns up, and keeps all tiglit and close, — a defect ho
remedied in his subsequent attempts. In spite of its
deHciencies, Louis's water- jar was looked upon with
great admiration, and highly commended byCatharinc,
who almost forwt her suflerin<rs while watchint; lier
cousin's proceedings.

Louis was elated by liis own successful ingenuity,
and was for running off directly to the spring.
" Catharine shall now have cold water to bathe her
poor aid-cle with, and to quench her thirst,' he said,
joyfully springing to his feet, ready for a start up
the steep bank; but Hector quietly restrained his
lively cousin, by suggesting the possibility of his
not flnding the "fountain in the wilderness," as
Louis termed the spring, or losing lumself alto-
g(!ther.

" Let us both go tocfether then," cried Louis.
Catharine cast on her cousin an imploring glance.

" Do not leave me, dear Louis — Hector, do not let
me be left alone." Her sorrowful ap})eal stayed the
steps of the volatile Louis.

" Go you, Hector, as you know the way. — I will
not leave you, Kate, since I was the cause of all you

(721) 5

THE VALLKY OF TIIK FOUNTAIN.

have sufTorcd ; 1 will abido by you, in joy or in
sorrow, till I see you once more safe in your own
dear mother's arniM."

Comforted by this assurance, Catharine (piickly
dashed away the feathering tears from her cheeks,
and chid her own foolish fears.

" But you know, dear cousin," she said, " I am so
helpless; and then the dread of that horrible wolf
makes a coward of me."

After some little time had elapsed. Hector re-
turned. The bark vessel had done its duty Lo admi-
ration ; it only wanted a very little improve), lent to
make it complete. The water was cold and pure.
Hector had spent a little time in deepening the
mouth of the spring, and placing some stones about
it. He described the ravine as being much deeper
and wider and moi-e gloomy than the one they
occupied. The sides and bottom Avere clothed with
magnificent oaks. It was a grand sight, he said, to
stand on the jutting spurs of this great ravine, and
look down upon the tops of the trees that lay below,
tossing their rounded heads like the waves of a big
sea. There wei^e many lovely flowers — vetches of
several kinds, blue, white, and pencilled, twining
among the grass ; a beautiful white-belled flower,
that was like the " morning glory " {Convolvulus
tnajor), and scarlet cups* in abundance, with roses
in profusion. The bottom of this ravine was strewed
in places with huge blocks of black granite, cushioned
with thick green moss; it opened out into a wide

, * I'rkhroma, or ii,iiiiUilcii)i.

PANGS OF IIUNGEIl.

flat, similar to the one at the mouth of tlie valley of
the " B\'^ Stone."

Both Hector and liis sister had irsenslhly iiuhihed
a love of the "^land and picturesque, hy listeninj^f with
untirini,' intenjst to their fathei-'s aniiiiatcil and en-
thusiastic tlescriptions of liis Highland lionie, ami
th(! wild mountainous scenery that surroumltjd it.
Thoti^di hroui,dit up in solitude and une(hicate<l,
there was nothintj vulujar or rude in thv uiinds or
manners of these yountjf people. Simple and un-
taui^ht they were, hut they were •^•(lileless, earnest,
and misoplnsticated ; ami if they lacked the knowl-
('(Iffe that is Icuj'ned from hooks, they possessed much
that was useful and practical, which had heen taii_L,dit
hy experience and ohservation in the school of
necessity.

For several days the pain and fever ai'ising from
her sj^aiu nsndtuvd any attempt at removinsjj
Catharine from the, valley of the " Bii,^ Stone"
impracticahle. Tlu; ripe fruit liejjjan to j^row less
ahundant in their inniiediate vicinity ; neither wood-
chuck, partridi^e, nor s(juirrel had lieen killed; and
our poor wanderers now endured the .agonizing pains
of hunger. Continual exposure to the air hy night
and hy day contrihuted not a little to increa.se the
desire for food. It is true, there was the yet untried
lake. " hright, l)oundle.ss, and free," gleaming in
silvery splendour: hut in practice th.y knew nothing
of the fisher's craft, tliotigh, as a nuitter of report,
they were well accjuainted with its mysteries, and
had often listenc<l with deliglit to the feats performed

FISIllKG-TACKLK WAXTKD.

by their respective fathers in the art of angling,
spearing, and netting.

" I Imvc heard my fatlier say that so bold and
niimei'ous were the fish in the iakc's and rivers lie
used to fish in, that tht^y could be taken by the hand
with a crooked pin and coarse thread, or wooden
spear ; but that was in the Lower Province. And oh,
what glorious tales I have heax'd him tell of spearing
fish by torchlight ! "'

" The fish may be wiser or not so numerous in this
lake," said Hector ; " however, if Kate can boar to be
nio\'(xl, we will go down to the shore and try our
luck. But Avhat can we do ? we have neither hook
nor line provided."

Louis nodded his head, and sitting down on a pro-
jecting root of a scrub oak, produced from the depths
of his capacious pocket a bit of tin, which he can;-
fully selected from iiiiiong a miscellaneous hoard of
treasures. " Ib'rc," said he, holding it up to tlu-
view as he spoke, — " here is the slide of tan old
powder-flask, which I picked up froui among some
rubbish my sister had th;own out tiie other day."'

"I fear you will uiake nothing of that," said
Hector ; " a bit of Itone would be better. Tf you had
a file now, vou mi<dit do somethiuix."

" Stay a uioment, ^Fonsieur Hcc ; Avhat do you call
this?" and Louis triumphantly handed out of his
pocket the very instrument in (|uestion, a few inches
of a broken, rusty file; very rusty, indeed, it was,
but still it might bo made to answer in such ingeni-
ous hands as those ot our vo im,' French Canadian.

CiOINU DOWN TO Tin: L.VKK.

!
it

" I well remember, Katty, how yon and ]\Iathilde
laughed at me for treasuring up this old thing
months ago. — Ah, Louis, Louis, you little knew tlie
use it was to he put to then," he a'.ded thoughtfully,
a]:)Ostrophizing himself; "how little do we know
what is to befall us in our young days 1"

" Cuod knows it all," said Hector gravely; " we are
under Ids good guidance.'

" You are right, Hec ; let us trust in Ids mercy, and
he will take good care of us. Come, let us go to the
lake," Catharine added, and she sprang to her feet, but
as quickly said< down upon the grass, and regarded
her companions M'ith a piteous look, saying, " 1 can-
not walk one step ; alas, alas ! what is to })ecome of
me ^ I am r.ily a useless burden to you. If you leave
me here I shall fall a prey to some savage bea.st ; ami
you cannot carry me A\'ith you in your search for
food. '

'•Dry your tears, sweet cousin ; you shall go with
us. Do you think that Hector or l^ouis would
abandon you in your helpless state, to die of hunger
or thirst, or to be torn by wolves or bears i' We
viil carry you by turns; the distance to the lake is
noiliin.^', and yon are not so very heavy, ma belle
cousine ; see, T could dance with you in my arms,
you are s, light a burden," — and Louis gaily caught
tlie suflei'ing girl up in Ids arms, and with rnpid
steps struck into the deer-path that woun<l througli
the ravine towards tlie lake. Ihit when they reached
a ])retty, rounded knoll (where Wolf Towi^r now
stamls), Louis was fain to place his cousin on a Hat

ON THE SIIORK OF THE LAKE.

stone beneath a l)ig oak that grew beside the bank,
and fling himself on the floweiy ground at her feet,
while he drew a long breath, and gathered the fruit
that gi'ew among the long grass to refresh himself
after liis fatiiiue. And then, while rcstinij on the
" Elfin Knowe," as Catharine called the hill, he
employed himself with manufacturing a rude sort of
a fish-hook, with the aid of his knife, the bit of tin,
and the rusty file. A bit of twine was next pro-
duced: boys have always a bit of string in their
pockets ; and Louis, as I have before hinted, was a
provident hoarder of such small mattei's. The string
was soon attached to the liook, and Hector was not
long in cutting a sapling that answered well the
purpose of a fishing-rod ; and thus equipped they
proceeded to the lake shore, Hector and Louis carry-
ing the crippled Catharine by turns. When tliere,
they selected a sheltered spot benc.'atli a grove of
overhanging ce,dars and birches, festooned with wild
vines, which, closely woven, formed a natural boAver,
quite impervious to the rays of the sun. A waterfall
dashing from the upper part of the bank fell head-
long in spray and foaui, and (piietly spread itself
among the round shiu'dy fraii'ments that formed the
beach of the lake. Beneath this pleasant liower
("atharino could repose ami watch her companions at
their novel employment, or bathe her feet and infirm
ankle in the cool streandet that rippled in tiny wave-
lets over its stony bed.

If the anmsement of fishing prove plea.sant and
exciting when pursued for pastime only, it may

A PLENTIFUL UKl'AST.

readily l)e conceived that its interest must Lc greatly
heightened when its object is satisfying a craving
degree of hunger. Among the sunny spots on the
shore, innumerable swarms of the Hying grasshopper
or field crickets were sporting, and one of these proved
an attractive bait. The line was no sooner cast into
the water than the hook was seized, and many were
the brilliant specimens of sun-fish that our eager
llshermen cast at Catharine's feet, all gleaming with
gold and azure scales. Nor was there any lack of
perch, or that delicate fish commonly known in these
waters as the pink roach.

Tired at last with their easy sport, the hungry boys
next proceeded to the grateful task of scaling and
dressing their fish. This they did very expeditiously,
as soon as the more difhcult part of kindling a fire on
the beach had been accomplished with the help of the
flint, knife, and dried rushes. The fish were then
suspended, Indian fashion, on forked sticks stuck in
the ground and inclined at a suitable angle towards
the glowing euibers, — a few minutes sufficed to cook
them.

" Truly," said Catharine, when the plentiful repnst
was set before her, " God hath, indeed, spread a table
for us hero in the wilderness;" so miraculous did
this ample supply of delicious food seem in Vm "yes
of this simple child of nature.

They had often heard tell of the facility with w Inch
the fish could be caught, but they had known nothing
of it from their own experience, as the streams and
creeks about Cold Springs aflbrded them but little

UL'MISLK AND UOLV ASFIKATIOXS.

opportunity for exercising their skill as anglers ; so
that, with the rude implements with which they were
furixishetl, the result of their monring success seemed
little short of divine interference in their behalf.
Happy and contented in the 1)elief that they were
not forgotten hy their heavenly Father, these poor
"children in the wood" looked up with gratitude to
that Leneticent Being who suffereth not even a
sparrow to fall unheeded.

Upon Catharine, in particulai-, these things made a
deep impression ; and there, as she sat in the green
shade, soothed by the lulling soun<l of the flowing
waters, and the soft murmuring of the many-coloured
insects that hovered amoni; the fra'Tant leaves which
tliatched her sylvan bower, her young heart was
raised in humble and holy aspirations to the great
Creator of all things living. A peaceful calm dif-
fused itself over her mind, as with hands meekly
folded across her breast, the young girl prayed with
the guileless fervour of a trusting and faithful
heart.

The sun was just sinking in a flood of glory beliind
the dark pine-woods at the head of the lake, when
Hector and Louis, who had been carefully providing
fish for the UKjrrow (which was the Sabbath), came
loaded Avith their tinny prey caix'fully strimg upon a
willow-wand, and found Catharine sleeping in her
bower. Louiswas loath to break her tranquil slund)ers,
but her careful brother reminded him of the danger
to which she was exposed, sleeping in tlie dew by the
water-side. " Moreover," he added, " we have some

A TOILSOME MAUCH.

distanee to grj.^ and we have left the precious axe and
the birch -loirk vessel in the valley."

TlieM.' diiiitx-i w>,-re too valnaltle to he lost, so they
roused tL-- -^let-per, and slowly recommenced their
toilsome wav, following,' the same path that they had
made i© tiie nioming. Fortunately, Hector had
taken tJ*e precaution to bend down the flexile
branches ■<A the dog\vood and break the tops of the
young trae^ that they had passed between on their
route to the lake; and by this clue they were enabled
with t-ohraiAe certainty to retrace their way, nothing
doubtin:^ •fjtf arriving in time at the wigwam of boughs
by the iv.Krk in the valley.

Their progress was, however, slow, burdened with
the care otf the lame girl, and laden with the fish.
The purj^t *hafles of twilight soon clouded the scene,
deepenwl V/y the heavy masses of foliage, which cast
greater oW-ority upon their narrow path ; for they
had now iieft the oak -flat and entered the fforire of
the valk-'V. The utter loneliness of the patlt, the
grotK.-squif 4jjafiows <»f the trees that stretched in long
anay aiercws* tiie steep banks on either side, taking
now thj*=, n^^ir th!«.t wild and fanciful shape, awakened
stvaJige ftieliitgs of di^ad in the mind of these poor
iorlom wan«ifrTers; like most persons bred up in soli-
tude, iimr iiuaginations were strongly tinctured
with supervititioos fears. Here, then, in the lonely
wiidemes'- far from their beloved parents and social
heartlj. wixl^ no visible arm to protect them from
danger. B'-wr to encourage or to cheer them, they
starte<i v '.i-,rTor-blanclied cheeks at every fitful

SUPliRSTITIOUS FKAUS.

breeze that rustled the leaves or waved the branches
above them.

The gay and lively Louis, blithe as any wild bird
in the bright sunlight, was the most easily oppressed
by this strange superstitious fear, when the shades of
evening were closing round, and he would start with
ill-disguised terror at every sound or shape that met
his ear or eye, though the next minute he was the
first to laugh at his own weakness. In Hector the
feeling was of a graver, more solenm cast, recalling
to his mind all the wild and wondrous tales with
which his father was wont to entertain the children
as they crouched round the huge log-fire of an even-
ing. It is strange the charm these marvellous tales
possess for the youthful mind: no matter how improb-
able or how often told, year after year they will be
listened to with the same ardour, with an interest
that appears to grow with repetition. And still, as
they slowly wandered along, Hector would repeat to
his breathless auditors those Highland legends that
were as familiar to their ears as household words; and
still they listened with fear and wonder, and deep
awe, till at each pause he made the deep-drawn
breath and half-re}yressed sliudder might be heai'd.
And now the little party paused irresolutely, fearing
to proceed : they had onutted to notice some land-
mark in their progress; the moon had not long been
up, and her light was as yet indistinct ; so they sat
them down on a little grassy spot on the bank, and
rested till the moon should lighten their path.

Louis was confident they were not far from the

" THE WOLF ! THE WOLF ! '

" Big Stone," but careful Hector had his <loubt.s, and
Catharine was weary. The children had already
conceived a sort of home feeling for the valley and
the mass of stone that had sheltered them for so
many nights ; and soon the dark mass came in sight,
as the broad full light of the now risen moon fell
upon its rugged sides : they were nearer to it than
tliey had imagined.

"Forward for the ' Bitr Stone' and the M'i<xwam,"
cried Louis.

" Hush ! " said Catharine, " look there ! " raising her
hand with a warning ges'.ure.

"Where? what?"

" The wolf ! the wolf ! " gasped out the tcrrili(,'d
girl. There, indeed, upon the summit of the block,
in the attitude of a sentinel or watcher, stood the
gaunt-iigured animal ; and as she spoke, a long wild
cry, the sound of which seemed {vs if it came midway
between the earth and the tops of the tall pines on
the lofty ridge above them, struck terror into their
hearts, as with speechless horror they gazed upon the
dark outline of the terrible beast. There it stood,
with its head raised, its neck stretched outward, and
ears erect, as if to catch the echo that gave back
those dismal sounds ; another minute and he was
gone to join his companions, and the crashing of
branches and the rush of many feet on the high l)ank
above was followeil by the prolonged cry of a poor
fugitive animal, — a doe, or fawn, perhaps, — -in the
very climax of mortal agony ; aii<l then the lonely
recesses of the forest took u]i that fearful death-cr\^,

A CillKAT DIOLIVERAXCK.

the fav-ofi' shores ot" the hike and the distant islands
prolonged it, and the territied children clung together
in fear and treniblinu;.

A few nunutcs over, and all Avas still. The chase
had turned across the hills to some distant ravine ;

TiiF. si;ntivi:i. woi.r.

the wolves were all gone — not even the watcher was
left; and the little valley lay once more in silence,
Avith all its dewy roses and sweet blossoms glittering
in the moonlight. But though around them all was
peace and lo\eliness, it was long ere confidence was
restored to the hearts t)f the panic-stricken and

A LON(! AND I'AINFUL VIGIL.

trembling cliildron. Tliey Ijehcld a savage enemy in
every mass of leafy shade, and every rustling liough
struck fresh terror into their excited minds. They
might have exclaimed, ^vith the patriarch Jacob,
" How dreadful is thi.s place ! "

With hand clasped in hand, they sat them down
among the thick covert of the bushes ; for now they
feared to move forward, le.st the wolves should return.
Sleep was long a stranger to their watchful eyes, eacli
fearing to be the only one left awake, and long and
painful was their vigil. Yet nature, overtasked, at
length gave way, and sleep cam(> down upon their
eyelids— (loop, unbroken sleep, which lasted till the
broad sunlight, breaking through the leafy curtains
of their forest-bed, and the sound of waving bou'dis
and twittering birds, once more awakened them to
life and light, recalling them from hapi^y dreams of
home and friends to an aching sense of loneliness and
desolation. This day they (lid not wander far from
the valley, but took the precaution, as evening drew
on, to light a large lire, the blaj^e of which they
thought would keep away any beast of prey. They
had no want of food, as the fish they had cau<dit the
day before prov(_'d an amplc^ supjily. Tlie huckle-
berries were ripening too, and soon afforded them a
nevor-f ailing source of food; there was also an
abundance of bilberries, the sweet fruit of which
proved a great treat, besides being verv nourishing.

CHAPTER III.

" Oh fur a lodge in tlio vast wilderness.
The boundless contiguity of sliade I "

FORTNIGHT had now passed, and Cath-
arine still siifiered so much froni pain and
fever that they wow unahle to continue
their wanderings; all that Hector and his
cousin could do was to carry her to the bower liy the
lake, where she recline<l whilst they caut,dit fish. The
painful longing to regain their lost home had lost
nothing of its intensity; and often would the poor
suti'erer start from her bed of leaves and bough.s to
wring lun- hands and weep, and call in piteous tones
upon that dear father and mother who would have
ffiven worlds, had thev been at their commaml, to
have heard but one accent of her beloved voice, to
liave felt one loving pressure from that fevere<l hand.
Hope, the consoler, hovered over the path of the
young wanderers, long atter she had ceased to
whisper comfort to the desolate heai^ts of the mourn-
ful parents.

Of all that suffered by this sad calamity, no one
was more to be pitied than Louis Perron. Deeply
did the poor boy lament the thoughtless folly which

THK FOLLY OP YOUTH.

had involved his cousin ("atliarinc in so terrible a
misfortune. "If Kate had not been with me," he
would say, "we should not have been lost; for
Hector is so cautious and so careful, he would not
have left the cattle-path. But we wen; so heedless,
wo thou_<;dit only of Howers and insects, of birds and
such triths, and paid no heed to our way." Louis
Pcri'on, such is life. The younj^ press gaily onward,
gathering' the ilowers, and following the gay buttei'-
flies that attract them in the form of pleasure and
amusement: they foi'get tlic grave counsels of the
thoughtful, till they find the jiath they have followed
is beset with briers and thorns; and a thousand
painful diifieulties that were unseen, imexpecte<l,
overwhelm and bring them to a sad sense of their
own folly ; and, pei'haps, the punishment of their
errors does not fall upon themselves alone, Init upon
the innocent, who have unknowingly been made
participators in their fault.

By the kindest and tendei^est attention to all her
comforts, Louis endeavoured to alleviate his cousin's
sufferings, and soften her regrets ; nay, he would
often speak cheerfully and even gaily to her, when
his own heart was heavy and his eyes ready to over-
flow with tears.

" If it were not for our dear parents and the dear
children at home," he would say, " we might spend
our time most happily upon these charming plains ;
it is much more delightful here than in the dark,
thick woods ; see hoM' brightly the sunbeams come
down and gladden the ground, and cover the earth

A PLEASANT PICVrRE.

with fruit and flowers. It is pleasant to be able to
fish and hunt, and trap tlio game. Yes, if they \\cro
all here, we would build us a nice lorj-house, and clear
up these bushes on the flat near the lake. This
'ElHn Knowe,' as you call it, Kate, would lie a nice
spot to build upon. See these glorious old oaks — not
one should be cut down ; and we Avould have a boat
and a canoe, and voyage across to yonder islands.
Would it not be charming, ma belle ? " and Catharine,
smiling at the picture drawn so eloquently, would
enter into the spirit of the project, and sa}', —

" Ah ! Louis, that would be pleasant."

" If we had but my father's rifle now," said Hector,
" and old Wolfe."

"Yes, and Fanchette, dear little Fanchette, that
trees the partridges and black squirrels," .said
Louis.

" I saAV a doe and a half-grown fawn beside her this
very morning, at break of day," said Hector. " The
fawn was so little fearful, that if J had had a stick
in my hand I could have killed it. I came within
ten yards of the spot where it stood. I know it
would be easy to catch one by making a dead-fall."
A sort of trap in which game is taken in the woods,
or on the banks of creeks.

" If we had but a dear fawn to frolic about us, like
Mignon, dear innocent Mignon," cried Catharine " 1
should never feel lonely then."

" And we should never want for meat, if we could
catch a fine fawn from time to time, ma belle. — Hec,
what are you thinking of ? "

T.ooKixfi roRWAnn.

"I was tliiiikinj,', Louis, tliat if wo were doomed to
remain here all our lives, we must bnild a house for
ourselves ; we could not live in the open air without
shelter as we have done. Tlu; summer will soon
pass, and the rainy season will come, and the bitter
frosts and snows of winter will have to be provided
against,"

" But, Hector, do you really think there is no chance
of finding our way back to Cold Springs ? We know
it must be behind this lake," said Louis.

" True, but whether cast, west, or south, we cannot
tell, and whichever way we take now is but a chance ;
and if once we leave the lake and get involved in the
mazes of that dark forest, we should perish : for we
know there is neither water nor fruit nor game to
be had as there is here, and we might soon be starved
to death. God was good who led us beside this fine
lake, and upon these fruitful plains."

" It is a good thing that I had my axe when we
started from home," said Hector. " We should not
have been so well off without it ; m'c shall find the
use of it if we have to build a house. We must look
out for some spot where there is a spring of good
water, and — "

" No horrible wolves," interrupted Catharine.
" Though I love this pretty i-avine, and the banks
and braes about us, I do not think I shall like to
stay here. I heard the wolves only last night, when
you and Louis wei'e asleep."

" We nmst not forget to keep watch-fires."

" What shall we do for clothes ? " said Catharine,

(V21) fi

A WKIGIITY COXSIDEIIATION.

glancing at her home-spun frock of wool and cotton
plaid.

" A weighty consideration indeed," sighed Hector ;
" clothes must be provided before ours arc worn out
and the winter conies on."

" We must save all the skins of the woodchucks
and squirrels," suggested Louis; "and fawns when
we catch them."

" Yes, and fawns when we get them," added Hector;
" but it is time enough to think of all these things ;
we must not give uj) all hope of home."

" I give up all hope ? I shall liope on while I have
life," said Catharine. " My dear, dear fatlier, he will
never forget his lost children ; he will try and find
us, alive or dead; he will never give up the seai'ch."

Poor child, how long did this hope burn like a
living torch in thy guileless breast. How often, as
they roamed those hills and valleys, were thine eyes
sent into the gloomy recesses of +he dark ravines and
thick bushes, with the hope that they would meet
the advancing form and outstretched arms of thy
earthly parents : all in vain. Yet the arms of thy
heavenly Father were extended over thee, to guide,
to guard, and to sustoin thee.

How often were Catharine's hands filleil with wild-
flowers, to cany home, as she fondly said, to sick
Louise or her mother. Poor Cathai'ine, how often
did your Ijoucpiets fade ; liow often did the sad exile
water them with her t^ears, — for hers was the hope
that keeps alive despair.

WheJi they roused them in the morning to recom-

ITTTEULY RKWTLDERED.

monco Uieir fruitless wanderings, they wou]<l say to
each oilier, " Perhaps we shall sec our father, he may
find us here to-day ; ' but evening came, and still he
came not, and they were no nearer to their father's
home than they had been the day previous.

" If we could ])ut find our way Ijack to the 'Cold
Creek,' we might, by f(jllowing its course, I'eturn to
Cold Springs," said Hector.

" I doubt much the fact of the ' Cold Creek ' having
any connection with our Spring," said Louis; "I
think it has its rise in the Beaver Meadow, and fol-
lowing its course would only entangle us among those
wolfish balsam and cedar swamps, or lead us yet
further astray into the thick, recesses of the pine
forest. For my part, T ])elieve we are already fifty
miles from Cold Springs."

Persons who lose their way in the pathless woods
have no idea of distance, or the points of the compass,
unless they can see tlie sun rise and set, which it is
not possible to do when surrovnitled by the dense
growth of forest-trees ; they rather measures distance
by the time they have been wandering, than by any
other token.

The children knew that they had been a long time
absent from home, wandering hither and thither, and
they fancied their journey had Ix'cu as long as it had
been weary. They had indeed the comfort of se<ing
the sun in its course from east to west, but they knew
not in what direction the home tliey hatl lost lay ; it
was this that troubleij them in their choice of the
coiu'si' thev should take each dav. and at last deter-

THE JOURNEY IS RESUMED.

niincd tliem to lose no more time so fruitlessly, wlicro
the peril was so great, but seek ibr some pleasant
spot where they might pass their time in safety, and
provide for their present and future wants.

" Tlio world was all boforp tlioui, wlieie to choose
'I'lieir place of rest, ami Providence their t,'\iide."'

Catharine declared her ankle was so nnich stronger
than it had been since the accident, and her health so
much amended, that the day aftin- the conversation
just recorded, the little party bade farewell to the
valley of the " Big Stone," and ascending the steep
sides of the hills, bent their steps eastward, keeping
the lake to their left hand. Hector led the way,
loaded with the axe, which he would trust to no one
but himself, the tin-pot, and the birch basket. Louis
had to assist his cousin up the steep l)anks, likewise
some fish to carry, \\ hich had been caught early in
the morning.

The wanderers thought at lirst to t .xplore the
ground near the lake shore, but soon abandoned this
resolution on finding the undergrowth of ti'ees and
bushes become so thick that they made little progress,
and the fatigue of travelling was greatly increased by
having continually to put aside the bushes or bend
them down.

Hector advised trying the higher ground ; and after
following a deei-path through a small ravine that
crossed the hills, they found themselves on a fine
extent of tablc-laml, richly but not too densely wooded
with white and black oaks (^^/'r/vw/x tilhti and ^^cr/vcs'

IX AGES PAST.

nigra), diversified Avitli licre and there a solitary
pine, which reared its strai^lit and piUardike trunk
in stately uTandeur a])ove its leafy companions; a
meet eyrie for the bald eagle, that kept watcli from
its dark crest over tlie silent wat''rs of th<' lake,
spread below like a silver zone stiiddeil with emeralds.

In their pnjijress they passcnl the head of many
small ravines, wliich divided tlie hilly shores of thcj
lake into deep furrows: thesf furrows hail once been
channels by wliich the waters of some upper lake
(the site of which is now dry lanil) had at a former
period poured down into tlie valley, tilling the basin
of what now is called the Rice Like. These waters,
with I'esistless sweep, had ploughed their way between
the hills, licaring in their course those blocks of
granite and limestime which are so widely scattered
l)oth on the hill-tops and the plains, or form a rocky
pave...ent at the bottom of the ikiviow defiles. What
a sight of sublime desolation must that outpouring of
the waters have presented, when those deep banks
wore riven by the sweeping torrmts that were loosened
from tlieir former bounds! 'i'he pli'ased eyt^ rests
upon these trancpiil shores, now eoveri'd with oaks
and pines, or waving with a flood of golden grain, or
varieil by neat <lw(dlings and fruitful gardens; and
the gazer on that peaci'ful scene .scarcely pictures to
himself what it nuist have been Mdien no living eye
was there to ma'k the rushing floods when they
scoopeil to il.'jiiiselves the deep lu'd in which they
now repose.

Those lovely ishuul.s thiit sit like stately crowns

CPPKIl AM) LOWER IIACE-COL USE.

upon the "waters were doubtless the A\Teck that
reruahied of tlie valley; elevated spots, whose rocky
bases withstood the tV>rce of the rushini; waters, that
carried away the Ii<i,hter portions of tlie soil. Tlie
south(n"n shore, seen fioni the lake, seems to lie in
refjular ridges runniuLr from south to north : some
fi'W are parallel with tlu' lake shore, possibly where
some insurmountable impediment turned the current
of the subsiding waters; but they all find an outlet
throun'h their connection with ravines conmiunicating
with the lake.

There is a beautifid level tract of land, with only
here and there a, solitary oak or a few stately pines
growing upon it :, it is commonly called the " Upper
Race-course," on account of the smoothness of the
surface. It forms a high table-land, nearly three
liundred feet above the lake, an<l is surrounded by
high hills. This spot, though now dr}' and covered
with turf and flowers, and low bushes, has evidently
once been a broad sheet of water. To the ea^stward
lies a still more lovely and attractive spot, knowo Jis
the "Lower Race-course." It lies on a lower le>el
than the foinner one, and, like it, is emuanked by a
rid»;e of distant hills. Both have ravines 1* ' ' 'ig dow i
to the Rice Lake, and may have beer clie sources
from whence its channel was filled. Some convulsion
of nature at a remote period, by raising the v, ^-icrs
above their natural level, might have caused a dis-
ruption of the banks, and drained their beds, as they
now api^ear ready for the ploughshare or the spade.
In the month of June these fiat< are brilliant with

Jl (fiARDE^ OF NATlltES OWX PI.AXTI.NU.

the spltdnk'ii'l blas.sonis of tlie Castlhujia coccinea, or
painted-e'ipv the azure lupine (Lu2)lniiS2^erennis), and
snowT Tif-iUku.ra ; dwarf roses {Rom, hlavda) scent
the evemiEi^ air. and grow as if planted by the hand
of tart-e.

A aaijii^ung of the small downy saxifrage (Saxi-
fnuj<ii mKnUii), with its white silky leaves, covers the
grouti<i m "-rarly spring. In autumn it is red with the
bright Wmries and dark box-shaped leaves of a species
of ere- '■ _• winter-gT'een, that tlie Indians call spice-
l»eny • ''i^i-'ki procii.riihcni<)\ the leaves are highly
aroma:.-- -.. i it i.s medicinal as well as agreeable to
the te^t■'!' and smell. In the month of Julv a ''orijeous
assf.M.- ;._• ; f orange lilies {Liliiiin Fhil((delpIueiU}i)
take x}j-: place of the lupine and trilliums: the.se
splendi'l lilies varv from orange to the briglitest
scarlet Various species of sunflowers and coreopsis
nest aj I'tar. and elegant white /v/rolas * scent the
air ajj'3 eLirru the eye. The delicate lilac and white
shrubby a.-ters next appear ; and these are followed
by the hm^. deep-blue gentian, and here and there
by t]j- _ int fringed gentian. -f- These are the latest
and Jwvieiiiest of the flowers that adorn this tract of
lan<i In h indeed a garden of nature's own planting,

but t^
grail;

of Vv_

and t:

him i

I i.'=irden is Iteing converted into iields of

:'.i<: will] flowers give place to a new race

^. les.s ornamental, but move useful to man

i of domestic animals that dej)end \ipon

.r support.

* Hi. aUo uallei) IiKliiin pntiito (..1^110.1 fiibcrosa).

f nAiadiUi.i, UnearU, G. creiiata.

AX INVITINU UAVINE.

Our travellers, after wandering over this lovely
plain, found themselves, at the close of the day, at
the head of a tine ravine,* where they had the good
fortune to perceive a spring of pure water oozing
beneath some laro'e moss-covered blocks of black
waterworn granite. The ground was thickly covered
with moss about the edges of the spring, and many
varieties of llowerint; shrubs and fruits were scattered
along the valley and up the steep sides of the sur-
rounding hills. There were whortleberries, or huckle-
berries, as they are nio.e usually called, in abundance;
bilberries dead ripe, and falling from the bushes at a
touch. The vines that wreathed the low bushes and
climbed the trees were loaded with clusters of grapes
but these were yet hard and green. Dwarf filberts
grew on the dry gravelly sides of the hills, yet the
rough prickly calyx that enclosed the nut filled
tht'ir (int'ers with minute thorns that irritated
the skin like the stings of the nettle; but as the
kernel, when ripe, was sweet and good, they did
not mind the conscMjuences. The moist part of the
valley was occupied by a lai'ge bed of May -apples, •*•
the fruit of which was of unusual size, but they
were not ripe, August being the mi)nth when they
ripen ; there were also wild plums still green,
and wild cherries and blackberries rijieuing. There
were great numbers of the woodchucks' burrows
on the hills ; wild partridges and (juails were seen
under the thick covert of the blue-berried doff-

" Kilvert's I'uviiie, above Pine-tree Point.

t i'udopliylluiit pcUatiini, — mamliake, or .May-apple.

A SUM.MEI! IILT.

wood,* that here grew in almndance at the mouth of
tlie ravine where it opened to the lake. Ah this spot
offered many advantages, our travellers halted for
the night, and resolved to make it their headtjuarters
for a season, till they should meet with nn eligible
situation for huilding a winter shelter.

Here, then, at the head of the valley, sheltered by
one of the rounded hills that formed its sides, our
young people erected a sunnner hut, somewhat after
the fashion of an Indian wigwam, which was all the
shelter that was re([uisite while the weather remained
KO warm. Through the opening at the gorge of this
ravine they enjoyed a peep at the distant waters of
the lake, which terminated the vista, while they were
quite removed from its unwholesoiue vapours.

The temperature of the air for some days had been
liot and sultiy, scarcely modified by the cool, delicious
breeze that usually sets in about nine o'clock and
blows most refreshingly till four or five in the after-
noon. Hector and Louis had gone down to fish for
supper, while Catharine busied herself in collecting
leaves and dried deer-grass, moss and fern, of which
there was abundance near the spring. The boy.s had
promised to cut some fresh cedar boughs near the
lake shore, and bring them up to form a foundation
for their beds, and also to strew Indian-fasliion over
the lioor of the hut by way of a carpet.

The fragrant carpet of cedar or hemlock-spruce
sprigs strewn lightly over the earthen Hoor, was to

■ Ci>niu.i scrken. The blue berries of this shrub are eaten by tlie partridge
ami wihl ducks ; also by the pigeons, and other birds There are several species
of tliis blirub uomnion to tlie Kice Lake.

DUEAMINCi UK HO.Mi;.

them a luxury a.s great as if it liad been taken from
the looms of Persia or Turkey, so liajipy and con-
tented were they in their ii^norance. I'heir beds of
freshly f^^athered grass and leaves, raised from the
earth by a heap of branehes carefully arranged, were
to them as pleasant as beds of down, and the rude
hut of bark and polos as curtains of damask or silk.

Having collected as much of these materials as she
deemed sufficient for the purpose, Catharine next
gathered up the dry oak branches, to make a watch-
fire for the night. This doni', weaiy and warm, she
sat down on a little hillock, l)eneath the cooling shade
of a grove of young aspens that grew near the hut.
Pleased with the dancing of the leaves, which fluttered
above her head, and fanned her warm cheek with
their incessant motion, she thought, like her cousin
Louise, that the aspen was th(.' merriest tree in the
forest, for it was always dancing, dancing, dancing.

She watclied the gathering of the distant thunder-
clouds, which east a deeper, more sondn'e shade upon
the pines that girded the northern shores of the lake
as with an ebon frame. Insensibly her thoughts
wandered far away from the lonely spot whereon she
sat, to the stoup * in front of her father's house, and
in memory's eye she beheld it all exactly as she had
left it. There stood the big spinning-wheel, just as
she had set it aside ; the hanks of dyed yarn sus-
pended from the rafters, the basket filled with the
carded wool ready for her work. She saw in fancy

' The Dutch word for veranda, which is still in coinnion use among Uio
Canadianb.

A .)OYKl?L AWAKKNIXG.

lier father, with his line atliletic ujn'iglit %ure, his
sunhiirnt cheeks Jind chistering sable hair, his clear
energetic hazel eyes ever beauiiny upon her, his
favoiu'iti! child, witli looks of lo\'e and kindness as
she in(jved to and fro at lier wheel.* Tliere, too,
was her niothei', with her light step and sweet cheer-
ful voice, singing as she pursued her daily avoca-
tions; and Donald and Kenneth driving up the cows
to he milked, or chopping firewooil. And as these
images, like the figures of the magic-lantern, passed
in all their living colours before her mental vision,
lier head drooped heavier and lower till it sank upon
her arm ; and then she started, looked round, and
slept again, her face deeply Ijuried in her young
bosom, and long and peacefully the young girl
slumbered.

A sound of hurrying feet a])proaches, a M'ild cry
is heard and joanting breath, and the sleeper, with a
startling scream, springs to her feet : she dreamed
that she was struggling in the fangs of a wolf — its
grisly paws were clasjjed about her throat ; the feel-
ing was agony and suffocation : her languid eyes
open. Can it l)e ? — what is it that she sees ? Yes,
it is Wolfe ; not the tierce creature of her dreams by
night and her fears by day, but her father's own
brave, devoted dog. What joy, what hope rushed
to her heart ! She threw herself upon the shaggy
neck of the faithful l)east, and wept from fulness of
heart.

* Such is the method of working iit tlii> Urge wool-wlieel, unkiio-Au or obsolete
in England.

( ATI I. \ I! INK AM) Wol.l'i;,

" Yos," sill' JDyfullv ci'*K'il, '■ I knew that I .should
see liiin again. My own iloar, dear, loviiij;- t'atlier !

i«gpL;- <&? -.

cV^J

rATllMlIMv rcHNTi I'.V Tlir, cil.l) IlOO

Fatlicr ! father! ilear, dear father, liere are your
cliihh'en 1 Come, come (juiekly!" and .she liurried
to the head of the valley, rai.sing her voice, that the

Dr.rKITIML SOI-\l)S.

beloved parcTit, who slic now eoutitlcntly liclieved
was appvoachiii^i;-, m\'j;]\i Ix- i;uiilc(l to tlio spot l>y the
well-known sound of her voiee.

I'oor ehild ! tlie echoes of thy ea^-er voice, pro-
lonijfed hy every projecting iicadhand of the valley,
i'('])lii'd ill mocking- tones, " ( 'oiiie (piickly !"

Bewildered she paused, listened hreatldcssly, and
ai^^ain she called, " Fathei', come (piiekly, come !" and
again tlu' deceitful sounds were repeated, " Quickly
come !"

The faithful do,l,^ who had sueeeeded in trackinj,'
the stt'ps of his lost mistress, I'aist^d his heat I and
erected his ears as she called on her father's name ;
hut he i;-iive no joyful hark of reco.g'nition as he was
wont to do when lu; heard his master's step appi'oach-
in<'. Still Catharine; eoidd not hut think that Wolfe
had only huri'ied on hefore, and that ln'r father must
be very neai\

The sound of her voice ha<l been heard by her
brother and cousin, who, fearini,' some evil beast had
made its way to the wigwam, hastily wound up their
line and left the tishing-ground to hurry to her assist-
ance. They could hanlly 1 )elieve their eyes when they
saw Wolfe, faithful old Wolfe, their earliest friend and
playfellow, named by their father after the gallant
hero of Quebec. And they too, like Catharine, thought
that their friends weiv not far distant ; joyfully they
clim!)ed the hills and sliouteil uloud, and Wolfe Avas
coaxed and caressetl and besought to follow them to
p(jint out the way they should take, lint all their
entreaties were in vain. \\'(jrn out with fatigue and

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Photograpliic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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THE FAITHFUL MESSENOEU.

long fasting, the poor old dog refused to quit tho
embers of the fire, before which he stretched him-
self, and the boys now noticed his gaunt frame and
wasted flc^sh — he looked ahnost starved. The fact
now became evident that he was in a state of great
exhaustion. Catharine thought he eyed th(( spring
with wishful looks, and she soon supplied him with
water in the bark dish to his great relief.

Wolfe had becm out for several days with his master,
who would repeat, in tones of sad earnestness, to tho
faithful creature, " Lost, lost, lost !" It was his cus-
tom to do so when the cattle strayed, and Wolfe
would travel in all directions till he found them, nor
ceased his search till he discovered the objects he
was ordered to brinj; home. The last niijht of the
father's wanderings, when, sick and hopeless, he came
back to his melancholy home, as he sat sleeplessly
rocking himself to and iVo, he involuntarily exclaimed,
vvringing his hands, " J^ost, lost, lost !" Wolfe heard
what to him was an imperative command ; he rose,
and stood at the door, and whined. Mechanically his
master rose, lifted the latch, and again exclaimed in
passionate tones those magic words, that sent the
faithful messenger forth into the dark forest path.
Once on the trail he never left it, but with an in-
stinct incomprehensil)le as it was poweiiul, he con-
tinued to track the woods, lingering long on spots
where the wanderers ha<l left any signs of their so-
journ ; he had for some time been baflled at the
Beaver Moatlow, and again where they luul crossed
Cold Creek, but had regained the scent and traced

SILENT SYMPATHY.

them to tlie valley of tlic " Big Stone," and then, with
the sagacity of the l)loodhoiin(l and the affection of
the terriei- he had, at last, discovered the ohjects of
his unwearied though often haflied search.

What a state of excitement di<l the unexpected
arrival of eld Wolfe create ! How many questions
were put to the poor Least, as he lay with his head
pillowed on the knees of his loving mistress ! Catha-
rine knew it was foolish, hut she could not help talk-
ing to the dumb animal, as if he had been conversant
with her own language. Ah, old Wolfe, if your home-
sick nurse could but have interpreted tliose expres-
sive looks, those eloquent waggings of your bushy
tail, as it flapped upon the grass, or waved from
side to side ; those gentle lickings of the hand, and
mute sorrowful glances, as though he would have
said, "Dear mistress, I know all your troubles; I
know all you say; but I cannot answer you !" Thei'e
is something touching in the silent sympathy of the
dog, to which only the. hard-hearted and depraved
can be quite insensible. I remember once hearing of
a felon who had shown the greatest obstinacy and
callous indifference to the appeals of his relations
and the clergyman who attended him in prison, but
was softened by the sight of a little <log that had
been his companion in his day.s of comparative in-
nocence, forcing its way through the crowd, till it
gained the foot of th(! gallows; its mute look of
anguish and affection unlocked the fount of human
feeling, and the condemned man .. ^pt — perhaps the
first tears he had shed since childhood's happy days.

A TnrxnKHSTOHM.

TliC night closed in with a tempest of almost
tropical \nolcnce. The inky darliness of the sky was
relieved, at intervals, by sheets of lurid flame, which
revealed every object far off or near. The distant
lake, just seen amid the screen of leaves through the
gorge of the valley, gleamed like a sea of molten
sulphur; the deep narrow defile, shut in by the
steep and wooded hills, looked deeper, more wild and
gloomy, when revealed by that vivid glare of light.

There was no stir among the trees, the heavy
rounded masses of foliage remained unmoved; the
very aspen, that tremulous sensitive tree, scarcely
stirred : it seemed as if the very pulses of nature
were at rest. The solnun munnur that preceded the
thunder-peals might have been likened to the moan-
ing of the dying. The children felt the loneliness
of the spot. Seated at the entrance of their sylvan
hut, in front of which their evening fire burned
brightly, they looked out upon the storm in silence
and in awe. Screened by the sheltering .shrubs that
grew near them, they felt comparatively safe from
the dangers of the storm, which now burst in terrific
violence above the valley. Cloud answered to cloud,
and the echoes of the hills prolonged the sound, while
shattered trunks and brittle branches filled the air,
and shrieked and groaned in that wild war of
elements.

Between the pauses of the tempest the long howl
of the wolves, from their covert in some di.stant cedar
swamp at the edge of the lake, might be heard from
time to time, — a sound that alwavs thrilled their

MKLANrilOLY KOHKHODINCS.

hearts vvitli fear. To the luiglity thunder-peals that
burst above their heads they listened with awe and
wonder. Tt seemed, indeed, to them as if it were the
voice of Him who "sendeth out Ins voiec, yea, and
that a mi^dity voice." And they bowed and adored
his majesty; but they shrank with curdled blood
from the ciy of the felon nvlf.

And now the storm was at its climax, and the hail
and rain came down in a whiteninj^f Hood upon that
ocean of forest leaves; the old gray bi*anclies were
lifted up and down, and tlie stout trunks i-ent, for
they would not bow down before the fury of the
whirlwind, and were scattered all abroad like chaff'
l)efore the wind.

The chihh'en thought not of danger for themselves,
but they feared for the safety of their fathe- ■!, wliom
they believed to be not far off" from them. And often
amid the raging of the elements they fancied they
couhl distinguish familiar voices calling upon their
names.

" Ah, if our fathers should have perished in this
fearful storm," said Catharine, M'eeping, " or have
been starved to death while seeking for us ! " She
covered her face and wept more l)itterly.

But Louis would not listen to such melancholy
fondiodings. Their fat-^ers were both brave, hardy
men, accustomed to every sort of danger and priva-
tion ; they were able to take care of themselves.
Yes, he was sure they were not far off"; it was this
unlucky storm coming on that had prevented them
from meeting.

(721) 7

nriLDlNO A NEW lUT.

" To-morrow, ma cliere, will be a glorious day after
the storm. It will be a joyful one too; we shall go out
with Wolfe, and he will tind his master, and then —
oh, yes! I dare say my dear father will be with yours.
They will have taken good heed to the track, and wo
shall soon see our dear mothers and chere petite
Louise."

The storm lasted till past midnight, when it gradu-
ally subsided, and the poor wanderers were glad to
see the murky clouds roll off', and the stai's peep forth
among their broken masses ; but they were reduced
to a pitiful state, the hurricane having beaten down
theiv little hut, and their garments were drenched
with i*ain. However, the boys made a good fire with
some bark and boughs tliey had in store : there were
a few sparks in their back log unextinguislied ; these
they ghidly fanned up into a blaze, at wliich they
dried their wet clothes, and warmed themselves.
The air was now cool almost to chilliness ; for some
days the weather remained unsettled, and the sky
overcast with clouds, while the lake presented a leaden
hue, crested with white mimic waves.

Tiiey soon set to work to make another hut, and
found close to the head of the ravine a great pine
uprooteil, affording them large pieces of bark, which
proved very serviceable in thatching the sides of the
hut. The boys employed themselves in this work,
while Catharine cooked tlie fish they had caught the
day before, with a share of which old Wolfe seemed
to be mightily well pleased. After they had break-
fasted, they all went up towards the high table-land

WILn-IIOXEY STORES.

above the ravine, with Wolfe, to look round in hope
of getting sight of their friends from Cold Springs ;
but though they kept an anxious look-out in every
direction, they returned towards evening tired and
hopeless. Hector had killed a red squirrel, and a
partridge which Wolfe " treed," — tliat is, stood bark-
ing at til • foot of the tree in which it had perched, —
and the . 'i^ply of meat was a seasonable change.
They also ii ticed, and marked with the axe, several
trees where there were bee-hives, intending to come in
the cold weather and cut them down. Louis's father
was a great and successful bee-hunter; and Louis
rather prided himself on having learned something of
his father's skill in that lino. Here, where flowers
were so abundant and water plentiful, the wild bees
seemed to be abundant also ; besides, the open space
between the trees, admitting the warm sunbeams
freely, was favourable both for the bees and the
flowers on w^ ich they fed, and Louis talked joyfully
of the fine stores of honey they should collect in au-
tunm. He had taught little Fanchon, a small French
spaniel of his father's, to find o»it the trees where the
bees hived, and also the nests of the ground-bees, and
she would bark at the foot of the tree, or scratch with
her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at
the squirrels or tlie woodchucks ; but Fanchon was
far away, and Wolfe was old and would learn no
new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his
own observation and the axe to depend upon for pro-
curing honey.

The boys had been unsuccessful for some days past

100

UNPALATAULl': FAKK.

wir.n itKF.s.

in fisliing ; neither perch
norsnntish, [)ink roacli nor
iiuul- pouts* were to be
caup^ht. However, they
found water -mussels by
j:,'roping in the sand, and
cray-tish among the gravel
at the edge of the water
only ; tlie latter pinched
their fingers very spite-
fully. The mussels were
not very palatable, for
w.Tiii of salt ; but hungry
folks must not be dainty,
and Louis declared them
veiy goo<l when well roast-
ed, covered up with hot
embers. "The tish-hawks,"
said he, " set us a good ex-
ample, for they eat them,
and so do the eagles an«l
herons. I watched one
the other day with a mus-
sel in his bill : he flew to a
high tree, let his prey fall,
and immediately darted
down to secure it. But
I drove him ofi'; and, to
my great amusement, per-

* All these flsh are indigenous to the
fresh waters of (Mnadn.

IJIHDS AND SIIKLL-FIMI.

101

ceivcd the wise follow lia<l just lot it fall on a stone,
which luvl cracked tl)e shell for him just in the right
place. I often see shells lying at the f(K)t of trees, far
np the hills, where these hirds must have left them.
There is one large thick -shelh'd nuissel that 1 lifive
found several times with a round hole drilled through
the shell, just as if it ha<l been done with a .small
auger, — doubtless the work of some bird with a
.strong beak."

"Do you remendter,"said C^atharine, "the fine pink
nni.ssel-shell that Mec picked up in tlu; little corn-
field last yeari* It had a hole in one of the .shells too,*
and when my uncle .saw it, he .said it nuist have been
dropped by .some liirge bird, ;i tish-hawk po.ssibly, or
a hei'on, and Inought from the great lake, as it had
been taken out of some deep water; the nni.s.sels in
our creeks being ([uite thin-shelled and white."

"Do you reniend)er what a (piantity of large fish-
bones we found in the eagle's nest on the top of our
hill, Louis?" .said Hector.

" 1 do. Those fi.sh must have been larijer than our
perch and sunfish; they were l)rought from this very
lake, I dare say."

" If we had a good canoe now, or a boat, and a sti'ong
hook and line, we might become great fishermen,"

" Louis," .said Catharine, "is alway.s thinking about
canoes, and boats, and skifls ; he ought to have been
a sailor."

' This ingenious iiindo nf cr.ickinj; tlip sliells of mussels is common to many
birds. Tlie crow (c'ii/'i«.< cri/oiic) liiis licoii Ion;; liiiottn liy American naturalists
to break tlic thick shells of the river mussels, by letting them fall from u height
on to rock^ and stones.

102

A I'llOVIUKNT Sl'OOEHTION.

Louis was confident that if they had a canoe ho
could soon learn to manage her; lie was an excellent
sailor already in theory. Louis never saw difficulties;
lie was always hopeful, and had a very good opinion
of his own cleverness; he was ([uieker in most things,
his ideas Howed faster than Hector's. But Hector was
moi'c prudent, and possessed one valual)le ipiality —
steady persevei'ance : he was slow in adopting an
opinion, l)ut when once convinced, he pushed on
steadily till he mastered the subject or overcame the
ol .

iiarino," said Louis one day, " the huckle-
hcrries are now very plentiful, and I think it would
be a wise tliinir to ijather a rrood store of them and
dry them for the winter. Sec, ma chore, wherever
we turn our eyes or place our feet they are to bo
found; the hill-sides are purple with them. We may,
for aught we know, be obliged to pass the rest of our
lives here; it will be well to prepare for the winter,
when no l)erries are to be found."

" It will be well, mon ami. But we must not dry
them in the sun ; for let me tell you, Mr. Louis, that
they will be quite tasteless — mere dry husks."

" Why so, ma belle ? "

" I do not know the reason, but I only know the
fact ; for wdien our mothers dried the currants and
raspberries in the sun, such was the case ; but when
they dried them on the oven floor, or on the liearth,
they were quite nice."

" Well, Cath, 1 think I know of a flat thin stone
that will make a good hearthstone ; and we can get

IIKCTOU'h INGKXIITV.

IOC

ig^

io kei^

sheets of l)irch bark and sew into flat Ijaj:
the (h'icd fruit in."

Tliey now turned all their attention to <!rv5nj^
lnicklel)erries (or wl)(jrtlel)erries).* i'-dt]i.anm: 2ini<l
Louis (who fancied nothinj,' could be coiiin\<A whh-
out his help) attended to the prcparinj; aijd imatking
of the bags of birch bark ; l»ut Hector was H^m tlnifl
of j^drl's work, as he termed it, and after '^Kh^'fting;
some berries, would wander away over th<.' Ijiilll>» in
search of game and to explore the neigh Ixjurin';^ hilk
and valleys, and sometimes it was sunset liefouTt he
made his appearance. Hectijr had luade HSi f;%iaiMfi;nt
strong bow, like the Indian bow, out of a tougfu pierce
of liickory wood, which he found in one of Kw
rambles, and lie made arrows with wood itJ^tt he
seasoned in the smoke, sharpening the hta'k with
great care with his knife, and hardening llii«tini hj
exposure to strong heat, at a certain distaiiiiw from
the fire. The entrails of the woodcliuck. trtratehedj
and scraped, and dried, and rendered pliaUt' W rob-
bing and drawing through the hands, an^'x^iTi'A f-jr
a bow-string ; but afterwards, wlnm tljey t'o?, the
sinews and hide of the deer, they used theui),|>ro|i»*rIj
dressed for the purpose.

Hector also made a cross-bow, which h*; nawri'! with
great effect, being a true and steady Juafffaman.
Louis and he would often amuse them«;lviw with

* From the abundance of this fruit, the Indians have piitai aim atuurt nf
Whortleberry Phim to the lands on the south hhorc. Uurmp Uii imur.ii. .-if July
and the early part of August, large i)arties tome to the tavi iUiit IPluisw to
gather huckleberries, which they prescrs'e by drying, lor »uiV.!i uw These
berries iiiako a delicious tart or pudding, mixud with Ulbtsnitik iiu<i H'tiii oucraat^,
requinn'; little sugar.

lot

\VII,1» ANIMALS.

Hliootin^' at a mark, wliicli tlicv would cliip on tho
bark of a trci- ; own ("atliariiie was a tok'raltlc
arclicrt'ss Avith tlic kjiii,'-li()W, ami the hut was now
sokU)ni witliout ijainc of one kind or otlioi*. Hector
s(.'kk)ui returned from liis ramltkvs without partridj^'es,
quails, or young pigeons, -vliieh are plentiful at this
season of the year ; many of the old ones that pass
over in their migratory fliglit in the spring stay to
breed, or return thither for the acorns. an<l berries
that are to be found in great alnnidance. Scjuirrels,
too, are very jik'ntiful at this seascm. Hector and
Louis remarked that the red and l>lack .squirrels
never were to Ih- found very near each other. It is a
common belief that the ie<l s(|uirrels make coumion
cause with the gray, and beat the largi'r enemy off
the ground. The black s(iuii'rel, for a succe.ssion of
years, was very rarely to be met with on the Plain.s,
while there were plenty of the red and gray in tho
■'oak openings."* ])eer, at the time our young
Crusoes were living on the Rice Lake Plains, were
plentiful ; ami, of course, .so were those beasts that
prey upon them, — wolves, bears, and wolverines,
besides the Canailian lynx, or catamount, as it is here
connnonly called, a species of wild cat or panther.
These wild animals are now no longer to be seen: it
is a rare thing t(j hear of bears or wolves, and the
wolverine and lynx ari; kn<jwn only as matters of
history in this part of the countiy. These animals
disappear as civilization advances, while souk; others

* Within the last few years, liowever, tlio l)laok sciuirvels liave liccn very
mimcnms, und the reil are h-.ss frciiueiitly to be si'eii. Tlie tie-ih (if the hhirl:
squirrel i.; teniler white, .uid ilelicate, like that of a young nililiit.

IIIUU-FOLLOWKIIS OK MAN.

105

L) increaso and follow man, especially
many species c)f Mi'ds, which seem to
pick up the crumhs that fall fi'om the

\ rich mans board, and multiply about
his dwelling; some adopt new habits
and modes of building and feeding,
according to the alteration and im-
provement in their circumstances.

While our young people .seldom
wanti'(l for meat, they felt the priva-
tion of the bn'ad to which th<>y liad
been accustomed very sensibly. One
d;iy, while Hector and Louis wei'c

lOG

AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY.

busily engaged with tlieir assistant, Wolfo, in un-
earthing a woodchuck, tliat had taken refuge in

THE WOI.VKUINE.

his burrow, on one of the gravelly hills above the
lake, Catharine anmsed herself by looking for
flowers. She had tilled her lap with ripe May-
apples,* but fimling them cumbersome in climbing
the steep Avooded hills, she deposited them at the
foot of a tree near the boys, and pursued her search ;
and it Avas not long Itefore she perceived some pretty
grassy-looking plants, with heads of bright lilac
Howers, and on plucking one pulled up the root
also. The root was about the si;:e and shape of a
large crocus ; and on biting it, she found it far from
disayreeable — sweet, and sliu'litly astringent. It
seemed to be a favourite root with the woodchucks,

• The fruit of the Miiy-iii)i)le, in lidi, moist soil, will iittiiin to tho size of the
miiKmiin bonuiii, or (;g),'iiluiii, wliidi it ruseinbles in colour and shape. It
makes a delicious iircservo, if seasoned witli el( ■ or >;inger. When eaten un-
I'ooked, tlie outer rind, wliicli is tliick and llcshy and has a rank taste, should bo
llirown aside; the tine acid pulp in wliicli tlie seeds are embedded alone should
be eaten. Tlie root of tlu' |iodopl)yllum is used as a cathartic l>y tlie Indians.
The root of this plant is rcticulali'd ; and when a lar(;e body of them are un-
covered, they i)re.'<eiit a singular appearance, interlacing eacli other in large
meshes like an extensive net work These roots are wliite, as thick as a man's
little llnRcr, and fr.ik'rant, and spread horizontally along the surface. The
blossom is like a small wliitc rose.

KDIHLK ROOTS.

107

for shi; noticed tlmt it grew aljout their burrows on
dry, gravelly soil, and many of the stems were hitten
and the roots eaten — a wai'rant, in full, of whole-
someness. Therefore, carrying home a parcel of the
largest of the roots, she roasted them in the embers ;
and they proved almost as good as chestnuts, and
more satisfying than the acorns of the white oak,
which they had often roasted in the fire when they
were out working on the fallow at the log heaps.
Hector and Louis ate heartily of the roots, and com-
mended Catharine for the discovery. Not many
days afterwards, Louis accidentally found a much
larger and more valuable root near the lake shore.
He saw a tine climbing shrub, with close bunches
of dark, reddish -purple, pea-shaped flowers, which
scented tlie air with a delicious perfume. The plant
climbed to a great height over the young trees, with
a profusion of dark -green leaves and tendrils. Pleased
with the bowery appearance of the plant, he tried to
pull one up, that he might show it to his cousin, when
the root displayed a number of large tubers, as big
as good-sized ))otatoes, regular oval-shape' the inside
was quite white, tasting somewhat like a potato, only
pleasanter, when in its raw state, than an uncooked
potato. Louis gathered his pockets full, and hastened
home with his prize ; and on being roasted, these new
roots were decided to be little inferior to potatoes —
at all events, they were a valuable addition to their
slender stores : and they procured as many as they
could find, carefully storing tliein in a hole which
they dug for that purpose in a corner of their

lOS

A IIEltl) OK DKEH IN SKillT.

hut.* Hector suggested tliat these roots would be far
better late in autumn or early in the spring than during
the time that the plant was in l)loom ; for lie knew
from observation and experience that at the flowering
season the greater part of the nourishment derived
from the soil goes to perfect the Hower and the seeds.
Upon scraping the cut tuber, there was a white,
flouiy powder produced, resembling the starchy sub-
stance of the potato.

" This Hour," said C-^atharine, " would make good
porridge with milk."

"Excellent, no doubt, my wise little cook and
housekeeper," said Louis laughing ; " but, ma belle
cousine, where is Jie milk and where is the porridge-
pot to come from ? "

" Indeed," said Catharine, " I fear, Louis, we must
wait long for both."

One tine day Louis returned hoiiu- from the lake
shore in great haste fur tlie bows and arrows, with
the interesting news that a herd of live deer were in
the water, and makiiiL!: for Lonu: Island.

"But, Louis, they will be gone (Jut of sight and
beyond the reach of the arrows," said ( "atharine, as
she handed him down the bows and a sheaf of arrows,
which she quickly slung round his shoulders by the
belt of skin which the young hunter had made for
himself.

" No fear, ma cherc ; they will stop to feed on the

Tins i)l!itit aiipoiirs to tno to bo ii sppcies o{ tin; I'fnrii/ni /•.■icultnln, or lii<limi
bic'iulroot, which it icsc iiihlcs in ilesciiption, excepting tliat the root of tlie
ahove ia tuberous, oval, and conuecteil by long lihvnients. 'Die largest tubers nro
farthest from the stem uf the plant.

AN EXCITINC SCENK.

109

beds of I'ico and lilies. We must luavc Wolfe. Here,
Wolfe, Wolfe, Wolfe ! here, Loy, here !"

Catharine caught a portion of the excitement that
danced in the bright eyes of her cousin, and declaring
that she too would go and witness the hunt, ran down
the ravine by his side ; while Wolfe, who evidently
understood that they had some sport in view, trotted
along by his mistress, wagging his great bushy tail,
and looking in high good-humour.

Hector was impatiently waiting the arrival of the
bows and W^olfe. The herd of deer, consisting of a
noble buck, two full-grown females, and two young
half-grown males, were quietly feeding among the
beds of rice and rushes, not more than fifteen or
twenty yards from the shore, appai'ently quite un-
concerned fit the presence of Hector, who stood on a
fallen trunk, eagerly eying their motions. But the
hurried steps of Louis and Catharine, with the deep,
sonorous l)aying of Wolfe, soon roused the timid
creatures to a sense of danger ; and the stag, raising
his head and making, as the children thought, a
signal for retreat, now struck boldly out for the
neaix'st point of Long Island.

"We shall lose them," cried Louis despairingly,
eying the long bright track that cut the silvery
waters as the deer swam galliintly out.

" Hist, hist, Louis," said Hector ; " all depends upon
Wolfe. — Turn them, Wolfe! hey, hey, seek them,
boy !

Wolfe dashed bravely into the lake.

" Heml them ! head tliem !" .shouted Hector. Wolfe

110

THE HERD SURROUNDED.

knew what was meant. With the sagacity of a long-
trained hunter, he made a desperate effort to gain
the advantage by a circuitous route. Twice the stag
turned irresohite, as if to face his foe, and Wolfe,
taking the time, swam ahead, and then the race began.
As soon as the boys saw the herd had turned, and
that Wolfe was between them and the island, they
separated, Louis making good his ambush to the
right among tlie cedars, and Hector at the spring to
the west, whilo Catharine was stationed at the soli-
tary pine-tree, at the point which commanded the
entrance of the I'avine.

" Now, Cathy," said her brother, " when you see
the herd making for tlie ravine, shout and clap your
hands, and they will turn either to the right or to
the left. Do not let them land, or we shall lose
them. We must trust to Wolfe for their not escap-
ing to the island. Wolfe is well trained ; he knows
what he is about."

Catharine proved a dutiful ally. She did as she
was bid. She waited till the deer were within a few
yards of the shore, then she shouted and clapped
her hands. Frightened at the noise and clamour, the
terrified creatures cof^sted along for some way, till
within a little distance of the thicket where Hector
lay concealed — the very spot from which they had
emerged when they first took to the water ; to this
place they boldly steei'ed. Louis, who had watchei
the direction the herd had taken with breathless
interest, now noiselessly hurried to Hector's assist-
ance, taking an advantageous post for aim, in case

IIKCTOU.S SUCCESS.

Ill

Hector's arrow niisseil, or only slightly wounded one
of the deer.

THE ATTACK ON TIIH nEER.

Hector, crouched beneath the ti'ces, waited cau-
tiously till one of the does was within reach of his
arrow; and so good and true wjis his aim. that it

112

IIONOUKS OF TIIK OH ASK.

liit the animal in the throat a little above the chest.
The stag now turned again, but Wolfe was behind
and pressed him forward, and agnin the noble animal
strained every nerve for the shore. Louis now shot
his arrow, but it swerved from the mark. He was
too eager ; the arrow glanced harmlessly along the
water. But the cool, unimpassioned hand of Hector
sent another arrow between the eyes of the doe,
stunning her with its force ; and then another from
Louis laid her on her side, dying, and staining the
Vv'ater with her blood.

The herd, abandoning their dying companion,
dashed frantically to the shore ; and the young
hunters, elated by their success, suffered tliem to
make good their landing without further molestation.
Wolfe, at a signal from his master, ran in the ([uarry,
and Louis declared cxultingly that as his last arrow
had given the coup dc grace, he was entitled to the
honour of cutting the throat of the doe ; but this the
stern Highlander protested against, and Louis, with
a careless laugh, yielded the point, contenting himself
with saying, "Ah well, I will get the first steak of
the venison when it is roasted, and that is far more
to my taste." Moreover, he privately recounted to
Catharine the important share he had liad in the
exploit, giving her, at the same time, full credit for
the worthy service she had performed in withstand-
ing the landing of the herd. Wolfe, too, came in

for a

large

the

honour

and

glory

the

chase.

The

l)oys

wore

soon lii

ird at work

skinning

the

PRACTICAL KNOWLEl)(iK.

113

animal and cutting it up. This was the most valu-
able acquisition they had yet effected, for many uses
were to be made of the deer besides eating th(i flesh.
It was a store of wealth in their eves.

During the many years that their fathors liad
sojourned in the country, there had been occasional
intercourse with the fur-traders and trappers, and
sometimes with friendly-disposed Indians who had
called at the lodges of their white brothers for food
and tobacco.

From all these men, rude as they were, some prac-
tical knowledge had been acfjuired ; and their visits,
though few and far between, had left good fruit
behind them — something to think about and talk
about and turn to future advantage.

The boys had learned from the Indians how
precious were the tough sinews of the deer for
sewing. They knew how to prepai'e the skins of
the deer for moccasins, which they could cut out and
make as neatly as the squaws themselves. They
could fashion arrow-heads, and knew how best to
season the wood for making both the long and cross
bow. They had seen the fish-hooks these people
manufactured from bone and hard wood. They
knew that strips of fresh-cut skins would make bow-
strings, or the entrails of animals dried and rendered
pliable. They had watched the squaws making
baskets of the inner bark of the oak, elm, and bass-
wood, and mats of the imier bark of the cedar, with
many other ingenious works that they now found

would prove useful to them, after a little practice
(TUl) 8

MAKIX(i TIIK MOST OF THEIR I'KIZi:.

had perfected their inexperienced attempts. They
also knew how to (hy venison as the Indians and
trappei's prepare it, hy cutting the thick Heshy por-
tions of the meat into strips from four to six inches
in breadth and two or more in tliickness. These
strips they strung upon poles supported on forked
sticks, and exposed them to the drying action of the
sun and wind. Fish they split open, and removed
the back and head bones, and smoked them slightly,
or dried them in the sun.

Their success in killing the doe greatly raised their
spirits ; in their joy they embraced each other, and
bestowed the most afl'ectionate caresses on Wolfe for
his good conduct.

" But for this dear, wise old fellow, we should have
had no venison for dinner to-day," said Louis ; " and
so, Wolfe, you shall have a choice piece for your own
share."

Every part of the deer seemed valuable in the eyes
of the young hunters. The skin they carefully
stretched out upon .sticks to dry gradually, and the
entrails they also preserved for bow-strings. The
sinews of the legs and back they drew out and laid
carefully aside for future use.

" We shall 1)0 glad enough of these strings by-and-
by," said careful Hector ; " for the summer will soon
be at an end, and then we must turn our attention
to making ourselves winter clothes and moccasins."

" Yes, Hec, and a good warm .shanty. These huts
of bark and boughs will not do when once the cold
weather sets in."

WHAT CHILDREN MAY 1)0.

115

"A sliaiity couM soon be put up," said Hector;
" for even Kate, wee Ijit lassie as she is, could give
us some lielp in triiiuning up the lo<fs."

" Tliat I could, indeed," replied (.Catharine; "for
you may remember, Hee, that tlie last journey my
father made to the Bay,* with the pack of furs, that
you and I called a Bee f to put up a shed for the new
cow thcat he was to drive back with him, and I am
sure Mathildc and I did as mucli good as you and
Louis. You know you said you could not liavo got
on nearly so well without our help."

"After all," said Hector thoughtfully, "children
can do a great many things if they only resolutely
set to work, and use the wits and tlie strength that
God has given them to work with. A few weeks ago
and we should have thought it utterly impossible to
have supported ourselves in a lonely wilderness like
this by our own exertions in fishing and hunting."

" If we had been lost in the forest we must have
died with hunger," said Catharine ; " but let us be
thankful to the good God who led us hither, and gave
us health and strength to help ourselves."

' I!ay of Quintd.

t A 7)1 <• is n practical instance of duty to a neiglibonr. AVe fear it is peculiar
to Canada, altliougli deserving of imitation in all C'liristiiin colonics. Wlien any
worlc wliich rcciuiies many hands is in tlic course of performance, as the ImildiUK
of log-houses, I)arn3, or slianties, all tlie neighbours are summoned, and give
tlieir best assistance in the construction. Of course tlie assisted party is liable
to 1)0 called uiion by the community in turn, to repay in kind the help he has
received.

CHAPTER IV.

" Aye from the sultry heat,
We to our cave retreat,
O'crcanopied by huge roots, intertwined,
Of wildest texture, blackened o'er with age."

C'oLKIUDdE.

lOUIS, what are you cutting out of that hit
of wood ? " said Catharine, the very next
day after the first ideas of the shanty
had been started.
" Hollowing out a canoe."

" Out of that piece of stick ! " said Catharine,
laughing. " How many passengers is it to accom-
modate, my dear ^ "

" I am only making a model. My canoe will be
made out of a big pine log, and large enough to hold
three."

" Is it to be like the big sap-trough in the sugar-
l)ush at home ? "

Louis nodded assent. " I long to go over to the
island ; I sec lots of ducks popping in and out of the
little bays beneath the cedars, and there are plenty
of partridges, I am sure, and squirrels — it is the very
place for them."

'•' And shall we have a sail as well as oars ? "

Modelling a caxok.

ti:

" Yes ; set lip your apron for a sail."

Catliarinc cast a rueful look ujjou ih^; tattf,re<l
remnant of the apron.

" It is worth nothing now," she said, sigfcim^: -^anrl
what am I to do when my gown is wonj out ? It is
a good tiling it is so strong ; if it ha'l }j(^m ttfjtton,
now, it would have been torn to l»its Miif'M'^ the
bushes."

" We must make clothes of skins as ho^m a* w»- g^t
enough," .said Hector. — "Louis, I think j'ou caim manu-
facture a bone needle ; we can pierce tlie luok with
the strong thorns, or a little round bone liOKikin that
can be easily made."

" The first rainy da}' we will see what •w.fe (tan rlo,"
replied Louis ; " but I am full of my canv:* Jiti^t now."

" Indeed, Louis, I believe you never tliimk -frf any-
thing else ; but even if we had a cano<i tf>-iriiii(f>irT(iW, 1
do not think that either you or I could msam^- one,"
said cautious Hector.

" I could soon learn as others ha\e done ^jfdfj^r^ me.
I wonder who first taught the Indian* Pn make
canoes, and venture out on the lakes msA ^^iream.s.
Why should we be more stupid than tL^i* imnttanght
heathens ? I have listened .so often to my father's
stories and adventures when he was (mi lffliinniij*;Tini'
on the St. John River, that I am as familiar -Rrith the
idea of a boat as if I had been bom in fmfr. Only
think now," he said, turning to CatljarijuK; :. "just
think of tlie fish, the big ones, we could ''^^ii if we
had but a canoe to push out from the j»J vrs- Iw^yond
those rush-beds."

118

AN INDIAN lirNTIN(i-(ilU)l NU.

"It strikes me, Louis, tlmt tlioso rush-beds, as you
call thom, nmst l)e the Indian rice tliat wo have seen
the squaws luake their soup of."

"Yes; and you renienihcr old Jacol) used to talk
of a tine lake that he called Rice Lake, somewhere to
the northward of the Cold Sprin<i^s, where he said
there was plenty of game of all kinds, and a fine
open place where people could see through the 0})en-

I'l-CCArilKM.

inffs among the trees. He said it was a great hunt-
ing-place for the Indians in tlu.' fall ot the year, and
that they came there to hunt the peccary, which is, as
you know, a kind of Avild hoai-, and whose flesh is
very good eating."

" I hope the Indians will not come here and find us
out," said Catharine, shuddering ; " I think 1 should

TItr, ItKI) AM) TIIK WJIITK MAN.

be mort' frij,'litt'nc!tl at tlio Indians than at the \volvc3.
Have we not heard iVarful talcs of tlieir cruelty ? "

" But we have never been harmed by tliem ; they
liave always been civil <'nough when they eauic to
the Spiings."

"They came, you know, for foo<l, or shelter, or
somethinLf that they wanted from us ; but it may be
different when they iind us alone and unprotected,
eneroachinf; upon their hunting-<,'rounds."

" The place is wide enouj^h for us and them ; we
will try and make them our friends."

" The wolf and the lamb do not lie down in the
fohl together," observed Hector. "The Indian is
treacherous. The wild man and the civilized man
do not live well together, their habits and dispositions
are so contrary the one to the other. We are open
and they are cunning, and they suspect our openness
to be only a greater degree of cunning than their
own — tliey do not understand us. They are taught
to be revengeful, and we are taught to foi'givc our
enemies. So you see that what is a virtue with the
savage is a crime with the Christian. Jf the Lidian
could be tau<dit the Word of God he mi<fht be kind,
and true, and gentle as well as brave."

It was with conversations like this that our poor
wanderers wliiled away their weariness. The love of
life, and the exertion.s necessary for self-preservation,
occujiied so large a portion of their thoughts and
time, that they had hardly leisure for repining.
They mutually cheered and animated each other to
bear up against the sad fate that had thus severed

120

AN EXPLORIXCi ivXl'KDITION.

them from every kindred tie, and shut tliem out from
that home to which their youn^- hearts were bound
by every endearing remembrance from infancy up-
wards.

One bright September morning our young people
set off on an exploring expedition, leaving the faith-
ful Wolfe to watch the wigwam ; for they well knew
he was too honest to touch their store of dried fish
and venison himself, and too trusty and fierce to
suffer wolf or wild cat near it.

They crossed several narrow, deep ravines, and the
low wooded flat along the lake shore, to the eastward
of Pine-tree Point. Finding it diflScult to force their
way through the thick vmdorwood that always
impedes the progress of the traveller on the low
shores of the lake, they followed the course of an
ascending narrow ridge, which formed a sort of
natural causeway between two parallel hollows, the
top of this ridge being in many places not wider than
a cart or waggon could pass along. The sides were
most gracefully adorned with flowering shrubs, wild
vines, creepers of various species, wild cherries of
several kinds, hawthorns, bilberry bushes, high-l)ush
cranberries, silver birch, poplars, oaks, and pines;
while in the deep ravines on either side grew trees
of the largest growth, the heads of which lay on a
level with their path. Wild cliffy banks, beset with
huge boulders of i-ed and gray granite and water-
worn limestone, showed that it had once formed the
boundary of the lake, though now it was almost a
quarter of a mile in its rear. Springs of pure water

A LAND OF MYSTEKV.

121

were in abundance, trickling down the steep nigged
sides of this wooded glen. The children wandered
onwards, delighted with the wild picturesque path
they had chosen, sometimes resting on a huge block
of moss-covered stone, or on the twisted roots of some
ancient gray old oak or pine, whilst they gazed with
curiosity and interest on the lonely but lovely land-
scape before them. Across the lake, the dark forest
shut all else from their view, rising in gradual far-off
slopes till it reached the utmost boundary of sight.
Much the childrm marvelled what country it might
be that lay in the dim, blue, hazy distance, — to them,
indeed, a terra incognita — a land of mystery ; but
neither of her companions laughed when Tatharine
gravely suggested the probability of this unknown
shoro to the northward being her father's beloved
Highlands. Let not the youthful and more learned
reader smile at the ignorance of the Canadian girl ;
she knew notliing of maps, and globes, and hemi-
spheres, — her (jidy book of study h.ad been the Holy
Scriptures, her only teacher a poor Highland soldier.
Following the elevated ground above this deep
valley, the travellers at last halted on the extreme
edge of a high and precipitous mound, that formed an
abrupt termination to the deep glen. They found
water not far from this spot fit for drinking by
following a deer-path a little to the southward. And
there, on the bordei's of a little basin on a pleasant
brae, where the bright silver birch waved gracefully
over its sides, they decided u[)on building a winter
house. They named the spot Mount Ararat : " For

122

CIIANGK UK KKSIDKNCK.

here," siiid tliey, "Ave will build us an ark of refuge,
and Avander no more." And Mount Ararat i.s the
name which the spot still l)ears. Here they sat them
down on a fallen tree and ate a meal of dried venison
and drank of the cold spring that welled out from
beneath the edge of the bank. Hector felleil a tree
to mark the site of their house near the birches ; and
they made a blaze, as it is called, on the trees, by cut-
ting away pieces of the outer bark, as they returned
liome towards the wigwam, that they might not miss
the place. They found less difficulty in retracing
their path than they had formerly, as there were
some striking peculiarities to mark it, and they had
learned to be very minute in the marks they made
as they travelled, so that they now seldom missed
the Avay they came by. A few days after this they
removed all their household stores — namely, the axe,
the tin pot, bows and arrows, Ijaskets, and bags of
dried fruit, the dried venison and fish, and the deer-
skin ; nor did they forget the deer-scalp, wliicli they
bore away as a trophy, to be fastened up over the
door of their new dwelling, for a memorial of their
Hrst hunt on the shores of the Rice Lake. The skin
was given tu Oatharine to sleep on.

The boys were now busy from morning till night
chopping down trees for house-logs. It was a work
of time and labour, as the axe was blunt and the
oaks hard to cut; but they laboured on without
grumbling, and Kate watched tlie fall of each tree
with lively joy. They were no longer didl ; there
was .something to look forward to from day to day —

BUILDINC THEIR WIXTKIt HOUSE.

123

they were going to commence housekeeping in good
earnest; they would be warmly and well lodged
before the bitter frosts of winter could come to chill
their blood. It was a joyful day when the log Avails
of the little shanty were put up, and the door hewed
out. Windows they had none, so they did not cut
out the spaces for them ;* they could do very well
without, {IS hundreds of Irish and Highland emigrants
have done Ijefore and since.

A pile of stones rudely cemented together with wet
clay and ashes against the logs, and a hole cut in the
roof, formed the chinmey and hearth in this primitive
dwelling. The chinks were filled with wedge-shaped
pieces of wood, and plastered with clay : the trees,
being chiefly oaks and pines, afforded no moss. This
deficiency rather surprised the boys, for in the thick
forest and close cedar-sAvamps moss grows in abun-
dance on the north side of the trees, especially on the
cedar, maple, beech, bass, and iron wood : but there
Avere few of these, excepting a chance one or two in
the little basin in front of the house. The roof was
next put on, which consisted of split cedars. And
when the little; dwelling Avas thus far habitable, they
AA'ere all very happy. While the boys had been put-
ting on the roof, Catharine had coUecttHl the stones
for the chimney, and cleared the earthen floor of the
chips and rubbish with a broom of cedar boughs,
bound together A\-ith a leathern thong. She had
swept it all clean, carefully remoA'ing all unsightly

' Many a sli.inty ia put \\\i in Canada without windows, and only an open
bpacc for .1 door, with a rude plank act up to closo It in at niglit

12t

HOUSEHOLD COMFORTS.

objects, and strewiny; it over with fresli cedav sprif^s,
which gave out a pleasant odour and formed a smooth
and not imsecmly carpet for their little dwelling.
How cheerful was the first fire blazing up on tlieir
own hearth ! It was .so pleasant to sit by its glad-
dening light, and chat away of all they had done and
all that they meant to do ! Here was to V)e a .set
of split cedar shelves, to hold their provisions and
baskets ; there a set of stout pegs was to be inserted
between the logs, for hanging up strings of dried
meat, bags of birch bark, or the skins of the animals
they were to shoot or trap. A table was to be fixed
on posts in the centre of the fioor. Louis was to
carve wooden plattei's and dishes, and some stools
were to be made with hewn blocks of wood till
something better could be devised. Their bedsteads
were rough poles of ii'onwood, supported by posts
driven into tlie ground, and partly upheld by the pro-
jection of the logs at the angles of the wall. Nothing
could be more simple. The frame- work was of split
cedar ; and a safe bed was made l)y pine; boughs
being first laid upon the frame, and then thickly
covered with dried gi'ass, n.os •, and withered leaves.
Such were the lowly but healthy couches on which
these children of the forest slept.

A dwelling so rudely framed and scantily furnished
would be regarded with disdain by the poorest Eng-
lish peasant. Yet many a settler's family have I
seen as roughly lodged, while a better house was
being prepared for their reception ; and many a
gentleman's son has voluntarily submitted to priva-

TIIK LrMBEUIN'G TRADE.

127

tions as i^rcat as these from the love of novelty and
adventure, or to eni1)ark in the tempting expectation
of realizing money in the lumhering trade, — working
hard, and sliaring the rude log shanty an<l ruder
society of those reckless and hardy men, the Canadian
lumberers. During the spring and sunnner months
these men spread themselves through the trackless
forests, and along the shores of nameless lakes and
unknown streams, to cut the pine or oak lumber, —
such being the name they give to the felled stems
of trees, — which are then lu'wn, and in the winter
dragged out upon the ice, where they are formed into
rafts, and in spring floated down the waters till they
reach the gi^eat Ht. Lawrence, and are, after innumer-
able difficulties and casualties, finally shipped for
England. I have likewise known European gentle-
men voluntarily leav^e tlie comforts of a civilized
home and associate themselves with the Indian trap-
pers and hunters, leading lives as wandering and as
wild as the nncultivattsd children of the forest.

The nights and eai'ly mornings were already grow-
ing sensibly moi'e chilly. The dews at this .season
fall lu>avily, and the mists fill the valleys till the sun
has risen with sufficient heat to draw up the vapours.
It was a good tiling that the shanty was finished so
soon, or the exposure to the damp air might have
been productive of ague and fever. Every liour
almost they spent in making little additions to their
household comforts, but .some time was necessarily
passed in trying to obtain provisions. One day
Hector, who had been out hoin dawn till moonrise,

128

l'HEPAUIX(S WINTKU STORKS.

returned with tlie welcome news that he had shot a
young deer, and required the assistance of his cousin
to bring it up the steep bank (it was just at the
entrance of the great ravine) below the precipitous
cliff near the lake : he had left old Wolfe to guard it
in the meantime. They had now plenty of fresh
broiled meat, and this store was very acceptable, as
they were obliged to be very careful of the dried
meat that they had.

This time Catharine adopted a new plan. Instead
of cutting the meat in strips, and drying it (or jerking
it, as the lumberers term it), she roasted it before the
fire, and hung it up, wrapping it in thin sheets of
birch bark. The jiiices, instead of being dried up,
were preserved, and the meat was more palatable.
Catharine found great store of wild plums in a beau-
tiful valley not far from the shanty ; these she dried
for the winter store, eating sparingly of them in their
fresh state. She also found plenty of wild black
currants and high-bush cranberries, on the banks of
a charming creek of bright water that flowed between
a range of high pine hills and finally emptied itself
into the lake. There were great quantities of water-
cresses in this pretty brook ; they grew in l)right,
round, cushion-like tufts at the Ijottom of the water,
and were tender and wholesome. These formed an
agreeable addition to their diet, which had hitherto
been chiefly confined to animal food, for they could
not always meet with a supply of the bread-roots, as
they grew chiefly in damp, swampy thickets on the
lake shore, which were sometimes very difficult of

NECESSITY AND IXVENTION.

12a

access. However, tliey never missed any opportunity
of increasing tlieir stores, and laying up for the winter
such roots as they could procure.

As the cool weatJier and frosty nights drew on, the
want of warm clothes and bed-covering became more
sensildy felt ; those they had were beginning to wear
out. CJatharinc had managed to wash her clothes at
the lake several times, and thus preserved them clean
and wholesome; but she was often sorely puzzled
how the want of her dress was to be supplied as time
wore on, and many were the consultations she held
rt'ith the boys on the important subject. With the
aid of a needle she might be able to manufacture the
skins of the small animals into some sort of jacket,
and the doe-skin and deer-skin could be made into
garments for the boys. Louis was always suppling
and rubbing the skins to make them soft: they had
taken off the hair by sprinkling it with wood ashes,
and rolling it up with the hairy side inwards. Out
of one of these skins he made excellent moccasins,
piercing the holes with a shai'pened bone l)odkin,and
passing the sinews of the deer through, as he had
seen his father do, by fixing a stout tish-bone to the
deer-sinew thread. Thus he had an excellent substi-
tute for a needle ; and, with the aid of the old file, ho
sharpened the point of the rusty nail, so that he was
enabled, with a little trouble, to drill a hole in a bone
needle for his cousin Catharine's use. After several
attempts, he succeeded in making some of tolerable
fineness, hardening them by exposure to a slow, steady
degree of heat till she was al)le to work with them,

(721)

130

A MIMATrRF PUNA.

and even mend her clothes with tolcrahle expertness.
By degrees, Catharine contrived to cover tlie whole
outer surface of her honiespiui woollen frock with
squirrel and mink, nuisk-rat and woodch ick skins.
A curious piece of fur patclnvork of many hues and
texture^ it presented to the eye, — a coat of many
colours, it is true ; but it kept the wearer warm, and
Catharine was not a little proud of her int^enuity
and industry, — every new patch that was added was
a source of fresh satisfaction ; and the n^occasins that
Louis fitted so nicely to her feet were j^reat comforts.
A fine skin that Hector l)rou<:,dit triumphantly in one
diiy, the spoil from a fox that liatl been caught in one
of his dead-falls, Avas in due time converted into a
dashing cap, the brush remaining as an ornament to
liang down on one shoulder. Catharine might have
passed for a small ]Diana when she went out, with
her fur dress and 1)0W and arrows, to hunt with
Hector and Louis.

Whenever game of any kind was killed, it was
carefully skiinicd, and the fur stretched upon bent
sticks, being first turned, so as to present the inner
part to till! <hying action of the air. The young
hunters were most expert in this work, having been
accustomed for many years to assist their fathei's in
preparing the furs Avhich they dispose<l of to the fur
traders, who visited them from time to time, and
gave them various articles in exchange; for their
peltries, — such as powder and shot, and cutlery of dif-
ferent kinds, as knives, scissors, needles, and pins, with
gay calicoes and cotton handkerchiefs for the women.

A GREAT WANT.

l:M

As the evenings longthonofl, tlie lioys ^rmnployftd
tlioinsolvcs witli cawing wooden platt^rTK, Knivfts,
and fcn'ks, and spoons tlicy fasliioned out "f iJiMr krgt-.r
l)ones of tliii deer, wliicli tlioy (jften foujj<3 HAaehing
in the sun an<l wind, wliore tlicy lia,*] Ix^n Irit hy
their enemies tlie Avolves ; baskets t<^jo tlifr-j wuan'K and
bircli dishes, wliieh they could now finish »*w*M that
they held water or any li(juid. But tlieir 'j^t^-s&t want
was some vessel that m'ouM hear tlie h<-^t d sJw; Hre ;
the tin pot was so small that it could U^ iiiaaiKl'r Irttle
use of in the cooking w'ay. Catharine ha'I iirn^anlc; t^a
of the leaves of the sweet fern, — a giacK-'fiuil! W()0<ly
fern, with a fine aromatic scent, like nutixw.-^t''*.* TTiis
shrub is highly esteemed among the Casxni'lmsk^ a.-* a
l)everage, and also as a remedy against th* 4ii:i|f.. ft
grows in great abundance on dry saiidy laiwU and
wastes, by waysides.

" If we could but make some sort of fiafftfen pot
that would stand the heat of tlie lire,^ hm4 Louis,
" we might got on nicely with cooking."

But nothing like the sort of clay use'l W potters
had been seen, and they were obliged to '/n^-. up that
thought and content themselves with rii&.-^tin'j; or
broiling their food. Louis, however, v^Im wra-i fond
of contrivances, made an oven, by h<Ahiwin^ out
a place near the hearth an<l lining it whh .•atones,
tilling up the intervals with wood ashes airi<8 »m:hcla.y
as they could find, beaten into a snj^xAJii mortar.
Such cement answered very well, and tJjiC- iovi^ti; was
heatetl by tilling it with hot emlters ; ttiKf:Si«i were

" Coviplnniit ii.ijiknifolin. a small slirul) of the swortKuili iuniSf.

132

A HAPPY IIOMK.

removed when it was suHieiently heated, and the
meat or roots placed witliin, tlie oven heinfj covered
over witli a Hat stone previously lieate(l before the tins,
and covered with hot enihei's. This sort of oven had
often heen described hy old Jacoh as one in common
use amon^' some of the Indian triljcs in the Lower
Province, in which tliey cook small animals ; they
could hake bread also in this oven, if they had had
Hour to use.*

Since the finishing- of the hou.^e and furnishing,' it
the younjjf people were more reconcih.'il to their lonely
life, and even entertained decided home feelin,t;s for
their little loi,' cabin. They never ceased, it is true,
to talk of their parents, and brothers, and sisters, and
wonder if all were well, and whether they still hoped
for their return, and to iTcall their happy days spent
in the home which they now feared tluy were
destined never a^^ain to behoh'. Nevertheless, they
were becoming' each day more cheerful and more
active. Ardently attached to each other, they seemed
bound toffcthcr l)y a yet more sacred tie of bntther-
hood. 1'hey were now all the world to oiu; another,
and no cloud of disunion came to mar their happiness.
Hector's habitual gravity and caution were tempered
by Louis's lively vivacity and ardour of temper; and
they both loved Tatharine, and strove to smooth as
nmch as possible the hard life to which she was
exposed, by the most afi'ectionate consideration for
her comfort ; and she, in return, endeavoured to repay

* Tliis primitive oven is miicli like wliat voyagers li.ivc descriliiil as in use
among the iiiitivcs of iimny of tlio South Sea Islands.

wiiiiitH IS i,ol;is (

1:53

tliciii liy clirorfully eiiduriii;^' all piivaticjiis, and
iiiakini;' lii^lit of all their trials, an«l taking a lively
interest in all tlieir plans and contrivances.

Lt>uis had gone out to tish at the lake one autumn
nioiiiing. During Ids absence a sudden stiuall of
wind came on, acc(Mn])anicd witli luavy rain. As lie
stayed longer than usual, Hector hegan to feel uneasy
lest some accident had hefallen liim, knowing his
adventurous spirit, and that he liad for some days
previous been busy constructing a raft of cedar logs,
which he had fastened togetlier with wooden pins.
This raft lio had nearly finislied, and was even talking
of adventuring over to tlie nearest island to exjilore
it, anil see what game an<l roots and fruits it afforded.

Bidding Catharine stay (piietly within doors till
liis return, Hector ran ott" not without some misgiv-
ings of evil having befallen his rash cousin, which
fears he carefully concealed from liis sister, as he did
not wish to make her needlessly anxious. AVhen he
reached the shore, his mind w^as somewhat relieved
by seeing the raft on tlu; heach, just .is it had been
left the night Itefore ; but neither Louis nor the axe
was to be seen, nor the fishing-rod and line.

" Perhaps," thought he, " Louis has gone further
down, to the mouth of the little creek in the fiat east
of this, where we caught our last fish; or maybe he
has gone up to the old place at Pine-tree Point."

While he yet stootl hesitating within himself which
way to tui'n, he heard steps as of souu' one rinniing,
and perceived his cousin hurrying through the liushes
in the direction of the shanty. It was evident by

134

"TIIK INDIANS AUK ALL ON BARE HILL."

his disordered air, and the hurried glances that he
cast over his shoulder from time to time, that some-
thing unusual had occurred to disturb him.

" Holloa, Louis ! is it a bear, wolf, or catamount
that is on your trail ? " cried Hector, almost amused
by the speed with which his cousin hurried onward.
" Why, Louis, whither away ? "

Louis no'./ turned and held up his hand, as if to
enjoin silence, till Hector came up to him.

" Why, man, what ails you ? what makes you run
as if you were hunted down by a pack of wolves ? "

" It is not wolves, or bears either," said Louis, as
soon as he could get breath to speak ; " but the
Indians are all on Bare Hill, holding: a war-council,
I suppose, for tliere are several canoe-loads of them."

" How came you to see them '' "

" I must tell you that when I parted from you and
Cathy, instead of going down to my raft, as I thought
at first I would do, I followed the deer-path through
the little ravine, and then ascending the side of tlie
valley, 1 crossed the birch grove, and kept down the
slope within sight of the creek. While I was look-
ing out upon the lake, and thinking how pretty
the islands were, rising so green from the blue water,
I was surprised by seeing several dark snots dotting
the lake. At first, you may be sure, I thought
they must be a herd of deer, only they kept too far
apart, so I sat d(nvn on a log to watch, thinking if
they turned out to be deer I would race ofi' for you
and Wolfe, and the bows and arrows, that we might
try our chance for some venison ; but as the black

"I WATCHED THEM WITH A BEATING HEART." 135

specks came neni'cr and nearer, I perceived they
were canoes with Indians in tlieni, three in each.
One made fur thi' mouth of the creek, and ran ashore
among the tliick Lushes, wliile tlie otliers kept further
alon2^ the shore. I watclied them Avith a beatinij
heart, and lay down flat, lest they should spy me
out ; for those fellows have eyes like catamounts, so
keen and wild — they see everything without seeming
to cast a glance on it. After closely examining what
I suppose w'as one of our footmarks, I saw them
wind up the ridge till they reached the Bare Hill.*
You remember that spot ; we called it so from its
barren appearance. In a few minutes a column of
smoke rose and curled among the pine-trees, and
then another and another, till I counted five fires
burning brightly ; and, as I stood on the high ground,
I could distinguish the figures of many naked savages
moving al)0ut, running to and fro like a parcel of
black ants on a cedar log; and by-and-by I heard
them raise a yell like a pack of ravenous Avolves on
a deer track. It made my heart luap up in my
breast. I forgot all the schemes that had Just got
into my wise head of slipping quietly down and
taking ofi" one of the empty birch canoes, which you
must own would have been a glorious thing for us;
but v/heu I heard the noise these wild wretches
raised, I darted ofi" and ran as if the wdiole set were
at my heels. I thiidv 1 just saved my scalp." And

* Sniiimscil to lip a ((nmoilliill. Tt is known by tlic nanio of llaro Hill, from
the siiiKiiliir want of venUiro on its surface. It is one of llio steepest on the
ri(If;e above tlie little eroek ; beiiij; a )iietiiresi|ne olijeit, witli its tine |iine-trees,
Been from Mr. llaywaril's grounds, and forms, 1 believe, a part of his iiruperty.

136

WHAT IS TO BE DONE 1

Louis put his hand to his head, and tugged his
thick black curls, as if to ascertain that they were
still safe from the scalping - knives of his Indian
enemies.

" And now, Hec, what is to be done ? We must
hide ourselves from the Indians ; they will kill us, or
take us away with them, if they find us."

" Let us go home and talk over our plans with
Cathy."

" Yes ; for I have heard my father say two heads
are better than one, and so three of course must be
still better than two."

" Why," said Hector, laughing, " it depends upon
the stock of practical wisdom in the heads ; for two
fools, you know, Louis, will hardly form one rational
plan."

Various were the schemes devised for their security.
Hector proposed pulling down the shanty and dis-
persing the logs, so as to leave no trace of the little
dwelling ; but to this neither his cousin nor his
sister would agree. To pull down the new house
that had cost them so much labour, and which had
proved such a comfort to them, they could not endure
even in idea.

" Let us put out the fire, and hide ourselves in the
big ravine below Mount Ararat; dig a cave in one of
the hills, and convey our household goods thither."
Such was Louis's plan.

"The ravines would bo searched directly," sug-
gested Hector ; " besides, the Indians kiioAv they arc
famous coverts for deer and gauie of all sorts : they

•«

CATIIAUINE S COUNSEL.

137

miglit chance to pop upon us, and catch us like
woodchucks in a burrow."

" Yes, and burn us," said Catharine witli a shudder.
" I know the path that leads direct to tlie ' Happy
Valley' (the name she had given to the low flat now
known as the ' Lower Race-course '), and it is not far
from here, only ten minutes' walk in a straight line.
We can conceal ourselves below the steej) bank that
we descended the other day ; and there are several
springs of fresh water, and plenty of nuts anrl berries;
and the trees, though few, are so thickly covered
with close-spreading branches that touch the very
ground that we might hide ourselves from a hundred
eyes, were tla-y I'vur so cunning and prying."

Catharine's counsel Avas deemed the most prudent,
and the boys immediately busied themselves with
hiding under the broken branches of a prostrate trc^
,^uch articles as they cijuld not conveniently carry
.wa}', leaving the rest to chance. With the most
" ihiable they loade<l themselves, guidcMl by Catha-
rine, who, with her dear old dog, marched forward
along the narrow footpath that had been made by
some wild animals, probaltly deoi', in their passage
from the lake to their feeding-place, or favourite
covert, on the low sheltered plain, where, being
quite open, and almost, in parts, free from trees, the
grass and hevbiigi' was sweeter and more abundant,
and the springs of water were fresh and cool.

Catharine cast many a fearfid glance through the
brushwood as they moved onward, but saw no living
thing, excepting a family of chitminks gaily chasing

138

THE FLIUIIT.

each other along a fallen branch, and a covey of
quails that ^.f feeding quietly on the red berries of
the Mik'hella , or twinberry,* as it is conniionly

called, of which le partridges and quails are ex-
tremely fond ; for Nature with a liberal hand has
spread abroad her bounties for the small denizeas,
furred or feathered, that haunt the Rice Lake and
its flowery shores.

After a continued but gentle ascent through the
oak opening, they halted at the foot of a majestic
pine, and looked round them. It was a lovely spot
as any they had seen : from west to east, the lake,
bending like a silver crescent, lay between the bound-
ary hills of forest trees ; in front, the long lines of
undulating wood-covered heights faded away into
mist, and blended with the horizon. To the east, a
deep and fertile valley lay between tlie high lands
on which they rested and the far ridge of oak hills.
From their vantage height they could distinguish
the outline of the Bare Hill, made more distinct by
its flickering fires and the smoke wreaths that hung
like a pearly-tinted robe among the dark pines that
grew upon its crest. Not long tarrying did our
fugitives make, though perfectly safe from detection
by the distance and their shaded position, for many
a winding vale and wood -crowned height lay between
them and the encampment.

But fear is not subject to the control of reason, and in
the present instance it invested the dreaded Indians

• Also partridge-berry and che<kor-l)crry, a lovely creeping wintor-greon,
with white fragrant flowers and double scarlet berry.

A HIDING-l'LACE,

13.9

with (superhuman powers of sight and of motion. A
few minutes' hastv fli<flit brought our travellers to the
brow of a precipitous bank, nearly a hundred feet
above the level open plain which they sought. Here,
then, they felt comparatively safe : they were out of
sight of the camp-fires, the sjjot they had chosen
was open, and Hight, in case of the a2)proach of the
Indians, not difficult, while hiding-places were easy
of access. They found a deep, sheltered holloAV in
the bank, where two mighty pines had been torn up
by the roots, and prostrated headlong down the steep,
forming a regular cave, roofed by the earth and
fibres that had been uplifted in their fall. Pendent
from these roots hung a luxuriant curtain of wild
grape-vines and other creepers, which formed a leafy
screen, through which the most curious eye could
scarcely penetrate. This friendly vegetable veil
seemed as if provided for their concealment, and
they carefully alwtained from disturbing the pendent
foliage, lest they should, by so doing, betray their
hiding-place to their enemies. They found plenty of
long grass, and abundance of long soft green moss
and ferns near a small grove of poplars which sur-
rounded a spring of fine water. They ate some
dried fruit and smoked fish, and drank of the clear
spring ; and after they had said their evening ))rayers,
they lay down to sleep, ( 'atharine's head pillowed
on the neek of her faithful guardian, Wolfi". In the
luiddle of the night a startiiiiu' sound, as of some
heavy body fallhig, wakened them all simultaneously.
The night was so dark they could see nothing, and,

140

DIVINE I'UOTECTIOX.

terror-stricken, they sat gazing into the impenetrable
darkness of their cave, not even daring to speak to
each other, hardly even to breathe. Wolfe gave a
low grumbling bark, and resumed his couehant pos-
ture, as if nothing worthy of his attention was near
to cause the <listurl)ance. Catharine trembled and
wept, and prayed for safety against the Indians and
beasts of prey; and Hector and Louis listened, till
they fell fast asleep in spite of their fears. In the
morning, it seemed as if they had dreamed some
terrible dream, so vau'ue were their recollections of
the fright they liad had ; but the cause was soon
perceived. A lavge stone that had been heaved up
with the clay that adhered to the roots and fibres
had been loosened, and had fallen on the ground,
close to the spot where Catharine lay. So ponderous
was the mass, that liad it struck her, death nuist
have been the consecjuence of the blow ; and Hector
and Louis beheld it with fear and amazement, while
Catharine regarded it as a proof of Divine mercy
and protection from Him in whose hand her safety
lay. The boys, warned by this accident, carefully
removed several large stones from the roof, and tried
the safety of the clay walls with a stout staff, to
ascertain that all was secure, before they again
ventured to sleep beneath this rugged canopy.

CHAPTER V.

'■ The soul of the wicked desireth evil : his neighbour find th no favour
in his eyes."— Pcoi'crte.

OH several days they abstain jd from light-
ing a fire, lest the smoke .,hould be seen ;
1 mt this the groat height of the Lank would
have efi'ectually prevented. They suflercd
much cold at night from the copious dew, which, even
on sultry summer evenings, is productive of much
chilling. They could not account for the fact that
the air" at night was much warmer on the high hills
than in the low valleys; they were even sensible of
a rush of heat as they ascended to the higher ground.
These simple children had not been taught that it is
the nature of the heated air to ascend, and its place
to be supplied 1)y the colder and denser particles.
They noticed the eft'ects, but understood nothing of
the causes that ruled them.

The following days they procured several par-
tridges, but feared to cook them; however, they
plucled them, split th(>m open, and drie.l the tlesh
for a future day. A fox or raccoon, attracted by the
smell of the bir.ls, came one night and carried them
off, for in the morning they were gone. They '^aw

wolfj:'.s discovery.

several herd of door crossing the plain, and one day
Wolfe tracked a wounded doe to a covert under

'■^^ 'f/^^'^^ ^ -^

TiiK woryDKi) n<ii;.

the poplars, near a hidden spring, where she had lain
herself down to die in peace, far from the haunts of
her fellows. The ari'ow was in her throat ; it was of

IIKCTOR HECOMES IMPATIENT.

143

wliitc Hint, and had evidently l)cen sent from an
Indian bow. It was almost with fear and trembling
that they availed themselves of the venison thus
providentially thrown in their way, lest the Indians
should track the blood of the doc, and take vengeance
on them for appropriating it for their own use.
Not liaving seen anything of the Indians, who seemed
to confine themselves to the neighl)Ourhood of the
lake, after many days had passed they began to
take courage, and even ventured to light an evening
lire, at which they cOoked as much of the venison
as woidd last them for several days, and hung the
remaining portions above the smoke to preserve it

from injury.

One morning Hector proclaimed his intention of
ascending the hills in the direction of the Indian
camp. " I am tired of remaining shut up in this dull
place, where we can see nothing but this dead flat,
bounded by those melancholy pines in the distance
that seem to shut us in."

Little did Hector know that beyond that dark ridge
of pine hills lay the home of their childhood, and but
a few miles of forest intervened to hide it from their
sight. Had he known it, how eagerly would his
feet have pressed onward in the direction of that
dark l)arrier of evergreens !

Thus is it (jften in this life: we wander on, sad and
perplexed, our path beset with thorns and briers.
We cannot see our way clear ; doubts and apprehen-
sions assail us. We know not how near we are to
the fulHlment of om- wishes ; yvv sec only the insur-

144

PRUDENT ADVICE.

mountaLlc barriers, the dark thickets and thorns of
our way ; and we know not how near we are to our
Father's lionie, wlicre he is waitinor to welcome the
wanderers of tlie flock back to tlie everlasting liomo,
the fold of the Good Shepherd.

Hector became impatient of the restraint that the
dread of the Indians imposed upon lus movements ;
lie wanted to see the lake again, and to roam abroad
free and uncontrolled.

" After all," said he, " we never met with any ill-
treatment from the Indians that used to visit us at
Cold Springs ; Ave may even find old friends and
acquaintances among them."

" The thing is possible, but not very likely," replied
Louis. " Nevertheless, Hector, T would not willingly
put myself in their power. The Indian has his own
notion of things, and might think himself quite
justified in killing us if he found us on his hunting-
grounds. I have heard my father say — and he knows
a great deal about these people — that their chiefs
are very strict in punishing any strangers that they
find killing game on their bounds uninvited. They
are both merciless and treacherous when angered,
and we could not even speak to them in their oAvn
language, to explain by what evil chance we came
here."

This was vciy prudent of Louis, uncommonly so,
for one who was naturally rash and headstrong ; but
unfortunately Hector was inflexible and wilful.
When once he had made up his mind upon any point,
he had too good an opinion of his own judgment to

. ^

C ATI I A 1! INKS FKAUR.

145

give it uj). At last ho declared liis iirUrTjitkifu, ratKor
than remain a slave to sncli cowardly f<.:air>. a.* Ke now
(lecmod thcni, to go forth Loldly, aij<i *:jylhi^V(-mr to
ascertain what the Indians weie altou't. Hu-OiW many
there were of tht^ni, and what real datiwr wra.^ to be
apprehended from facing them.

"Depend upon it," ho added, 'eowar'if* am never
safer than Lrave men. Tlie Indians de^fjwr (towards,
and would ho moi^e likely to kill us if tJxrv tTonnd us
cowering hero in this hole like a parcel (if wrtfjlf-cuKs,
than if Ave openly faced them and '-}jn-tt-«i(l that wo
neither feared them nor cared for theuj.."

"Hector, dear Hector, he not so ra^j"" «med his
sister, passionately weeping. " Ah ! if we were to
lose vou, what would become of us ? "

" Never fear, Kate ; I will j-un into mti nfedles.s
danger. I know how to take care of my^M. I am
of opinion that the Indian camp is Itrokittii vs^ : they
seldom stay long in one place. I wi]] ^')> rrjVer the
hills and examine the camp at a dih-t/amiw.- and the
lake shore. You and Louis may keep iHraitftlu for my
return from the big pine that we halted innaclftT on our
way hither."

" But, Hector, if the savages should wit ron, and
take you prisoner," said Catharine, " wliiii wonhl you
do ? "

" I will tell you wliat I wouh.1 dct Iir^tead of

running away, I would boldly walk up to tllwim, and

by signs make them understand tha^ I amu no scout,

but a friend in need of nothing but liJUiii'liiiKiSH and

friendship. I never yet heard of ilie Iiu'ltan that
(721) ]

146

Tin; iii:i,i'i,r.s.s onk.

would tomahawk the dcfi'iiccli'ss strnTiQ^cM- that son<^dit
his camp openly in peaci! and in'ooilwill."

" If you do not ivturn l»y sunset, Hector, wi; shall
believe that you havi^ fallen into the hands of the
savages," said Catharine, mournfully regarding her
brother.

"If it were not for Catharine," said Louis, "you
should not go alone; but if evil were to Ijefall this
helpless one, her blood would be upon my head,
who led her out with us, tempting her with false
words."

"Never mind that now, dearest cousin," .said Cath-
Jirine, tenderly laying her hand on his arm. " It is
much better that we should have been all three
together ; I should never have l)een happy again if I
had lost both }[ee and you. Tt is better as it is; you
and Hec would not have been so well (jII" if I had not
been with you to help you, and keep up your spirits
by my songs and stories."

" It is true, ma chore ; but that is the reason thnt
I am bound to take care of my little cousin, and I
could not consent to exposing you to danger, or leav-
ing you alone ; so, if Hec will b(! so headstrong, I
will abide l)y you."

Hector M'as so confident that he should return
in safety, that at last Louis ami Catharine became
more reconciled to his leaving them, and soon busied
themselves in preparing some squirrels that Louis had
brought in that morning.

The day wore aAvay slowly, and many were the
anxious glances that Catharine cast over the ci'est of

AT THE TUYSTIXCJ-TIIEK.

147

the lii<,'li ]}au]<. to watcli for liev In'otlier's ii'turn. At
last, unaltlo to endure the suspense, slie Mith Louis
left the shelter of tlu; valley; tliey ascended the high
ground, and hent their steps to the try sting-tree,
which connuanded all the countiy within a wide
sweep,

A ])ainful and oppressive sense of lone^ncss and
desolation came over the niinds of the cousins as they
sat together at thi; foot of the pine, wliich cast its
lengthened shadow upon the ground hefore them.
I'he shades of evening were shrouding them, wrapping
the lonely forest in gloom. The full moon had not
yet risen, and they watched for the hrst gleam that
shfnild l»reak ahovc; the eastern hills to cheer tliem
as for the coming of a friend.

Sadly these two poor lonely ones ;• at hand in hand,
talking of tin; happy days of childhood, of the per-
plexing present and the uncertain future. At last,
wearied out with watching and anxiety, Catharine
h^ined her head upon the; neck of old Wolfe and fell
asleep, while Louis restlessly pace(I t(jand tVo in front
of the sleeper; now straining his eyes to penetrate the
surrounding gloom, now straining liis ears to catch the
first sound that might indicate the approach of his
absent cousin.

Jt was almost with a feeling of irritalnlity that ho
lieai'd the <[uick sharp note of tlie wakeful "whip-
poor-will," as it Hew from hough to l)ough of an old
withciXMl tree Leside him. Another, and again
another of these niidnight watchei's took iip the
monotonous, never-varying cry of " Whip-poor-Avill,

148

DISCORDANT NIGHT MINSTRELS.

Whip-poor-will ; " ami then came forth, from many
a hollow oak and birch, the spectral nii^dit-hawk from
hidden dens, where it had lain hushed in silence all
day from dawn till sunset. Sometimes their sharp
hard Avings almost swept his cheek as they wheeled
round and round in circles, first narrow, then wide,
and wider extending, till at last they soared far ahovc
the tallest tree-tops, and launching out in the high
regions of the air, uttered from time to time a wild
shrill scream, or hollow l)ooming sound, as they sud-
denly descended to pounce with wide-extended throat
upon scmic liapless moth or insect that sported all
unheeding in mid -air, happily vmconscious of the
approach of so unerring a foe.

Petulantly Louis chid these discoi'dant minstrels of
the night, and joyfully he hailed the first gush of
moonlight that rose hroad and ftdl and red over the
Oak Hills to the eastward.

Louis envied the condition of the unconscious
sleeper, who lay in happy forge tfulness of all her
sorrows, her fair curls .spread in uidiound luxuriance
over the dark shaggy neck of the faithful Wolfe, who
seemed as if proud of the heloved burden that rested
so trustingly upon him. Sometimes the carefid dog
just unclosed his largi; eye-s, raised his uose from
his shaggy paws, snuffed tlv^ night air, growled in
a .sort of undertone, and then dozed again, but
watchfully.

It would be noca.sy
that agitated young Louis'.s breast. Ho wa.s angry
with Hector for havinjrj thus madly, as he thought,

task to tell the painful feelings

ON TUK ALEUT.

149

rusliL'd into danger. " It was wilful ami almost cruel,"
he thought, " to leave thoui the i)rey of such torment-
ing fears on his account ;" and then the most painful
fears for the safety of his beloved companion took
the place of less kindly thoughts, and sorrow filled
his heart. The lu'oad moon now flooded the hills
and vales with light, casting 1 )road checkering shadows
oi the old oaks' gray branches and now reddened
foliage across tlie ground.

Suddenly the old dog raises liis head, an<l utters a
short half-angry note : slowly and carefully he rises,
discngagini-- liimself gently from the form of the
sleeping girl, and stands foi'tli in the full light of
the moon. It is an open cleared space, that mound
beneath the ])ine-tree; a few lov>' shrubs and seedling
pines, with the slender waving branches of the late-
flowering pearly-tinted asters, the elegant fringed
gentian with opi'u l)ells of azure blue, the last and
loveliest of autunni flowers and winter - greens,
brighten the ground with wreaths of shining leaves
and red berries.

Louis is on the alert, though as } et he .^ces nothing.
It is not a full free note of welcoiae that Wolfo
gives ; tliore is something uneasy and half angry in
his tone. Yet it is not flerce, like the bark of angry
detiance he gives when wolf, or bear, or wolverine is
near.

Louis steps forward from tlie shadow of the pine
l)ranches to tiie edge of the inclined plane in the
foreground. The slow tread of approaching steps is
now distinctly heard advancing; it may be a deer.

150

A STliANc:!'; CCI.MI'AMOX.

Two iig'urcs approach, and Louis moves a little within
the shadow ai^aiii. A clear shrill whistle meets his
eai\ It is Hector's whistle, he knows that, and
assured hy its cheerful tone, he springs forward, and
in an instant is at his side, Init starts at the strange
companion that he half leads, half carries. The
moonlight streams ljroa<l and bright upon the shrink-
ing figure of an Indian girl apparently about t'he
same age as Catharine : her ashy face is concealed
by the long mass of raven black hair which falls
like a dark veil over her features; her step is weak
and unsteady, and she seems ready to sink to the
earth with sickness or fatigue. Hector, too, seems
Aveary. The tirst words that Hector said were,
" Hi'lp me, Louis, to lead this poor girl to the font
of the pine: [ am so tired 1 can hanlly walk another
step."

Louis and his cousin together carried the Indian
girl to the foot of the pine, (.'atharine was just rous-
ing hersL'lf from sleep, a)id she gazed with a bewil-
dei'ed air on the strang<! compimion that Hect(ji' had
brought with him. The stranger lay down, and in a
few minutes sank into a sleep so profomid it seemed
to resemble that of death itself. Pity and deep in-
terest soon took the ])lace of curiosity and dread in
the heart of the gentle Catharine, and ,she watched
the young stranger's slundier as tenderly as though
she liad been a sister or beloved frieiul, while Hector
proceeded to relate in what manner lie had encoun-
tered the Indian gii-l.

" When I struck the high slope near the little

Tin; INDIAN (ill;l..

151

bircli j^-rovc avc calleil tlie ' JJiiien Sli'iii\' T paused to
cxaminL' if tlie council-tires Avere still burninuc ou

ili;ricii; i;i:iM;i\ci iiii; isMw iiir;i..

Bate Hill ; lnit there was no siiidki' \isiMe, neitlieu
was there a canoe to he seen at the hike shore
where liouis had «lescribed their landini^-placc at tho

15:

TIIK WOUNDKl) t'APTlVi;.

moutli of the creek. All seemed as silent and still
as if no human footstep had trodden the shore. 1
sat down and watched for nearly an hour, till my
attention was attracted hy a noljle eagle, which was
sailing in wide circles over the tall pine-trees on
Bare Hill. Assured that the Indian camp was
broken up, and feeling some curiosity to examine the
spot more closely, I crossed the thicket of cranberries
and cedars and small underwood that fringed the
borders of the little stream, and found myself, after
a little pushing and scrandjling, among the bushes at
the foot of the hill.

" I thought it not impossible I might find some-
thing to repay me for my trouble, — Hint arrow-
heads, a knife, or a tomahawk ; but I little thought
of what these cruel savages had left there, — a miser-
able wounded captive, bound by the long locks of
her hair to the stem of a small tree ! Her hands and
feet were fastened by thongs of i leer-skin to In'anehes
of the tree, which had been bent downward for that
purpose. Her position was a most painful oni\ She
had evidently ])een thus left to perish by a miserable
death of hunger and thirst ; for these savages, with
a fiendish cruelty, had placed within sight of their
victim an earthen iar of water, some dried deers'

I 1

lavt

le corn

flesh, and a cob* of Indian con

here," he added, putting his hand in liis breast and

displaying it to view.

" Wounded she was, for I drew this arrow from
her shoulder," and he showed the Hint head as he

A bend of Oio miiizp, or Inilmii corn, is ciiIIimI c. "cob.'

A TALI'; OK woi:.

IT).'?

.spoke, "and fetterod. Witli focxl and drink in siglit
the poor <,drl was to pcrisli, perhaps to become a
Hvinj^' prey to the eagle that 1 saw wliecling above
the hill-top. The poor thing's lips were black and
parched with pain and thirst. She turned her eyes
piteously from my face to the water-jar, as if to im-
plore a draught. This I gave her ; and then having
cooled the festering wound, and cut the thongs that
bound her, 1 Avondered that she still kept the same
immovable attitude, and thinking she was stirt' and
crampe<l with remaining so long bound in one posi-
tion, I took her two hands and tried to induce her to
move. I then for the first tinu; noticed that she was
tied by the hair of her head to the tree against
which her back Avas placed. I was obliged to cut
the hair with my knife ; and this I did not do with-
out giving her pain, as she moaned impatiently. She
sank her head on her breast, and large tears fell over
iny hands as I bathed lier face and neck with the
water from the jar. She then seated horselt" on the
ground, and remained silent and still for tl>e space
of an hour; nor could I prevail upon her to speak,
or ((uit the seat she had taken. Fearing that the
Imlians might return, T watched in all directions,
and at last I began to think it would be best to
carry her in my arms ; but this I found no easy task,
for slie .seemed greatly distressed at any attempt I
made to lift her, and by her gestures I fancied she
thought I was going to kill her. At last my patience
began to be exhausted, but I did not like to annoy
her. I spoke to her as gently and soothingly as I

154

Cii:M IMi .SVMl'ATUV.

coulcl. By degrees she seemed to listen witli more
composure to me, tliongli she evidently knew not a
word of what I said to her. She rose at last, and
taking my hands, placed them above her head,
stooping low as she did so ; and this seemed to mean
she was willing at last to submit to my wishes. I
lifted her from the ground, and carried her for some
little way ; but she was too heavy for me. She then
suffered me to lead her along whithei'soever I would
take her ; but her steps were so slow an<l feeble
through weakness, that many times 1 was compelled
to rest while she recovered herself. She seems quite
subdued now, and as (piiet as a lamb."'

Catharine listened, not without tears of genuine
sympathy, to the recital of her brother's adventures.
She seemed to think he had been inspired by God to
go forth that day to the Indian camp to rescue the
poor forlorn one from so dreadful a death.

Louis's sympathy was also warndy aroused for the
young savage, and he commended Hector for his
bravery and humanity.

He then set to work to light a good fire, which
was a great addition to their comfoit as well as
cheerfulness. They did not go back to their cave
beneath the uptui'ncd trees to sleep, preferring lying,
Avith their feet to the fire, under the shade of the
pine. Louis, however, was despatched for water and
venison for supper.

The following morning, by break of day, they
collected their stores, and convoyed them back to
the shaiity. The boys were thus employed whib

TKNDINU THE WOUNDED tlirJ-

155

Catluivine Avatclied l)esi(.le tlic Avovnided Indian <jr'n\,
Avhoni she tended with the greatest cave. She
batlied the intlanied ana witli water, and hound the
cool healing leaves of the taatnw.hac* about it with
the last f'ragruent of her apron; she steeped dried
berries in water, and gave the cooling drink to
(juench the fever-thirst that burned in her veins and
glittered in her fidl soft melancholy dark eyes, which
were raised at intervals to the face of her youthful
nurse with a timid hurried glance, as if she longed
yet feared to say, " Who arc y(ju that thus tenderly
])athe my aching head, and strive to soothe my
wounded lindjs, and C(jo1 my fevered blood ? Are
you a creature lil«^ myself, or a being sent by the
Great Spirit from the far-ott" happy land to which my
fathers have gone, to smooth my path of pain, and
lead mc to those blessed fields of sunlieams and
flowers where the cruelty of the enemies of my
people will no more have power to torment me ? "

* Indian li.ilsiuu.

CHAPTER VI.

" Here the wtpii of softest note

Itiiilds its nest ami waibles well;
Here tlic bliickliinl strains liis throat:

Wek'onio, welcome to our cell." - ('oT,i:i:ii>iii:.

HE (lay was far advanced Leforu tlie sick
Indian i^-iil could be brought lionic to tlicir
sylvan lodge, wlierc C!atliarine made up a
i=r.rr=L^?^^ comfortable couch for her with Ijouglis
and grass, and spread one of the deer-skins over it,
and laid her down as tenderly and carefully as if she
had been a dear sister. This g(jod girl was over-
joyed at having found a companion of licr own age
and sex. " Now," said she, " 1 shall no more bo
lonely ; I shall have a companion and friend to talk
to .and assist hie." But when she turned in the
fulness of her heart to address herself to the young
stranger, she felt herself embarrassed in what way
to make her comprehend the words she used to
express the kindness that she felt for her and her
sorrow for her sufierings.

The young stranger would raise her head, look in-
tently at her as if striving to interpret lier words,
then .sadly shake her liead, and utter her words in

A SILENT OrKST,

157

Iior own plaintive lanq;iiaii;(', but, alas! Catharine felt
it was to her as a sealed book.

She tried to recall some Indian woi'ds of familiar
import that she had lu'ard from the Indians Mhcn
they came to her father's house, but in vain. Not
the simplest phrase occurred to her, and she almost
cried with vexation at her own stupidity. Neither
was Hector or Louis more fortunate in attempts at
conversinjij with their guest.

At the end of three days the fever began to abate:
the restless eye grew more steady in its gaze, the
dark tlush faded froui the cheek, leaving it of a gray
ashy tint, not the hue of health, such as even the
swarthy Indian shows, l)ut wan and pallid, her eyes
bent mournfully on the ground.

Slu' would sit (|uict and passive while Catharine
bound up the long ti'osscs of her hair, and smoothed
them with her hands and the small wooden comb
that Louis had cut for her use. Sometimes she
woidd raise her eyes to her new friends face with a
quiet sad smile, and once .she took her hands within
her own and giiutly pres,sed them to her breast and
lips and forehead, in token of gratitude ; but she
seldom gave utterance to any words, and would
reuiain with her eyes fixed vacantly on some object
which seemed unseen, or to awaken no idea in her
mind. At such times the face of the young squaw
wore a dr(>amy apatliy of expression, or rather it
might with more propriety have been said the
absence of all expression, almost as blank as that of
an infant of a few weeks old.

158

MUTUAL INSTKUCTtOX.

How intently did Catliuvino study that face, and
strive to read wliat was passing' witliin lier mind !
How did the lively intelligent Canadian gii'l, the
ott'spring of a move intellectual race, long to instruct
her Indian friend, to enlargt^ her mind by pointing
out such things to her attention as she herself took
interest in ! She Avould then repeat the name of the
object that she showed her several times over, and
by degrees the young squaw learned the names of
all the familiar household articles about the slianty,
and could repeat them in her own soft plaintiv((
tone; and when she liad learned a new word, and
could pronounce it distinctly, she would laugh, and
a gleam of innocent joy and pleasure would lighten
up her fine dark eyes, generally so fixed ami sad-
looking.

It was Catharine's delight to teach her pupil to
speak a languag(.> familiar to her own ears. She
would lead her out among the trees, and name to her
all the natural obji'cts that present(Ml tliL-mselvcs to
view. And she in her turn made " Indiana" (for so
they named the yoinig scpinw, after a negress that
she had heard her father tell of, a nurse to one of his
colonel's infant children) tell her the Indian names
for each object they saw. ln<liana soon began to
enjoy in her turn the anirisement arising from in-
structing Catharine and the hoys, and often seemed
to enjoy the blunders they ma<le in pronouncing the
Avords she taught them. When really interesterl in
anything that was going on, her eyes would beam
out, and her smile gave an inexpressible charm to

Tiir. Yorxd SQr.wv's "daiik Hot'iit+i.'

ir.o

hor faco ; for lio' !ips •\vero rod, and fj-tir tf^h f:\f;n
and bi'illiantly ■white, so purol}' wliit*^ tlx^it Canharint!
thoui^-lit sill' liail novel' seen any so iMnairjiitDfnjii in her
lit'<; before. At siicli times lier faee avji- ji'-y.-,n.-i nnil
iiniocent as a little child's ; hut there \\> j<- a,U> hours
of t,dooni, that trirnsfoi'ine(l it into an •< ^iiiircAsion of
sullen apathy. Then a dull j^dassy l(.ok Loiofc pos.'^es-
sion of her eye, the full li]) drooped, :4uri>'i itPit-.- form
seemed rifjfid and stiff. ( )l)stinat.<' *l*:ii^.iim.lna.tion
neither to move nor speak chai'acteriz"<i Ijk^t in what
Louis used to call the yomii,' s(jua\v^^ 'xlaiirfc hour."'
Then it was that the savage natuj'e wi-Tciril [ir*--
dominant, and her gentle nurse aJnjo-l If'-jar'.d to
look at her pivtf'ue'a or approach lien

" Hector," said Louis, " you spoke aWrt x jar of
water being left at the camp. The ji«r w^jhM bo
a gi'cat treasure to us. Jjct us go i<jiwr for it."
Hector assented to the jii-oposa]. '" Asi'l we may
possibly pick up a few grains of Jni-liajj tiovm:, to add
to what you .showed us."

" If wo are liere in the spring," said Ifi«:»rd!ior, "you
a^:(l I will prepare a small ])atch of iir^H'mtl and
pla.it it with this corn ;" and he sat 4'i)«r"ni on the
end of a lo^- and began carefullv to icionramiit che rows
of grain on the col), and tlien i/aeli tif.inii.. iTain V)y
gi\ain. " Three hundred and ten sound ^iraiin.-. Now
if every one of these pi'oduce a stmsni'i: jilant, we
shall have a great increase, and bes3'<4*^'»- wrf-rl (ov an-
other year, there will be, if it is a gooi Jk-zis^. several
Ijushels to eat."

" We shall have a glorious sumnvtT. luuicr e.nii. no

IGO

VISIT TD Till': IMvSKIlTKD CAMP.

(louT)t, and a fine Hmnislun,!]f crop; ami Kato is a
good hand at making supporne."*

" You forget \V(! have no porridge pot."
"T was thinking of tliat Indian jar all the time.
. ,ssi^ Vou will see what

\ )\ \ / /■/ 1 1 line cookery wo will

mnke when we get
it, if it will but
.stand tire. Conic,
let us 1)(! off; I am
imi)atient till wo
get it home ;" and
Louis, Avho had now
a new crotchet at
work in his fertile
and vi\aciousbrain,
walked and danced
along at a rate
which proved a
great disturbance
to his graver com-
])anion, who tried
to keep down his
cousin's lively spirits by .■uggcsting the proba1>ility of
the jar Ijeing cracked, or that the Indians might have
returned for it ; but Louis was not one of the doubt-
ing sort, and was right in not damping the ardour of
his mind by causeless fears. The jar was there at
the deserted camp, and though it had been knocked

fnn OK ixniAN coiiV.

* Supporne, ))rob.ibly .in Indi.an word for a, stirabout, or porridge, mado of
Indian meal ; a common disli in every Canadian oi Yankee farmer's house.

♦

A lU'DK PIKCK Of.' POTTKHY.

ir.i

over liy some animal, it was soiiml and stronf,^ nnd
excited j^'veat sp(>culati<m in t\w two cousins as to tlio
pai'tieular material of wliieli it was made, as it was
unlil<(! any sort of pottery tliey liad ever liefore seen.
It seemed to have l)een niannfaetnre(l from some
very dark red eartli, or clay mixed up with pounded
i;Tnnite, as it presented the 'ippearance of some coarse
crystals. Tt was very hard and ponderous, and the
surface was marked over in a rude sort of pattern,
as if pinictured and scratelie(l with sonu; pointed
instrument. It .seemed to have been liardened hy
lire, and, from the smoked liuc of one side, hail
ovitU-ntly done -^^ood service as a cookin!:^ utensil.
Sul)sef|ueiilly they learned the way in which it was
used.* The jar, liein*,' p]aee<l near hut not on the fire,
was surrounded hy hot emhers, and the water made
to boil by stones being made red hot and plunged
into it. In this way soups and other food wei'c pre-
pared and kept stewijig, with no fiu'ther troulilo,
after once i]w simmering began, than adding a few
fresh (iinbers at tin; side farthest from the lire. A
hot stone, also, phiced on the top, facilitated the
cooking process.

Louis, who like all French people was addicted to
cookery, — indeed it was an accomplishment he prided
himself on, — was enchanted with the inipi'ovcnient
made in their diet by the accpiisitiou of the said
earthen jar, or pipkin, and ga\e Indiana some praise

^ rioccs of this nulc pottoiy are often found nlong the shores of the inl.inil
hikes, but I hiuo never met with any (if the jierfect vessels in use with tlie
Indians, who probaltly find it now easier to supply themselves witli iron pots
and crockery from the towns of tlie Kuropean settlers.
(VUl) 1 ]

162

WHAT cAiiiAiaxi': lkakxed from tnoiana.

for initiatins; his cousin in the use of it. Catharine
and Hector declared that lie Avcnt out with his how
and ari'ows, and visited his dead-falls and snares, ten
times oftener than he used to do, just for the sake
of provinLj the admii'able properties of this precious
utensil, and finding out some new Avay of dressing his

game.

At all events, there was a valual)le increase of fui-s,
fur making up into clothing, caps, leggings, mitts, and
other articles.

From tlie Indian girl Catharine learned the value
of many of the herbs an<l shrubs tliat grew in her
path, the bark and leaves of various trees, and many
dyes .she could extract, with which she .stained the
quills of the porcupine and the strips of the wood of
which .she made baskets and mats. Tiie little creep-
ing winter-green,* with its scarlet berries, that grows
on the dry Hats or sandy hills, which the Canadians
call spice-berry, she .showed them v/as good to eat;
and she would crush the leaves, draw forth their fiiic
aromatic flavour in her hands, and then inhale their
fntgrancc with delight. She madi; an infusion uf tlu;
leaves, and drank it as a tonic. Tlie inner l)ark of
the wild black cherry she said was good to cure ague
and fever. The root of the bitter-sweet ,she scraped
down and boiled in the <leer-fat, or the fat of auy
other animal, and made an ointment that possessed
very healing ((ualities, especially as au innnediato
application to fresh burns.

Sometimes she showed a, disposition to mystery,

" CiinUhrriii pnicnmhnif,— s\i\vi^ winti^r-Krecii.

IXDT.WA'S MENTAL FACULTIES.

163

and would conceal the knowled^ye of the particular
herbs she made use of ; and Catharine several times
noticed that she woidd go out and sj)rinkle a portion
of the food she had assisted her in preparing, on the
earth, or under some of th.e trees or liushes. Wlien
slie Avas more familiar with tlieir lang\iage, slie UAd
(^'atharine this was done in token of gratitude to the
Good Spirit, who had given them success in hunting
or trapping ; or else it was to appease the malice of
the Evil Spirit, who might bring mischief or loss to
thorn, or sickness or deatli, unless liis foi'hearance was
purchased l.y some particular mark of attention.

Attention, memory, and imitati-.n appeared to form
the tlu'ee most remarkahle of the mental faculties
developed by the Indian girl. She exaniined (when
once h'^" attention was roused) any object with criti-
cal minuteness. Any knowledge she had once acfpured
she retained; her memory was great, she never missed
a patli she ha<l once trodden ; she seemed even to
single out particular birds in a llock, to know them
from their c(»mpanioi, '. Her powers of inutation
were also great. She brougi^t patience and persever-
ance to assist her: when once thoroughly intereste(l
in any Avork she began, she wo il<l toil on untiringly
till it was completed : and then what triumph shone
in her eyes! .Vt such times they became darkly
brilliant with the joy that lilled ht'r heart. Hut she
poss('ssed little talent fi>r invention; what she had
seen done, after a few impei'fect attempts, she could
do again, but she rarely struck out any new path for
herself.

164

PROOFS OF (iUATlTUDE.

At times she was docile and (;vcn playful, and
appeared grateful for the kindness \\'ith ■wliicli she
was treated ; each day seemed to increase her fond-
ness for Catharine, and she appeared to delight in
doing any little service to please and gratify her; hut
it was towards Hector that she disp'.ayeil the deepest
feeling of affection ami respect. It was to him her

first trihute of fruit, or
flowers, furs, moccasins,
or ornamental plumage
of rare birds, was offered.
She seeme<l to turn to
hi)u as to a master .and
protector. He was in
her eyes the "chief," th(!
head of his trihe. His
how was strung liy her,
and stained with (piaint
ligurcs and devices ; his
aiTOWs were car\'<'il hy her; the sheath of deer-skiii
he carried his knife in was made and ornamented
hy her hands ; also, the case for his arrows, of hirch-
hark, she wrought with especial neatness, and sus-
pended hy thongs to his neck when he was preparing
to go out in search of gam(>. She ga\ <• him the name
of the "Young Eagle," while she called Louis " Nee-
chee," or "Friend;" to Catharine she gave the
poetical name (;f " Music of the- Winds," — ^f(l(l-

V'dosh.

When they asked lier to tell them her own name,
she wouM hend down her head in sorrow an<l refuse

A MOCi'ASIK.

A Ml Ti: l\V(ni!ITK.

1G5

to pronouiico it. Slie soon answered to tlu^ name of
Imliana, and seemed pleased with tlie sound.

But of all tlie household, next to Hector, old Wolfe
was her greatest favtnirite. At lirst, it is true, the
old dog regarded the new inmate with a jealous eye,
and seemed uiieasy when he saw her approach to
caress him ; hut Indiana soon reconcileil him to her
person, and a nuitual friendly feeling Ijecame estab-
lished between tlu'iii, which seemed daily and hourly
to increase, greatly to the deliglit of the young
stranger. She Avonld seat herself Eastern fashion,
crossdegged on the Hoor of the shanty, with the
capacious head of the old dog in lier lap, and address
herself t. this mute companion in wailing tones, as
if she would unburden lier heart l)y pouring into
his unconscious ear her tale of desolation and
woe.

Catharine was always very particular and punctual
in performing her persona! ablutions, and she inti-
mated to Indiana that it was good for her to do th<i
.same. The young girl .seemed reluctant to follow
her example, till daily custom hail reconciled her to
wdiatshe evidently at first regai-<leil as an unnecessary
cci'emony ; but she soon took pleasure in dressing her
dark hair, and suHeriiiLT Catharine to braid it and
polish it till it looked glossy and soft. Indiana in
her turn would adorn Catharine with the wings of
the lilue-bird or red-bird, the crest of the wood-duck,
or (piill feathers of the golden-winged flicker, which
is called in the Indian tongue the shot-bird, in
allusion to the round spots on its cream-coloured

16G

USEFUL OCCUI'ATIONS.

breast* It was not in thes. things alone she nvh-
cated her grateful sense of the sisterly km.lness tha
hor young hostess showed to her; she soon learned
to lighten her labours in every househol.l work, and
abov e all, she spent her tin.e most usefully m nmnu-
facturing clothing fron. th. skins of the wdd annuals,
^ in teacldug Catharine how to m a.lp^
thcui: but these were the occupations of the ^^mtu
n\onths.

CHAPTER VI [.

" Co to the trnt." -Provrrbs.

iWlT was now the middle of September. The
nI! weather, wlucli had continued serene

and lieantiful for some time, with dewy
ni,L;-litsand misty mornings, began to show
symptoms of the change of season nsnal at the ap-
proach of the e(|uinox. Sudden squalls of wind, with
hasty showers, would come sweeping over the lake;
the nights and mornings were damp and chilly.
Already tlie tints of autumn were beginning to crim-
son the foliage of the oaks, and where the islands
were visible, the splendid colours of the maple shone
out in gorgeous contrast wiuii tlie deep vcvkiro of the
evergreens and light golden-yellow of the poplar; but
lovely as they now looked,they had not yet reach ^d the
meridian of tlieir 1 oauty, which a few frosty nights
at the close of the nonth were destineil to bring to
perfection— a glow )f splendour to gUuhlen the eye
for a brief space, Inn'ore the rCishing winds and rains
of the following month were to sweep them away
and scatter them abroad ujjon ihe earth.

One morning, after a nignu of heavy rain and wind,

1G8

THE Ti;.Mi'i;sT-iji:i\ KN i'anui;.

tlic two boys went down to see if tlie lake was calm
enough for trying the raft, which Louis had finished
before the coming on of the had weather. The water
was rough and crested with mimic waves, and they
felt indisposed to launch the raft on so stormy a sur-
face, but stood looking out over the lake and admir-
ing the changing foliage, when Hector pointed out
to his cousin a dark speck dancing on tlic waters,
between the two nearest islands. The wind, which
blew very strong still from the north-east, Ijrought
the object nearer every minute. At lirst they thought
it might be a pine-branch that Avas Hoating on the
surface, when as it came boiniding over the waves,
they perceived that it was a birch canoe, but impelled
by no visible arm. It was a strange sight upon that
lonely lake to see a vessel of any kind afloat, and,
on first deciding that it was a canoe, the boys were
inclined to hide themselves among the bushes, for
fear of the Indians ; but curiosity got the better of
their fears.

" The owner of yonder little craft is either asleep
or absent from her ; for I see no paddle, and it is
evidently drifting without any one to guide it," said
Hector, after intently M-atching the progress of the
tempest-driven canoe. Assured as it approached
nearer that such w.as the case, they hurried to the
beach just as a fresh gust had lodged the canoe
among the branches of a fallen cedar which projected
out some way into the water.

By creeping along the trunk of the tree, and trust-
ing at times to the projecting boughs, Louis, who was

■CO.MK I^LICKLV, AXU KKK MV TREASURES."

Kjy

the most active and tlio liglitest of weight, succeeded
in yetting witliiii reacli of the canoe, and witli some
ti'ouljle and tlie lielp of a stout hrancli tliat Hector
handed to him, he contrived to moor her in safety on
the shore, taking tlie precaution of hauling lier well
up on the shingle, lest the wind and water should
set her afloat again. " Hec, there is something in
this canoe, the sight of which will gladden your
heart," cried Louis, Avith a joyful look. " Come
quickly, and see my treasures!"

"Treasures! You may well call them treasures,"
exclaimed Hector, as he helped Louis to examine the
contents of the canoe and place them on the shore
side by .side.

The boys could hardly tind words to express their
joy and surprise at the discovery of a large jar of
parched rice, a tomahawk, an Indian blaid-cet almost
as good as new, a lai'ge mat rolled up, with a l)ass-
bark rope scvei'al yards in length wound round it,
and, what was more precious than all, an iron three-
legged pot in which was a (]uantity of Intlian corn.
These articles had evidently constituted the stores of
.some Indian hunter or trai^jier : possibly the canoe
had been imperfectly secured, and had drifted from
its moorings during the gale of the previous night,
unless by some accident the owner had fallen into
the lake and been drowned. This was of coui'se
only a niattei* of conjecture on which it was useless
to specuhitt>, and the boys joyfully took possession of
the good fortune that had so providentially been
wafted, as it were, to their verv feet.

170

*' WHAT A tlUANU I'OT !"

'•'It was a capital chance for us, that old cedar
haviriix been blown down last ni<dit just where it was,"
said Louis; "fur it' the canoe had not been drawn
into the eddy, and stopped by the branches, we mi<rht
have lost it. I trembled, when I saw the wind <lriv-
ing it on so rapidly, that it would founder in the deep
water or go oft" to Long Island."

" I think we shoidd have got it at Pine-tree Point,"
said Hector; "but I am glad it was lodged so cleverly
amouix the cedar bouuhs. I Avas half afraid vou
would Imve fallen in once or twice when you were
trying to draw it nearer to the shore."

" Never fear for me, my friend ; I can clhig like a
Avild cat when I eliudj. But what a grand pot!
What delightful soups, and stews, and boils (.'atharine
will make ! Hurrah ! " and Louis tossed up the new
fur cap he had made with great skill from an entire
fox -skin, and cut sundry fantastic capers which
Hector gravely condemned as unbecoming his mature
age (Louis was tiu'ued of fifteen) ; but with the
joyous spirit of a little child he sang and danced, and
laughed and shouted, till the lonely (ichoes of the
islands ami far-off hills returned the unusual sounds,
and even his more steady cousin caught the infection
and laughed to see Louis so elated.

Leaving Hector to guard the prize, Louis ran gaily
off to fetch Catharine to share his joy and come and
admire the canoe, and the blanket, and the tripod,
and the corn, and the tomahawk. Indiana accom-
panied them to the lake shore, and long and carefully
she examined the canoe and its contents, and many

Tin; MYSTKRY SOLVED.

171

were the plaintive exclamations slie uttered as she sur-
veyed the things piece by piece, till she t(Jok notice of
the hrokcn handle of an Indian paddle Avhich lay at
the bottom of the vessel : this seemed to atlbrd some
solution to her of the mystery, and by broken words
and sijrns she intimated that the paddle had possil)ly
broken in the hand of the Indian, and that in endeav-
ouring to regain the other part, he had lost his
balance! and been drowned. She showed Hector a
rude figure of a bird engraved Avith some sharp in.stru-
nient, and rubbed in with a blue colour. Tliis she
said was the totem or crest of the chief of the tribe,
and was meant to represent a croiu. The canoe had
belonged to a chief of that name.

While they were dividing the contents of the
canoe among them to be carried to the shanty,
Indiana, taking up the bass-rope and the blanket,
bundled up the most of the things, and adjusting the
broad thick part of the rope to the front of her
liead, she bore ofi' the burden with as great apparent
ease as a l-iondon or an Edinburgh porter would his
trunks and packages, turning round with a merry
glance and reix'ating some Indian words with a lively
air as she clindjcd the steep bank, and soon distanced
lier companions, to her great delight. That night
Indiana cooked some of the parched rice, Indian
fashion, with venison, and they enjoyed the novelty
verv nnieh ; it made an excellent substitute for
bread, of which they had been so long deprived.

Indiana ga\'e them to midcrstand that the rice
harvest would soon be readv on the lake, and that

l.Ml'OUTANT A(!Ql IHITIONS.

HOW thoy had ifot a canoe, tlioy would '^o out aii<l
gather it, and so hiy l)y a store to hvst tlieiii formally
niontiis.

This little incident furnished the inhabitants of the
shanty with fre(]uent themes for di- >sion. Hector
declared that the Indian corn was the most valual)le
of their acquisitions. " It will insure us a crop and
Ijread and seed-corn for many years,"' he said. Ho
also highly valued the tomahawk, as his axe was
worn and Llunt. Louis was divided between the
iron pot and the canoe. Hector seemed to thiidc the
raft miL!ht have formed a substitute for the latter;
besides, [ndiana liad signilied her intention of helping'
him to make a canoe. Catharine declared in favour
of the blanket, as it would make, after thorou<fh
ablutions, warm ])etticoats with tight bodice.-^ for her-
self and Indiana. With deer-skin leggings and a fr.r
jacket, they should l^e comfortalily clad. Indiana
thought the cano(> the most precious, and was charmed
with the good jar and tlie store of rice; nor did she
despise the packing-rope, which she soon showed was
of use in carrying burdens from place to place, Indian
fashion. By placing a pad of soft fur in front of the
head, she could carry heavy loads with great ease.
The mat, she said, would be useful for drying the
rice .she meant to store.

The next day after this adventure, the two girls
set to work, and with the help of Louis's large knife,
which was called into re(|uisitioii as a substitute;
for scissors, they cut out the blanket dresses, and in
a shoi't time made two comfortable and not verv

THE UICE-UAHVEST.

173

unsii^litly garments. Tlic lull, shoii. jjiOauitti';! I skirts
readied a little below tin- knees; ]i^]jtT*r*-t+, 1',r,r<lfre(l
Avitli Fur, completed the ujijier jiart ; ajrj'8 le;;^;,angs,
terminat('(l at the ankles hy knott<?d fjmit'rs of du.?-
skin, with moccasins turned over "aiitflu at Pjflnd wf
S([iiirr(d fur, completed the novel cos-ttiixM: ;: an<l many
a fflance of innocent satisfac tion <li<.l our v Qn-<- dam-
sels cast upon each other, when they wji , ., [ f^rth in
the pride of girlish vanity to elisjilay t8i»'.uff cFreMses to
Hector and Louis, who, for tin ir jiai-t. jx-:;aard4^i I them
as most skilful ihessmakers, and wei^ !!»<:»>? tired of
admiring and connnending their hiisi-wiay in the
making and fitting, considering wJia.i ttviAK implo
ments they were obliged to use in tlje -ciiiiKtm:^' out and
sewinrj of the ffarments.

The extensive rice-beds on tlie lake Ijsajl innow becfun
to assume a golden tinge, "wliich f.fi!rjMai->rird very
deliglitt'ully with the deep-blue water*". Jo'O&mg, when
lighted up by the sunbeams, like idawlU <fjf golden-
coloured sand. Tlie ears, heavy la<:l* ij v>>Ji r,h.> ripo
grain, drooped towar<ls the water. Ylr ■,.!r;.: of thu
rice-harvest was at hand, and with I'gLi aj-i I jovou.s
liearts our young adventurers lauiteiiti'fl sBif; canoe,
and, guideil in their movements b3- tHj* lincle squaw,
paddled to the exten.sive acjuatie fieH*' to ;vather it
in, leaNing Catharine and Wolfe to \va.iA their pro-
ceedings fi'om the raft, which Louis La.<ll ffai^tened to
a young tree that projecte<l out ovtT tlj<: lake, and
which made a good landing-place, liliewrihcr a wharf
where they could stand and iish verjr comfortably.
As the canoe could not be overloadeii <(m ,^cc(:)unt of

174

RICE-flATIlERINO.

the rico-gatlicriiiy, Ciitliarino very readily consented
to employ liersclt' with tisliin<,^ from the raft till their
return.

The manner of procurinj,^ the rice was very simple.
One person steered the canoe -with the aid ol' tlui
paddle along tlie edge of the rice-heds, and another
with a stick in one liand, and a curved sharp-edged
paddle in the other, struck tlie lieads oft' as they
hent them over the edge of the stick ; the chief art
Avas in letting the heads fall into the canoe, which a
little practice soon enabled them to do as expertly as
the mower lets the y:i"ass fall in rid'^es beneath liis
scythe.

Many Inishels of wild rice were thus collected.
Nothing could bo more delightful than this sort of
work to our young ])eople, and merrily they worked,
and laughed and sang as they came home each day
with their light bark laden M'ith a store of grain
which they knew would preserve them from starving
through the long, drrary wiuti'i' that was coming on.

The canoe was a sourci^ of great comfort and
pleasure; to them. They were now abh^ to pa<ldlo
out intcj the deep water and fish for masfpiiiionje
and bl;ick bass, which they caught in great nundiers.
Indiana seemed (juite another creaturo when, armed
with a paddle of her own carving, she knelt at the
head of the canoe and sent it flying over the water;
then her dark eyes, often so Aacant and glassy.
sparkled with delight, and her teeth gleamed with
ivory whiteness as her face broke into smiles and
dhnples.

" KVERY ONK TO HIS CItAKT."

175

It was deliglitful then to watch this child of
natuv(.', and seo l»ow innocently happy she could ho
when rcijoicin^f in the excitement of healthy exercise,
and elated hy a consciousness (jf tlu; power she
possessed of excellini,' lier companions m feats of
sti-ent^th and skill which they liad yet to acfpiire hy
imitatint,' her.

Even Louis was ohlij^'cil to ctjnfess that the young
savajre knew more of the nianai;ement of a canoe, and
the use of the how and arrow and the tishinf,'-line,
than either himself or his cousin. Hector was lost
in admiration of her skill in all these things, and
Indiana rose highly in his estimation, the more he
saw of her usefulness.

"Every one to his craft," said Louis, laughing.
"The little squaw has heen hrought up in the know-
ledge and practice of such matters from her haby-
hood ; p(;rhaps if we were to set her to knitting and
spinning, milkiufj cows, and house-work, and learning
to read, I douht if she would prove half as f(uick as
Catharine or Mathilde. '

"1 wonder if she knows anything of Clod or our
Saviour," said Hector thoughtfull}-.

"Who should have taught h<;r ? for the Indians
ar(! all hcatluuis," replied Louis.

" T have heard my dear niother say the missionaries
have taken great ])ains to teach the Indian children
ahout Quehec and Montreal, and that so far from
heing stupid, they learn very readily,"' said Cath-
arine.

"Wo must try and muk(> Indiana learn to say her

176

A LABOl R OF LOVIC.

prayers. Sho sits quite still, and seeins to take no
notice of M'hat we are doini^ when wo kneel down
before we i^'o to liecl," o1)served Hector.

"(She cannot understand wliat w(' say," said Cath-
arine; "for she knows so little of oui- language yet,
that of coui'se she cannot comprehend the prayers,
which ^"0 in other sort of words than what wt; use
in speaking of hunting, and iishing, and cooking, and
Buch matters. "

"Well, when she knows nioi'c of our way of speak-
ing, then we nuist teach her. It is a sad thini"- for
Christian children to live with an untaught pagan,"
said Louis, who, heing rather higoted in his creed.
felt a sort of uneasiness iji his own mind at the poor
girl's total want of the rites of his chiu'ch ; but
Hector and Catharine regardv'il her ignorance with
feelings of compassionate interest, and lost no op})or-
tunity of trying to enlighten her darktsntHl mind on
the subject of belief in the Cod who made and the
Lord who saved them. Simply and earnestly they
entered into tlu; task as a labour of love; an<l though
for a long timi; Indiana seemed to pay little attention
tj what the}' said, by .slow degrees the good seed
took root and lirought forth fruit worthy of Him
whose Spirit poured tl;e beams of spiritual light into
her heart. But my young readers nnist not imagine
those things were the worl< of a day : tin; process
Avas slow, and so were the results, but they were good
in the end.

Catharine Avas ghul when, aft(>r many months of
patient teaching, the Indian gii'l asked ])ermission to

■

A PRIMITIVK KIT.N.

i I

l<ncol clown with ]ier white friond arivl pi'ay to the
(Jreat Spirit and liis Son in tlio saiim words tliat
Christ J(!.sus gave to liis disciplos ; and if tlie full
moaning of that holy prayer, so full of humility and
love and moral justice, was not fully understood liy
her whose lips ri'j)oated it, yet even the act of worship
and the desire to do that which she liad been told
was right were, doubtless, sacrifices I tetter than the
pagan rites whicli that you:ig girl had M'itnesscd
among her father's people, who, blindly following the
natural impulse of man in his depraved nature, ro-
gardi'd bloodshed ami crurlty as among the highest
of human virtues, and gloi'ied in those deeds of
vengeance at which the Christian miud revolts with
horror.

Indiana took uj)on herself the management of the
rice, drying, husking, und storing it, the two lads
working uudi'i' her <lirection. She caused several
forked stakes to bu cut, sharpened, and driven into the
ground. On these were laid four poles, so as to foi'm
a frame. Over it she stretched the bass-nicat, which
she secured by means of forked pegs to the frame.
On the mat she then spi'eail oiit the rice thinly, and
liglited a fire Iteneath, taking good cai-e not to let the
flame s(t Hre to the mat, the objec-t l)eing rather to
keep up a strong, slow heat by means of the red
endters. She next directed the boys to supply her
with pine or cedar boughs, which slie stuck in close
together, so as to enclose the tire within the area of
the stakes. This avus done to coiun^ntrate tlie heat
and cause it to bear upwards witli more poM'er, the

(V21) 1 -J

178

PUr.rARIXG AXl) STOUIXO lUCE.

rico being frof(ucntly stirred with <a sort of long-
hauilled, Hat shovel. After the rice was sufficiently
dried, the next thinLT to be done was separating it
from the husk. This was effected by putting it, in
small quantities, into the iron pot, and with a sort of
wooden pestle or beetle rubbing it round and round
agaiast the sides.* If tiny had not had the iron pot,
a wooden trouo-h must hare been substituted in its
stef.d.

"'yhen the rice was husked, the loose chaff was
whmowcd from it in a flat basket like a sieve; and it
was then put by iu coarse birch baskets, roughly
sewed with leather- wood bark, or Ita^s made of
matting woven by the little s(piaw from the cedar-
liark. A portion was also parclu'il, which was simply
done by putting the ric(^ dry into the iron pot, an<l
setting it on hot endx'rs, stirring the grain till it
burst ; it was then stored by for use. Rice thus pre-
pared is eaten dry, as a substitute for bread, by the
Indians.

The lake was now swarming with wild-fowl of
various kinds : crowds of ducks were winging their
way across it from morning till night, fhjating in vast
flocks upon its surface, or rising in noisy groups if an
eagle or fish-hawk appeared sailing with slow, majestic
circles al)ove them, then settling down with noisy
splash upon the calm wab.'r. The shores, too, were
covered with these birds, ft'eding on the fallen acorns
Avhich fell ripe .-md broM'u with vwvy passing breeze.

* The Iiiili.ins oflcii iimkn use of ii very iiuli', jiriinitivo sort, of iiinrtar, liy
hollowing uut a bass-wouU ^tuinp, iind nibbing thu rii'u with i\ wiiu<Icn ]HJUD(ler.

"your iieavexly fatiikr feedktii them.

179

The berries of the dogwood also fiirnislied them witli
food ; T)ut the wild rice seemed the great attraction,
and small shcll-tish and the larviv of many insects
that had been dropped into the waters, there to come
to perfection in dne season, or to ionn a provision for
myriads of wi' ' fowl that had come from the far
north-west to feed upon thum, guidfd hy that instinct
which has so beautifully been termed by one of our
modern poetesses, —

"God's gift t" till' wp.ik."*

Mrs Sontliov.

CHAPTER A- 1 1 F.

"oil, come and hear whut crufl wrongs
liefoU tlir: Hark l.ailyc.'' ( ui.kuiuuk.

IFE jMoliawlv o'irl was in lii^li spirits nt the
comiiiL;' of tlic wild-fowl to tlie lake; slic
would cla]') licr hands ami laun'li with al-
most f'hildisli nl('(> ;xs she looked at them
darkening' the lake like clomls restin^,^ on its surface.
" If I had hut my father's is;nu, his o-ood old t^'un,
now!" would Ih'ctor say, as lie vya] the timorous
Hocks as they rost; and fell upon the lak(>; "hut these
foolish hirds are so .shy tiny ai'e away hefore an
an'ow can reach them. '

Indiana smiled in her (piiet way ; she was busy
fillim^f the canoo Avith green houghs, which she
arranged so as completely to transform the littler
V(\ssel into the send)lanco of a floating island of cvcv-
green. Within this hower she motioned Hector to
crouch down, leaving a small space for the frc(> use of
liis how ; whil(^ concealed at tlie prow she gently and
noiselessly paddletl th(> canoe from the shore among
the rice-heds, letting it remain stationary or merely
rockiiiLf to and fro with thi- uinlulatoi'v motion of tho
-vaters.

.\.\ INDIAN sti;ata(;i;.m.

181

Tlie iinsuspcctiiii;' liirds, dfccivi'd into full security,
eagerly pursued tlieir pastime or their prey, auJ it

was no ditlicnit matter for tlic liiddeii iuclicr to hit
luaiiy ;i hlark' duck, or teul, or wlilstlewiuLi,-, us it
lloatcd securely on the placid water, or rose t(; sliift

182

INDIAN SUPERSTITION.

its place a few yards up or down tlie stream. Soon
tlu.' lake around was strewed witli tlie featlu'red
game, wliieli Wolfe, clieercd on liy Louis, who was
stationed on the shore, hrought to land.

Indiana tolil Hector that this was the season when
the Indians made ijreat ''atherinirs on the lake for
duck-shooting, which tliey pursued much after the
same fashion as that which has lieen described, only
instead of one, a dozen or more; canoes would lie thus
disguised with houghs, with others stationed at
different parts of the lake, or under the shelter of the
island, to collect the Lii'ds. This sport generally con-
cluded with a great feast.

The Indians offered the first of the birds as an
oblatUm to the (ircat Spirit, as a grateful acknow-
le<.l!;^-7iicnt of his bounty in ha\ing allowed them to
gather food thus plentifully fur their families. Some-
time"' distant tribes with whom they Avere on terms
of friendship mitv invited to share the sport and par-
take of the spoils.

Indiana coidd not understand why Hector did not
follow the custom of her Inilian fathers, and oiler tlie
1irst duck or tlie best fish to propitiate tin.' Great S[)irit.
Hector told her that the (!od he worshipped desired
no sacrifice ; that his holy Son, when he came down
from heaven and gave himself as a sacrifice for the
sin of the world, had satisfied his Father, the Great
Spirit, an hundredfold.

They feasted now c<mtinually upon the M-atcr-fowl,
and Catharine learned from in<liana how to skin
them, and so preserve the feathers for making tippets,

TlIK GATIl EKING OF THE TlllUES.

18:3

and bonnets, and oinanifutal trimmings, which, arc
not only warm, but light and very becoming. They
split open the birds they did not re(|uire for present
consumption, and dried them for winter store, smok-
inc: some after the manner the Shetlanders and the
Orkney pet^ple smoke the solan geese. Their shanty
displayed an abundant store of provisions — iish, tlesli,
and fowl, besides baskets of wild rice and bags of
dried fruit.

One day Indiana came in from the brow of the hill,
and told the boys that the lake eastward was covered
with canoes ; she showed, V)y hokling up her two
hands and then three fin<an's, that she had ( ounted
thirteen. The tribes had met for the annual duck-
feast and the rice-harvest. She advised them to put
out the tire, so that no smoke might be seen to
attract them ; l)ut said they would not leave the lake
for hunting over the plains Just then, as the camp
Avas lower down on the point* east of the mouth of
a l»ig river, which she calle<l " Otonabee."

Hector asked Indiana if she would go away and
leave them in the event of meeting with any of her
own triljc. The girl cast her eyes on the earth in
silence ; a dark cloud seemed to gather over her
face.

"If they shcndd prove to be any of your father's
people, or a friendly tribe, would you go away with

' Tliis iiciint, roiuiiiuiily Kmnvn ;is .(»Ji csriii's Pt,iitt. now the Roiit of an Tndiiin
\iUaKC, usi!(l in forinor times to bo ii ^'reiit i)lao(: of roiiilozvous for tlie Imliiuis,
iind was the sconi' of ii inunlorous carnage or nias'^acre that took phico almut riglity
.years ago; tho war weapons ami bonus of the Indians are often turned ni) witli
the iilougli at tliis day.

184

Till-: UJKinVAS CUT off ,MV KATHKllS I'KOl'LK

thcin ? " lie again repeated ; to whicli she .soloiunly
ix'plied, —

"Indiana lias no father, no tribe, no people; no
blood of licr father warms the heart of any man,
woman, or child, saving lierself alone. But Indiana
is a bi*ave, and the daughter of a brave, and will not
shrink from danger: her lit.'art is warm; red blood
flows warm here," and she laid her hand on her heart.
Then lifting up her hand, she said in slow but
impassioned tone, " They left not one drop of living
blood to flow in any veins but these." She raised her
eyes, and stretched her arms upwards toward heaven,
as though calling down vengeance on the murderers
of her father's house.

" My father was a Mohawk, the son of a great
chief, who owned these hunting-grounds far as your
eye can see to tlie rising and setting sun, along the
big waters of the liig lakes; but the Ojebwas, a por-
tion of the Cluppciwa nation, by treachery cut ofl" my
father's people by hundreds in cold blood, when they
were defenceless and at rest. It was a bloody day
and a bloody deed."

Instead of hiding liers If, as Hector and Louis
strongly advised the young Mohawk to do, she pre-
ferred remaining, as a scout, she said, under the cover
of the bushes on the edge of the steep that overlooked
the lake, to watch the movements of the Indians. 8ho
told Hector to lie undca* no apprehension if they came
to the hut ; not to attempt to conceal themselves, but
offer them food to eat and water to drink. '• If they
come to the house and And you away, they will take

'I'lIK IXIMANS AT Till-: l-AKK.

185

your stores and burn yoiu' roof, suspecting that you
are afraid to meet tlieni openly; l)ut they Avill not
liarni you if you meet tliem witli open liand and
fearless brow: if tliey oat of your bread, they M'ill
not harm you; me they would kill l»y a cruel death
— the war-knife is in their heart against the daughter
of the brave."

The boys thought Indiana's advice good, and they
felt no fear for themselves, only for Catharine,
whom they counselled to remain in the shanty with
Wolfe.

The Indians, intent only on the sport which they
had come to enjoy, seemed in high glee, and appar-
ently peaceal)ly disposed ; every night they returned
to the camp on the north side. The boys could see
their tires gleaming among the trees on the opposite
shore ; and now and then, ii^ the stillness of the
evening, their wild sliouts of revelry would come
faintly to their ears, borne by the breeze over the
waters of the lake.

The allusion that Indiana liad made to her own
history, though conveyed in broken and hardly in-
telligible language, had awakened feelings of deep
interest for her in the breasts of her faithful friends.
Many months after this she related to her wondering
auditors the fearful story of the massacre of her kin-
dred, whicli I will now relate, as I liave raised the
curiosity of my youthful readers.

There had been for some time a jealous feeling
existing between the cliiefs of two principal trilies
of the Ojebwas and the Mohawks, which like a

ISO

TUK " DKA.M UK THK MOllMNti.

smotlieivd lire liad Inirned in the lieart of each with-
out liaving l)urst into a (h^cided bla/e; for eacli
strove to compass }\is <;n<l.s aad <)l>taiii the ail van-
tage over the otlier hy covert means. Tlie trilie of
the Mohawks of which I now speak eUiinied tlie
southern shores of the Rice Lake for their Inniting-
grounds, and certain islands and parts of the lake for
fishing, while that of the Ojel)was c(jnsidered them-
selves masters of the nortliei'n shores and certain
rights of water besides.* Possibly it was about these
rights that the (piarrel originated ; but if so, it was
not openly avowed between the "Black Snake" (that
was the totem borne by the Mohawk chief) and the
"Bald Eagle" (the totem of the Ojidnva).

These chiefs had each a son, and the Bald Eagle
had also a daughter of gix'at and rare beauty, called
by her people the " Beam of the Morning." She was
the admiration of Mohawks as M'ell as Ojebwas, and
many of the young meii of both the tribes had
sou<dit her hand, but hitherto in vain. Among her
numerous suitors, the son of the Black Snake seemed
to be the most enamourcid of her beauty ; and it was
prol)ably with some intention of wimiing the favour
of tlie young Ojebwa s(piaw for his son, that the
Black Snake accepted the formal invitation of the
Bald Eaifle to come to his huntinir-iirounds durinu:
the rice-harvest, and shoot deer and ducks on the
lake, and to ratify a truce which had been for some
time set on foot between them. But while outwardly

• Tlie facts of this narrative wpro fjallHrod from tlm lips of the eldest son of a
I'ice Lake cliief. 1 have jirefcrred giving it in tlie jirosent form, rather than as
tho story of the Indian yirl. Simple as it is, it is matter of history.

rilK TUKACIIEIIOLIS CL t^X

i.^;

proiV'ssiiiLf fririidsliip uiul ;i (IfMre furji'-aw. inwanlly
tlio liio (jf liatr('(l luirnc*! fiercrJy in tJj*- l^.r'-^i.-t of the
Black Snake iiL,'ainst tlie Ojelwa cLi'f ajnjil his only
son, a yoinig man of gri'at promise, n-uuoiwini-;*! amon;^
his tribe as a jjjveat hunter and warrifjr, hrsz who had
once ofi"endt'(l the Mohawk chitf Ly <l<*i!aiMm<:^ a matri-
monial alliance witli one of tlie <la.ti;r}jititir'^ of a chief
of inferior lank who was closely cf.«jirji^*i«i^' 1 to him
by marri<ni,'e. This atti'ont rankled m zk*^. heart of
the Black Snake, though outwaj-'Hy !>*• affected to
have forgiven and for<rotten the nh'^hl oBiat had been
put upon liis lelative.

The lunitiii'' had been carried on for i^ome davs
very amicably, ^vhen on(.' dtiy the lijill Ea<.'le was
requested, with all due attention to lau'Eiajin: etiquette,
to jfjo to the wijxwam of tlif Black Sijijifls-'n. <>n enter-
ing the lodge, he percei\ed the M"]jaiwfc strangely
disordered: he rose from his mat, ^m which he had
lun'n slee})ing, with a countenance i'eairlf'iTiE[yiiistorted,
his eyes glaring hideously, his wljole h^mw: convnalsed
and writhing as in fearful bodily im;^m4\ : and cast-
ing himself upon the gnmnd, lie rolle'il aiiijl grovelled
on the Ccii'th, iivteriii!^ fri^ihtful ve]l^ ajjdi 'jroans.

The B{ Id Ivi ;.;lo W'as moved at the ■ iia*airi'":SHing state
iu which lir foinid his guest, and aKiiil tthe cause of
his disorder, imt this the other refu^yi lt.> tell. After
SOUK' hours the fit appeareil to suWie.. S^rafi the chief
remained moodv and silent. The foUlo'win'j dav the
same sct-ne was n^peatcd ; and on the lliiird. when th(,'
fit seemed to have increased in bo(ilj3r agrmy, with
great apparent reluctance, wroug Hetmimgiy fnjm him

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188

THE BAD SriUlTS UIJMAND.

by the importunity of his host, ho consented to reveal
the cause, whieli was, tliat tlie Bad Spirit liad told
him that these hodily tortures could not cease till the
only son of his friend, the Ojebwa chief, had been
sacrificed to appease his anj^'er, neither could peace
long continue between the two natio)is until this deed
had been done ; and not only nnist the chief's son be
slain, but his flesh must be served up at a feast at
v/hich the father must preside. The Black Snake
affected the utmost horror and aversion at so bloody
and unnatural a deed being connnitted to save his
life and the happiness of his tribe; but the peace was
to be ratified for ever if the sacrifice were made, — if
not, war to the knife was to be ever between the
Mohawks and Ojebwas.

The liald Eagle, seeing that his treacherous guest
would make this an occasion of renewing a deadly
warfare, for which possibly he was not at the time
well prepared, assumed a stoical cahnness, and
replied, —

" Be it so ; great is the power of the Bad Spirit to
cause evil to the tribes of the chiefs that rebel against
his will. My son shall be sacrificed by my hand,
that the evil one may be appeased, and that the
Black Snakes body may have ease, and his jieoplc
rest beside the fii'os of their lodges in peace."

"The Bald Eagle has spoken like a chief witli a
large heart," was the specious response of the wily
^lohawk ; " moreover, the Good Spii it also appeared,
and said, ' Let the Black Snake's son and the Bald
Eagle's daughter become man and wife, that peace

AN UNNATURAL DEED. 189

may be found to dwell among the lodges, and the
war-hatchet he hvn-ied for ever."*

" The Beam of the Morning shall ])ecome the wife
of the Young Pine," was the courteous answer ; but
stern revenge lay deep hidden beneath the unmoved
brow and passionless lip.

The fatal day arrived. The Bald Eagle, with un-
flinching hand and eye that dropped no human tear
of sorrow for the son of his love, saw his son >xjun4
to the fatal post and pierced by the arrows of his
own tribe. The fearful feast of human flesh was
prepared, and the old chief, pale l)ut unmove<l, pre-
sided over the ceremonies. The war -dance was
danced rou.nd the sacrifice, and all went off' well, an
if no such horrible rite had been enacted ; but a fear-
ful retribution was at hand. The Yonn'r l*ine nowAtt
the tent of the Bald Eaule's daughter that evenin".
and was received with all duo deference, as a son of
so great a chief as the Black Snake merited. He
was regarded now as a successful suitor; ami, intoxi-
cated with the beauty of the Beam of the Morning,
he pressed her to allow the marriage to take plac<,' in
a few days. The bride consented, and a day wan
named for the weddiug feast to be celebrated ; an<I,
that due honour might l)e given to so great an event,
invitations were sent out to the principal families of
the ^iohawk tribe, and these amounted to several
hundreds of souls; while the young Ojebwa htinters
were despatched up the river and to different parts
of the country, avowedly .u collect venison, Vn-aver,
and other delicacies, to regale their guests, but in

190

PUEPAIIATIONS KOIl KEVENCIE.

.r^' DV

DEATH I IF TlIK rillEF'.S SON.

reality to summon, by monns of trusty scoiits, a larj^e
war-pavty from tlic small lakes, to la' in readiness to

THE marriaop: pkast.

191

^\.;

fe
>

take part in the deadly revenge tliat was preparing
for tlieir enemies.

Me.antimc the squaws liad pitched the nuptial tent
and prepared the bridal ornaincnts. A large wigwam,
capalih; of containing all th«! <'X])ect(;d guests, was
then constructed, adorned with th<; thick branches of
evergreens, so artfully contrived as to 1)0 capahlt; of
concealing the armed OjchM'as and their allies, who
in due time were introduced lieneath this leaf'*^ srveen,
armed with tlui murderous tomahawk and scalping-
knife, with which to spring upon their defenceless
an<l unsuspecting guests. According to the etiquette
always observed upon such occasions, all deadl}'
weapons were left outside the tent. The l)ridegroom
had been conducted with sonm and dancinrr to the
tent of the bride. The guests, to the nuud)er of
several hundred naked and painted warriors, were
assend)led. The fe.ast was declared to be ready. A
great iron pot or kettle <jccupied the centre of the
tent. According to the custom of the Indians, the
father of the bridegroom was invited to lift the most
important dish from the pot, whilst the warriors
commenced their war-dance around him. This dish
was usually a bear's head, which was fasteni.'d to a
string left for the purpose of raising it from the ])ot.

" Let the Black Snake, the; great chief of the Mo-
hawks, draw up the head and set it on the table, that
his people may eat and make merry, and that his
wise heart may be glad," were the scornful words of
the Bald Eagle.

A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-

192

A\ INDIAN VENDETTA.

stricken father as he Hfted to view the fresh and
gory liead of his only son, the I'jqrpy bridegroom of
the lovely daughter of the Ojebwa chief.

" Ha !" shouted the Bald Eatjle, " is the {jreat chief
of the Mohawks a squaw, that his Ijlood grows white
and his heart trembles at the sight of his son, the
bridefjroom of the Beam of the Morninjj ? The BaM
Eagle gave neither sigh nor groan when he saw the
arrows pierce the heart of his child. Come, brother,
take the knife ; taste the flesh and drink the blood
of thy son. The Bald Eagle shrank not when you
bade him partake of the feast that was prepared from
his young warrior's body."

The wretched father dashed himself upon the
earth, while his cries and bowlings rent the air.
These cries were answered by the war-whoop of the
ambusb.od Ojebwas, as they sprang to their feet and
with deafening yells attacked the guests, who, panic-
.stricken, naked and defenceless, fell an easy prey to
their infuriated enemies. Not one living foe escaped
to tell tin; tale of that fearful marriage feast. A
second Judith had the chief's daughter proved. It
was her plighted hand that had severed the head of
her unsuspecting bridegroom, to complete the fearfid
venjreance that had been devised in return for the
merciless and homble munler of her brother.

Nor was the sacrifice yet finished; for with fearful
cries the Indians seized upon the canoes of their
enemies, and with the utmost speed, urged by un-
satisfied revenge, hurried down the lake to an island
where the women and children and such of the aged

THE nUAVE SQUAW.

193

or young men as were not incliuled among the wed-
ding guests were encamped in unsuspecting security.
Panic-stricken, tlie Moliawks offered no resistance,
but fell like sheen appointed for the slrughter. The
Ojehwas slew there the gray -head with the infant of
days. But while the youths and old men tamely
yielded to their enemies, there was one who, her
8]iirit roused to fury by the nuu'der of her father,
armed herself with the war-club and knife, and
boldly withstood the successful warriors. At the
door of the tent of the slaughtered chief the Amazon
defended her children. While the war lightning
kindled in lier dark eyes, she called aloud in scornful
tones to her people to hide themselves in the tents of
their women, who alone were braves, and would fight
their battles. Fiercely she taunted the men; but
they shrank from the unequal contest, and she alone
was found to deal the deatli-blow upon the f(je, till,
overpowered with numbers, and pierced with fright-
ful wounds, she fell singing her own death-song and
raising the wail for the dead who lay around her.
Night closed in, but the work of blood still continued.
Lower down they found another encampment, and
there also they slew all the inhabitants of the lodges.
They then returned to tlie island, to gather together
their dead and to collect the spoils of the tents.
They were weary with the fatigue of the slaughter
of that f(>arfid day. The retribution had satisfied
even their love of blood. And when they found, on
returning to the spot where the lieroine had stood
at bay, a young solitary female sitting beside the
(720 13

194

THE FIUK OK REVENdK.

corpse of that dauntless woman, liei' mother, they led
her away, and did all that thfir savage nature coulil
suggest to soften her anguish and dry hei tears.
They brought lier to the tents of their women,
clothed and fed her, and hade her be comforted ; but
lier young lieart burned within hor, and she refused
consolation. She could not forgcit the wrongs of her
people : she was the only living creature left of the
Mohawks on that island. The young girl was
Indiana — the same whom Hector Maxwell had
found, wounded ami bound, and ready to perish with
hunger and thii'st, on Hare Hill.

Brooding M'ith revenge in her heart, the young
gir^^ told them that she had stolen into the tent of
the Bald Eagle, and aimed a knife at his throat ;
but the fatal blow was arrested by one of the young
men, who had watched her enter the old chief's
tent. A council Avas called, and she was taken to
Bare Hill, bound, and left in the sad state already
described.

It was with feelings of horror and terror that the
Christian children listened to this fearful talc, and
Indiana read in their averted eyes and pale faces
the feelings with which the recital of the tale of
blood had inspired them. And then it was, as they
sat beneath the shade of th*' trees, in the soft, misty
light of an Indian summer moon, that Catharine,
with simple earnestness, taught her young disciple
those heavenly lessons of iinn'cy and forgiveness
which her Redeemer had set forth by his life, his
doctrines, and his death — telling her that if she

THE SI'iniT OF LOVK.

195

•would see that Raviour'.s face in lioaven, and dwell
with him in joy and p<'aee for ever, she must learn
to pray for those dreadful men who hail mad(! her
fatherk'ss and motherless and her honu^ a desolation;
and that the fire of revenge nnist he quenched Mithin
her heart, and replaced hy the spirit of ]ov(!, or she
could not hecoine a child of God and an inheritor
of the kin<,'dom of heaven. How hard were these
conditions to the young heathen! how contrary to
her nature, to all that slus had heen tau'dit in thi'
tents of her fathers, wluire revengi^ wan virtue, and
to take the scalp of an enemj' a glorious thing !

Yet M'hen she contrasted the gentle, kind, and
dove-like characters (;f her Christian friends v'ith
the fierce, hloody peopht of her tribe and of her
Ojehwa enemies, she could not hut own they were
more worthy of love and admiration. Had they not
found her a poor, miserable, trend ding captive, un-
bound her, fed ami cherished her, pouring the balm
of consolation into her wounded heart, drawing her
in bands of tenderest love to foi'sake those wild and
fearful passions that warred in her sold, and bringing
her to the feet of the Saviour, to become his meek
and holy child — a lamb of his " extended fold " ? *

* The Indian wlio rclat<'<I tliis narrativo to tlin author was a son of a Rico
/.ako cliicf, MosanK I'diulash lij- name. }le vouched for its truth as a historic
faot renieml)cre<l by his father, wlioso grandsiro liad been one of the actors in
tiie massacre.

CIIAPTEll IX.

"The horn of tlic liuntcr U heard on tliu hill."

Iritih Hoiuj.

HILK tilt' Tiidians were actively pursuing
thfir sports on the lake, shooting wild-
fowl and hunting ami fishing by torch-
light, so exciting was the annisenient of
watching th«-ni that the two lads, Hector and Louis,
fjuitc* forgot all sense of danger in tlu; enjoyment of
lying or «;itting on the hrow of the mount near the
gi'eat i-avine ami looking at their proceedings. Onco
or twice the lads were near betraying themselves to
the Indians by raising a shout of delight at somo
skilful nianonivre that excited their unqualified ad-
miration and applause.

At night, when the canoes had all ivtired to tho
camp on the nf>rth shore, where the Indians assembled
un«ler tlie loughs of some venerable trees, and round
tlie evening fires related the deeds of the preceding
day, and all fear of detection had ccaseil for the time,
they lighted up their own shanty fire, and cooked a
good .supper, and also prepared a sufficiency of food
for the morrow. The Indians remained for a fort-
night. At the end of that time Indiana, who was a

A MOMKNT OF INTEN8K ANXIKTY.

l!"7

watchful spy on their inoveincnts, told Hector and
Louis that the camp was broken up, and the Indians
liad gone up th(! river, and would not return ajfain
for some weeks. The departure of the Indians was
a matter of great rejoicing to Catharine, whose dread
of these savages had greatly increased since she had
been made acfpiainted with the fearful deeds which
Indiana had described.

Once, and only once during their stay, the Indians
had passed within a short distance of their dwelling ;
but they were in full chase of a bear, which had been
seen crossing the deep ravine near Mount Ararat, and
were too intent upon their game to notice the shanty;
for they never turned out of their path, and Catha-
rine, who was alone at the time, drawing water from
the spring, was so completely concealed by the high
bank above her that she had quite escaped their
notice. Fortunately, Indiana gave the two boys a
signal to conceal themselves, where, ettectually hidden
among the thick, gray, mossy trunks of the cedars at
the lake shore, they remained secure from molesta-
tion ; while the Indian girl dropped noiselessly down
amonjr the tan<ded thicket of wild vines and brush-
wood, which she drew cautiously over her, and closed
lier cyc^;, lest, as she naively remarked, their glitter
should be seen and betray her to her enemies.

It was a moment of intense anxiety to our poor
wanderers, whose terrors were moi-e excited on be-
half of the young Mohawk than for themselves, and
they congratulated her on her escape with affection-
ate warmth.

198

TIIK aukoha uoueams.

"Are my Avhit(' lirotla-rs afraiil to dio?" waH tlic
younj,' s(iua\v's half-scornful reply. " Tridiana is thu
(laui^litcr of a brave ; she fears not to die."

The latter end of September and the first week in
October had been stormy ami even cold. The rainy
season, howi^ver, was now over. Tlu; ni^dits wero
often illuminate i l)y the aurora l)orealis, which
migut bo seen forn ing an arch of soft and lovely
brightness over tho lake to the north and north-
eastern portions of tiie horizon, or shooting upwards,
in ever-varying shafts of greenisli liglit, now liiding,
now revealing the stars, whidi shone with softened
radiance through the silvery veil that dinnued their
beauty. Sometimes for many nights together the
same appearance might be seen, and was usually the
forerunner of frosty weather, thougli occasionally it
was the precursf)r of cold winds and heavy rains.

The Indian girl regarded it witli superstitious
feelings, but whetlier as an omen of g(X)d or evil she;
would not tell. On all matters connected with her
religious notions she was shy and reserved, though
occasionally she unconsciously revealed them. Thus
the warnings of death or misfortunes were revealed
to her by certain ominous sounds in the woods, the
appearance of strange birds or animals, or the moan-
ings of others. The screeching of the owl, tlio
bleating of the doe, or barking of the fox, were evil
auf'uries, while the fli'dit of the ea<de and the croak-
ing of the raven were omens of good. She put faith
in dreams, and would foretell good or evil fortune
from them ; she could read the morning and evening

EJT 'C*^ Mrw.<ft

TlIK INDIAN HIMMKU.

199

clouds, and knew from various appearances of the
sky, or the coming or departing of certain birds or
insects, changes in the atmosphere. Her ear was
quick in distinguishing the changes in tli' voices of
the l)irds or animals; she knew the times .)f their
coming and going, and her eye was (|uit.c lo sec, as
her ear to detect sounds. Her voir*" was soft, and
low and plaintive, and she delighted in imitating the
little hallads or hymns tliat (,'athi'rine sang; though
she knew nothing of their meaning, she wuuld catch
the tunes and sing the song with Catliarine, touch-
ing the hearts of her delighted auditors by the
melody and pathos of her voice.

Tlic season called Indian sunnncr had now arrived.
The air was soft J.nd mild, almost oppressively warm;
the sun looked red as thou'di seen thi'ough the
smoke-clouds of a ])opidous eity. A soft blue haze
luuig on the bosom of the glassy lake, which reflected
on its waveless siu'face every passing .shadow, and
the {jorijeous tints of its changing woods on shore
and island. Sometimes the stillness of the air was
relieved by a soft sighing wind, which rustled the
dying foliage as it swejjt by.

The Indian summer is the harvest of the Indian
tribes. It is during this season that they hunt and
shoot the wild-fowi that come in their annual flights
to visit the waters of the American lakes and rivers ;
it is then that they gather in their rice, and prepare
thci#'winter stores of meat, and fish, and furs. The
Indian girl knew the season they would resort to
certain hunting-grounds. They were constant, and

yoo

VISITING TIIK ISLA: T>s.

altered not their customs; as it was with their fathers,
so it was with them.

Louis had heard so much of the Otonabee river
from Indiana that lie was impatient to go and
explore the entrance and the shores of the lake on
that side, which hitherto they had not ventured to
do for fear of being surprised by the Indians.
" Some fine day," said Louis, " we will go out in the
canoe, explore the distant islands, and go up the
river a little way."

Hector advised visiting all the islands by turns,
beginning at the little islet which looks in the dis-
tancc like a lioat in full sail ; it is level with the
water, and has only three or four trees upon it. The
name they had given to it Avas " Ship Island." The
Indians have some name for it which I have for-
gotten, but it means, I have been told, " Witch
Island." Hector's plan met with general approba-
tion, and they resolved to take provisions with them
for several days, and visit the islands and go up the
river, passing the night under the shelter of the
thick trees on the shore wherever they found a
pleasant halting-place.

The weather was mild and warm, the lake was as
clear and calm as a mirror, and in joyous mood our
little party embarked and paddled up the lake, first
to Ship Island ; but this did not detain them many
minutes. They then went to Grape Island, which
they so named from the abundance of wild vines,
now rich with purple clusters of the ripe grapes —
tart, but still not to be despised by our young

LOOKING FORWARD.

203

adventurers, and they brought away a large birch
basket heaped up with the fruit. " Ah, if we Wl
but a good cake of maple sugar now, to preserve our
grapes with, and make such grape jelly as my
mother makes !" said Louis.

" If we find out a sugar-ljush we will manage to
make plenty of sugar," said Catharine ; " there aia
maples not two hundred yards from the shanty, near
the side of the steep bank to the east. You remem-
ber the pleasant spot, which we named the Happy
Valley, where the bright creek runs dancing along
so mei'rily, below the pine-ridgo?"

" Oh yes ; the same that winds along near the foot
of Bare Hill, where the water-cresses grow.*'

" Yes. where I gathex-ed the milk-weed the other
day."

" What a beautiful pasture-field that will make
when it is cleared !" said Hector thoughtfully.

" Hector is always planning al)out fields, and clear-
ing great farms," said Louis, laughing. " We sliall
see Hec a great man one of these days ; I think he
has in his own mind brushed, and burned, and
logged up all the fine flats and table-land on the
plains Ix'fore now — ay, and cropped it all with wlieat,
and pease, and Indian corn."

" We will have a clearinsx and a nice field of com
next year, if we live," replied Hector ; " that com
that we found in the canoe will be a treasure."

" Yes; and the corn-cob you got on Ban,' Hill," said
(ktharine. " How lucky we have been ! We shall
be so happy when we sec our little field of com

204

INDIANAS PRIZE.

flourishing round the shanty ! It was a good thing,
Hec, that you went to the Indian camp that day,
though both Louis and I were very miserable while
you were absent ; but, you see, God must have
directed you, that the life of this poor girl might be
saved, to be a comfort to us. Everything has pros-
pered well with us since she came to us. Perhap.s it
is because we try to make a Christian of her, and so
God blesses all our endeavours."

" We are told," said Hector, " that there is joy
with the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth :
doubtless, it is a joyful thing when the heathen, that
knew not tiie name of God, are taught to glorify his
holy name."

Indiana, while exploring, had captured a porcu-
pine. She declared that she should have plenty of
quills for edging baskets and moccasins ; besides, she
said, the meat was white and good to eat. Hector
looked with a suspicious eye upon the little animal,
doubting the propriety of eating its fle.sh, thougli lie
had learned to eat musk-rats, and consider them
good meat, baked in Louis's Indian oven, or roasted
on a forked stick before the fire. The Indian porcu-
pine is a small animal, not a very great deal larger
than the common British hedgehog ; the quills, how-
ever, are longer and stronger, and varied with
alternate clouded marks of pure white and dark
brownish-gray ; they are minutely barbed, s'^ that if
one enters the flesh it is with difficulty extracted,
but will work through of itself in an opposite direc-
tion, and can then be easily pulled out. Dogs and

GOOD NEVVri.

205

cattle often suffer great inccnvenionce from getting
their muzzles filled with the quills of the |)orcupine,
the former when worrying the poor little animal,
and the latter by accidentally meeting a dead one
among the herbage ; great inflammation will some-
times attend the extraction. Indians often lose
valuable hounds from this cause. Jiesides porcupines,
Indiana told her companions, there were some fine
butter-nut trees {Jiujlans cmercn.) on the islanrl, and
tliey could collect a bagful of nuts in a very short
time. This was good news, for the l)utter-nut is
■sweet and pleasant, almost equal to the walnut, of
which it IS a species.

The day was passed pleasantly enough in collect-
ing nuts and grapes ; but as this island did not
afford any good cleared spot for passing the night,
and. moreover, was tenanted by black snakes, several
of which made their appearance among the stones
near the edge of the water, they agreed by common
counsel to go to Long Island, where Indiana said
there was an okl log-house, the walls of which were
still standing, and where there was dry moss in
jilenty which would make them a comfortable bed
for the night, This oM log-house, she said, had been
built, she bad heard the Indians say, by a French
Canadian trapper, who used to visit the lake some
years ago. He was on friendly terms with the chiefs,
who allowed hhn many privileges, and he bought
their furs, and took them down the lake, through
the river Trent, to some station hou.se on the great
lake. They found they should have time enough to

206

ox LONG ISLAND.

land and deposit their nuts and grapes an<l jiaddle to
Long Island before sunset. Upon the western part
of tliis lino island they had several times landed and
passed some hours, exploring its shores ; but Indiana
told them that to reach the old lf)g-house they must
enter the low swampy bay to the east, at an opiming
which she called Imlian Cuvo. To do this reiiuiicd
some skill in the management of the canoe, which
was rather overloaded for .so light a v<^ssel ; and the
trees grew so close and thick tliat they '^ \d some
(hfficulty in pushing their way through them without
injuring its frail sides. These trees or bushes Avero
chiefly black alder (A'nuti incuwi), high-bush cran-
berries {VIbiuiiuin ojtu.hix), dogwood, willows, as
they proceeded further, there was ground of a more
solid nature, with cetlar, poplar, swamp oak, and soft
maple, silver l)irch, and wild cherries. Long strings
of silver-gray tree-moss hung dangling over their
heads, the bark and roots of the birch and cedars
were covei'cd with a luxuriant growth of green moss;
but there was a dampness and closeness in this place
that made it far from wholesome. TIk; little l)and
of voyagers were not sorry when tlie water became
too shallow to adnut of the canoe mrking its way
through the swampy chanrul, ar<l tliey landed on
the bank of a small circular pond, .as round .as a
ring, and nearly surrounded by tall trees ho.ary with
moss and lichens ; large water-lihes flofitiMJ on the
surface of this miniature lake; the brilli.ant red
berries of the Ingh-Lush cr.auherry and the pui-ple
clusters of gi-apes festooned the trees.

THE OLD LOG HUT.

207

" A famous breeding -place this must be for ducks"
observed Louis.

" And for flowers," said Catharine, " and for
grapes and cranberries. There is always some l)eauty
or some usefulness to be found, however lonely the
spot."

"A fine place for mu.sk-rats, and minks, and
fishes," said Hector, looking round. " The old
trapper knew what ho was about when he made his
lodge near this pond. And there, sure enough, is the
log hut, and not so liad a one either;" and s(, ambling
up the baidc he entered the deserted little teneujcnt,
well pleased to find it in tolerable I'cpair. There
were the ashes on the stou-^ hearth, just as it had
been left years back by the old trapper ; some rough-
hewn shelves, a rude bedstead of cedar poles still
occupied a corner of the little dwelling ; heaps of old
dry moss and grass lay upon the ground ; and the
little squaw pomted with one of her silent laughs to
a collection of broken egg-shells, where some wild-
duck had sat and hatched her downy brood among
the soft materials which she had found and appro-
])riated to her own purpose. The only things per-
taining to the former po.sse.ssor of the log-hut were
an old, rusty, battered tin pannikin, now, alas ! unfit
for holding water ; a bit of a bi'oken earthen whisky
jar , a rusty nail, which Louis pocketed, or rathei
pouched — for he had substituted a fine pouch of
deer-skin for his worn out pocket ; and a fishing-line
of good stout cord, which was wound on a .splinter
of red cedar, and carefully stuck between one of the

208

THE LAST OP HER PACE.

rafters and tlio roof of the shanty, A rusty hut
cfRciont liook was attached to the Hue. and Louis,
who was tlie finth'r, was quite overjoyed at his good
fortune in making so vahiahlc an acUhtion to his
fishing-tackle. Hector got oidy an 0(hl worn-out
moccasin, which he threw into the little pond in
disdain ; while Catliariiie (hiclared she M'ould keep
the old tin pot as a relic, and carefully deposited it
in the canoe.

As they made their way into the interior of tho
island, they found that there were a great many lino
sugar maples, which had l)een tapped by some one —
as the hoys thought, liy the old trapper: but Indiana,
on examining the incisions in the trees, and the
remnants of birch-bark vessels that lay moiddering
on the earth below them, declared them to have been
the work of her own people, and long and sadly did
the young girl look upon these simple memorials of
a race of whom she was the last living renniant.
The young girl stood there in melancholy mood, a
solitary, isolated being, with no kindred tie upon the
earth to make life dear to her ; a stranger in the
land of her fathers, associating with those whose
ways were not her Avays, nor their thoughts her
thoughts, whose language; was scarcely known to
lier, whose God was not the god of her fathers.
Yet the dark eyes of the Indian girl were not
dimmed with tears as she thought of these things;
she had learned of her people to sufi'er and Ix)
still.

Silent and patient she stood, with her melancholy

WORDS OF KINDNESS AND LOVE.

209

I .

gaze Ix-nt on the oartli, wlien she felt the ffcntlc hand
of Catliarino laid u})on her arm, and then kindly and
lovin^dy passed round her neck, as she whispered, —

" Indiana, I will be to you as a sister, and will love
you and cherish you, because you are an orphan girl
and alone in the world ; but God loves you, and will
make you happy. He is a Father to the fatherless,
and the Friend of the destitute and them that have
no helper."

The words of kindness and love need no interpre-
tation ; no book-learninc,' is necessary to make them
under-;tood. The; youni:,', the old, the deaf, the dumb,
the blind can read this universal language; its very
silence is often more elo(|uent than words, — the gentle
pressure of the hand, the half-echoed sigh, the look
of sympathy will penetrate to the ver} heart, and
unlock its hidden stores of human tenderness and
love. The rock is smitten and the waters gush forth,
a bright and living stream, to refresh and fertilize
the thirsty soul.

The hejtrt of the poor mourner was touched ; she
bowed down her liead upon the hand that lield her
so kindly in its sisterly grasp, and Avept soft, sweet,
human tears full of grateful love, while she whis-
pered, in her own low. plaintive voice, "My white
sister, I kiss you in my heart ; I will love the God of
my wliite brothers, and be his child."

The two friends now busied themselves [u prepar-
ing the evening meal : they found Louis and Hector
had lighted up a charming blaze on the desolate
hearth. A few branches of cedar, twiUed together

(721) U

210

A SILVAN MEAL.

by Catharine, made a sorvicoable broom, M'ith which
she swept the Hoor, f(ivin_L,' to the doscrted dwelling a
neat and comfortable aspect; some bipr stones were
(juickly rolled in, and made to answer for scats in the
chimne}' -comer. The new-found fishing-line was
soon put into rerjuisition by Louis, and with very
little delay a tine dish of black bass, broiled on the
emlxTs, was added to their store of dried venison and
roasted bread-roots, which they found in abundance
on a low spot on the island. Grapes and butter-nuts,
which Hector cracked with a stone by way of a nut-
cracker, finished their silvan meal. The boys then
stretche«l themselves to sleep on the ground, with
their fet-t, Indian fa.shion, to the fire; while Catharine
and Indiana occupied the mos.sy couch which they
had newly .spread with fragrant cedar and hendock
boughs.

The next island that claimed their attention was
Sugar-Maple Island, a fine, thickly-wooded island,
rising with steep, rocky banks from the water. A
Ijeautiful object, but too densely wooded to admit of
our party |xjnetrating beyond a few yards of its
shores.

The next island they named the Beaver,* from its
resemblance in shape to that animal. A fine, high,
oval island beyond this they named Black Island, f
from its dark evergreens. The next was that which

* Ooiiun«>olf tailed sheep Island, from some person liaving pastured a few
sheep opon is nome few ye.'\rs ago. I liave taken the liberty of jireserving the
name, to whi-^h it boar.s an obvious resemblance; the nose of the Beaver lies
tOTirds the west, the tail to tlie east.

4 BUck liiuiil, the sixth from the head of the lake; an ovalisland, remark-
able for its ertrgTfens.

" IT IS A PLACE OP BP1UIT8."

211

soomed most to excite tlie interest of their Indian
^niide, although but a small stony island, scantily
clothed with trees, lower down tlie lake. This place
she called Spooke Island, which means in tlie Indian
tongue "a place for the dead." It is sometimes called
Spirit Island; and here, in times past, the Indian
people used to hury their dead. The island is now
often the resort of parties of pleasure, who, from its
being grassy and open, tind it more available than
those which are densely wooded. The young Mo-
hawk regarded it with feelings of superstitious awe,
and would not suffer Hector to land the canoe on its
rocky shore.

" It is a place of spirits," she said; "the gho.sts of
my fathers will be angry if we go there." Even her
young companions felt that they were upon sacred
ground, and gazed with silent reverence upon the
burial isle.

Strongly imbued with a love of the marvellous,
which tliey had derived from their Highland origin,
Indiana's respect for the spirits of her ancestors was
regarded as most natural ; and in silence, as if fearing
to disturb the .solemnity of the spot, they resumed
their paddles, and after a while reached the mouth of
the river Otonabee, which was divided into two sepa-
rate channels by a long, low point of .swampy land,
covered \\nth .itunted, mo.s,sy bushes and trees, rushes,
driftwood, and aquatic plants. Indiana told them
this river flowed from the north, and that it was
many days' journey up to the lakes. To illustrate
its cour.se, she drew with her paddle a long line, with

212

THE OTONABEE RIVEK.

sundry curves and 1)roader spaces, some lonj^cr, some
smaller, with bays and inlets, which she '^axu tlieni
to iniderstand wore tli(^ eliaiu of lakes that she spoke
of. There were beautiful huntin;L,'-f;r()unds on the
borders of these lakes, and many tine waterfalls and
rocky islands ; she ha<l been taken up to these waters
durinr*- tlu; time of her captivity. The Ojebwas, she
said, were a branch of the ^n'eat Chippewa nation,
who owned much laml and Lfreat waters thereabouts.

Compared M'ith the creeks and streams that they
had seen hitlierto, the Otonabeo appcareil a majestic
river, and an object of great admiration and curiosity;
for it seemed to them as if it were the highroad
leading up to an unknown, far-off lan(h — a land of
dark, mysterious, impenetrable forests, — flowing on,
flowing on, in lonely majesty, n^fiecting on its tran-
quil Ijosom the l)lue sky, the <hark pines and gray
cedars, the pure ivory-white water-lily, and every
passing shadow of bird or leaf that flitted across its
surface, so quiet was the onward flow of its waters.

A few brilliant leaves yet clung to the soft maples
and crimson-tinted oaks, but the glory of the forest
had departed ; the silent fall of many a sere and
yellow leaf told of the death of sununer and of
winter's coming reign. Yet the air was wrapped in
a deceitful stillness; 'o breath of wind moved the
trees or dimpled the w.ater. Bright wreaths of
scarlet berries and wild grapes hung in festoons
among the faded foliage. Th(> silence of the forest
Avas unbroken, save by the quick tapping of the little
midland woodpecker or the shrill scream of the blue

-ifc

•0
V

o
>

IIAKRINGEUS OF A HURRICANE.

215

jay, the whirring sound of the large Avhite-ancl-gray
"(hick (called by the freciuenters of these lonely waters
the whistlewing) as its wings swept the waters m
its flight, or the light dripping of the paddle,— so
still, so cpjiet was the scene.

As the day was now far advanced, the Indian girl
advised them either to encamp for the niglit on the
river-hank or to use all speed in returning. She
seemed to view the aspect of the heavens with some
anxiety. Vast volumes of light, copper-tinted clouds
were rising ; the sun, seen through its hazy veil,
looked red^nd dim ; and a hot, sultry air, unrelieved
Ly a breath of refreshing wind, oppressed our young
voyagers. And though the same coppery clouds and
red sun had been seen for several succes>sive days, a
sort of instinctive feeling prompted the desire in all
to i-eturn, and, after a few minutes' rest and refresh-
ment, they turned their little bark towards the lake ;
and it was well that they did so. By the time they
had reached the middle of the lake, the stillness of
the air was rapiilly changing ; the rose-tinted clouds,
that ha<l lain scj long piled upon each other in moun-
tainous ridges, began to move upwards, at first slowly,
then with rapidly accelerated motion. There was a
hollow moaning in the ])ine-tops; and by iits a gusty
breeze swept tiie surface of the water, raising it int(j
rough, short, white-crested ridges.

These signs were pointed out by Indiana as the
harbingers of a rising hurricane- ; and now a swift
spark T)f light, like a falling star, glanced on tlie
water, as if there to iiuench its liery light. Again

•21G

TIIK TKilPEST WAS AHUVi:, AROUND, liKNEATH.

the Indian girl i\'iiso(l liov dark liand and pointed to
the roUin"- stovm-clouds, to tlie crested waters and
the moving pine-tops ; tlien to the liead of the Beaver
Island, — it was the one nearest to them. With an
arm of energy she wielded the paddle, with an eye of
tire she directed the course of their little vessel; for
well she knew their dan^-er and the need for straining
every nerve to reach the nearest point of land. Low
nnittering peals of thunder were now heard ; the
Avind was rising with electric speed. Away Hew the
light bark, with the swiftness of a l)ird, over the
Avater ; the tempest wms al)Ove, around, and be-
neath. The hollow crash of the forest trees as
they bowed t(^ the earth could l)e heard sullenly
sounding from shore to shore. And now the
Indian girl, tlingiiig back her I.)lack streaming hair
fi'om her brow, knelt at the head of the canoe and
with renewed vigour plied the pad<lle. The waters,
lashed into a state of turbulence by the violence of
the storm, lifted the canoe u]) and down; but no word
was spoken ; they each felt the greatness of the ])eril,
but they also knew that they were in the hands of
Him who civn say to the tempest-tossed waves, " Peace,
be still," and they obey him.

Every ellbrt was made to gain the nearest island ;
to reach the mainland was impossible " jr the rain
poured down n, blinding ileluge. It was with diffi-
culty the little craft was kept afloat by baling out
the water; to do this, Louis M'as fain to use his cap,
and Catharine assisted with the old tin pot which
she had fortunately brought from the trapi)er's shanty.

KM) UF TlIK INDIAN SUMMKl!.

217

The tempest was at its heii;]it Avlien they reach*:^!
the nearest point of the Beaver, and j(jyt'ul uas tlic
o^ratinjif sound of the canoe as it was vigorously pusli«.-«l
up on tlie shingly heach, beneath the friendly she! t<?r
of the overhanging trees, where, perfectly exliausU.-'J
hy the exertions they had made, dripping with rain,
and overpowered hy the terrors of the storm. tli<;y
threw themselves on the ground, and in safety watdi«-'<l
its progress, thankful for an escape from .such irmrii-
nent peril.

Thus ended the Indian summer, so deceitful in ibi
calmness and its heauty. The next day saw the
groc.nd white with snow, and hardened into stone by
a premature frost. Our poor voyagers were not long
in (juitting the shelter of the Beaver Island, and \fn-
taking themselves once more to their aik of refuse,
the lo-r-house on Mount Ararat.

The winter that year set in with unusual severity
some weeks sooner than usual, so that from the Ix'gin-
ninn- of November to the middle of Aiiril the snow
never entirely left the ground. The lake was ,>~fx>n
covered with ice, ami by the month of Decemlx.T it
was one compact, solid sheet from shore to sliore.

CHAPTER X.

" Scared by the red and noisy light."— Colekidoe.

ECTOR and Louis had now little employ-
ment, except chopping fire-wood, which
was no veiy arduous task for two stout,
healthy lads used from childhood to hand-
ling the axe. Trapping, and hunting, and snaring
hares were occupations which they pursued more for
the excitement and exei-cise than from hunger, as they
had laid by abundance of dried venison, fish, and
birds, besides a plentiful store of rice. Tliey now
visited those trees that they had marked in the
summer, where they had noticed the bees hiving, and
cut them down. In one they got more than a pailful
of ricli honeycomb, and others yielded some moi'e,
some less ; this afibrded them a delicious addition to
their boiled rice and dried acid fruits. They might
have melted the wax and burned candles of it ; but
this was a refinement of luxury that never once
occurred to our young housekeepers : the dry pine-
knots that are found in the woods are the settlers'
candles, ("atharine made some very good vinegar
with the refuse of the honey and combs, b)-^ pouring

HfKAIUNG FISH.

219

water on it, and leaving it to ferment in a warm
nook of tlic chimney, in one of the hirch-]>ark vessels;
and this was an excellent substitute for salt as a
seasoning to the fresh meat and fish. Like the
Indians, they were now reconciled to the want of this
seasonable article.

Indiana seemed to enjoy the cold weather. The
lake, though locked up to every one else, was open
to her: with the aid of the tomahawk she patiently
made an opening in the ice, and over this she built
a little shelter of pine boughs stuck into the ice.
Armed with a sharp spear carved out of hardened
wood, she M'ould lie upon the ice, and patiently await
the rising of some large fish to the air-hole, when
dexterously plunging the spear into the unwary crea-
ture, she dragged it to the surface. Many a noble
fish did the young s(juaw bring home, and cast at the
feet of him whom she had tacitly elected as her lord
and master: to him she ofiered the voluntary service
of a faithful and devoted servant — I might almost
have said, slave.

During the middle of Decemljer tliere were some
days of such intense cold that even our young Crusocs,
hardy as they were, preferred the bla/ing log-fire and
warm ingle-nook to the frozen lake and cuttuig
north-west wind which blew the loose snow ni l:)lind-
in<'- drifts over its bleak, unsheltered surface. Clad
in the warm tunic and petticoat of In<lian blanket,
with fur-linetl moccnsins, Catliarine and her Indian
friend felt little cold excepting to the face when they
went abroad, unless the wind was high, and then

220

A MYSTERIOUS OCCUPATION.

experience taught thcin to keep at homo. And these
cold gloomy days they employed in many useful
works. Indiana had succeeded in dyeing the quills
of the porcupine that she had captured on flrape
Island ; with these she M'orked a pair of Ijeautiful
moccasins and an arrow -case for Hector, besides
making a sheath for Louis's couteau <le cluisse, of
which the young hunter was very proud, bestowing
great praise on the Avorkmanship.

Indiana appeared to be deeply engrossed with some
work that she was engaged in, but preserved a pro-
voking degree of mystery about it, to the no small
annoyance of Louis, who, among liis other traits of
character, was remarkal)ly iiKpiisitive, wanting to
know the why and wherefore of everything he saw.

Indiana first prepared a frame of some tough wood,
— it might be the inner bark of the oak, or elm, or
hickory ; this was pointed at either end, and wide in
the middle — not very much unlike the form of some
broad, flat fish. Over this she wove an open network
of narrow thongs of deer-hide, wette<l to make it
more pliable, and securely fasteneil to the frame :
when dry it became (piite tight^ and resemljled a sort
of coarse bamboo-work, such as you see on cane-
bottomed chairs and sofas.

" And now, Indiana, tell us wliat sort of fish you
arc going to catch in your ingenious little net," said
Louis, who had watched her proceedings with great
interest. The girl shook her head, and laughed till
she showed all her white teeth, but quietly proceeded
to commence a second frame like the first.

ixdiana's gift.

221

Louis put it on Ins liead. No ; it could not be
moant to be woi-n there, that was plain. He turned
it round and round. It nuist be intended for some
kind of bird-trap ; yes, that nuist be it, and ho
cast an inquiring glance at Indiana. She blushed,
shook her head, and gave another of her silent
laughs,

"Some game like battledoor and shuttle-cock," —
and snatching up a light l)ass-wood chip, he began
tossing the chi[) up and catching it on the nettetl
frame. The little s(pia-\v was highly amused, but
rapidly went on with her work. Louis was now
almost angry at the perverse little savage persevering
in keeping him in suspense. She would not tell him
till the other was done ; — then there were to be a
pair of these curious articles !— and he was forced at
last to sit quietly tlown to watch the proceeding of
the work. Tt was night before the two were com-
pleted and furnished with straps and loops. When
the last stroke was put to them, the Indian girl
knelt down at Hector's feet, and Ijinding them on,
pointed to them with a joyous laugh, and said, " Snow-
shoe — for walk on snow — good ! "

The boys had heard of snow-shoes, but had never
seen them, and now seemed to understand little of
the benefit to be derived from the use of them. The
young Mohawk (piickly transferred the snow-shoes
to her own fec^t, and soon pi^ovcd to them that the
broad surface prevented those who wore them from
sinking into the deep snow. After many trials,
Hector began to acknowledge the advantage of walk-

222

KXCUKSIONS AND EXPLOHATIOXS.

SNOW-SJIOE.

ing with the snow-shoes, especially on the frozen
snow on the ice-covered lake. Indiana was well

pleased Avith the ap-
})roliation her manu-
factures met with, and
very soon manufac-
tured for " Nec-cheo,"
as they all now called
Louis, a similar pre-
sent. As to Catharine, she declared the snow-shoes
made her ankles ache, and that she preferred the
moccasins that her cousin Louis made for her.

During the long bright days of February, they
inade several excursions on the lake, and likewise
explored some of the high hills to the eastward. On
this ridge there Avere few large trees; but it was
thickly clothed with scrub-oaks, slender poplars, and
here and there fine pines, and picturesque free-growing
oaks of considerable size and great age — patriarchs,
they might be termed, among the forest growth.
Over this romantic range of hill and dale, free as the
air they breathed, roamed many a gallant herd of
deer, unmolested unless during certain seasons when
the Indians came to hunt over these hills. Surj^rised
at the different growth of the oaks on this side the
plains. Hector could not help expressing his astonish-
ment to Indiana, who told him that it was caused by
the custom that her people had had from time imme-
morial of setting fire to the bushes in the early part
of spring. This practice, she said, promoted the
growth of the deer-grass, made good cover for the

A UELlGIITFrL AMUSEMENT.

223

deer themselves, and effectually prevented the increase
of the large timbers, giving a singular aspect to the
hifdi ridge of hills wlien contrasted with the more
wooded portions to the westward. From the lake
these eastern hills look' verdant, and as if covered
with tall green fern. In the month of Octohcr a rich
rosy tint is cast upon the leaves of the scrub-oaks
by the autunmal frosts, and they present a glowing
unvaried crimson of the most glorious hue, only
variegated in spots by a dark feathery evergreen, or
a patch of light waving poplars turned by the same
wizard's wand to golden yellow.

There were many lovely spots,— lofty rounded
hills, and deep shady dells, with extended tablo-land,
and fine lake views ; but, on the whole, our young
folks preferred the oak openings and the beautiful
wooded glens of the wx\stern side, where they had
fixed their home.

There was one amusement they used greatly to
enjoy during the cold bright days and moonlight
nights of midwinter. This was gliding down the
frozen snow on the steep side of the dell near the
spring, seated on small hand-sleighs, which carried
them down with great velocity. Wrapped in their
warm furs, with caps fastened closely over their ears,
what cared they for the cold? Warm and glowing
from head to foot, with cheeks brightened by the
delightful exercise, they would remain for hours
enjoying the amusement of the snow-slide ; the bright
frost L'emminf the <rround with mvriads of diamonds,
sparkling in their hair, or whitening it till it rivalled

224

IXDUSTUV AND CHEKUFrLXIiSS.

the snow l>eneath their feet. Then, wlicn tired out
witli the exercise, they returned to the shanty, stirred
up a blazing fire, till the smoked rafters glowed in
the re<I lij,'ht ; spread their simple fare of stewed vice
sweetene«l with lioney, or savoury soup of hare or
other game: nnd then, when warmed and fed, they
kneeled together, side by side, and ofiered up a
praj-er of gratitude to their Maker, and besought lii.s
care over them during the dark and silent hours of
nightw

Had these young people been idle in their liabits
and de~sponding in their tempers, they must have
perished with cold and hunger, instead of enjoying
many necessaries and even sonu; little luxuries in
their lonely forest home. Fortunately they had been
brought up in the early practice of every sort of iise-
fulness, to endure every privation with cheerful forti-
tude ; not indeed ([ui(!tly to sit down and wait for
Ix'tter times, but vigorously to create those better
times by everv' possil)le exertion that could bo
brovight into action to assist and ameliorate their
condition.

To be up and doing is the maxim of a Canadian;
and it Ls this that nei'A'es his arm to do and bear.
The Cana'lian settler, following in the steps of the
old Americans, learns to supply all his wants by the
exerci«; of his own energy. He l)rings up his family
to relj- upon their own resources, instead of depend-
ing upon his neighbours.

The chiirlren of the modern emigrant, though enjoy-
ing a higher degree of civilization and intelligence.

WIXTEIl WORK.

225

arising from a liberal education, might not have fared
so well under Hiniilar circumstances as did our
Canadian Crusoes, because, unused to battle with the
hardships incidental to a life (jf such privation as
they had known, they could not have brought so
much experience, or courage, or ingenuity to their
aid. Jt recjuires courage to yield to circumstances, as
well as to overcome tliem.

Many little useful additions to the interior of their
dwelling were made by Hector and Louis during the
long winter. They made a smoother and better table
than the first rough one that they put together.
They also made a rough partition of split cedars, to
form a distinct and separate sleci)ing-room for the
two girls ; but as this di\'ision greatly circumscribed
their sitting and cooking apartment, they resolved, as
soon as the spring came, to cut and draw in logs for
putting up a better and lai;ger room to bo used as a
summer parlour. Indiana and Louis made a com-
plete set of wooden trenchers out of butter-nut, a fine
hard wooil of excellent grain, and less liable to warp
or crack than many others.

Louis's skill as a carpenter was much greater than
that of his cousin. He not only possessed more
judgment, and was moi'e handy, but he had a certain
taste and neatness in linishimx his work, however
rouifh his materials and rude his tools. He inherited
some of that skill in mechanism for which the French
have always been remarked. "With his knife and a
nail he would carve a plum-stone into a miniature
basket, with handle across it, all delicately wrought

226

INCIKNIOUS LOUIS.

with flowers and chockor-work. The shell of a
biittev-mit would be transformed into a boat, with
thwarts, and seats, and rudder, with sails of bass-
wood or birch-bark. (Jomljs he could cut out of wood
or bone, so that Catharine could dress her hair or
confine it in braids or bands at will. This was a
source of great comfort to her ; and Louis was always
pleased when he could in any way contribute to his
cousin's happiness. These little arts Louis liad been
taught by his father. Indeed, the great distance
that their little settlement was from any town or
village had necessarily forced their fjimilies to depend
on their own ingenuity and invention to supply many
of their wants. Once or twice a year they saw a
trading fur-merchant, as I before observed ; and those
were glorious days for Hector and Louis, who were
always on the alert to render the strangers any service
in their power, as by that nujans they sometimes
received little gifts imui them, and gleaned up valu-
able information as to their craft as hunters and
trappers. And then there were wonderful tales of
marvellous feats and liair-breadth escapes to listen
to, as they sat with eager looks and open ears round
the blazing log-fire in the old log-house. Now tliey
would in their turns have tales to tell of strange
adventures, and all that had befallen them since the
first day of their wanderings on the llice Lake
Plains.

The long winter passed away unmarked Ijy any
very stirring event. The Indians had revisited the
hunting - grounds ; but they confined themselves

SUOAk-MAKIVO on I,OXfJ ISLAND.

227

cliicfly to the oastern sitlo of the Phiins, tho lake and
the islands, and did not come near their dwcllinj^' to
molest them. The latter end of the month of March
presented fine sui^'ar-makinif Avcathcr; and as they
had the use of tlu; \ng iron pot, they resolved to
make maple sutfar and some molasses. Long Island
was decided upon as the most eligible place. It had
the advantage over Maple Island of having a shanty
ready Imilt for a shelter during the time they might
see fit to remain, and a goo<l hoi ling-place, which
wonld he a comfort to the girls, as they need not ho
exposed ti» the weather during the jirocess of sugaring:
The two hoys soon cut <lown some small pines and
bass --woods, which they hewed out into sugar-
troughs. Indiana manufactured some rough pails of
hirch-bark. The first favourabU' day for the work
they loaded up a Imnd-sleigh with their vessels, and
marched forth over the ice to the island, and tapped
the trees they thought would yield sap for their pur-
pose. And many ph-asant days they i)assed during
the sugar-making season.

They did not leave the sugar-bush for good till
the commencement of April, when the sun and wind
beginning to unlock the springs that fed the lake,
and to act upon its surface, taught them that it
would not be prudent to remain longer on the island.
The loud, booming sounds that Avere now fre(|uently
heard of the pent-up air beneath striving to break
forth from its icy prison were warnings not to be
neglected. Openings began to a])pear, especially at
the entrance of the river and between the islands,

228

THK COMIXG OF THE Sl'IUXG.

and opposite to some of tlio larger creeks blue streams,
that attracted the water-fowl, ducks, and wild geese,
which came, guided by that instinct wliicli never
errs, from their al)iding-places in far-off lands. In-
diana knew the sii>-ns of the wild birds' comincc and
going witli a certainty tliat seemed almost marvel-
lous to her sim])le-minded companions.

How delightful were the iirst indications of the
coming spring! How joyously our young Crusoes
heard the first tapping of the red-lu'aded woodj)ecker!
The low, sweet, warbling note of the early song-spar-
row, and twittering chirp of the snow-bird, or that
neat, Quakerly-lo(d<ing l)ird that comes to cheer us
with the news of sunny days and green buds; the
low, tender, whispei'ing note of tlie chiccadee, ilitting
among the pines or in tlio thick branches of the
shore-side trees ; the chattering note of the little,
striped chitmink, as it pursued its fellows over the
fallen trees; and the hollow sound of the male par-
tridge, heavily strikir.g his wings against his sides to
attract the notice of the female birds, were among
the early spring melodies. For such they seemed to
our forest dwellers, for thev told them

"TliHt \\ iiitei', cnlil winter, was past,
Ami siirinj,', lovely s|iiiiiL,', was appniaiOiiii^; at last."

They wateluMl for the first song ot" the roliin,* and
the full melody of the red wood -tli rush ; ■(- the rush-
ing sound of the passenger pigeons, as ilocks of these
birds darted above their heads, sometimes pausing to

* Titrdus mi'irntoriux, or American riiliiti.
t Tiirihi.^ iiiiliiiiiK, or wnciil-tlirnsli.

NATUUES A\VAKi:MNti.

229

rest oil tlie (Iiy liinb of soiuo withered oak, or dart-
in<f down to feed upon the scarlet herries of the
spicy winter-<,a'een, the acorns that stil! lay upon the
now uncovered ground, or tlie bei-ries of hawthorn

flllTMIVKs

anfl do^nvood tluat still hunu' on the bare bushes.
The pines were now putting on their rich, mossy,
green spring dresses; the skies were (l(>ep blue;
Natuiv, weary of her long state of inaction, scorned
wakiuij: into life and li<>ht.

On the Plains the snow soon disappears, for the

230

TlIK WORK (iOKS BllAVELY ON.

sun and air have access to the earth much easier than
in the close, dense forest. Hector and Louis were
.soon able to move about with axe in hand, to cut the
logs for the addition to their house they proposed
making. They also set to work fis soon as the
frost was out of the ground to prepare their iil^"
field for the Indian corn. This kept them quite busy.
Catharine attended to the house ; and Indiana went
out fishing and hunting, bringing in plenty of small
game and fish every day. After they had piled and
"burned up the loose boughs and trunks that encum-
bered the space they had marked out, they proceeded
to enclose it with a brush fence. This was done by
felling the trees that stood in the line of the field,
and lettinn; them fall so as to form the bottom loj; of
the fence, which they then made of suflicient height
by piling up arms of trees and brushwood. Perhaps
in this matter they were too jiarticular, as there Avas
no fear of " breachy cattle," or any cattle, intruding
on the crop ; but Hector maintained that deer and
l)ears were as much to be guarded against aV> oxen
and cows.

The little enclosure was made secure from any
^uch depredators, and was as clean as hands could
make it. The two cousins sat on a log, contentedly
surveying their work, and talking of the time when
the grain was to be put in. It Avas about the begin-
ning of the second Aveek in May, as near as they
could guess from the bursting of the forest buds and
the blooming of such of the fiowers as they Avcre
acq^uainted Avitli. Hector's eyes had foHo\»ed the

AT WORK IN THE FOnEST.

r^i^e •js-'-

"THE HILLS TO THK KAST AKK OX FIUK I "

233

flight of a largo eagle that now, turning from the
lake, soared away majestically toward the east or
Oak Hills. But soon his eye was attracted to
another object. The loftiest part of the ridge was
enveloped in smoke. At first he thought it must be
some mist-wreath hovering over its brow ; but soon
the dense, rolling clouds rapidly spread on each side,
and he felt certain that it was from fire, and nothing
but fire, that those dark volumes arose.

" Louis, look yonder! the hills to the east arc on fire!'

" On tire, Hector ? you are dreaming !"

" Nay, but look there 1"

The hills were now shroufled in one dense, rolling
cloud. It moved on with tearful rapidity down the
shrubby side of the hill, supplied by the dry, withered
folian-e and deer-irrass, which was like stubble to the
flames.

"It is two miles ofT, or more," said Louis; 'and
the creek will stop its progress long before it comes
near us, and the swamp there Ijeyond Bare Hill."

" The cedars are as dry as tinder ; and as to the
creek, it is so narrow a burning tree falling across
would convey the fire to this side ; besides, when the
wind rises, as it always does when the bush is on
fire, yon know how far the bin-ning leaves will fly.
Do you remember when thtj f(nvst was on fire last
spring how long it continued to burn and how fiercely
it ra(Tod ? It was lighted by the ashes of your
father's pipe when he was out in the new fallow.
The leaves were dry, and kindled, and before night
the woods were burning for miles."

234

THE WORK OP THE IXDIAXS.

" It was a errand spectacle, those pine-hills, when
the fire got in among them," said Louis. " See ! see
how fast the fires kindle ! That must be some fallen
pine that they have got hold of. Now, look at the
lighting up of that hill ; is it not grand ?"

" If the wind would but change, and blow in the
opposite direction," said Hector anxiously.

" The wind, nion ami, seems to have little influence ;
for as long as the fire finds fuel from the dry bushes
and grass, it drives on, even against the wind."

As they spoke the Avind freshened, and they could
plainly sec a long line of wicked, bright flames in
advance of the dense mass of vapour which hung in
its rear. On it came, that rolling sea of flame, with
inconceivable rapidity, gathering strength as it ad-
vanced. The demon of destruction spread its red
wings to the blast, rushing on with fieiy .speed, and
soon hill and valley were wrapped in one sheet of
flame.

" It must have been the work of the Indians," said
Louis. " Wi' had better make a retreat to the island,
in case of the fire crossing the valley. We must not
neglect the canoe. If the fire sweeps round by the
swamp, it may come upon us unawares, and then the
loss of the canoe would prevent escape by the lake.
But here are the girls ; let us consult them."

" It is the Indian burning," said Indiana ; " that is
the reason there are so few h'vr tix'cs on that hill.
They burn it to make the grass better for the deer."

Hector had often pointed out to Louis the appear-
ance of fire havint; scorched the bark of the trees

Z
m

A MAfiVIFICKN'T SPKCTACLE.

237

wliere they were at work, but it seemed to have
been many years back ; and when they were digging
for the site of the root-house * below tlie bank, Avhich
they had ju.>t finislied, they had met witli charred
wood at tlie df.'pth of six feet l)elow the soil, which
must have lain there till the earth liad accumulated
over it. ' A period of many years must necessarily
have passed since the wood had been burned, as it
was so much decomposed as to crumble beneath the
wooden shovel they were digging with.

All day tliey watclierl the progress of that fiery sea
whose wave., were fiame — red, rolling flame. On-
wai'd it came with resistless speed, overpowering
every obstacle, widening its sphere of action, till it
formed a perfect semicircle about them. As the
night drew on. the splendour of the scene became
more apparent, and the path of the fire better de-
fined ; but there was no fear of the conflagration
spreading as it had done in the day-time. The wind
had sunk, and the copious dews of evening cfiectually
put a stop to the progress of the fire. The children
could now gaze in security upon the magnificent
spectacle before them without the excitement pro-
duced liy its rapid spreail during tlie day-time. They
lay down to sleep in perfect security that night, but
with the consciousness that, as the breeze sprung up
in the mornmg th»>y must be on the alert to .secure
their little dwelling and its contents from the devas-
tation that threatened it. They knew they had no

' Knot Ikiusos .irp Imilt ovpr docp cxoavatinns lioknv the tench of the frost, cr
the root.s storerl would l)c spoiled.

238

LET IS HOLD A COUNCIL.

power to stop its onwartl course, as they possessed no
implemc-nt better than a rougli wooden shovel, which
would Ix- found very ineffectual in opening a trench
or turning the ground up, so as to cut off the com-
munication with the dry grass, leaves, and branches
which are the fuel for supplying the fires on the
Plains. The little clearing on one side the house
they thought would be its safeguard, but the tire was
advancing on three sides of them.

"Let us hoM a council, as the Indians do, to con-
sider what is to be done."

"I propose." said Louis, "retreating, bag and bag-
gage, to the nearest point (jf L(jng Island."

" My French cousin has well spoken," said Hector,
mimicking tht.> Inrlian mode of sj)eaking ; " but listen
to the wopIs of the wise. I propose to take all our
household stores that are of the most value to the
island, and lodge the rest safely in our new root-
house, first reniovin'T from its nei'dibourhood all such
light, loose matter as is likely to take fire. The
earthen roof will save it from destructi(jn. As to the
slianty. it must take its cliance to stand or fall."

"The fence of the little clearing will be burned,
no doubt. Well, never mind ; better that than our
precioas selves. Ami the corn, fortunately, is not
yet sown," sai<I Louis. «

Hector's advice met with genei'al approval, and the
^rls soon set to work to secure the property they
meant to leave.

It was a fortunate thing th.at the root-house had
been finished, as it formed a secure store-house for

THE FLinilT.

239

their goods, and could also be made available as a
hiding-place from the Indians, in time of need. The
boys carefully scraped away all the combustible
matter from its vicinity and that of the house ; but
the rapid increase of the fire now warned them to
hurry down to join Catharine and the young Mo-
hawk, who had gone off to the lake shore with such
things as they required to take with them.

CHAPTER XI

" I know a liikc where the cool waves Ijveak
And softly fall on tlie silver sand;
And nil stranijer intrudes on tliat scilitude,
And no voieos but ours disturb tlio strand."

Iri.ili Sony.

HE Ijreeze had sprung up, and had ah'eady
IjrouLifht tlic fire down as far as the creek.
The swamp had long been on lire ; and
now the tlaincs were leaping among the
decayed timbers, roaring and crackling among the
pines, and rushing to the tops of the cedars, spring-
ing from heap to heap of the fallen branches, and
filling the air Avith dense volumes of black and suffo-
cating smoke. So quick) 3' did the flames advance
that Hector and Louis had only time to push off
the canoe before the heights along the shore were
MTapped in smoke and tire. Many a giant oak and
noble pine fell crashing to tlu; earth, sending up
showers of red sparks as its burning trunk .shivered
in its fall. Glad to escape from the suffocating
vapour, the boys quickly paddled out to the island,
enjoying the cool, fresh air of the lake. Reposing on
the grass beneath the trees, they passed the day,
sheltered from the noonday sun, and watched the

I?l A ri.ACK (»K SAFKTY.

Ill

pi'ogross of the firo upon the shore. At night tfie
girls slept securely under the canoe, which they raised
on one side by means of forked sticks stuck in the

ground.

It was a i;rand sight to sec the burninij Plains at
nirdit reflected on the Avater. A thousand flamintr
torches dickered upcju its still surface, to which the
glare of a gas-lighted city would have been dim and
dull by contrast.

Louis and Hector would speculate on the probable
chances of the shanty escaping from the tire, and of
the fence remaining untouched. Of the .safety of the
root-house th(,'y entertained no fear, as the grass was
already springing green on the earthen roof; and
below they had taken every precaution to secure its
safety, by scraping up the earth near it.*

Catharine lamented for the lovely spring-flowers
that would be desti'oyed l)y the tire.

" We shall have neither huckleberries nor straw-
beri'ies this summer," she .said mournfully ; " and the
pretty roses and bushes wall bo scorched, and the
ground black and dreary."

" The fire passes so rapidly over that it does not
destroy many of the forest trees, only the dead ones
are destroyed ; and that, you know, leaves more space
for the living ones to grow and thrive in," .-^aid

' Many a cro)) of (train and comfortable homestead has been saved by turning
a furrow round the field ; and prcat ponflaprations liave been eflfectually stopped
by men heating the tire out witli siiades, and hoeing \\\> the fresh earth so as to
cut off all communication witli the dry roots, grass, and leaves that feed its on-
ward progress. Water, even could it be got, which is often impossible, is not
nearly so effectual in stopping the progress of fire ; even women and little children
can assist in such emergencies.

(721) 10

>42

AT THE END OF TWO DAYS.

Hector. " I have seen the yeai' after a fire has run
in tlie bush, a new and fresh set of plants spring
up, and even some that looked withered recover ; the
earth is renewed and manured by the ashes ; and it
is not so great a misfortune as it at first appears."

" But how black and dismal the burned pine- woods
look for years ! " said Louis ; " I do not think there
is a more melancholy sight in life than one of those
burned pine-woods. There it stands, year after year,
with the black, branchless ti'e(:.s pointing up to the
blue sky, as if crying for vengeance against those
that kindled the fire."

"They do, indeed, look ugly," said Catharine; "yet
the girdled ones look very nearly as ill."*

At the end of two days the fire had ceased to rage,
though the dim smoke-wreaths to the westward
showed where the work of destruction was still

going on.

As there was no appearance of any Indians on the
lake, nor yet at the point (Anderson's Point, as it is
now called) cm tlie f»tlier side, they concluded the
Are had possil)ly originated by acciiient, — some
casual liunter or trapper having left his camp-fire
unextinguished ; but as they \vere not very likely
to come across the scene of the conflagration, they
decided on returninir back to their old home without
delay. It was with some feeling of anxiety that
they hastened to see what evil had befallen their
shanty.

■* The girdled pines arc killed by barking them round, tn farilitiltc tlie
clearing.

IBI

"the siiaxty is ruuxed !"

243

"The shanty is hurned ! " was the simultaneous
exclamation of both Louis and Hector, as they
reached the rising ground that should have com-
manded a view of its roof. " Tt is well for us that
we secured our things in the root-house," said
Hector.

"Well, if that is safe, who cares? we can soon
build up a new house, larger and better than the old
one," said Louis. " The chief part of our fence is gone,
too, I see ; but that we can renew at our leisure ; no
hurry, if we get it done a month hence, say L — CJome,
ma belle, do not look so sorrowful. Tliere is our little
s(iuaw will help us to set up a capital wigwam M'hilc
the new house is building."

" But the nice tal)le that you made, Louis, and the
l)enches and shelves ! "

" Never mind, Cathy ; wo will have better tables,
and benches, and shelves too. Never fear, ma chore ;
the same industrious Louis will make things comfort-
able. I am not sorry the old shanty is down; we
shall have a famous one put up, twice as large, for
the winter. After the corn is planted we .shall have
nothing else to do but to think ai'out it."

The next two or three days ,,ere .spent in erecting
a wigwam, with poles and birch bark ; and as the
weather was warm and pleasant, they did not feel
the inconvenience so uuich as they woidd have done
had it been earlier in the season. The root-house
forme<l an excellent store-hou.sc and pantry; and
Indiana contrived, in putting up the wigwam, to leave
certain loose folds between the birch-bark lining and

244

KRECTING A NEW LOC-IIOUSIi.

outer covering, wliicli formed a series of pouches or
bags, in ^\•hich many articles could Lo stowed away
out of sight.*

While the gii-ls were busy contriving the arrange-
ments oi tlie wigwam, the two boys were not idle.
The time was come for planting the corn ; a succes-
sion of heavv thunder-showers had soaked and
softened the scorched earth, and rendered the labour
of moving it much easier than tluy had anticipated.
They had cut for themselves wooden trowels, with
which they raised the hills for the seed. The corn
planted, the^ next turnetl their attention to cutting
house-logs ; those which they had })repared had been
burned up, so they had their labour to begin again.

The two girls proved good helps at the raising ;
and in the course of a few weeks they had the com-
fort of seeing a more commodious dwelling than the
former one put up. The finishing of this, with weed-
ing the Indian corn, renewing tlu; fence, and lishing,
and trapping, and sliooting partridges and ducks and
pigeons, fully occupied their time this summer. The
fruit season was less abundant this year than the
previous one. The tire liad done this mischief, and
they had to go far a-field to collect fruits during the
summer months.

It so ha])pened that Tndiiina had gone out early one
morning with the boys, and Catluirine was alone.
She liad gone down to the spring for water, and on
her return was surprised at the sight of a s([uaw and

• In this way tlic wintor wlpw.iins nf tlic Tiiilians .ive cnnstruttpd so ns to givo
jilcnty of stowiiiy room for nil tlioir litllo liouscluiM matters, materials for work,

A MUTUAL SLlU'Itlsr;.

24;

lier family of threo lialf-ij^rown lads, and an innocir?Tiit
little U'owu papoosL'.* In their turn the stranjjers

'^'^tm^0- ...

VISir 01' TIIK rVtHAN I'AMII.V.

seemed ('([ually astonished at Catharine's apj-j<rar-
ance.

' .\ii Indian li.iliy . luit "p.ipnnsp" is nnt an Indian wonl Ii if f«q|i>kMf
ilorivod frcmi tli(> Iniliiili imitation of the wurd "hoi. us."

246

CATHARINE KNTKUTAIXS TIIK STUAXGKUS.

The smiling aspect and good-natured laugh of the
female, however, soon reassured the friglitened gix'l,
and she gladly gave her the viater which she had in
her hirch dish, on her signifying her desire for drink.
To this Catharine added some berries and dried veni-
son, and a bit of maple sugar, which was received
with grateful looks l)y the boys ; .she patted the
brown baby, and was glad Avhen the mother released
it from its Avooden cradle, and fed and luirsed it.
The squaw seemed t(j notice the difterence between
the colour of lier young hostess's fair skin and lier
own swarthy hue ; for she often took her hand,
stripped up the sleeve of her dress, and compared her
arm with her own, uttering exclamations of astonish-
ment and curiosity : possibly Catharine was the first
of a fair-skinned race this poor savage liad ever seen.
After her meal was (iiiishe(l, she .set the birclien dish
on the floor, ami restrapping the papoo.se in its cradle
pri.son, she slipped thi; basswood-bark rope over her
forehead, and silenth signing to her sons to f(dlow
her, she departed. That evening a pair of ducks
were found fastened to the wootleu latcli of the door,
a silent offering of gratitude for tlie refreshment that
had been afforded to this luilian woman and lier
children.

Indiana thought, from Catharine's de.scription, that
these were Indians with whom he was acquainted ;
.she spent some days in watching tiie lake and the
ravine, lest a larger and more formidable ])arty .should
be near. The .squaw, she said, was a widow, and
went by the name of Mother SnovN'.storm, from liav-

THE LITTLE LOG-HOUSE.

247

injj been lost in the woods, when a little child, durinij
a heavy storm of snow, and nearly starved to death.
She was a g(Mitle, kind woman, and, she Ijelieved,
would not do any of them Imi-t. Her sons were good
hunters, and, though so young, helpeil to support
their mother, and were very good to her and the
little one.

I must now pass over a consideraljle interval of
time, with merely a brief notice that the crop of com
was carefully harvested, and proved abundant, and a
source of great comfort. The ric<3 was gathered and
stored, and plenty of game and fish laid by, with an
additional store of lioney.

The Indians, for some reason, did not pay their
accustomed visit to the lake this season. Indiana
said they might be engaged with war among some
hostile tribes, or had gone to other himting-grounds.
The winter was unusually mild, an<l it was long
before it set in. Yet the spring following was tardy,
and later than usual. It was the latter end of ^lay
before vegetation had made any very decided jjro-
grcss.

The little log-house presented a neat anil comfort-
able appearance, both within and without. Indiana
liad woven a handsome mat of bjuss bark for the floor;
Louis and Hector had furnished it with seats and a
table, rough, l)ut still very respectably constructed,
consitlering tlieir f»idy tools were a tomahawk, a
knife, and wooden wedges for splitting the wood into
slabs. These Louis afterwards smoothed with great
care and patience. Their bedsteads were furnished

248

AFTER TWO YEARS WAXUERIXfJH.

•with thick, soft mats, woven by Indiana and Catlia-
rine from rushes which tliey cut and (h'ied ; but the
little squaw herself preferred lyin;;' on a mat or deer-
skin on the floor before the fire, as she had been
accustomed.

A new field had been enclosed, and a fresh crop of
corn planted, which was now gi-ecn and flourishing.
Peace and happiness dwelt within the log-house; but
for the regrets that ever attended the remembrance
of all they had left and lost, no cloud would have
dimmed the serenity of those who dwelt beneath its
humble roof.

The season of flowers had again an-ivcd; the earth,
renovated by the fire of the former year, 1)loomed
with fresh beauty ; Juno, with its fragrant store of
roses and lilies, was now far arlvanced — the anniver-
sary of that time when they had left their beloved
parents' roofs, to become sojourners in the lonely
wilderness, had returned. They felt they had much
to be grateful for. Many privations, it is trut;, and
much anxiety they had felt; but they had enjoyed
l)lossings beyond Avhat they could have expected, and
might, like the psalmist Avhen recounting the escapes
of the people of God, have sai<l, "Oh that men would
therefore praise the Lord for his g(X)dne.ss, and the
wonders that he doeth for the children of men."
And now they declared no greater evil could befall
them than to lose one of their little party, for even
Indiana had become as a dear and beloved sister; her
gentleness, her gratitude, and f'uitliful trusting love
seemed each day to increase. Now, indeed, she was

THE AI'PUOAf'K Ol' I:\1U

249

Itound to thoui by a yet more sacrcil tii', for sho knolt
to the .saiiio God, and acknowledged, witli fervent
lovo, the mercies of lur Redeemer, She had made
great progress in k'arning tlieir kanguage, and liad
also taught her friends to speak and understand niiich
of lii'V own tongue, so that they were now no longer
at ro loss to converse with her on any suhject. Thus
was this Indian girl united to them in Londs of social
and Christian love.

Hector, Louis, and Indiana had gone over the hills
b) follow the track of a deer which had paid a visit
to the young corn, now sprouting and showing
symptoms of shooting up to l)lossom. Catharine
usually preferred staying at home and j^i'eparing
the meals ayainst their return. She had gathered
some fine ripe strawberries, t(j add to the stewed
rice, Indian meal cake, and maple sugar, for their
dinner. She was weary and warm, for the day had
been hot and sultry. Seating herself on the threshold
of the door, she leaned against tlu> door-post, and
closed her eyes. Perhaps the poor child's thoughts
were Avanderinf' back to her far-otl' unforuotten
homo, or she might be thinking of the luuiters and
their game. Suddenly a vague, uudefinable feeling
of dread stole over her mind. She heard no steps,
she felt no breath, she saw no form ; but there was a
stranire consciousness that she was not aloiie — that
some unseen being was near, some eye was upon
her. I liave heard of sleepers starting from sleep
the most profound when the noiseless hand of the
assassin lias been raised to destroy them, as if the

250

A FKARFL'L APPEARANCE.

power of the human eye could be felt through the
closed lids.

Thus fared it with Catharine. She felt as if some
unseen enemy was near her, and springing to her
iect, she cast a wild, troubled glance around. No
living being met her eye ; and, ashamed of her
cowardice, she resumed her seat. The tremulous cry
of her little gray squirrel, a pet which she had tamed
and taught to nestle in her bosom, attracted her
attention.

" What aileth thee, wee dearie ? " she said tenderly,
as the timid little creature crept trembling to her
breast. " Thy mistress has scared thee by her own
foolish fears. See, now, there is neither catamount
nor weasel here to seize thee, silly one ; " and as she
spoke, she raised her head and flung back the thick
clusters of soft fair hair that shaded her eyes. The
deadly glare of a pair of dark eyes fixed upon her
met her terrified gaze, gleaming with sullen ferocity
from the angle of the door-post, whence the upper
part of the face alone was visible, partly concealed
by a mat of tangled, shaggy black hair. Paralyzed
with fear, the poor girl neither spoke nor moved;
she uttered no cry ; but pressing her hands tightly
across her breast, as if to still the loud beating of her
heart, she sat gazing upon that fearful appearance,
while, with stealthy step, the savage advanced from
his lurking-place, keeping, as he did so, his eyes
riveted tipon hers, with such a gaze as the wily ser-
pent is said to fascinate its prey. His hapless victim
moved not ; — whither could she flee to escape one

CATHAUINK CAUItlKD OFF.

251

Avhose fleet foot couM so easily have overtaken her
in the race ? wlicre conceal herself from him Avho.se
Avary eye tixed upon lier seemed to deprive lier of
all vital enerf,'y :"

UtterinjL,' that sin,c,nilar, expressive guttural which
seems with tlie Indian to answer the purpose of every
other exclamation, he advanced, and taking the girl's
ice-cold hands in his, tightly hound them with a
thong of deer-hide, and led her unresistingly away.
By a circuitous path through the ravine they reached
the foot of the mount, A\here lay a birch canoe, rock-
in"- <'entlv on the waters, in which a middle-aged
female and a young girl were seated. The females
asked no qrestions, and expressed no word indicative
of cariosity or suri)rise, as the strong arm of the
Indian lifted his captive into the canoe, and made
signs to the eMer stpiaw to push from the shore.
When all had taken their places, the woman, catching
up a paddle from the bottom of the little vessel,
stood up, and with a few rapid strokes sent it
skinnning over the lake.

The miserable captive, overpowered with the sense
of her calamitous situation, bowed down her head
upon lier knees, and concealing her agitated face in
her garments, svept in silent ag(my. Visions of
horror presented themselves to her bewildered brain ;
all that Indiana had described of the cruelty of this
vindictive race came vividly before her mind. Poor
child, what miserable thoughts were thine during
that brief voyage !

Had the Indians also captured her friends? or was

«A1) QIIWTIONINGS.

feljc alone to bo tlie victim of tlieiv vengeance ? What
wouM In: tliu feelin<f,s of those beloved ones on return-

..'i«':v

• AT!, mum; CAIlllIKIl DKF.

in^ Uj their home and finding it desolate! Was there
no hope of release? As these ideas chased each other
througlj her agitated mind, she raised her eyes, all

A IIEAnTT.KSS FOK

253

streaming w'Ah tears, to the faces of tlie Indian and
his companions with so piteous a look that any heart
but the stoical one of an Indian Avould liave softened
at its sad appeal; hut no answering glance of sym-
pathy met hers, no eye gave back its sik'nt look of
pity — not a nerve; or a muscli! moved the cold, apa-
thetic features of the Indians ; and the woe-stricken
girl again resumed her melancholy attitude, burying
licr face in her lieaving bosom to hide its bitter
emotions from the heartless strangers.

She was not fully aware that it is part of the
Indian's education to hide the inward feelings of the
heart, to check all those soft and tender emotions
which distinguish the civilized uum from the savage.
It does indeed need the softening influence of that
powerful Spirit, which was shed abroad into the
world to turn the hearts of the disobedient to the
wisdom of the just, to break <lown the sti'ongholds of
unriglitcousness, and to teach man that he is by
nature the child of wrath and virtim (^f sin, and that
in his unreo-enerated nature his whole mind is at
enmity with God and his fcdlow-men, and that in his
flesh dwelleth no good thing. And the Indian has
acknowledged that power; he has cast his idols of
cruelty and revenge, those virtu-s on which he prided
himself in the blindness of his heart, to the moles and
the bats; he has liowed and adored at tlie foot of the
Cross. But it was not so iu the days whereof I ha\e
spoken.

CHAPTER XII.

" ^Fust this sweet new-blown rose find sucli a winter
Jiofore her sprint' he ] ast?"

I!kai;mont and Fi.ktciikh.

Hl'^ little bark touched the stony point of
Long Island. The Indian lifted his weep-
ing prisoner from the c.anoc, and motioned
to her to move forward along the nai'row
path that led to tlic camp, about twenty yards liighcr
up the bank, where ther(> was a little grassy spot
enclosed with shrubl)y trees; the .squaws tarried at
the lake-shore to bring up the paddles and secure the
canoe.

It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of an
enemy, l)ut doubly so when that enemy is a stranger
to the language in which we would plead for mercy,
whose god is not our God, nor his laws those by
which we ourselves are governed. Thus felt the
poor captiv^e as she stood alone, mute with terror,
among the half-naked, dusky forms with which .she
now found herself surrounde<l. She cast a hurried
glance round that strange assembly, if l)y chance her
eye might rest npon some dear familiar face; but she
saw not the kind but grave face of Hector, nor met

THE FOKLORN CAPTIVE.

255

the bright sparkling eyes of her cousin Louis, nor tlio
soft, subdued, pensive features of the Indian girl,
her adopted sister. She stood alone among those
wild, gloomy-looking men ; some turned away their
eyes as if they would not meet her woe-stricken
countenance, lest they should be moved to pity lier
sad condition. Nc wonder that, overcome by the
sen.se of her utter forlornness, ,shc hid her face with
her fettered hands and wept in despair. But the
Indian's sympathy is not moved by tears and sighs ;
calmness, courage, defiance of danger, and contempt
of death, are what he venerates and admires even in
an enemy.

The Indians beheld her grief unmoved. At length
the old man, who seemed to be a chief among the
rest, motioned to one of the Avomen who leaned against
the side of the wigwam to come forward and load
away the stranger. Catharine, M'hose senses were
beginning to be more collected, heard the old man
Cfive orders that she was to 1)0 fed and cared for.
Gladly did she escape from the presence of those
pitiless men, from whose gaze she shrunk with
maidenly modesty. And now when alone with the
women she hesitated not to make use of that natural
language which requires not the aid of speech to
make itself understood. Clasping her hands implor-
ingly, she knelt at the feet of the Indian woman, her
conductress, kissed her dark hands, and bathed thmi
with her fast-flowing tears, while she pointed passion-
ately to the shore where lay the happy home from
which she had been so suddenly torn.

256

TIIR COMPASSIOXATK SQl'AW.

The squaw, though she evidently comprehended
the meaning of her imploring gestures, shook her
head, and in plaintive earnest tone replied in lier own
language that she must go with the canoes to the
other shore, and slie pointed to tlie nortli as she spoke.
She then motioned to the young girl —the same that
had l)een Catharine's companion in the canoe — to
bring a hunting-knife which was thrust into one of
tlio folds of the birch-bark of the wigwam. Catha-
rine beheld the deadly weapon in the hands <jf the
Indian woman with a pang of agony as great as if its
sliarp edge was ah'ead} at her throat. So young—
.so 3'oung, to die by a cruel, bloody death ! what had
been her crime ? How .should she find words to
soften the heart of her murderess ? The ])ower of
utterance .seemed denied. She cast lierself on lier
knees and held up her hands in silent prayer ; not to
the dreaded Indian woman, but to Him who heareth
the prayer of the poor destitute — who alone can
order the unruly wills and ati'ections of men.

The .squaw stretched forth one dark hand and
grasped the arm of the terror-sfricken girl, while the
other held the Aveapon of destruction. Witli a (|uick
movement she severed tlu; thongs that bound tlui
fettered wrists of the pleading captive, and with a
smile that seemed to light up her whole face she
raised her from lier jirosti'ate position, laid her hand
upon her young head, and with an expression of
gooddiumoured surprise lifted the flowing tresses of
her sunnj^ hair and spi-ead them over the back of her
own swarthy liaud ; ti;en, as if anui.sed by the strik-

A GLEAM OF IIOI'E,

257

ing contrast, she shook down her own jetty-black
hair and twined a tress of it with one of the fair-
Imired .girl's, then laughed till her teeth shone like
pearls within her rod lips. Many were the exclama-
tions of childish wonder that broke from the other
females as they compared the snowy arm of the
stranger with their own dusky skins: it was plain
that they had no intention of harming her, and by
degrees di3trust and dread of her singular companions
began in some measure to subside.

The squaw motioned her to take a seat on a mat
beside her, and gave her a handful of parched rice
and some deer's flesh to eat ; but Catharine's heart
was too heavy. She was suftering from thirst; and on
pronouncing the Indian word for water, the young
girl snatched up a piece of birch- bark from the floor
of the tent, and gathering the corners together, ran
to the lake, and soon returned with water in this
most primitive drinking- vessel, which she held to the
lips of her guest, and she seemed amused by the long,
deep draught with which Catharine slaked her thirst.
Something like a gleam of hope came over Catharine's
mind as she mail-ed the look of kindly feeling with
which she caught the ^oung Indian girl regarding her,
and she strove to over, omo the choking sensation
that would from time to time ri.se to her throat as
she tluetuated between liope and fear. The position
of the Indian camp was so plfieed that it was quite
hidden from the .shore, and Catharine could neither
see the mouth of the ravin,:, nor the steep .side of the
mount that her brother anrl cousin were accustomed

(721) 17

-»s--

258

A SAD DAY.

to ascend and descend in their visits to the lake-
shore, nor had slie any means of making a signal to
them even if she had seen them on the beach.

The long, anxious, watchful night pacsed, and soon
after sunrise, while the morning mists still hnng over
the lake, the canoes of the Indians were launched,
and long before noon they were in the mouth of the
river. Catharine's heart sunk within her as the fast
receding shores of the lake showed each minute
fainter in the distance. At mid-day they halted at a
fine bend in the river, and landed on a small open
place where a creek flowing down through the woods
afforded them cool water; here they found several
tents put up and a larger party awaiting their return.
The river was here a fine, broad, deep, and trantjuil
stream ; trees of many kiuds fringed the edge ;
beyond was the unbroken forest, whose depths had
never been pierced by the step of man — so thick and
luxuriant Avas the vegetation that even the Indian
could hardly have penetrated through its dark,
swampy glades: far as the eye could reach, that
impenetrable, interminable wall of verdure stretched
away into the far-off" distance.

All the remainder of that sad day Catharine sat on
the grass under a shady tree, her eyes mournfully
fixed on the slow-Howing waters, and wondering at
her own hard fate in lieing thus torn from her lionie
and its dear inmates. Bad as she had thought her
separation from her father and mother and her
brothers, when she first left her home to become a
wanderer on the llice Lake Plains, how much more

,*>*-

DESOLATION OF Sl'IRIT.

259

dismal now was her situation, snatclied fr<;m the dear
companions who had upheld and elieered hor on in
all her sorrows! Now that she was alone with none
to love or cherish or console her, she felt a desolation
of spirit that almost made her foi'getful of the tni-st
that had hitherto always sustained her in time of
trouble or sickness. She looked round, and her eye
fell on the strange, unseemly forms of men and
women who cai'cd not for her, and to whom ^he \vas
an object of indifference or aversion ; she wept when
she thought of the grief her absence would occasion
to Hector and Louis ; the thought of their ^Ji^ttresa
increased lier own.

The soothing (piiet of the scene, with the low, lull-
ing sound of the little brook as its tiny wavelets fell
'tinkling over the mossy roots and stones that irninerled
its course to the river, joined with fatigue and long
exposure to the sun and air, caused her at lenj^li to
fall asleep. The last rosy light of tbe s^'tting nun
was dyeing the waters with a glowing tint when «ihe
awoke ; a soft blue haze hung upon the trees ; the
kingfisher and dragon-tly, and a solitary loon, were
the only busy things abroad on the river, — the first
darting up and down from an upturned nx>t, near the
water's ed'a', feodinif its younglings ; the ilraifon-flv
hawking with rapid whirring sound for ins^x-t-r: and
the loon, just visible fi'om above the surface of the
still stream, sailing cpiietly on companionleiis like her
who watched its movements.

The bustle of the hunters retm-ning with game and
fish to the encampment rousivl many a sleepy brown

260

A FRIEND IX NKKD.

KIJfnPIHHEU AVn imAliON KI.Y.

papoose ; the fires were renew(;(l, tlie cvciiiiii^f iiitjal
was now preparing, and Catliarine, cliillfil ]>y the
falliiiL;; (lew, crept to tlie enliveninj^ warmth. Ami
lierc slie was pleased at heing reeocfniztd ])y one
friendly fac(^ ; it was the mild, licncvolciit counte-
nance of the widow Snowstorm, who, with her tliree
sons, caiiu! to hid her to share their cam{) tire; ami
food. The kindly j^rasp of the hand and tin- beamin!^
smile that wen; L;-iveii hy this fjood crcatiii'"'. alhcit she
was ugly and ill-featured, clu.'ered thi; sa<l captive's
heart. She had given her a cup of cold watt-i' and
sucli food as her log-cabin allbrded ; in return the
good Indian took lier to her wi'rwnm ami fed,

Till-; INDIAN WIDOW.

•JGl

wanned, and cliorislicd licr witli tlie lox in;^'-kindness
of a Christian. Durinc^ all her .sojonrn in the Indian
camp, tlu! widow Snowstorm was as a tender mother
to her, dryini,' her tears and showing; her those little
acts of attention that even the untaug-lit Indians
know are irrateful to the sorrowful and destitute.
Catharine often fori^^ot her own i^riefs to repay this
worthy croa,ture's kindness, hy atti'ndinL,^ to her little
halie, and assisting; her in lier homely cookery or
household work. She knew that a .selfish indulgence
in sori'ow would do her no good, ami after the lapse
of .some days slie so well disciplined her own heart as
to check her tears, at least in the presence of the
Indian women, and t(j a.ssume an air of comparative
cheerfulness. Once she found Indian words enough
to ask the Indian widow to convey her hack to the
lake, hut she shook her head nnd hade her not think
anytliing nhout it; and adde'l that in autunni, when
the ducks came to the rice-heds, they .should all
return, and then if .she could ohtain leave from the
chief, .she would restore her to lier lodge on the
Plains; hut signified U) her tliat patience was lier
only present remeijy. arid that suhmission to the will
of the chief was lier wisest plan. Comforteil hy this
vague promise, (^'atharine strove to Ik- i-econciled to
her strange 'ot and still stranger companions. She
was surpri.scd at the want c»f curiosity respecting her
evinced oy the Indians in the wigwam when she
was brough . thither; they appeared to take little
notice that a stranger, and one so di.ssimilar to then!-
sclves, had hee.i introduced into the camp. Catha-

262

THE YOUNG SQUAW.

rine learned, by long Jicquaintance with this people,
that an outward manifestation of !3ur2:)rise is con-
sidered a want of etiquette and fjood-hreeding, or
rather a proof of weakness and childishness. The
women, like other females, are certainly less disposed
to repress this feeling of incpiisitiveness than the men;
and one of their great sources of amusement, when
Catharine was amon<; them, was examinini: the dif-
ference of texture and colour of her skin and hair,
and holding long consultations over them. The
young girl and her mother, who had paddled the
canoe the day she was carried away to the island,
showed her much kindness in a quiet way. The
young squaw was grand-daughter to the old chief,
and seemed to be regarded with considerable respect
))y the rest of the women ; she was a gay, lively
creature, often laughing, and seemed to enjoy an
inexhaustible fund of good humour. She extended
her patronage to the young stranger by making her
eat out of her own bark-dish and sit besi<lc her on
her own mat. She wove a chain for her of the
sweet-scented grass with which the Imlians delight
in adorning themselves, likewise in perfuming their
lodges with bunches or strewings upon the floor.
She took great pains in teaching her how to acquire
the proper attitude of sitting, after the fashion of the
Eastern nations, which position the In<lian women
assume when at rest in their wiirwams.

The Indian name of this little damsel signified the
"snow-bird." She was, like that lively, restless bird,
always flitting from tent to tent, as garrulous and

MYSTERIOUS GARMEXTS.

263

as cheerful too as that merry little herald of the
spring.

Once she seemed particularly attracted by Catha-
rine's dress, which she examined with critical minute-
ness, evincing groat sui'prisc at the cut fringes of
dressed doc-skin with which Indiana had ornamented
the border of the short jacket she had manufactured
for Catharine. These fringes she pointed out to the
notice of the women, and even the old chief was
called in to examine the dress ; nor did the leggings
and moccasins escape their observation. There was
something mysterious about her garments. Catha-
rine was at a loss to imagine what caused those deep
guttural exclamations, somewhat betw^een a grunt
and a groan, that burst from the lips of the Indians,
as they one by one examined her dress with deep at-
tention. These people had recognized in these things
the peculiar fashion and handiwork of the young
Mohawk girl whom they had exposed to perish by
hunger ; -id thirst on Bare Hill ; and much their
interest Avas excited to learn by what means Catha-
rine had become possessed of a dress M-rought by
the hand of one whom they had numbered with the
dead. Strange and mysterious did it seem to them,
and warily did they watch the unconscious object of
their wonder.

The knowledge she possessed of the language of
her friend Indiana enabled Catharine to comprehend
a great deal of what was said ; yet she prudently
refrained from speaking in the tongue of one to whose
whole nation she knew these people to be hostile.

26-t

A STRANGE HEIN(i.

But she sedulously endeavoured to learn their own
peculiar dialect ; and in this she succeeded in an
incredibly short time, so that she was soon able to
express her own wants, and converse a little with
the females who were about her.

She had noticed that amontj the tents there was
one which stood apart from the rest, and A\'as only
visited by the old chief and his grand-daughter, or by
the elder women. At first she imagined it was some
sick person, or a secret tent set apart for the worship
of the Great Spirit ; but one day, when the chief of
the people had gone up the river hunting, and the
children wei'e asleep, the curtain of skins was drawn
back, and a female of singular and striking beauty
appeared in the open space in front. She was habited
in a tine tunic of white dressed doe-skin, richly em-
broidered with coloured beads and stained quills ; a
full petticoat of dark cloth bound with scarlet
descended to her ankles ; leyirino's fringed with deer-
skin, knotted with bands of coloured quills, with
richly wrought moccasins on her feet. On her head
she wore a coronet of scarlet and black feathers ; her
lonnr shininir tresses of raven hair descended to her
waist, each thick tress confined with a braided band
of quills, dyed scarlet and blue. She was tall and
well-formed ; her large, liquid, dark eyes w^orc an
expression so proud and mournful that Catharine
felt her own involuntarily fill with tears as she gazed
upon this singular being. She would have approached
nearer to her, but a spell seemed on her ; she shrunk
back timid and abashed beneath that wild, melan-

THi: "GREAT MKUICINP: SQUAW.

265

choly glance. It was she, the Beam of the iMorning,
the SL'S-iiiaae wi.Iow of the young Mohawk, whose
hand had wrought so fearful a vengeance on the
treacherous destroyer of her brother. She stood
there, at the tent-door, arrayed in hci- Lridal robes,
as on the day when she received her death-doomed
victim. Ami when she recalled her fearful deed,
shuddering with horror, Catharine drew back and
shrouded herself within the tent, fearing again to
fall under the eye of that terrible wonum. She
remembered how Indiana had told her that since
that fatal marriage-feast she had been kept apart
from the rest of the tril)e,— she was regarded by her
people a.s a sacred character, entitled the Great Medi-
cine, a female brace, a l)eing whom they regarded
with mysterious reverence. She had made this great
sacrifice for the good of her nation. Indiana said it
was believed among her own folk that she had loved
the young ^klcjhawk passionately, as a tendrr woman
loves the° husband of her youth ; yet she iiad not
hesitated to sacrifice him with her own hand. Such
was the deed of the Indian heroine — and such
■were the \nrtues of the unregenerated Greeks and
Roman-s !

CHAPTER XIII.

" Now where the wiivp, witli Imul, uijiniiot song,
Dashed o'er the rocky chiinncl, froths along,
Or where the silver waters soothed to rest,
The tree's tall shadow sleeps upon its breast."— Coleridoe,

HE Indian camp remained for nearly three
weeks on thi.s spot, and tlien early one
mornintr the Avii^wam.s were all taken
down, and the canoes, six in number, pi-o-
ceeded up the river. There Avas very little variety
in the scenery to interest Catharine, The river still
kept its slow-flowin<^ course between low shores
thickly clothed with trees, without an oj^eninij through
which the eye might pierce to form an idea of the
Cijuntrj- beyond ; not a clearing, not a sight or sound
of civilized man was there to be seen or heard ; the
darting tiight of the wild birds as they flitted across
from one side to the other, tin; tapping of the wood-
pecker, or shrill cry of the blue jay was all that was
heard, from sunrise to sunset, on that monotonous
voyage. After many hours, a decided change was
perceived in the cm-rent, which ran at a considerable
increase of swiftness, so that it required the united
energy of both men and Avomen to keep the light

L'l* THE OTONABEE.

267

vessels from drifting down the river ngain. They
Avere in the rapids, and it was liard work to stem
the tide and keep tlic upward course of the waters.
At length the rapids were passed, and the weary
Indian voyagers rested for a space on the bosom of a
small but trancpul lake. The rising moon shed her
silvery light upon the calm watei', and heaven's
stars shone down into its (juiet depths, as the canoes
with their dusky freight parted the glittering rays
with their light paddles. As they proceeded onward
the banks rose on either side, still fringed with pines,
cedars, and oaks. At an angle of the lake the banks
on either side ran out into two opposite peninsulas,
forming a narrow passage or gorge, contracting the
lake once more into the appearance of a broad river,
nmch wider from shore to shore than any other part
they had passed through since they had left the
cnti'ance at the Rice Lake.

Catharine became interested in the change of
scenery ; her eye dwelt with delight on the forms of
glorious spreading oaks and lofty pines, green clifF-
like shores, and low wooded islands; while, as they
proceeded, the sound of rapid-flowing Avaters met her
ear, and soon the white and broken eddies, rushing
along with impetuous course, were seen by the light
of the moon ; and while she was wondering if the
canoes were to stem those rapids, at a signal from the
old chief, the little Heet was pushed to shore on a
low flat of emerald verdure, nearly opposite to the
last island.

Here, nnder the shelter of some beautiful spreading

268

INDIAN HAUKS.

black oaks, the women pvoparod to sot up tlicir
wigwams. Thoy had brought the poles and birch -
bark covering from the encampment below, and soon
all was bustle and business, unloading the canoes
and raising the tents. Even Catharine lent a willing
hand to assist the females in bringing up the stores
and sundry baskets containing fruits and other small
wares. She then kindly attended to the Indian
children — certain dai'k-skinned babes, who, bound

upon their wooden cradles, were
cither set up against the trunks
of the trees, or swung to some
lowly depending Inanch, there
to remain helpless and uncom-
plaining spectators of the scene.
Catharine thought these In-
dian babes were almost as much
to be pitied as herself, only
that they were unconscious of
their imprisoned state, having
from birth been used to no better treatment, and
moreover they were sure to be rewarded by the
tender caresses of loving mothers Avhen the season of
refreshment and repose arrived ; but she, alas ! was
friendless and alone, bereft of father, mother, kindred,
and friends. One Father, one Friend, poor Catharine,
thou hadst, even he, the Father of the fatherless.

That night, when the women and children were
sleeping, Catharine stole out of the wigwam, and
climbed the precipitous bank beneath the shelter of
which the lodges had been ei-ccted. She found her-

AS IXIUAN (KAUI.E.

A DKI.MillTFrr, rONTliART.

2G9

self upon a ,£jras,sy plain, studded with majestic oaks
and pines, so beautifully ;,'roup('<l that tliey nii<,dit
have been plantetl by tlu- hand of taste upon that
velvet turf. It was a delii^ditful contrast to those
dense dark forests through which for so many many
miles the waters of the Otonabee had flowed on
monotonously ; here it was all wild and free, dash-
ing along like a restive steed rejoicing in its liberty,
uncurbed and tameless.

Yes, here it was beautiful ! Catharine gazed
with joy upon the rushing river, and felt her own
heart expand as .she marked its rapid course as it
bounded murmuring and fretting over its rocky bed.
" Happy, glorious waters ! you are not subject to the
power of any living creature ; no canoe can ascend
those surgiug waves. I would that I too, like thee,
w^ere free to pursue my onward way ; how soon
would I flee away and be at rest!" Such thoughts
passed through the mind of the lonely captive girl,
as she .sat at the foot of a giant oak, and looked
abroad over those moonlit waters, till oppressed by
an overwhelming sense (jf the utter loneliness of the
scene, the timid girl with faltei'ing step hurried down
once more to the wigwams, silently crept to the mat
where her bed was spread, and soon forgot all her
woes and wanderings in deep, tranquil sl(>ei>.

Catharine wondered that the Indians in erecting
their lodges always seemed to prefer the low, level,
and often swampy grounds by the lakes and rivers in
preference to the higlier and more healthy elevations.
So disregardful are they of this circumstance, thnt

270

IXDIAN DOMESTIC LIFR.

thoy do not hesitate to sleep Avheve the ground is satur-
ated witli moisture. Tliey will tlicu lay a temporary
flooring of cedar or any otliei- bark beneath their
feet, rather than remove the tent a few feet higher
up, where a drier soil may always he fuund. This
arises either from stupidity (jr indolence, perhaps
from both, hut it is no doubt the cause of much of
the sickness that prevails among them. With his
feet stretched to the fire, the Indian cares for nothing
else when reposing in his wigwam, and it is useless
to urge the improvement that might be made in his
comfort; he listens with a Face of apathj-, and utters
his everlasting guttural, which saves him the trouble
of a more rational reply.

" Snow-bird " informed Catharine that the lodges
would not again be removed for some time, but that
the men would hunt and tish, while the squaws pur-
sued their domestic laliours. Catharine perceived
that the chief of the laborious part of the work fell
to the share of the females, Avho were very much
more industrious and active than their hui-bands ;
tliose, when not out hunting or (ishing, were to be
seen reposing in easy indolence under the shade of
the trees, or before; the tent lires, giving themselves
little concern aboiit anything that was going on.
The s{juaws weix' gentle, liundile, and siibmissive ;
they \h)Vv, without a murmur pain, labour, hungt.M',
and fatigue, and seeme^l to perform every task with
patience and good-lnnnour. They made the canoes,
in which the men sometimes assisted them, pitched
the tents, converted the skins of the animals which

# If

'mm

!lii,:,i,ffl:..:...J!kL.:j;:il:;!Uill

POMKSTIC ECOXOMY OF TITK IMiIAN*.

273

the men sliot into clothes, cooked the victual*, nuanu-
facturecl baskets of e\'ery kind, -svove mats, 'ly*A the
quills of the porcupine, sewed the moccasias, aii'l, in
sliort, performed a thousand tasks whicli it would U>
difficult to enumerate.

Of tlu' ordinary household M'<jrk,suclj as is familiar
t(j Eur " :.'an females, they of course knew I'olhin'j :
they had no linen to wash f)r iron, no f^oor« u* cleibn,
no milking- of cows, nor churninj,' of butti-'n

Their carpets wer(> fr«'sli cedar ]x>ughs fipread on
the oTound, and only renewed when thev Ixf.-t-ame
offensively dirty from the accumulation of fi-!j-bones
and other offixl, which are carelessly i^nw^ do^vn
durin"' meals. Of furniture thev had iion*:: their
seat the ground, tlieir table the same, their b^l^ Kiats
or skins of animals, — such were the dom<:*tic ar-
rangements of till' In<'' n camp.*

In the tent to which Cathai'ine Ixdongc-^I, whicli
was that of the v.idow ninl her /.ons, a greatier dejp-ee
of order and cleanliness prevailed than in any other;
fov Catharine's natural lo\e of neatness and comfort
jndueeil ln'r to strew the floor with fr^^h c-«kir or
heudock every day or two, and to sweep romnd tht;
front of the lodge, reiuoviug all unseemly objects
from its vicinity, f*^!"' ne\<i' failed to wa>ii hfrrself
in ilu^ rivci', and arrange ]u-r hair witli th<,- comb
Louis had made lor her ; and she took great can- of
the little child, which ^l"- ke]it '^.lean and w.-ll ff-d.
She loved this little creature, for it was M>fl and

' Much iiiiiivi'voinont !ms takon ^liico nf l.itp years ii. llie (.loiaestw- «i«r<^m7 nf
till' hidiiiMs, iiiui .some of Uicir dwellings are clean and neat evea for Emopeaiu.

(TJ1> 18

!7i

A DOUBLE I3Li:SSIN"(!.

gentle, meek and playftil as a littlo squirrel ; and the
Indian mothers all looked with kinder eyes upon the
white maiden, for the loving manner in which she
tended their children. The heart of woman is sel-
dom cold to those who cherish their offspring, and
Catharine began to experience the truth that the
exercise of human charities is equally beneficial to
those who give and those who receive ; these things
fall upon the heart as dew upon a thirsty soil, giving
and creatinu; a blessini--. But we will leave (,'atha-
rine for a short season, among the lodgi-s of the
Indians, and return to Hector and Louis.

CirAPTER XIV.

'•' Cold and forsaken, <lostitiitc of fiitnils,
And all good comforts else, unless some treo
AV'.iose sjieoehless charity doth better ours,
■\Vitli whidi the bitter east winds made their sport,
And s.mt; thron«h hourly, Ijatli invited thee
To sin Iter half a day. >liall she be thus,
And 1 draw in soft slumbers ;"

liKALMONT AND Kt.ETClIF.R.

T was Hear .sunsL't lieforc Hector and his
conipanioas rc'tunit;<l on tlie evening oi' the
cN'cntful (lay that ha<l fonntl Catharine a
pri.sonei' on Long Island. Tliey liad met
Avitli good success in liunting, and hrouglit lionie a
line half-grown fawn, fat and in good order. They
were surprised at fhnling tin' tire iirarly extinguished,
and no Catharine awaiting their return. Tliere, it is
true, was th(> food tliat she had prepared for them,
Idit .'^he was not to he scm-u. Suppo>ing that she had
lieeii tired of waiting for the-ni, ami had gone out to
gather straw1)erries, they <lid not at tirst feel anxious,
hut ate of the rice and iKiiiey, fur they M-ere Iningry
with louLT fastin*''. Then takiriy; .some Indian meal
cake in their liands, they Avent out to call her in: hut
no tracer of hei' \\'as visihle. Fearing she had set <itF
li\' herscdf to .seek iln-m, and had misse(l her wav

!/0

SEARCHIXG FOR CATHAUINK.

lionie again, they hurried back to tlie liappy valley,
— she was not there ; to Pine-tree Point, — no trace
of her there ; to the edge of the mount that over-
looked the lake, — she was not to be seen : night
found them unsuccessful in tlieir stjarcli. Sonietinies
they fancied that she had seated herself beneath
.some tree and fallen asleep: but no one imagined
the true cause, nothing having been seen of the
Indians since they had proceeded up the river.

Again they retraced their steps back to the house ;
but they found her not there. They continued their
unavailintr search till the moon setting' left them in
darkness, and they lay down t(; rest, but not to
sleep. The first streak of dawn saw them again
hurrying to and fro, calling in vain upon th(» name
of the loved and lost companion of their wan-
d(>rin<'s.

Indiana, whose \ igilance was untiring — for she
yielde<l not easily to grief and despair — now re-
turned witli the intelligt-nce tliat she hail discovei'cd
the Imlian trail, through the big raviu'' to the lak(^-
.shore ; she Iiad found the remains of a wreath of
oak leaves which had been w.-rn by ( 'athariiK^ in her
hair; and she had seen the mark of feet, Indian feet,
on the soft clay at the edge of the lake, !ui(l IIk lnr-
rowing of the shingles by tin pushing oH'of a canoe.
Poor Louis gave way to transports of grief and d(!-
spair; he knew the wreath, it wa- such as (.'athavine
often made for herself, and Mathilde. and pi'tite
Louise, and Marie ; his mother had taught her to
make them ; they were linked together by tlu; stalks,

ON TIIK TUMI, OF THE INDIANS.

U I

and formed a sort of leaf chain. Louis placed tiio
torn relic in liis Ineast, and sadly turned away to
hide liis <a'ief from Hector and tlie Indian i^irl.

Tn<liana now proposed searching the island for
further traces, hut advisetl wariness in so doing.
They saw, however, neither smoke nor canoes. The
Indians had departeil wliile they were searching the
ravines and Hats round Mount Ararat, and the lake
told no tales. The following day they V(.'ntured to
land on Lon<>- Island, and (^n tioins to the north side
saw evident traces of a temporary encampment hav-
ing lieen made, but no trace of any violence having
l)een cominitte<l. It was Indiana's opinion that,
though a prisoner, Catharine was unhurt, as the
Indians rarely killed women and children, unless
rou.sed to ilo so by .some signal act on the part of
their enemies, wlu'U an exterminating spirit of re-
venge induced them to kill and .spare not; but
where ncj offence had been oti'eied, they were not
likely to take the life of a helpless, unotiending
female. The Indian is not cruel for the wanton love
of blood, but to gratify revenge for .some injury done
to himself or to his tiibe. But it was ditHcult to still
the terrible apprehensions that haunted the minds
of Louis and Hector. They spent nuich time in
searching the northern shores and the distant isl-
ands, in thi' vain hope of Hnding her, as they still
th<night tlie camp might have been moved to the
opposite siile of the lii.ke.

Tncon.solable for the loss of their beloved com-
panion, Hector and Louis no longer took interest in

278

INDIANA .MISSIXCi.

what was .i^^oin-^- on ; they luinlly troiiljled tlicinselvcs
to weed the Indian corn, in wliicli thuy liad taken
such groat deli;,dit ; all now seemed to tliem flat,
stale, and improtitable ; they wandered listlessly to
and fro, silent and sad ; tlio sunsliint- had departed
from their little dwelling : they ate little, and
talked loss, each seeming absorbed in hi.s own ])ain-
ful reveries.

In vain the gentle Indian girl strove to revive
their drooping spirits ; they seemed insensible to her
attentions, and often loft her iov hours alone. 1'hey
returned one evening about the usual hour of sunset,
and missed their meek, uncomplaining guest from
the place she was wont to occupy. They called, but
there was none to reply, — she too A\-as gone. They
hurried to the shore just time enough to see the
canoe diminishing to a mere speck upon the waters,
in the direction of the mouth of the river ; they
called to her, in accents of despair, to retui'n, but tlie
M'ind wafted back no sound to their ears, and soon
the bark was lost to sight, and they sat them down
disconsolately on the shore.

"What is she doing ^" said Hector. "It is cruel
to al)andon us thus."

" She has gone up tlie river, in tlie hope of bring-
ing us some tidings of Catharine," said Lf)uis.

" How came you t(j think that such is hei- in-
tention :*"

" I heard her .say the other day that she Avould go
and bring her back, or die."

"What! do you think she would risk the veu-

A BRAVE UKSOLUTION.

279

gcance of the old chief whose life she attempted to

take ?"

" She is a brave girl ; she does not fear pain or

death to serve those she loves."

" How can she, unprotected and alone, dare such
perils ? Why did she not tell us '. We would have
shared her danj,'er."

" She feared iov our lives more than for her own ;
that poor Indian j,drl has a noble heart. I care not
now what befalls us ; we have lost all that made life
dear to us," said Louis gloomily, sinking his head
between his knees.

"Hush, Louis; you are older than I, and ought to
bear these trials with more courage. It was our
own fault Indiana's leaving us ; we left her so nnich
alone to pine after her lost companion, she seemed to
think that we did not care for her. Poor Indiana,
she must have felt lonely and sad."

"I tell you what we will do, Hec,— make a log
canoe. I found an old battered one lying on the
shore, not far from Pine-tree Point. We have an
axe and a tomahawk,— what .should hinder us from
making one like it ? "

" True ! we will set about it to-morrow."
'• I wish it were morning, that we might set to
work to cut down a good pine for the purpose.

" \s soon as it is d(me, we will go up the river ;
anything is better than this dreadful su.spense and

inaction."

The early <lawn saw the two cousins bu.sily en-
raged chopping at a tree of suitable dimensions.

'i^

2S0

CONSTRUCTING A OANOK.

They worked liard all tlmt day, and the next, and
the next, before the canoe whs hollowed out; Init,
owing to their inexperience and the bluntness of
their tools, their first attempt proved abortive — it
was t<X) heavy at one end, and did not balance well
in the water.

Louis, who had been quite sure of success, was
disheartened ; not so Hector.

**Do not let us give it up : my maxim is persever-
ance ; let us try again, and again — ay, and a fourth
and a fifth time. I say, never give it up; that is
the way to succeed at last."

■*You have ten times my patience, llec."
"Yes; but you are more ingenious than I, and
are excellent at startino- an idea."

'' We are a good pair then for partnership."
" We will begin anew ; and this time I hope we
shall profit by our past blunders."

" Who would imagine that it is now more than a
month since we lost Catharine ? "

'•I know it— a lo)ig, long, weary month," replied
Louis : and he struck his axe sharply into the bark
of the pine as he spoke, and remained silent for some
minutes. The boys, wearied by chopping down tlie
tree, rested fr(jm tlicir work, and sat down on tiie
side of the condemned canoe to resume their con-
versation. Suddenly Louis grasped Hector's arm,
and pointed to a bark canoe tliat appeared making
for the westernmost point of the island. Hector
starte*! to his feet, exclaiming, " It is Indiana re-
turned i "

Tin: MYSTRiuors iisiikii.

281

"Nonsense! Indiana! — it is no sncli tiling. Look
you, it is a stout man in a blanket coat."

"The Indians ;' " askeil Hector, in(|uirinL,dy.

"T do not tliink lie looks like an Indian; but let
us watch. What is he doing ? "

" Fishing. See now, he has just caught a fine bass
— another — he has great luck — now he is pushing
the canoe ashore."

" That man does not move like an Indian — hark !
he is whistliu''-. I ouu'ht to know that tune. It
bounds like the old cJia/mon my father used to
•sing;" and Louis, raising his voice, began to sing
the words of an old French Canadian song, which
we will give in the English, as M'e heard it sung by
an old lumberer, —

" Down by those banks where the jileasaiit waters How,
Through the wild woods we'll wander, and we'll cliaae
the Imffalii.
And we'll chiise tlie bnlFalo."

"Hush, Louis! you will bring the man over to
us," said Hector.

" The ver}' thing I am trying to <lo, mon ami. This
is our country, and that may be his; but we arc lords
Ivre, and two to one, so I think he will not be likely
tc treat us ill. I am a man row, and so are you, and
he is but one; so he mu>t n.ind how he alironts us,"
replied Louis, laughing.

"Hark, if he is not singing now! ay, and the
very chorus of the old song" — and Louis raised his
voice to its highest pitch as he repeated, —

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282 ATTRACTIXO THE NOTICE OF THE STRANGER.

" ''niroii^'li tlie wild woods w<.'"Il wander,
Anil we'll cliiisu the Luffalo —
And wt'"ll chase tlie InifTalo.'

What a pit}' I have f()r<f()tton the rest of that dear
old song. I used to listen with open ears to it when
I was a Ujv. I never thouGjht to hear it a^rain, and
to hear it here of ail places in the world ! "

"Come, let us go on with our work," said Hector,
with something like impatience in his voice, and the
strokes of his axt; fell (jiice more in regular succession
on the log; hut Louis's eye was still on the mysterious
fisher, whom he could discern lounging on the grass
and smoking his })ipe. " I do not think he sees or
heai-s us," said Louis to himself, "hut I think I'll
manage U) bring hiiu over soon;" and he .set himself
Ijusily to work to scrape up the loose chips and shav-
ings, and soon began to strike fire with his knife and
flnit.

"What are you about, Louis?" asked Hector.

" Lii'htin'' a tin-. '

" It is warm enough without a lire, I am sure."

" I know that ; but I want to attract the notice of
yonder tiresome fisherman."

"And perhaps bring a swarm of savages down
upon u.s, who may be iurkhig in the bushes of the
island."

"Pooh, pooh! Hec ; their are no savages. I am
weary of this place— anything is better than this
horrible solitude." And Lotiis fanned the Hame into
a rapid blazf, an<l heaped up the light dry branches
till it soared up among the bushes. Louis watched

WHAT A .TOYFT'L MKKTING I

283

the effect of liis five, and rubbed his hands gleefully
as th(> havk canoe was ]:»uslu;d off from the island,
and a few vigorous strokes of the ])addle sent it
dancing over tlie surface of the calm lake.

Louis waved his cap aljove his head with a cheer
of welcome as the vessel li'ditlv ''-lided into the little
cove, near the spot where the boys were chopping,
anil a stout-framed, weather-beaten man, in a
blanket coat, also faded and weather-beaten, with
a red worsted sash and worn moccasins, sprang upon
one of the tindsers of Louis's old raft, and gazed with
a keen eye upon the lads. Each party silently re-
garded the other. A few rapid interrogations from
the stranger, uttereil in the Inroad ■paton^ of the LoAver
Province, were answered in a mixture of broken
French and English by Louis.

A chann'e like liiditninn" iiassed over the face of
the old man as he crieil out — '■ Louis Perron, son of
my ancient c<MupagnonI"'

"Oui! oui!'' — with eyes sparkling t'nrough tears
<jf io\-, Louis threw himself into the broad breast of
Jacob Alorelle, his father's friend and old lumbering
conn-ado.

"Hector, son of la belle Catharine Perron!" and
Hector, in his turn, received the affectionate endjraco
of the warm-hearted old man.

"Who would have thought of meeting with the
children of my old conn-ade here at the shore of the
Rice Lake ^ Oh ! what a jo^•ful meeting!"

Jacob had a hundred (piestions to ask — Where
were their parents ? did they live on the Plains

284

THE OLD TRAPPEIl.

HOW? how loiiLj was it siueo tlic}'^ Iwul left tlie Cold
Springs .' wore tliere any more little ones ? and so
forth.

The hoys looked sorrowfully at each other. At
last the old man stopped for want of breath, and
remarked their sad looks.

Hector told the old lumberer how long they had
hcen separated from their families, and by what sad
accident they had been deprived of the society of
their beloved sister. When they brought their nar-
rative down to the disajipearance of Catharine, the
whole soul of the old trapper seemed luoved ; he
starte<l fV<im the log on which they were sitting, and
with one nt' his national asseverations, declared "that
he, her father's old frienti, would go up the river and
bring her back in safety, or leave his gray scalp be-
hind him among the wigwams."

"It is too late, Jacob, to think of starting to-day,"
said Hector. " Come home with us, and eat some
food, and rest a bit."

"No necrd of that, my son. I have a lot of tish
here in the canoe; and there is an ol<l shanty on the
island yonder, if it be still standing — the Trapper's
Fort I used to call it some years ago. We will go
ott' to the island and look for it."

"No need for that," replied Louis; " thougli I can
tell you the old place is still in good repair, for we
u.sed it this very s[»ring as a boiling-house for our
maple sap. We havi' a better place of our own
nearer at hand — ;just two or three hundred yards
over the brow of yonder hill. So come with us.

■

OLD WOLFE.

285

and you shall have a good supper, and bed to lie
upon. '

" And you have all these, boys!" said Jacob, open-
'm<^ his merry black eyes, as they came in sigiit of
the little log-house and the H<'ld of green corn.

The old man praised the I toys for their industry
and energy. " Ha ! here is old Wolfe too," as the
doff roused liimself from the hearth, and ('ave one
of his low grumbling growls. He had grown dull
and dreamy, and instead of going out as usual with
the young hunters, he would lie for hoiu-s dozing
Itefore the dying embers of the Hre. He pined for
the loving liand that used to pat his sides, caress his
shaggy neck, and pillow his great head upon her lap,
or suH'er him to put his huge paws on her shoulders,
while he licked her hands and face; but she was
gone, and the Indian girl wn.s gone, and the light of
the shanty had gone with them. Old Wolfe seemed
dying of sorrow.

That evtniin<', as Jacob sat on the three -le'^ed
stool smoking his short Indian pipe, he jxgain would
have the whole story of their wanderings over, and
the history of all their doings and contrivances.

" And how far do you think you are from the
Cold Springs V

" At least twenty miles, perhaps iifty ; for it is a
long, long time now since we left home — three smn-
niers ago."

"Well, boys, you nnist not reckon distance by
the time you have been absent," said the old man.
" Now, T know the distance through the woods, for

28G

JACOBS KXPKHIEXCF,,

I liavG passed through thoin on the Indian trail,
and by my reckoning, as the bee tlies, it cannot be
more than seven or eight miles — no, nor that either."

The boys opened their eyes. "Jacob, is this pos-
sible ? So near, and yet to us the distance has bi-en
as great as thougli it were a hundred miles or mon;."

"I tell you, l)oys, that is the provoking part of it.
I remeudier, when 1 was out on the St. John lum-
bering, missing my conu'ades, and 1 was well-nigh
starving, when I chanced to come liack to the spot
wliere we jiarted ; and I verily believe I had not
been two miles distant the whole eight days that
I was moving round and roinid, and backwai'd and
forward, just in a circle, because, d'ye see, I followed
the sun, and that led me asti'av the whole time."

" V/as that when you Avell-nigh roasted the bear ? "
<isi<ed Louis, with a sly glance at Hector.

" Well, no — that was another time; your father was
out with me then." And old Jacol>, knocking the
ashes out of his pipe, settled himself to recount the
a<lventure of the bear. Hector, who had heard Louis's
(•(lition of the roast bear, was almost iuipatient at
being forced to listen to old Jacob's l(mg-winde(l
histoiy, which included about a dozen other stories,
all tau'ijed on to this, like liid<s of a lengthened
chain; and lu; was not sorry when the old bnnberer,
taking his red niglit-cap out of his ])ockct, at last
stretchetl himself out on a builalo skin he had l)rought
up from the canoe, and soon M'as soundly sleeping.

The morning was yet gray when the old man
.shook himself from his shnnber; and, after having

JACOH S UESOLniON.

287

roused up a good tire, which, though tlie latter end
of July, at that dewy hour was not unwelcome, he
lighted his pipe, and began broiling a fish for his
breakfast; and was thus engaged when Hector and
Louis wakened.

" I have been turning over in my mind about your
sister," said he, "and have comi! to the resolution of
go ng up the river alone without any one to accom-
pany nie. I know the Indians: they are a suspicious
people; they <U'al unieh in stratagems; and they are
apt to expect treachery in others. Perhaps they
have had some reason ; for the white men have not
always kept good faith with them, which I take to
be the greater shame, as they have (icxl's laws to
guide and teach them to be true and just in their
dealing, which the poor benighted heathen have not,
the more's the ])ity. Now, d'ye see, if the Indians
see two stout latls with me, ihvy will say to them-
sel\v.s there may be more Ud't bi'hind, skidking in
ambush. So, boys, [ go to the camp alone; and,
God willing, 1 will bring back your sister, or die in
the attem2)t. I shall not go empty -liandecl ; see, I
havi' here scarlet cloth, bi-ails, and powdci' and shot.
1 cai'ry no Hre-water : it is a sin and a shame to
tempt these ]ioor wretches to their own destruction;
it makes fiends of them at one*'. '

It was to no pin^pose that Hector and Louis
passionately besought old Jacob to let them share
the dangers of the expedition ; the old man was
firm, and would not be moved from his piu'pose.

" Look you, boys," he said, " if T <lo not rt>furn by

288

PARTING rOITNSKI..

i I

the beginninfj of the lice-lmrvest, you may suppose
that evil has befallen lue and the girl. Thei I would
advise you to take care for your own safety ; for if
they do not respect my gray head, neither will they
spare your young ones. In stich ease make your-
selves a ijood canoe — a dujf-out* will do — and <'o
down the lake till you are stopped l»y the rapids ;■^
make a portage there ; but as your eraft is too
weighty to carry far, e'en leave her and chop out
another, and go down to the falls;* then, if you do
not like to be at any further trouble, you may make
out your journey to the bayij on foot, coasting along
the river; there you will fall in with settlers who
know old Jacob Moi*el!e, ay, and your two fathers,
and they will put you in the way of returning
home. If I were to try ever so to put you on the
old Indian trail in the woods, tliough I know it
myself right well, you might be lost, and maybe
never return home again. I leave my traps and my
rifle with you ; I shall not need them. If I come
back I may claim the things ; if not, they are yours.
So now I have said my say, had my f<ifl>\ as the
Indians say. Farewell. But first let us pi-ay to
Him who alone can brinjj this 'natter to a safe issue."
And the old man devoutly kneeled down, and prayed
for a blessing on his voyage and on those he was
leaving ; and then hastened <lown to the beach, and
the boys, with full hearts, watched the canoe till it
was lost to their sijjht on the wide waters of the lake.

• Lng-canoc.

; Heclpy's Falls, on the Trjiit.

t Crnok's Rapids,
s lliiy Qulntii.

CHAPTER XV.

' Where wiM in woods the lonlly savage ran." — Duydev.

HE setting sun M'as casting long shadows
of oak and wi'j'ping chu atlnvart the
waters of the river ; tlic light dip of the
jiaddlo had ceasod on the water, the bay-
ing of hounds and lifedike stirring sounds from the
lodges came softened to the listenini; car. The
hunters had come in with the spoils of a successful
chase; the wigwam hix-s are flickeriri'' and cracklin;::,
sending up their light colunms of thin blue smoke
among the trees ; and now a goodly portion of
venison is roasting on the forked sticks before the
fires. Each lodge lias its own cooking utensils.
That jar embedded in the hot embers contains sassa-
fras tea, an aromatic Iteverage in which the squaws
delight when they are so fortunate as to procure a
supply. This has Iteen brought from the Credit, far
up in the M-est, liy a family who have come down
on a special mission from some great chief to his
brethren on the OtonaV»ee, and the squaws have
cooked some in honour of the guests. That pot that

sends up such a savoury steam is venison pottage, or
(721) ■ 19

290

INDIANA DISCOVERS CATIIAIIINE.

soup, or stow, or .any name yon choose to give tho
Indian mess tliat is concocte<l of venison, wild rice,
and hcrl)s. Tliose tired hounds that lie stretched
Ixjforc tho Hro have In-en out, an<l now they enjoy
the privilege of the tire, some praise from the hunters,
and receive withal an occasional reproof from tho
squaws, if they approach their wishful noses too
close to the teujpting viands.

The elder lK)ys are shooting at a mark on yonder
birch-tree ; tho girls are playing or rolling on tho
grass; the " Snow-Iiird" is seatcid on the floor of tho
wigwam hrai<ling a necklac<; of sweet grass, which
she confines in links by means of little bands of
coloured <|uills ; Catharine is working moccasins
beside her. A dark sliadow falls across her work from
the open tent door ; an exclamation of surprise and
displeasure from one of the women makes Catharine
raise her eyes to the doorway. There, silent, pale,
and motionless, the mere shadow of her former self,
stands Indiana ; a gleam of joy lights for an instant
her large lustr<»is eyes. Amazement and delight at
the sight of her beloved friend for a moment deprive
Catharine of the power of speech ; then terror for
the safety of her friend takes the place of her joy
at seeing her. She rises regardless of tlio angry
tones of the Indian woman's voice, and throws
her arms alout Indiana, as if to shield her from
threatened danger, and sobs her welcome in her
arms.

" Indiana, dear sister ! how came you hither, and
for what purpase ?"

BEFORK THE OKEAT CHIEF.

or;-.

"To free you, and then die," was the soft, low,
tremulous answer. " Follow nio."

Catharine, wondcrinj,' at the calm and fearless
manner with which tlur youn;,' Mohawk waved l)ack
the «lusky matron who ai)proache<l a.i if with the
design of laying hands upon her unwelcome guest,
followed with Ix-ating heart till they stood in the
entrance of the lodge of the Bald Ea-de. It was filled
with the hunters, who were stretched on .skins on
the floor, reposing in (piiet after the excitement of
the chase.

The young Mohawk hcnt her head down ami
crossed her arms over her hrcast, an attitude of sub-
mission, as slu! st()(j<l in the opening of the lodge;
l>ut she spoke no word till the old chief, waving hack
the men who, starting to their feet, were gathering
round him as if to shield him from danger, and
sternly regarding her, demanded from whence .she
came and for what purpose.

" To submit myself to the will of my Ojcbwa
father," was the meek reply. " May the daughter
of the BaM Eagle's enemy speak to her great
father?"

" Say on," was the brief reply ; " th(> Bald Eagle's
ears are open."

" The Bald Eagle is a mighty chief, the concpicror
of his enemies, and the father of his peo2)le," replied
the Mohawk girl, and again was silent.

" The Mohawk squaw speaks well ; let her
say on."

" The heart of the Mohawk is an open flower; it

292

TIIK YOUN(J MOHAWKS 8PEECU.

can bo looked upon liy the oyc of the Groat Spirit.
She speaks the words of truth. The Ojeltwa cliief
slow his enemies : they l»a«l done his good heart
■wrong; ho punishc*! them for the wrong they
wrou'dit ; he left none living in the lod'^es of his
enemies save no young sfpiaw, the daughter of a
hrave, the grantldaughter of the Black Snake. The
Bald Eagle loves oven an (momy that is not afraid to
raise the war-whoop or Hing the tomahawk in battle.
The young girl's mother was a brave." Slie paused,
while her proud eyes were fixed on the face of her
.aged auditor. He nodded assent, and she resumed,
while a flush of emotion kiudled her pale cheek and
reddened her lips : —

"The Bald Eagle brought the lonely ono to his
lodge ; he buried the hatchet and the scalping-knife,
he bade his s(piaws comfort her : but her heart was
lonely, she pined for the homes of her fathers. She
said, I will revenge my father, my mother, and my
brothers and sisters; and her heart burned within
her. But lier haml Wfis not strong to shed blood; the
Great Spirit was al)out my Ojebwa fathei*. She failed,
and would have fled, for an arrow was in her flesh.
The people of the Bald Eagle took her; they brought
her down the great river to the council hill ; they
bound her with thongs, and left her to die. She
prayed, and the Great Spirit heard her prayer and
sent her help. The white man cauK! ; his heart was
soft ; he unl)ound her, he gave water to cool her hot
lips, he led her to his lodge. The white sipiaw (and
she pointed to Catharine) was there ; she bound up

'riiK (ii!i:.\T (.'iiii:!' spkakm.

2'J3

licr wounds, sli' laid her on her own l)od, she ^'ave
her meat and (hink, and tended lier with love. She
tant,dit her to pray to the (Jood Spirit, and told her
to return j^ood for evil, to he true and just, k' id and
merciful. The hard heart of the young I'irl became
.soft {I.S clay when moulded for the ]>ots, and she
loved lu-r white sister and hrothers, and was happy.
The Bald Eai^de's people came when my white
hrothers were at peace; they foimd a tremhlinfjj fawn
within the lod<j;e ; they led lier away ; they left teaR>
and loneliness where joy and peace had ])een. The
Mohawk sfpiaw could not see the hearth of her white
hiothers desolate. She took tlie canoe; she came to
the lodge of tlie great father of Ins tri])e, and she
says to him, Give hack the white S(iuaw to her
home on the Rice Lake, and take in her stead the
rebellious daughter of the Ojeliwa's enemy, to die or
l»e his servant ; she fears not now the knife or the
tomahawk, the arrow or the spear: her ^'.fe is in the
hand of the <freat chief." She sank on her knees as
.she spoke these last words, and bowing down her
head on her breast remained motionless as a
statue.

There M'as silence for some minutes, and then the
old man rose and sa'd: —

"Daughter of a hrave woman, thou hast spoken
long, and thou hast spoken well; the cars of the
Bald Eagle have been opened. The white s(iuaw
shall be restored to her brother's lodge; but thou
remainest. I have spoken."

Catharine, in tears, cast her arms round her dis-

294

C'VTIIAKINE INTERCEDES.

interested friend and reiiiain(>d weeping . liow could
she accept tliis great sacrifice ? She, in lier turn,

•■•^.i[l>>

IMPIAVA iiKKiiiii: Tin: iiM.r) r.Acii.i:

plea<h'(l for the life ami liliciiy of tlie Muhawk ; hut
the chief turned a cold ear U) her passionate and
incoliercnt pleading. He was weary— he was ini-

AT TIIK DKAl) HOVR OF XIGIIT.

295

patient of fuvtliev excitement— he coldly niotioned to
them to withdraw ; and the friends in sadness retired
to talk over all that had taken place since that sad
day when Catharine was taken from her home.
While her heart was joyful at the prospect of her
own release, it was clouded with fears for the uncer-
tain fate of her beloved friend.

" They will condemn mo to a cruel death," said
In-Mana; "but I can suffer and die for my white
sister."

That night the Indian girl slept sweetly and tran-
quilly beside Catharine. But Catharine could not
sleep ; she connnuned with her own heart in the still
watches of the night ; it seemed as if a new life had
been infused within her. She no longer thought and
felt as a child ; the energies of her mind had been
awakened, ripened into maturity, as it were, and
suddenly expanded. When all th<i inmates of the
lodges were profoundly sleeping, Catharine arose: a
sudden thought had entered into her mind, and she
hesitated not to put her design into execution. There
was no moon, but a bright arch Oi. light spanned the
forest to the north; it was mild and soft as moon-
light, but less bright, and cast no shadow across her
path; it showed her the .sacred tent of the widow
of the murdered Mohawk. With noiseless step she
lifted aside the curtain of skins that guarded it, and
stood at the entrance. Light as was her step, it
awakened the sleeper ; she raised herself on her arm,
and looked up witli a tlreamy and abstracted air as
Catharine, .stretching forth her hand, in tones low

29G

A DAUIXG DEKD.

and tremulous, thus addressed her in the Ojebwa
tongue : —

" The Great Spirit sends me to thee, woman of
much sorrow ; he asks of tliee a great deed of mercj'
and goo<Jness. Thou hast slied blood, and he is angry.
He bids tliee to save the life of an (niemy — tlie blood
of thy murdered luisl)and flows in her veins. See
that thou disobey not tlio words tliat he commands."

She dropped tlie curtain and retired as she had
come, witli noiseless step, and lay down again in the
tent Ix'side Indiana. Her heart beat as though it
would burst its way through her bosom. What had
she done ? — what dared ? She had entered the pre-
sence of that terrible woman alone, at the dead hour of
night! she liad spoken bold and presumptuous words
to that strange being M'hom even her own people
hardly dared to approach uncalled for ! Sick with
terror at the consequences of her temr/ity, Catharine
cast her treml)ling arms about the sleeping Indian
girl, and, hiding h(!r head in her bosom, wept and
prajx'd till .sleep came over her wenried spirit. It
was late when she awoke. She was alone ; the lodge
was empty. A vague fear seized her : she hastily
arose to .seek her friend. It was evident that some
great event was in preparation. The Indian men had
put on the war-paint, and strange and ferocious eyes
were glancing from beneath their shaggy locks. A
stake was driven in the centre of the cleared space
in front of the chief's lodgi! : there, bound, slu; beheld
her devoted friend; ])ale as ashes, btit with a calm,
uashaken countenance, she stood. There was no

INDIANA AT THE STAKK.

297

sign cf woman's fear in her fixed dark eye, which
quailed not before the siglit of the deach-dooming
men who stood round her, armed with their terrible
weapons of destruction. Her thoughts seemed far
away: perhaps they were Avith her dead kindred,
wandering in that happy land to which the Indian
hopes to go after life ; or, inspired with the new hope
which had been opened to her, she was looking to
Him who has promised a crown of life to such as
believe in his name. She saw not the look of agony
with which Catharine regarded her; and the poor
girl, full of grief, sunk down at the foot of a neigh-
bouring tree, and, burying her face between her knees,
wept and prayed — oh, how fervently ! A hope
crept to her heart — even while the doom of Indiana
seemed darkest — th.at some good might yet accrue
from her visit to tlie wigwam of the Great Medicine
squaw. She knew tluit the Indians have great belief
in omens, and warnings, and spirits both good and
evil ; she knew that her mysterious appearance at
the tent of the Mohawk's widow would be construed
by her into spiritual agency ; and her heart was
strengthened by this hope. Yet just now there seems
little reason to encourage hope : the war-wlioop is
given, the war-dance is begun — first slow, and grave,
and measured , now louder, and quicker, and more
wild become both sound and movement. But why
is it hushed again ? See, a strange canoe appears on
the river; anonan old wi>ather-beaten man, with firm
step, appears on the greensward, and approaches tlio
area of the lodire.

298

AN ANXIOUS MOMKNr.

Tlie Cald Eagle greets him with friendly courtesy

the^

he < I

-son<r IS 11

luisli

conn
ai

I dance ceases and
is begun. It is for the deliverance of the captives.
The chief points to Catharine — she is free ; his white
brother may take her — she is his. But the Indian
law of justice must take its course : tlie condemned,
who raised her hand against an Ojebwa chief, must
die. In vain are the tempting stores of scarlet cloth
and beads for the women, with powder and shot, laid
before the chief : the aiTows of six warriors are
fitued to the string, and again the dance and song
commence, as if, like the roll of the drum and
clangour of the trumpet, they were necessary to the
excitement of strong and powerful feelings, and the
suppression of all tenderer emotions.

And now a wild and solcnui voice is heard, un-
earthly in its tones, rising above the yells of those
savage men. At the sound every cheek becomes
pale : it strikes upon the ear as some funeral wail.
Is it the death-song of the captive girl bound to
that fearful stake ? No ; for she stands unmoved,
with eyes raised heavenward, and lips apart, —

" III still but hravo despair.'

Shrouded in a mantle of dark cloth, her long black
hair unbound and streaming over her shoulders,
appears the Mohawk widow, the daughter of the
Ojebwa chief. The gathering throng fa/ back ai>.
she approaches, awed by her sudden appearance
among them. She stretches out a hand on which
dark stains are visible — it is the blood of her husband,

TUK MOJIAWK WIDOW S CLAI.M.

iO'J

sacrlficofl 1 )y lier on that day of fearful deeds : it lias
never been effaced. Jn tlio name of the Great Spirit

INKl AS \ \T TMK STAKK

she claims the captive i^irl — tlie last of tliat devoted
trihe — to he delivered over to her will, lier ri<i;ht to
this remnant of her murdered husband's familv is

300

A VEKD OF MliltCY.

acknowledged. A knife is placed in her hand,
while a deafening yell of triumph l)m'sts from the
excited squaws, as this their great high priestess, as
they deem her, advances to the criminal. But it
is not to shed the heart's blood of the Mohawk
girl, but to sever the thongs that bind her to the
deadly stake, for which that glittering blade is
drawn, and to bid her depart in peace wliithersoever
she woidd go.

Then, turning to the Bald Eagle, she thus addrcsse.«
him : " At the dead of night, when the patli of light
spanned the sky, v vision stood before mine eyes. It
came from the Great and Good Spirit, and bade me
to set free the last of a nuu'dered race, whose sun had
gone down in blood shed by my hand and by the
hands of my people. The vision told me that if I
did this my path should henceforth be peace, and
that I should go to the better land and be at rest if I
did this good deed. " She then laid her hands on the
head of the young Mohawk, blessed her, and, envel-
oping herself in the dark mantle, slowly retired back
to her solitary tent once more.

CHAPTER XVT.

" llame, hanio, hame,

llame I soon shall he—
llamc, hame, hame,

In mine own countrie "Scotch Ballad.

LD Jacob and '^'atharine, who had been
mute spectators of the scene so full of
interest to them, now presented themselves
before the Ojebwa chief and besought
leave to depart. The presents were again laid before
him, and this time were graciously accepted. Catha-
rine, in distributing the beads and cloth, took care
that the best portion should fall to the grand-daughter
of the chief, the pretty, good-humoured " Snow-bird."
The old man was not insensible to the noble sacrifice
which had been made by the devoted Indiana, and
he signified his forgiveness of her fault by graciously
ottering to adopt her as his child, and to give her in
marrianfe to one of his grandsons, an elder brother of
the " Snow-bird ; " but the young girl modestly but
firmly refused this mark of favour, for her heart
yearned for those whose kindness had saved her
from death, and who had taught her to look beyond
the things of this world to a brighter and a better

302

BIDDIXr. FAREWELL TO HIE BALD EAGLE.

state of being. She said " she would go with lier
white sister, and pray to God to hlcss her enemies, as
the Great Spirit had tauglit her to do."

It seems a Hngering principle of good in human
nature that the exercise of mercy and virtue opens
the heart to the enjoyment of social happiness. The
Indians, no longer worked up by excitement to deeds
of violence, seemed disposed to bury the hatchet of
hatred, and the lodge was now filled with mirth and
the voice of gladness, feasting, and dancing. A cove-
nant of peace and good-will was entered upon by old
Jacob and the chief, who ba<le Catharine tell her
brothers that from henceforth tliey should be free to
hunt the deer, fish, or shoot the wild-fowl of the lake
whenever they desired to do so, " lie, the Bald Eagle,
had said so."

On the morrow, with the first dawn of day, the
old trapper was astir; the canoe was ready, with
fresh cedar boughs strewed at the bottom. A supply
of parched rice and dried fish had been presented
by the Indian chief for the voyage, that his white
brother and the young girls might not suffer from
want. At sunrise the old man led his young charges
to the lodge of the Bald Eagle, who took a kindly
farewell of them. The "Snow-bird ' was sorrowful,
and her bright, laughing eyes were dimmed with
tears at parting with Catharine. She was a gentle,
loving thing, as soft and playful as the tame fawn
that nestled its velvet head against her arm. She
did not let Catharine depart without many tokens of
her regard, the work of her own hands, — bracelets of

A TOKEN OF RECONCILIATION AND GOOD-WILL.

303

porcupine quills cut in fine pieces, and strung in
fanciful pattcras, nuxM:;a.sin.s riclily wrought, and
tiny bark dishes and boxes, such as might have
graced a lady's work-table, so rare was their work-
manship.

Just as they were al»out to step into the canoe,
the " Snow-bird" leappearol, bearing a richly worked
bark box, " From the Great Medicine," she said in a
low voice, " to the daughter of the Mohawk brave."
The box contained a fine tunic, soft as a lady's glove,
embroidered and fringe<l, and a fillet of scarlet and
blue feathers, with the wings and breast of thu war-
bird as shoulder omanunts. It was a token of
reconciliation and guo»i-will worthy of a generous
heart.

The young girl pressed the gifts to her bosom and
to her lips reverentially, and the hand that brought
them to her heart, as she said in her native tongue,
" Tell the Great Metlicine I kiss her in my heart,
and pray that she may liave peace and joy till .she
departs for the spii-it land."

With joyful heart they bade adieu to the Indian
lodges, and rejoiced in V»eing once more afloat on the
Ijosom of the great river. To Catharine the events
of the past hours seemed like a strange bewildering
dream. She longe<I for the cjuiet ropo.se of home ;
and how gladly did .she listen to that kind -Id man's
plans for restoring Hector, Louis, and herself to the
arms of their beloved parents. How often did she
.say to herself, " Oh that I had wings like a dove, for
then would I flee away and be at rest! — in the shelter

304

COMPELLED TO HALT.

|i t

I I t

of that dear mother's arms whom slie now pined for
witli a painful yeaminj,' of the heart that miglit well
be called home-sickness. But in spite of anxious
wishes, the little party were compelled to halt for tho
night some fvw miles above the lake. There is on
the eastern Imnk of the Otonabee a pretty, rounded
knoll, clothed with wild cherries, hawthorns, and
pine-trees, just where a creek half hidden by alder
and cranbeny bushes works its way below tho
shouMer of the little eminence. This creek grows
broader and V)ecomes a little stream, through which
the hunters sometimes paddle their canoes, as a short
cut to the lower part of the lukc near Crook's
Rapids.

To this creek old Jacob .steered his little craft, and
bidding the girls collect a few dry sticks and branches
for an eveninj; fii*e on the sheltered side of the little
bank, he soon lighted the pile into a cheerful blaze
by the aid of birch bark, the hunter's tinder — a sort
of fungus that is found in the rotten oak and maple
trees — and a knife and flint. He then lifted the
canoe, and having raised it on its side, by means
of two .small stakes which he cut from a l)ush hard
by, he spread down his buffalo robe on the dry

grass.

"There is a tent fit for a queen to sleep under,
mes cheres jilles" he .said, eying his arrangements for
their night .shelter with great satisfaction.

He baited liis line, and in a few minutes had a
di.sh of splendid bass ready for the fire. Catharine
.selected a larije flat block of limestone on which the

TiiK NKiirr .siii:r;rEii.

305

fish when ItroilL'd was laid ; luit old Jacob openod his
wide mouth and lauii,lH'<l wlien shi; procoeded to lay
her bush table with lav^n; basswood leaves for platters.
Such nicety he professed was unusual on a hunter's
table. He was too old a forester to care how his
food was dished, so that he had M'hcrewithal to satisfy
his huuLfer.

Many were the merry tales lie told and the songs
lie sung, to while away the time, till the daylight
faded from the sky, and the deep blue heavens were
studded with bright stars, which were mirrored in
countless hosts deep deep down in that calm wavclcss
river, while thousands of Hre-Hies lighted up the dark
recesses of the forest's gloom. High in the upper air
the hollow booming of the nightdiawk was heard at
intervals ; and the wild cry of the night-owl from a
dead branch, shouting to its fellow, woke the silence
of that lonely river scene.

The old trapper, stretclied before the crackling fire,
smoked liis pipe or liummed some French roi/(((jeurs
song. Heneath the shelter of the canoe soundly slept
the two girls ; the dark cheek of the Indian girl
pillowed on the arm of her fairer companion, her
thick tresses of raven hair mingling with the silken
ringlets of the white maiden. They were a lovely
pair — one fair as morning, the other dark as night.

How gaily did tliey spring from their low bed,
wakened l»y the early song of the forest birds ! The
light curling mist hung in fleecy volumes on the
river, like a flock of sheep at rest; tVio tinkling sound
of the heavy dew-drops fell in mimic showers upon
(TJi) 20

306

WHAT GURGLlNa SOUND IS TIIATI

the stream. See that red squirrel, how lightly ho
runs along that lallen trunk ! how furtively ho
glances with liis sharp bright eye at the intruders on
his silvan haunts! Hark: there is a rustling among
the leaves ; what strange creature works its way to
thp shore ? A mud turtle : it turns, and now is
trotting along the little sandy ridge to some sunny
spot, where, half buried, it may lie unseen near the
edge of the river. See that musk-rat, how boldly ho
plunges into the stream, and, with his oar-like tail,
stems the current till he gains in safety the sedges
on the other side.

What gurgling sound is that? — it attracts the
practised car of the old hunter. What is that object
which floats so steadily down the middle of tho
stream, and leaves so bright a line in its wake? — it is
a noble stag. Look at the broad chest with which
he breasts the water so gallantly ; see how proudly
he carries his antlered head! He has no fear in those
lonely solitudes — he has never heard the crack of tho
hunter's rifle — he heeds not the sharp twang of that
bow-string, till the arrow rankles in his neck, and
the crimson flood dyes the water aroiuid liim. He
turns, but it is only to present a surer mark for the
arrow from the old hunter's bow. And now the noble
beast turns to bay, ^md the canoe is rapidly launched
by the hand of the Indian girl. Her eye flashes with
the excitement ; her whole soul is in tho chase ; she
stands up in the canoe, and steers it full upon the
wounded buck, while a shower of blows is dealt
upon his heail and neck with the paddle. Catharine

DOWN THE OTONAHEK.

307

iTf

buries lior face in lier liands; she cannot boar to look
upon tlie sufrt'iiuj^'s of tbc noble aniniul. She will
never make a huntress ; her heart is cast in too soft
a mould. Sec they have t()^ved tbc deer ashore, and
Jacob is in all his glory. The little squaw is an
Indian at heart — see with what expcrtncss sho
helps the old man. And now the pjreat business is
completed, and the venison is stowed away at the
bottom of the canoe. They wash their hands in tbo
river, and come at Catharines sunnnons to their
breakfast.

The .sun is now rising high above the pine-trees ;
the morning mist is also rising and rolling off like
a golden veil as it catches those glorious rays ; the
whole earth seems wakening into new life ; the dew
lias brightened every leaf an<l washe»l each tiny
flower-cup ; the pines and balsams give out their
resinous fragr.ance ; the aspens flutter and dance in
the morning breeze, and return a mimic sbower of
dew-drops to the stream ; the .shores become lower
and flatter ; the trees less lofty and more mo.s.sy ; the
stream expands, and Avide beds of rushes .spread out
on either side; what beds of snowy water-lilies; how
splendiil the rose tint of those perseicaiias that glow
so brightly in the morning sun ; the ru.shes look like
a green meadow, but the treacherous water lies deep
below their grassy leaves ; the deer delights in these
verdant aquatic fields ; and see what flocks of red-
Avings rise from among them as the canoe passes
near — their bright sboulder-knots glance like fla.shes
of lightning in the sunbeams.

308

UrOX THE BUOAD KICK LAKK.

This low sw-

ampy

island, filled with drift-wood

these gray hoary trees, half choked and killed with
gray moss and lichens, those straggling alders and
hlack ash, look melancholy ; they are like pi'cmaturo
old age, gray-headed youths. That island divides
the channel of the river : the old man takes the
nearest, the left hand. And now^ they are upon the
broad Rice Lake, and Catharine w-earies her eye to
catch the smoke of the shanty rising among the
trees : one after another the islands steal out into
view; the capes, bays, and shoies of the northern side
are growing less distinct. Yon hollow bay, where
the beaver has hidden till now, backed by that bold
sweep of hills that look in the distance as if only
covered with green ferns, with here and there a tall
tree, stately as a pine or oak, — that is the spot where
Louis saw the landin'f of tlu; Indians: now a risinjj
village — Gore's Landing. On yon lofty hill now
stands the village church, — its white tower rising
amongst the trees forms a charming object from the
lake ; and there, a little higher uj), not far from the
plank road, now^ stand pretty iiu'al cottages : one of
these belongs to the spirited proprietor of the village
that bears his name. That tasteful garden before
the white cottage, to the right, is Colonel Brown's,
and there are pretty farms and cultivated spots ; but
silence and loneliness reigned there at the time of
which 1 write.

Where those lew dark pines rise above the oak
groves like the spires of churches in a crowded city,
is Mount Arai'at. The Indian 'arl steers straight

AT THE THRESHOLD OP THE LOG-HOUSE.

309

between the islands for that ark of refuge, and Cath-
arine's eyes are diiuiued Avith grateful tears as she
pictures to herself the joyful greeting in store for her.
In the overflowings of her gladness she seizes the old
man's ruirsed hand and kisses it, and flings her arms
about the Indian girl and presses her to her heart,
when the canoe has touched the old well-remembered
landing-place, and she tinds herself so near, so very
near her lost home. How precious are such moments
— how few we have in life ! They are created from
our very sorrows ; without our cares our joys would
be less lively. But W(! have no time to moralize.
Catharine flies with the speed of a young fawn to
climb the cliff-like shotdder of that steep bank ; and
now, out of breath, she stands at the threshold of
lier log-house. How neat and nice it looks compared
wdth the Indians' tents ! The little field of corn is
green and flourishing. There is Hector's axe in a
newly-cut log : it is high noon ; the boys ought to
have been there taking their mid-day meal, but the
door is .shut. Catharine lifts the wooden latch, and
steps ii). The embers are nearly burned out to a
handful of gray ashes. Old Wolfe is not there — all
is silent; and Catharine sits down to still the beating
of her heart, and await the coming of her slower
companions, and gladdens her mind with the hope
that her brother and Louis will soon be home. Her
eye wanders over every old familiar object. All
things seem much as she had left them ; only, the
maize is in the ear, and the top feather waves grace-
fully in the summer breeze. It promises an abun-

310

A IIAPPy REUNION.

dant crop. But that liavvest is not to be gathered by
the hands of the young planters ; it was left to the
birds of the air and the beasts of the field — to those
humble reapers who sow not, neither do they gather
into bams, for the heavenly Father feedcth them.
While the two girls busied themselves in preparing a
fine roa.st of venison, old Jacob stalked away over the
hills to search for the boys, and it was not long before
he returned with Hector and Louis.

I must not tell tales, or I might say what tears of
joy were mingled with tlie rapturous greetings with
which Louis embraced his beloved cousin; or 1 might
tell that the bright flush that warmed the dusky
cheek of the young Indian and the light that danced
in her soft black eyes owed their origin to the kiss
that was pressed on her red lips by her white brother.
Nor will we say whose hand held hers so long in his,
while Catharine related the noble sacrifice made for
her sake, and the perils encountered by the devoted
Indiana, whose eyes were moistened with tears as the
horrors of that fearful trial were described ; or who
.stole out alone over the hills, and sat him down in
the hush and silence of tlie summer night to think
of the acts of heroism displayed by that untaught
Indian girl, and to dream a dream of youthful love :
with the.se things, my young reade^ we have noth-
ing to do.

"And now, my children," said old Jacob, look-
ing round the little dwelling, " have you mado up
your minds to live and die here on the shores of this
lake, or do you desire again to behold your fathers'

LKAVINCi THE OLD L0(MIOi;Si:.

311

home ? Do your young hearts yearn after the hearth
of your childhood ? "

" After our fatliei-s' home ! " was Louis's emphatic
reply. "After the lioiiic of our childhood!' was
Catharine's earnest answer. Hector's hps echoed his
sister's words, wliilo a furtive troidjled glance fell
upon the orphan stranger ; but her timid eye was
raised to his young face with a trusting look, as if
she would have said, " Thy home shall be my home,
thy God my God."

" Well, 1 believe, if my old memory fails me not, I
can strike the Indian trail that used to lead to the
C'^ld Springs over the pine hills. It will not be dif-
ficult for an old trapper to find his way."

" For my part, I shall not leave this lovely spot
without regret," said Hector. " It would be a glorious
place for a settlement — all that one could desire —
hill and valley, and plain, wood, and water. I will
try and persuade my father to leave the Cold Springs,
and come and settle hereabouts. It would be delight-
ful — would it not, Catharine? — especially now we are
friends with tiie Indians."

With their heads full of pleasant schemes for the
future, our young folks laid them down that night
to rest. In the morning they rose, packed up such
portable articles as they could manage to carry, and
with full hearts sat down to take their last meal in
their home — in that home which had sheltered them
so long — and then, with one accord, they knelt down
upon its hearth, so soon to be left in loneliness, and
breathed a prayer to Him who had preserved them

312

ONCE MORK INTO THE WILDERNESS.

thus i'ai- in tlioir eventful lives; and then they jour-
neyed forth once more into the wilderness. There
was one, however, of their little band tliey left be-
hind ; this was the faithful old dog Wolfe. He had
pined during the absence of his mistress, and only a
few days before Catharine's return he had crept to
the seat she was wont to occupy, and there died.
Louis and Hector buried him, not without great
regret, beneath the group of birch-trees on the brow
of the slope near the corn-field.

CHAPTER XVII.

"I will arise, ami go to my father."— .S(. Utke.

T is the hour of sunset ; the sonorous sound
of tlie cattle - bells is heard, as they
slowly emerge from tlic steep hill-path
that leads to Maxwell and L(juis Perron's
little clearing; tlie dark shadows are lengthening
that those wood-crowned hills east over that sunny
spot, an oasis in the vast forest <lesert that man,
adventurous, courageous man, has hewed for himself
in the wilderness. The little Hock are feeding among
the blackened stumps of tlie unclearecl chopping:
those timbers have lain thus untouched for two
long years ; the hand was wanting that should have
given help in logging and burning them up. The
wheat is ripe for the sickle, and the silken beard of
the corn is waving like a fair girl's tresses in the
evening breeze. The tinkling fall of the cold spring
in yonder bank falls soothingly on the ear. Who
comes from that low-roofed log-cabin to bring in
the pitcher of water — that pale, careworn, shadowy
figure that slowly moves along the green pasture,
as one without hope or joy ; her black hair shared

314

IN SlUUT OF HOME.

with silver, her cheek ])alc as wax, and her hand so
thin it looks as though the lii:fht might be seen
through if she held it towards the sun ? It is the
heart-broken mother of Catharine and Hector Max-
well. Her heart has been pierced with many sor-
rows ; she cannot yet forget the children of her love,
her first-born girl and boy. Who comes to meet
her, and with cheerful voice chides her for the tear
that seems ever to be lingering on that pale cheek, —
yet the premature furrows on that broad, sunburnt,
manly brow speak, too, of inward care ? It is the
father of Hector and Catharine. Those two fine,
healthy boys, in homespun blouses, that are talking
so earnestly as they lean across the rail-fence of the
little wheat field, arc Kenneth and Donald; their
sickles are on their arms — they have been reaping.
They hear the sudden barking of Bruce and Wallace,
the hounds, and turn to see what causes the agitation
they display.

An old man draws near ; he has a knapsack on
his shoulders, which he casts down on the corner of
the stoup ; he is singing a line of an old French
ditty ; he raps at the open door. The Highlander
bids him welcome, but starts with glad surprise as
his hand is grasped by the old ti'apper.

" Hah, Jacob Morelle, it is many a weary year since
your step turned this way." The tear stood in the
eye of the soldier as he spoke.

" Can you receive me and those I have with me for
the night ?" asked the old man, in a husky voice- —
his kind heart was full. "A spare corner, a shake-

Tlir, LOST ONES RKSTORKD,

315

down, will do ; we travellers in the bush are no wise
nice."

" The best wo have, and kindly welcome, Jacob.
How many are 3^0 in all ?"

"There are just four, besides myself, — young
people. I found them where they had been long
living, on a lonely Ifi^.c, and I persuaded them to
come with me."

The strong features of the Highlander worked
convulsively, as he drew his faded blue bonnet over
his eyes. " Jacob, did ye ken that Ave lost our eldest
bairns some three summers since V he faltered in a
broken voice.

" The Lord, in his mercy, has restored them to you,
Donald, by my hand," said the trapper.

" Let me see, let me see my children ! To Him bo
the praise and the glory," ejaculated the pious father,
raising his bonnet reverently from his head ; " and
holy and blessed be His name for ever ! I thought
not to have seen this day. Catharine, my dear
wife, this joy will kill you ! "

In a moment his chikken were enfolded in his
arms. It is a mistaken idea that joy kills; it is a life
restorer. Could you, my young readers, have seen
how (piickly the bloom of health began to reappear
on the faded cheek of that pale mother, and h<>w
soon that dim eye regained its bright sparkle, you
would have said joy ilces not kill.

" But where is Louis, dear Louis, our nephew,
where is lie ?"

Louis, whose impetuosity was not to be restrained

316

A HAPPY HOIK.

by the caution of old Jacol), had cleared the loi,'-fenco
at a bound, had liastily ombmced lii.s cousins Kenneth

iiii: i;r:Tii:N iiomk.

and Donald, and in live minutes nion; liad rushed
into his father's c()tta^•e, and wept Ids Joy in the anus
of father, mother, and sisters l»y tui'us, lu.'fore old

TUE POOR INDIAN GIUU

3i:

Jacob h.ad intrcxlucol the impatient Hector and
Catliarine to their fatlier

" But wliile joy is in our little dwelling, who is
this that sits apaii. upon that stone Ijy the log-
fence, her face Ix-nt sadly down upon her knees,
her long ravt-n hair sliading her features as with a
veil ?" asked the Highlander Maxwell, pointing as
he spoke to the sjwt wlicre, unnoticed and unsharing
in the .joyful rccugnition, sat the poor Indian girl.
There was no paU-nial eiuhrace for her, no tender
mother's kiss imprinted on that dusky cheek and
pensive brow ; she was alone and desolate in the
midst of that scene of ghnlnt-ss.

" It is my Imlian sister," said Catharine ; " she also
must be your child."

Hector hurried to Indiana, and taking her by the
hand led her to liis parents, and bade them be kind
to and cheri.'^h the young stranger, to whom they all
owed so much.

Time passes on — yeai-s, long years have gone by
since the return of the lost children to their homes,
and many changes liave those years effected. The
logdiouses liave fallen to decay — a growth of young
pines, a waste of emerald turf with the charred logs
that once foruK-d part of the enclosure, now scarcely
serve to mark out the oM sottlement ; no trace or re-
coid remains of tl)e fii-st breakers of tlu; bush — another
race occupy the gi-oun<I. The traveller as he passes
along on that ,*;mooth turnpike road that leads from
Coburg to Cold Springs, and from thence to Gon-'s

318

THE NEW SETTLEMKNT.

Landing, may notice a green waste by tlie roadside
on either hanrl, and fancy that thereabouts our
Canadian Crusoes' home once stood : lie sees the
lofty wood-crowned liill, and in spring time — for in
sunnner it is liidden by tlic laxuriant foliage — the
little foi'est creek ; and he may, if thirsty, taste of the
pure, fresh, icy water, as it still wells out from a
spring in the steep bank, rippling through the little
cedar-ti'ough tliat Louis Perron placed there for the
better speed of his mother when tilling her water
jug. All else is gone. And what wrought the
change a few woi'ds will suffice to tell. Some trav-
elling fur merchants brouLrht the news to Donald
Maxwell that a party of Highlanders had made a
settlement alx)ve Montreal, and among them were
some of Ids kindred. The old soldier resolved to
join them, and it was not hard to prevail upon his
brother-in-law to accompany him, for they were all
now weary of living so far from their fellow-men ;
and biddinsr farewell to the little lorr-houses at Cold
Springs, they now journeyed downwards to the new
.settlement, where they were gladly received, their
long experience of the country making their com-
pany a most valuable acquisition to the new-come
colonists.

Not long after, the ilaxwells took possession of a
grant of land, and cleared and built for themselves
and their family. Hector, now a fine industrious
young man, presented at the baptismal font, as a
candidate for baptism, the Indian girl, and then re-
ceived at the altar his newly-baptized bride. Catha-

A IIAPPV END TO ADVERSITY.

319

rinc and Louis wore married on the same day as
Hector and Indiana. Tliey lived happy and prosper-
ous lives; and often, l)y their firesides, would delight
their children by recounting the history of their
wanderinys on the Rice Lake Plains.

THE END,