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1 2 3

( i

'iwm ■

»!H»ilM,MijW

THEY TWO;

oa,

PHASES OP LIFE IN EASTERN CANADA,

FIFTY YEABS AGO.

. -V

WRITTEN IN 1876, BT AN EX-JOUBNALIST.

P0ttt»at:
PRINTED BY JOHN I4OVBLL & SON.

1888.

rOB SALX AT THB BOOKSTOBBS.

.'■-■»■

•■ - >'

SXZd^

AUG 2 9 1974

wmm

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<9ne of our »arU»0t, tno^t rottotatit,
an(

^ libtral iiatrano of
t4i0 trifle i0 re0pertfitU9 itt0rrilte^.

■. V

By the Authob.

*? . ■ f':

ii:-^-tn,

EXPLANATOEY.

As the author of this book, who wrote it fourteen years
ago, had not the fortune to publish it, a few prefatory
remarks may be permitted.

It is no commendation of a novel now-a-days to assure
the reader that the incidents are all actualities ; for the
more absurdly false they are, so long as they are sensa-
tional, the more popular are such stories with a certain
class of readers. What influence the perusal of such
" Munchausenisms " will have on the literary taste of
the age, and on the morality of the rising generation, the
future alone will solve.

This book has neither falsehood nor sensation to recom-
mend it.

It was written by a parent for the amusement of chil-
dren, but the adult will find in it something of interest.

To those who read between the lines, another objact will
become evident, and they will perceive that the writer
intended to crystallize some phases of Canadian life into
our literature. "" ' ^ /

Had the author been the publisher, some needful cor-
rections might have been made ; as it is, the public will
have to receive the work as men accept their friends, with
their faults and imperfections. ..,.

The Editor.

:'-\

CANADA.

Our country, first of all,
Free, fresh, and fair j

No serf,— no human thrall.
Has breath'd our air.

Fresh from her Maker's hand.

As rose new blown ;
There is no other land

Fair as our own.

Fair as the morning's smile,

On dewy height ;
Or fairy, sea-girt isle

Bath'd in moonlight.

Our country, first of all.
Fair, fresh, and free ;

Until death's shadows fall,
We'll live for thee.

07-

' V, I

!■■>.

THEY TWO;

PHASES OF LIKE TN EASTERN CANADA.

: . CHAPTER I. * , , . „

"What wordy siory-tellcrs these old men were," said Luoy to
herself, trn she laid down a volume of '*LeB Eolations desJ^suites"
she had been reading. " How minute they are, too I the slightest
detail of every incident is recorded. I should like to be as able
as ttiey were to set clearly before my readers what I write. And
yet I should not choose them for my model ; they are too trivial.
I should like to bo purely Canadian, which these fielations are
not, and after all what is there in Canada to write about ? We
are too young ; and what is more, we are what the French term,
' sec.' Our climate lies in that direction. Summer bakes onr
juices, and winter freezes them. Our life tends to materialism.
We are all straining in the race for wealth, and even those who
have obtained the prize enjoy but little of what is known in
Europe as ' elegant leisure.' ' The world is too much with us,'
and as a consequence we have little romance and less poetry."

Lucy had got this fur in her thinking when the silvery tinkle
of sleigh bells fell upon her ear. The sound ceased opposite to
her door, and looking out she saw her couain Huntly alight from
his cutter and come up the steps. She was glad to see him.
He hud only got back from Quebec a few days before, and after
the holidays he was going up to the pine woods; and it was now
only a week till Christmas. Huntly had come to ask her out
for a drive, and she gladly accepted his kind offer. She was
soon ready, and in a few minutes was gliding over the crisp
snow. The air was keen, but not disagreeably cold to one
nestled close in furs. The stars sparkled in the blue above, and
the moon shed floods of splendor on the snow beneath. The

!■ .

7,;-.

THEY TWO.

tinkling of the bells, the prancing of the horses, the smooth and
rapid motion, anc^ the bracing air, more intoxicating to young
blood th*"! cliampagne, made driving duHght.^ul. But they had
not gone far when a huge dog fiom an adjucent farm house
attacked them. Huntly, who could cut with his whip within an
inch of where he wanted, struck him across the nof><i ; which so
infuriated the brute that he jumped ut the horses, and as the whip
came down upon him the seccnd time he got among their feet
and frightened them. They reared, and plunged, and taking the
bits between their teeth started at u mad gallop. Huntly had a
cool head, a strong wrist, and a steady hand, aid could he only
keep the cutter from upsetting all would be righc. Though carry-
ing a whip he never used it upon his horses, and bearing steadily
upon the reini^, he let the animals take their head. There were
but few sharp curves in the road, and few travellers out at that
hour of the evening, so the chances of an upset or a collision
were diministied. Sometimes the vehicle would glide only on
one runner for quite a distance, and then glance back upon the
other as quick as thought, but the driver's body swayed as
quickly and preserved the balanoe. After a five miles' run he
had the satisfaction of seeing the horses slacken their speed, and.
ppy attention to his voice, and though his wrists ached from the
eztreitie tension of the muscles, he bad no difficulty in getting
his horses in hand and turning their heads for home. Lucy had
not uttered a word, or made the slightest movement all this time.
She simply watched and prayed that their heads might not be
broken when the cutter upset, for she dreaded that event every
succeeding second. The danger was now passed, and her pulses
beat aguin in unison with freer breathing. The drive home was
very pleasant, as ♦ao enjoyment was not marred by any sense of
danger. The horses were quiet enough, and chat flowed on
freely ; and as they reached Lucy's house she inwardly regretted
that the drive was so soon over. There was heightened color in
her cheeks, intenser light within her eyes, and wit^^h gladdened
pulses she pressed Huntly's hand, thanking him for the drive,
and bidding him good-night. Before retiring, she wrote in her

' \

THEY TWO.

journal : — " It was not exactly right to conolude that we had no
romance or poetry in Canada ; it is only so comparatively. In
old countries like England and France, time, wealth, and study
liave fostered and developed poetry, as they have also the arts
and sciences; and the romance of these countries is that of
olden time. In Canada wo just begin to live our romance.
Ours are tae days of discovery and adventure. Much of our
country is uiezplored. Our virgin forests still sleep beneath the
spell of secrecy. Our boundless prairies weave their tall grasses
to winds as ' me and mysterious as those that wander over home-
less seas. As we grow older the beauties and the mysteries of
nature will mirror themselves in our poetry ; our love and woe,
the joys and sorrows which make the sum of human life, will
become crystallized in a pure and wholesome literature. The old
world is a matron, wrinkled with thought and clouded by care,
while Cunada is fresh as Eve, with the daybreak of creation on
her face. What a dear, kind friend Huntly is, I wish I could
ask him to help me with my book ! But that is still a seci'et."

"Whether the young lady was more correct in this entry in her
journal than she had been in her musings a few hours before,
I leave the reader to determine.

' *«

/'^

> .

V . -: i

.!■ ■

(•'

^■J':.-:

CHAPTER II.

:!:

J ■':■.

LcoT Delisle was the only daughter of a Canadian lumher
merchant. Her father was now dead some years. She lived
with her mother in a pretty village on the Lower Ottawa. She
had an only brother, Edmond, who was a land surveyor, and
who was absent from home on duty, and would not return before
the holidays. Lucy's mother was Irish, and her father French
Canadian. Lucy had received a liberal education, and had
embraced the faith of her mother, who was a Protestant. Her
brother Edmond was a Roman Catholic. She had spent two or
three seasons in Europe with her father, where she enjoye(^. the
hospitality of some old English families, and joined one winter
in the gaieties of Paris. She returned to Canada uns])oiled, — the
same dutiful and loving daughter as wnen leaving home; and
after the loss of her father, which brought loss of property as
well, she was even more dutiful than before. No murmur was
heard from the lips of any of the little family, when forced to
abandon the old home in Quebec, and journey up the Ottawa
to take possession of a cottage and grounds which remained to
them after settling up the estate. They had early learned the
lesson of contentment, and under such circumstances there are
few situations in life in which we may not enjoy a degree of
happiness. It is the old secret of the Apostle to the Qentiles,
" Having food and raiment let us be therewith content."

There was much to interest Lucy in her new home. The
cottage was comfortable and finely situated, with an outlook on
the river, and a beautiful garden well stocked with fruits
and flowers. Here were exercise, health and pleasure combined.
During the summer months the garden afforded plenty of occupa-
tion and keen enjoyment to both mother and daughter. Edmond
found a pleasure boat upon the premises and Lucy soon learned
to manage it. Her flowers however were an unfailing source of

THEY TWO.

joy. They seemed to her gems with which old earth decked
herself, or rather, the smiles she returned to the sun for his
warm kisses :

" The sun's a bridegroom, earth a bride,
They kiss from morn till eventide ;
The earth shall pasr* but love abide."

• •)

;f .1

The Great Teacher points us to the flowers, that we may feel
snfe in the futherhood of God. A modern poet exclaims :-—

** Were I, God, in churchlees lands remaining, , ^

Far from all voice of teachers and divines, '\f > • u

'V My soul would find in flowers of thy ordainingi !' *. ',r r

Priests, sermons, shrines I " ;. I >

The adjacent woods, too, proved new sources of pleasure. What
delightful rambles in the sweet September weather ; and when
the early October frosts flushed the forest with gold and crimson,
how glorious to drink in the splendor, and to gather rich
harvests of autumnal leuves and bright berries for winter decora-
tions. Then grand old winter with its sports driving, snow-shoe
tramping, sliding, and F^kating ; while for indoors, there were
books, composition, fancy work, drawing, and music. Altogether
life on the beautiful banks of the Ottawa did not entail much
self-denial or furnish food for bitter regrets.

Huntly Marston was a native of Quebec as well as Lucy, and
few were prouder than he of the Fortress City. Her "grand
battery " to the East, her northern Esplanade, and the Citadel,
which crowns her western heights, had been to his boyish fancy
the most glorious places on which the sun had shone, and maturer
views had but little altered his opinion; while from Durham
Terrace, from the Cape, or from the Ramparts, the eye takes in a
scene of beauty and magnificence difficult to surpass. History,
too, had embalmed her name. Men, in imagination, still hear the
echo of her guns, the trumpet blast, the clash of urms, and the
cheers of victory. The names of Wolfe and of Montcalm stir
men's blood till this very hour. No wonder Huntly felt proud
of dear old Stadacona. He was an only son, and had a good

THET TWO.

deal of his own way, except when pressed into the service of his
sisters, of whom he had three, and all charming girls. His father
had been a general merchant who made advances to lumber men,
and had grown wealthy. When he had made what he thought a
competency for his family he prudently retired, and after a time
removed to Montreal. His wife and Mrs. Delisle were second
cousins, and during Mr. Dclisle's lifetime he often received
advances from Mr. Marston, to whom he consigned most of his
timber rafts. Towards the close of Mr. Dclisle's life, however,
there came a depression in the timber trade, and requiring
heavier advances than uuual he transferred the licenses of his
timber limits to Mr. Marston as security. Mr. Dclisle's death
was sudden, and occurred before any final settlement had been
made with Mr. Marston. The widow was not on intimate terms
with her husband's relatives, and left the winding up of his
affairs to the creditor. The latter, though fond of money, was
strictly honorable, and dealt fairly by the widow, who, after all
claims were settled, would still own the limits and the cottage and
grounds on the Ottawa. So Huntly was anxious to commence
business, his father proposed making him the necessary advances
if he could arrange with the widow about the limits. Huntly,
with all the generosity of youth, proposed working them jointly,
as welt for the benefit of the Delisles as for his own, especiully
as Lucy's brother Edmond could be taken in as a partner. Mr.
Marston thought it best that Huntly should buy the limits ; and the
Delisles agreeing to sell, he invested the money for them, and
charged the amount to Huntly. He had already lumbered on
these limits for three years at the time our story opens, and had
removed to the village where the Delisles resided, in order to be
near his winter operations, and probably for some unconfesscd
reason. These detail and explanations will enable the reader to
understand the relations existing between the two families.

■-V 'L -

I .' *

CHAPTEE III.

The Legislature at (Quebec had just adjourned for the holidays.
There had been the usual number of crude measures introduced,
most of which would be hurried through near the close of the
session. It has been too much the custom in Canada to allow
undigested measures to appear on the Statute books, and then go
on year after year timending or repealing them. The consequence
is we have volume after volume of enactments one half the penal*
ties of which are never inflicted upon offenders. Better far never
to have enacted such statutes, because men lose re.«pect for law.
. when its provisions are not enforced, and to offend with impunity
is always demoralizing. This year before the members left the
House on the night of adjournment, there had been the usual
noise and disorder. Firing of paper pellets, inkstanda, and
ponderous tomes, heavy enough to floor our grave and worthy
Legislators. These demonstrations were accompanied with cat
calls, and other classic noises, so elevating in their tendencies.
But then we must unbend sometimes, or the severe mental
strain would hurt our worthy representatives. •' > " /!

During the recess the Commissioner of Crown Lands, who
loved a quiet smoke and a little gossip, used to stroll down of an
evening to spend an hour or two in his private office at the
Department. There was always a confldential clerk or two in
attendance on such occasions, and it was a well understood thing
with those behind the scenes that these were fitting opportunities
for transacting a little busines?*. It was Christmas eve when
Mr. Gkrvais, the great contractor, came sauntering into the office
of the Commia-'ioner. After the usual greetings, and some chat
on things in general and nothing in particular, he a-sked the
Commissioner if he would allow him to s je the last list of appli-
cations frr grants of timber limits. "Certainly," replied the
Commissioner, for the contractor was a liberal subscriber to the
election fund, and boasted of holding at least half a dozen con-

/..

THET TWO.

siituencies in his vest pocket. After glancing over the list vhich
had heen handed in hy a clerk from an outer office, Mr. Gervais
ticked off some five or six of the applications, and turning with
his blandest smile to th3 Commissioner, informed him that he
desired the apportionment of these. The Commissioner did not
even trouble himself to examine the checked off numbers, and
without any show of interest informed the man with the large
vest pocket "that it would be all right." Mr. Gervais said
"good-bye," and expressed his gratitude. He had no sooner
left the office than the Commissioner seized the list, and to his
dismay found that most of the marked applications had been
made by friends of the (Government. One of them had been
made by our friend Huntly Marston. It was for this purpose
ihat he had visited Quebec some time before. His reasons for
doing so were these : he found on working the limits bought
from Mr. Delisle, that they had been pretty well cut over, and
the timber in a few years would be exhausted, and he thought
himself a lucky fellow when Edmond Delisle gave him a hint of
a well timbered vacant limit neighboring his own. Edmond
had found out the valuable nature of this limit when running
some lines in that vicinity, and lost no time in telling Huntly;
for Edmond expected one day to be a partner, and follow the
business of his late father. Huntly was quite sure of getting
this limit. He had agreed with the Commissioner as to the
amount of bonus per mile, had lodged the money in the bank to
the credit of the Department, and was daily expecting to receive
his license. What was his surprise, however, on receiving
instead the following letter from the Commissioner :

Quebec, 26th Dec., 18
H. Marston, Esq. .--■.rj^-'i-i.: /; ^ s v v.h

Dear Sir, — I am sorry that a misunderstanding has arisen respect-
ing the timber limit for which you applied some time since. It has
been promised to another party ; but you are at liberty to choose a
limit elsewhere, and I will see that in this instance you shall not be
disappointed.

Yours, etc., etc.,

Commissioner Crowk Lands.

THET TWO.

'. This was bad news for Huntly. He had (^pent some money
in getting the limit explored, and being well wooded and close to
his other works, was to him really valuable. What was he to
do ? Take the suggestion of the Commissioner, or fight it out
with him ? He did not know who the ♦' other party " was to
whom the limit was promised. Was it not promised to him,
was not his upplication first on the list, and was not his money
deposited ? Yes, he would fight it out with the Commissioner.
The same mail brought a letter from his father, hoping that he
would spend the New Year with them in Montreal, now that
provisions and teams must all have been despatched to the woods.
They had felt lonely for him at Christmas, and as he was to b^
absent in the woods all winter, the least he could do was to pay
them a New Year's visit. Though he had intended starting for
his shanties the day nfter New Year he now decided to accept his
father's invitation, which j,ust came in the nick of time, and after
obtaining his advice he would proceed to Quebec and beard the
Commissioner. He would get ready at once, but before doing
so he must see Lucy and her mother, and explain to them the
rea:^on why he could not spend New Years's Day with them, as
had been arranged. He flattered himself that Lucy would feel
disappointed, yet felt sorry that she would be deprived of the
sleiiih drives he had intended giving her. When he reached the
cottage he found her and her mother discussing a point he had
not anticipated. Lucy had received a letter from his sist- r
Mary, asking her to come down with Huntly and spend some
time in Montreal. She urged many reasons why she should
come. Some pleasant sleighing parties had been planned ;
various entertainments were in a state of progress, and above all
the skating rink was to be opened with a grand carnival shortly
after the New Year. This was Mary's crowning inducement,
for she knew Lucy to be passionately fond of skating. Still
there was a fly in the pot of ointment. Mary regretted that Mrc
Delisle should be left alone, for such n journey in winter was out
of the question for her. Lucy had decided to remain at home
with hor mother, nor did she intend accepting Mary's invitation

THEY TWO.

until after seeing the cloud on Huntly's brow when he first heard
lier decii-ion. So it was arranged tliat they two young peojle
should start on the morrow. Mrs. Delisle hoped that Kdmond
might be home for New Year, and that in any case she hnd the
old servant man and the maid Sally, and that they would get
along cliarminuly for a week or two. Huntly was smarting
under the bad nuws about the limit, but he said nothing of it to
the Delisles. He dearly loved sympathy, but would say nothing
to excite it. He felt grateful to Mary, his favorite sister, for
thinking about Lucy; and in the anticipation of such pleasant
companionsliip on his journey home, he nearly forgot the annoy-
ance caused by the letter of the Commissioner.

The home he wiis about visiting was a very plensant one.
The house and grounds were near the head of Bleury Street, and
every arrangemunt had been made with a view to comfort tmd
convinience. Mr. Marston was a cureful and wise man, his
wife a model housekeeper and kind mother, but when occasion
required, the black eyes would snap, owing probably to the fire
of her Milesian blood. Mary was the eldest daught<!r, two years
the junior of Huntly, and like him had her mother's dark hnir
and eye>«, and bright complexion. She was like Huntly, too, in
docisivenci'S of character, thoughtfulness for others, tender and
unchanging in her friendships. In her, the elements seemed
" kindlier mixed" than in her sisters Florence and Edith. Flo-
rence was a pretty blonde with blue eyes, a little vain, and
somewhat sentimental. Edith was a saucy brunette, and what
the French call jAquante. Mary loved her brother, Florence iielt
proud of him, and Edith, while she admired still felt like ruling
him. They had been carefully educated and were not only
amiable but clever girls. Mrs. Marston did not consider hcriself
too old to be the cumpanion of her daughters, the youngest of
whom was now sixteen. She made it a rule to go out with them
when household duties permitted. Mr. Marston was generally
busy with real estate speculations and local politics, and when
meetings for charitable or religious purposes did not interfere, he
always spent his evenings at home. ^r ,.

y i. ,

THEY TWO.

There was a very cordial welcome for Lucy and Huntly on
their arrival in Montreal. After tea, .jt Mr. Marston would
never alter his one o'clock dinner hour, Huntly retired to the
libniry with his father, and the girls formed themselves into
committee in Lucy's bedroom. There was less danger of beitig
distuibed there that: in the drawing room, and any way tliey
were not to be " at home " to visitors that evening. Thoy all
thought their guest much improved since they had last seen her.
" After all," said Mary, " there is nothing like country air «nd
regular hours for health, and health is the great beautifier."
Lucy, who was tired and did not feel called upon to be enter-
taining, remained silent. Florence thought her just bewitching,
with her rich Franco-Irish blond tingling in her cheeks, masses
of dark hair shading her white forehead, »nd the clear blue
eyes, sometimes found with " raven tresses," lighting up a face
peculiarly winning and expressive. Florence was in the gushing
mood and could only talk of rural scenery, summer evenings on
the Ottawa, musings by lone waterfalls, and walks by moonlight,
spiced a little with romance and lovemaking ; but if it was
her intention to draw out Lucy and learn her secrets^ she failed
utterly. Lucy had the faculty of being a good listener, and
shewed sufficient interest in all that Florence said to clear herself
of any charge of inattention or impoliteness. Edith was waiting
her chance for a little good-natured raillery, but was too much
charmed with Lucy to be in any way sarcastic. Such a girl, she
thought, wiis just fit to set young men crazy ; and she suspected
that Huntly, poor moth, had singed his wings. Turning her
saucy eyes upon Iter visitor she said :

" Did you not feel as if Huntly were running away with you,
while driving down the Ottawa ? " Such an unusual question
asked so abruptly took Lucy by surprise, but she was imme-
diately on her guard, and answered quite naturally :

" Oh, not at all, I frequently drive with your brother and he
knows so well how to manage horses that I always feel ])erfectly
safe with hira."

Edith bit her rosy lip, but returned to the charge saying :

THEY TWO.

" I am 80 glad for Maud Maxwell, she loves driving, nndPapa
intends that Iluntly must call upon her."

Mary's quiet eyes had not been idle, and catching a shade of
distress passing over the face of their visitor, she rebuked Edith
for her gossip, and proposed that Lucy should retire early to rest,
as she must be tired after her long journey. Lucy, when alone,
did not retire to bed. She e&t a long time thinking. She felt
sorry that she had accepted the invitation of the Marstons. Of
course it was kind of them to ask her, and they had been num-
bered among her oldest friends. Home was tlie safest place;
yet after all it was not best to drop out of society, people grew
somewhat stupid always immured at home. They grew angular
■ or moss-grown. The social mill was the place for getting rounded
off and polished. If, is the French tell us, we must suffer to
become beautiful, so must we also suffer to grow strong mentally.
Lucy decided that she would not shrink within her shell, even for
rude touches, but that she would be very guarded, as she
always had been, in her intercourse with Huntly Marston. She
desired to live in peace and charity, and kneeling, as was her
wont, before undressing, she committed herself to the care of her
Heavenly Father, and invoked blessings on her widowed niothsr
in her lone home up the Ottawa, on her brother Edmond in the
far off woods among rough companions, on the friends at whose
house she was stopping, and on ^ ,^

" A nearer one still, and a dearer one.

Yet, than all other." , /

:■ .), .'

CHAPTER IV.

The library to which Mr. Marston and his son retired on the
night of the tatter's arrival was not a largo room, but the shelves
were well filled with useful books in solid bindings. Many new
volumes had been added since Huntly had last visited it:
among which were the recently issued Statutes of Canada, the
Code Civil, and other law books; for Mr. Marston had been
appointed a Justice of the Peace within the year, and prided
himself upon his judicial capability. He was first to open the
conversation, and as usual was full of himself and his doings.
He told Huntly that he had netted large sums in his recent real
estute transactions, and that since his arrival in Montreal, or in a
period of ten years, he had rolled up about one hundred thou>
sand pounds. " This," said he to Huntly, " is better than
lumbering." Huntly confessed it was, and at once introduced
the matter of the limit he feared losing. It might seem odd that
an only son with so rich a f;ither should be anxious about the
possession of a timber limit ; but he had commenced business for
himself, was a little proud, and very desirous to be independent.
He did not love money for itself, but he prized many things
which in this world are not easily procured without money. In
order to increase our wealth, some say we must hold tightly to
what we have, grasp firmly that withia our reach, either by our
own efforts or favoring oircumstances. If your foot is upon the
first rung of the ladder, and the next step attainable, let there be
no halting, take the step quietly but surely. Always " tuke care
of the fragments," for, as the French say, " it is what you save
enriches you." And yet, ''a man's life consisteth not in the
abundance of the things that he possesseth." It every day

TIIEY TWO.

becomes more evident that \&r^e fortunes arc not nlways blessings
to those who acquire them, much less so to their inlieritors.

Mr. Marston, on looming the action of the Crown Lands
Commissioner, decided with Huntly that he should go to Quebec
and fight it out with him ; but befitre doing so ho thought it best
to consult Mr. Allen, his legiil adviser. They decided to call oa
the lawyer next morning, as no business could bo transacted on
the following day. After Pome casual chat they separated for the
night, Mr. Murston making no allu^^ion to the matrimonial
speculation he had in view for Huntly. To tell the truth he
would like to see some of tho girls settled before he broached the
subject of matrimony to Huntly, but time, time which waits for
none of us, was slipping past. Here was another New Year's
day, and this would be the fourth season of Huntly's lumbering
operations. He would be twenty-five on his next birthday, and
Mary twenty-three on hers. Aud himself? Well, it was no
matter about himself. It was just as well to forget his birthduy.
The golden decade between forty and fifty had long been past.
But what of that, his latter years had all been golden. Had ho
been laying up treasure where it would not rust ? Well, he would
try and do so ; but he must not defer any longer in broaching
his pet scheme to Huntly.

Mr. Marston was very regubir in his habits, and expected
every member of his family to be in the breakfast room by eight
in the morning in winter, and an hour earlier than that ia
summer. Lucy was a few minutes late next morning, whioii of
course was overlooked. She had enjoyed a good ni;:ht's rest, for,
" with a clear conscience we sleep soundly," and she looked
refreshed, and quite as engaging as on the previous evening.
She wore a soft, warm-tinted brown French merino ; a corn-color
zypher crape tie round her throat, with the least bit of crimson in
her dark hair. Mary and her sisters were plainly but tastefully
attired. Breakfast over, the family adjourned to the sitting room
for family worship, Mr. Marston remiirkinir, as ho had often done
before, that " prayers and provender hindered no man." He
who begrudges ten or fifteen minutes service, evening and mom-

THEY TWO. -

ing to his Creator and Bonefuotnr, is, to say the least, ungrateful.
The be8t, the ablest, and the most sucoessful men of all times
are those who have been most frequent at a throne of grace.

" Prayer is a breath that floats beyond this iron world, ,

And reaches Him who made it." •

After prayer Mr. Marston Intimated to Huntly that he was
going into the city on a little business, and wished him to bear
him company ; and as for the ladies, if they desired an outing,
Hogor would harness the horses and attend on them ; as for him-
self his motto was " use limbs and have them." Unfortunately
in Canada our roads, as a rule, do not invite walking, especially
for ladies, who in this country indulge too little in this health-
giving exercise. The freshness so long retained by English ladies
is doubtless owing to their Idvc of walking, ratlier than to the
moist English climate. Before the girls separated for a while to
attend to personal matters, Edith decided on drawing another
bow at a venture, and proceeded to enlighten Lucy by saying :

" She was sure Papa intended Huntly to pass by Sherbrooke
street, and see the beautiful hous>e and grounds of Miss Maxwell."

I fear prayer had not its legitimate influence on Edith that
morning. In the meantime Huntly and his father were on their
way to Little St. James street, to see the lawyer, who was an
early man and generally down to his office by nine in the morn<
ing. His law firm had the best practise in the city. Mr. Allen,
the head of the firm, was a keen, active man, and probably the
best informed lawyer in the Province. He Wiis a politician, as
are most of our legal men, and enjoyed the right of placing
"Honorable" before his name. He was very affable with his
clients and never forgot any one who had rendered him a service.
Mr. Marston had sometimes become his banker in conn' ction with
election expenses when Mr. Allen was a younger man, and as he
refused to accept any interest the lawyer always felt a pleasure
in giving him the soundest advice, and had also put several good

* Those who sneer at the reasonableness of prayer should read
Sir William Dawson's observations on that subject.

THEY TWO,

I 1

I;
t

/v bargains in Mr. Mar.-ton'« way. After Mr. Allen had lieard

Huntly's account of the Conimi.'^sioner's conduct, he gave them
some news. He had just learned that a new writ had been
issued for the return of a member for the town of Three Eivers,
nnd that the brother of the Commissioner had just decided to be
the candidate on the Ministerial or Conservative side. The
Government had been pushed pretty close lately. The local
candidate was a Liberal, but with GJovernraent patronage, and
above all the "sinews of war," success might be considered
certain. He knew that the Conservative candidate had but
little money to spare, the election fund vas low, and if Mr.
Marston was anxious to save his limit he must give his cheque
for a thousand pounds towards securing Three Rivers for the

I , Government. He, Mr. Allen, was going down after the new year

to ascertain the position of parties. In the meantime young Mr.
Marston shouJd go to Quebec, bring wliat pr»litical interest ho
possessed to bear on the Commissioner, and call at Three Eivers
on his way up, and let him know the result. If he succeeded,
the money would be saved, if not, they would have to make the
best bargain they could with the Government candidate.

^ "But," said the elder Mr. Marston, "this is a large sum to

give away."

" I know it is," replied the lawyer, and turning to the younger
man he inquired of him, " if he would rather lose the money than
the limit ? "

When he replied : " Certainly, I would not lose the limit for five
times the amount," this settled the matter. It was agreed
that Huntly should start for Quebec on the second proximo, drive
his own horses, and take Mr. Allen as far as Three Rivers. Just
as they were about leaving the oflSce, Mr. Marston, as if on the
spur of tlie moment, inquired of the lawyer if he could give him
an idea of the value of Miss Maxwi'U's property? Mr. AUeu
knew all about it, aa he h id been oM Mr. Maxwell's legal adviser
and p'-oceeded to give as far as professional usage would allow a
statement of the enormous wealth reverting to the daughter at the
death of her old mother, with whom she was now living, Thank-

THEY TWO.

in;; Mr. Allen for his advice and kindness, the father and son
paid good bye. The man of law had a twinkle in his grey eye aa
he closed the door, thinking to himself that there was new specula-
tion on foot, and that this explained the attention paid by the
Marston family to Miss Maxwell. He would, however, keep his
svispicions to himself, possibly Miss Maxwell would never get a
better husband than this young Huntly Marston. Mr. Marston
thought to himself Huntly will not fail to take a mental note of
my question and the lawyer's answer, and saying that he wished to
call at the pest office, Huntly continued his way into Notre Dume
street, where he wished to purchase a few gifts against the morrow.
He selected a pretty silver fruit-basket for his mother, a delicately
worked gold bracelet for his sister Mary, a lovely edition
of Tennyson, just for the first time offered in Canada, for
Florence, a chain and charms for Edith, and a pair of finely fin-
ished skates for Lucy. He would like to make her a more valu-
able present, but it was best not to excite Cuvy ; and a gift is not ^
valued at its money worth, but in proportion to the esteem in
which we hold the giver. He knew Lucy would not mind, so
long as she was not forgotter. Nor did she. Tbey were just
wliat she wanted, a recent invention, easily adjusted, and all that
could be desired by a skater.

New Year's morning opened brightly. A little snow had fallen
during the night, and clothed with fresh purity the soiled street",
and sparkled in the morning sun on the champs of evergreens
that dittted the Mjirstor property. The air "was as a breathing
from a purer world." All outside and within the house of Mr.
Marston spoke of "a happy new year." When the family met
for breakfast, and exchanged greetings and loving wishes, a hun-
ger camo on Huntly for just one kiss from one who was not his
sister. He thought that prob ibly under the circumstances she
would not have minded, but he judiciously denied himself. There
were joyful exclamations over the production of the presents. The
father, too, had not been neglectful, and each found beneath their
plates a crisp bank bill, which brought four fresh kisses to the
elder gentleman who found himself well repaid,and Huntly thought

THET TWO.

he would have had the best of the barga'n had he received but
one kiss from the sweet Ups of Lucy. '* Kissing," however, does
not always go by favor. Huntlj must bide his time. All things
come to those who know how to wait, verifying the old proverb
" that there is luck in leisure, and pleasu'G in wailing." Edith,
who felt pleased with her brother for the chain and charms, was
disposed to banter him for being so shy with Lucy. " A queer
cousin, indeed. And to think of him giving her a piiir of skates, u
present for a boy, and as much as to say, ' slide away with you.' "
All he could do was to join in the joke, and own them a slippery
compliment, especially for one who, like himself, had just como
down off the Coulonge. In order to turn the conversation and
divert attention from himself and Lucy, he recounted a funny
story, and the matter dropped.

The chat turned by an easy transition to the custom of treating
visitors on New Year's Day to intoxicating liquors. All present
had the good sense to condemn the usage; !>nd it was decided that
among the refreshments to be placed on the sideboard that day
intoxicating drinks should have no part.

^ Lucy would have preferred seclusion, but the sisters wished her
to join them in entertaining their visitors and she conscnt.'d,
Florence had been looking into Tennyson, and found the lines on
the death of the old year commencing.

" Full three feet lies the winter snow,"

and read them aloud ; she had a good musical voice, and being
quite an elocutionist, the poem proved a treat.

They now adjourned for family worship, at which they sang
the old hymn : —

" Come let us anew our journey pursue.
Roll round with the year."

The girls separated to prepare for the day's entertainment,
because in those times visitors called at all hours on New Year's
Day. Mr. Marston and Huntlyvisited the stables, and afterwards
agreed to make some calls in company, the elder determining.' that
Maud Maxwell should not be forgotten. The girls were desirou.^

1 1
(1

THEY TWO.

<#■

to look their best, as girls always should, and married ladies
also, and to-day paid particular attentior to their toilets. Mary
wore a dress, the lower skirt of which was dark violet velvet, and
the upper skirt a pale violet cashmere edged by a flounce with a
band of velvet ribbon, the front trimmed with bamls of velvet
ribbon and gold buttons. Her hair was plain, and the only
jewelry worn was the bracelet presented by Huiitly. Lucy had
no new dress for the occasion, but she had a nice navy blue cash-
mere, in which she felt at home. It was perfectly plain,
and its soft folds shewed to advantage her perfect and graceful
figure. She wore no jewelry except a small gold brooch to fasten
her white collar, and a gold butterfly in her hair. Florence had
on a beautiful grey green silk, trimmed with lace and ruches,
and her soft, brown hair hung in heavy masses over her fair neck
and shoulders. Edith wore a grey silk, trimmed with crimson
velvet, Huntly's chain and charms aruund her neck, and a
crimson tea rose in her hair. There was " spice" in Edith, and
if you looked at her once, you were sure to look at her the second
time.

We must leave them to the stupid duty of receiving New Year's
calls. There would come some young men with fresh hearts and
gentle manners, others soiled and dulled by sin, but still claiming,
as society then willed and wills to the present hour, the right of
meeting and holding fellowship with pure and lovely women.
Worst of all, tlie right of mating with such, and in their daily
married lives dragging them down to their own soiled and sordid
level. Will the time ever come when the carefully nurtured, the
pure and modost maiden will rojtict with scorn tlie advances of
all young men who are morally defiled ? If our young Canadian
ladies would only set the example in this matter, there would be
a brighter prospect of more of our young men attaining to perfect
manhood than do attain, in the present generation, and we should
see their declining years turn out a benison and not a curse to
their nearest friends.

Miss Maxwell was alone when Mr. Marston and Huntly
called. It was the first time he bad been in her oouipany.

„^

1 f

THET TWO.

He had only seen her in the street occasionnlly. She was dressed
with much taste, — " divinely tall, and most divinely fair ; " quiet,
yet pleasant, and withal dignified. Huntly was favorably im-
pressed. They remained but a short time, and after they had
lefk, the elder gentleman was gratified on hearing his sea pro-
nounce Maud Maxwell to be a perfect lady. He kept his own
counsel for the present, and relied on the wit of Edith for bring-
ing about further meetings in the course of the coming summer.
On her part Miss Maxwell was interested in her young visitor.
Ho was a very different sort of man from her city acquaintances.
He wore a thick, black beard, while they were closely shaven. His
face and hands were brown by exposure to the weather, while
theirs were white and delicate. His appearance altogether gave
one the impression of strength, activity, and manliness. Miss
Maxwell thought of him several times during the day. The day
passed, as do all other days ; only there was more liquor drank
than usual, and more platitudes uttered. " A very fine day "
was the stock in trade spoken and echoed from east to we'?t of
the city. Well, the thing was true, and worse might have been
said and doubtless was naid, only it hardly bears repeating. The
day was a long one to Lucy, though but a blink at this season of
the year. It would also have proved pleasant but for one cir-
cumstance : Among the visitors calling on the Marstons came
one Frank Meredith, a young American, whom Lucy had met in
Paris some years ago, and where he had been very attentive. Ee-
cognizin<; him at once, she managed to leave the room just in
time to prevent an introduction. She feared he had seen her
features and would make enquiries, as he did not fail doing ; and
asked permission of the Misses Marston to call again and pay his
respects to an old acquaintance. When Lucy heard this she grew
somewhat alarmed. She had uo special liking for Frank Mere-
dith, and feared complications might arise from further inter-
course, especially as Edith clapped her hands with delight in
prospect of a little romance, as Edith termed it, but which ac-
cording to Lucy might mean a little mischief. It might natur-
ally be supposed that Lucy had no cause for alarm; nor would

-u

THEY TWO.

she have felt any fear, had her heart been in her own keeping,
and not earned about by one who niijiht wound it unconsciously.
Her t-pirits were further depressed when Edith paid her a visit
in her room that ni«j;ht, and in sweet confidence told how much
Huntly admired Miss Maxwell, as reported by her father. Lucy
once more regretted having accepted the invitation, and would
leave for home as soon as propriety admitted, and would not wait
the return of Huntly up the Ottawa, ns arranged, only she dread-
ed bjing misunderstood, and shrank from hurting Huntly's feel-
ings. She could only wait, act judiciously, and leave results to
One, " who shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will."

CHAPTEE V.

>'ii

m !

HUNTLY started for Quebec on the second of January, taking
Mr. Alien with him as far as Three Rivers. They travelled by
easy staues, stopping the first night nt Berthier, and the second
at Three Elvers, Huntly proceeding alone from thence to Que-
bec. He at once had an interview with the Commissioner, who
received him very grnoiously. Our French Canadian gentlemen
seldom act otherwise. He took pains to explain to Huntly
that it was not until after he had promised the limit to Huntly
that he becnme awnre of a circumstance which forced him to act
as he had done. He did not wish to do ariy injustice to M r.
Marston, and he supposed him sufficiently acquainted with
Canadian politics to know that late adminii^trations had mnde
use of their power to grant or withliold timber limits in order to
secure political support ; and other ohings being equal, Mr.
Marston had as good a right to the limit as h;id the other party,
to whom, by the way, the license had not yet been issued. 'Jhe
" other things " were not specified by the Commissioner ; hia
time Wiis precious, the House would soon resume its labors,
Huntly had to be satisfied for the present and withdrew. He
was determined, however, to fight it out. There were several
members of the Le<:islature whom he knew, members of the
Council as well, — Ottawa men, who always had weiglit with the
Government. They had arrived in Quebec, he waited on them
and they promised to stand by him, they would wait on tlie
Commissioner and press his claim. They did so promptly, but
only received the assurance that he would take the matt<r into
consideration. Huntly had only spent a few days in Quebec
when he received a letter from Mr. Allen, urging him, if nothing
definite had been settled, to come up to Three Rivers and to
bring a letter of credit from the Quebec Bank to the Agent of
the City Bank in Three Elvers, for money, and plenty of it would

•>■

1' i
I

Mli

THEY TWO.

be required to secure the return of the Government candidate.
Huntly miide no delay, and arrived in Three Rivers the niglit
before the nomination. Mr. Allen informed him that on his own
arrival in Three Rivers he found nothing but coldness and in-
decision among the ranks of the Government party. The great
local electioneering agent, Mr. Labeuf, was hanging back. Could
he be secured ti gveat point would be gained. It was well known
among tl>e electors tbat Mr. Labeuf ranged himself on the side of
the weightiest moneybags. Like Napoleon he believed in heavy
battalions. He was never known to be on the losing side.
Being a notary he was acquainted with the circumstunces of a
great many of the voters, and knew where a pound would do the
duty of ten, in the hands of an ignorant agent. Though ho
protested that he aiways lost by elections, yet it was remarked-
by his neighbors that usually after such contests some new
addition was made to his property. With the inducement of
having a few hundred pounds additional to spend; Mr. Allen felt
confident of securing the services of Mr. Labeuf. He also found
that there was little or no organization among the Conservatives,
while the opponents of the Government were holding nightly
meetings and were in thorough working order. After le-imiug
the result of Huntly's journey to Quebec, Mr. Allen waited on
the Government candidate, and obtained a promise that Mr.
Marston's application should hold good on certain conditions
agreed between them. He had gone to work and divided the
town into wards, appointing a committee for each, whose duty it
was to see every voter in their assigned limits daily, and report
to a central committee every night. A week would elapse from
the nomination to polling day, and Mr. Allen hoped that, with
the aid of Mr. Labeuf, they would succeed in returning their
candidate. '

The town was all alive on the morrow. The nomination was
to take place on the hay market, where the sheriff, who was the
returning officer, appeared with his clerk at the hour often a.m.
The Government candidate was escorted from Bernard's hotel by
a goodly concourse, and arrived first on the ground; while his

i il

U I

;

THEY TWO.

opponent with a large crowd reaphed the spot a few minutes later.
The candidates having been proposed and seconded, it was mutu-
ally agreed tliat they only should address the audience. In
politeness to the stranger he was allowed the precedence.

He began by ingratiating himself with the townspeople. " True,
he was not yet a resident, but was likely to become so. From
what he had seen of the place and the people, he liked both. Three
Elvers had before it a bright prospect. It was removed suffi-
ciently from the great cities of Montreal and Quebec to become at
no distant day an important and independent centre of trade. It
was finely situated at the junction of the St. Maurice and the St.
Lawrence. The St. Maurice territory, as had lately been demon-
strated by his brother, possessed a vast wealth of pine forests ;
and the day was coming, when under the judicious control of the
Government, part of that wealth would be emptied into their
coffers. It was the intention of the Department, of which his
brother was the head, to open up that hitherto neglected terri-
tory. Large saw mills would soon be erected at the mouths of
the St. Maurice. Profitable employment would be within the
reach of all. Foreign ships would load at their docks; fine
dwellings would be built up in their midst, people would flock in
from the neighboring parishes to settle, and money would be as
plentiful as blueberries in August. Baptiste would exchange his
capote of ^toffe for broadcloth, and Josette would doff her mante-
let of drugiiet for a silk gown. Ho would not recommend the
change, but only pointed out the ability there would exist to do
so. He was one of their own nation and religion, but he be- ,
longed to a party, and he did not blush to own it, who helped to
save Canada for England. In doing so they saved Canada for
Canadians. He was a true blue, and no annexationist. Their
clergy had stood by the union jack, and he would stand by the
cler<ry. He had rather die beside these allies under that old flag,
than live beside revolters beneath the ample folds of the ' Stars *
and Stripes.' He loved liberty, but he hat«d license. He did
not want roguery or communism in Canada. Look at your
' cap of liberty,' it is dyed in the blood of the noblest of sons of

THET TWO.

France I Dear old France, our loved but distant mother ; alas I
your * cap of liberty ' is only a tuque rouge, dabbled in the blood
that flowed down the streets of Paris I We do not want that
' cap of liberty ' in Canada. Bather give me the honest ' tuque
bleu,' the color that I wear, and that is worn by many of you.
It defends our liberties, it guarantees to us our laws, language
and religion. It stands not in the way of reform, for in Canada,
as well as in England, it is to the Conservatives tnat men are in-
debted for all those changes in the laws which have proved a last-
ing benefit. It is needless for me to say, that if I have the honor
of representing you in the House of Assembly, I shall support to
the best of my ability the party now in power, the party which
has the true interests of the country at heart; and that 1 wil\
strain every nerve to secure such measures as will prove instru-
mental in opening up your rich back-lying territory, and rejoice
with you in your well merited prosperity.''

There was great cheering as the speaker bowed on retiring, and
several exclamations of " tris hien.''^ The audience had behaved
admirably, but as the opposition candidate came forward, it was
evident that he had a large following. He was not a pronounced
Rouge, but was a decided Liberal, one of the old stock, now
almost defunct, «'tn« peur et sans reproche. He was a small,
thin man, a lawyer in good practice, and a fluent speaker.

The first words he uttered were : — '* Gentlemen, where is the
guillotine ? Where are the aristocrats ? Where is the bloody tuque ?
Are we in France, or are we in Canada, and in our own dear
Three Elvers ? We want no strange customs here, no outsiders
to insult us. We do not depend on such to point out our future.
We know our own position, and need no roving oculists. We are
the inheritors of the gifts of nature, and none can rob us of them.
If there has been neglect who is to blame ? Not the patriotic
party, of whom I am an humble member. Who fought for our
rights in the recent struggles for our liberty, not struggles for
license ; was it the Conservatives, the bureaucrats, the oppressors ;
those who to-day in Canada wear the silk and broadcloth ? No,
it was the ' patriots,' the men who encourage home productions,

THEY TWO.

and who arc not ashamed of drugget and itofe. Who speaks of sav-
ing Canada to England ? The ' oflBcials,' who lovo the loaves
ond fishes? Who dares lay the charge of disloyalty against Three
Eivers ? Had Three Eivers been less loyal, her interests would
have been consulted sooner. I, too, glory in the flag of Englaml,
but I glory also in being a Canadian and a * patriot.' I submit
to union with Upper Canada, but I oppose annexation to the
United States; for our own country will one day bo as great as
theirs. But this is not the question. We want reforms. We
want a better system of education, we want the abolition of the
feudal tenure. We want fair play for every nationality, and no
class favors as such. We do not want to drag the clergy through
the mire of politics ; their province is to preach peace on earth and
pood will to men. I am behind no man in my duty as a Koman
Cath< lie, but the office of its ministers is tno sacred to be mixed
up with the slime of plots and party. I deny that we owe our
reforms to the Conservatives. They adopt reforms when
they cannot help themselves; they are the purloiners of the
popular measures of their opponents. The people, and not
the bureaucrats, are the best guardians of their own liberties.
Our liberties I I would never trust them to a party, except th;it
party were the people's party. You know my sentiments, and
I know your local wants better, I trust, than any stranger. I
possess some interests in, and feel some love for, old Trifluvia ;
and if you honor me with your confidence, I do not think you
will be disappointed."

I give but a condensed outline of these election speeches, the
la'ter of which was followed by vociferous cheering; and after
the show of hands was culled for, the Sheriff declared it in favor
of the opposition candidate.

Mr. Allen was in no way daunted, well knowing that the
battle had to be fought on other grounds than declamation ; and
that many a man holds up his hand at a nomination, perhaps two
hands, who has no vote ; and that many a voter did not attend
the nomination. Huntly decided to leave for Montreal that after-
noon, making the letter of credit payable to the order of Mr

\f-

THEY TWO.

Allen. The latter, who had sacoeeded in seouring the services of
Mr. Lcbeuf, went heartily to work. A personal visit was paid to
each elector by the Government candidate, no matter whether
friend or foe, and both Mr. Allen and Mr. Lebouf accompanied
him. The number of voterH to be counted on increased night
after night. The opposition canvassers were not idle, but finding
out so much defection, they qu\etly hired a band of bullies to
intimidate their opponents, and hold the poll on election day.
There was a Scotch settlement a few miles up the St. Maurice,
where several stout bruisers lived, and these with some French
Canadians to the number of about twenty were hired for the
occasion. The thing leaked out somehow, and Mr. Allen set to
work to checkmate the movement. He communicated with a
certain party in Quebec, and the result was that twelve young Irish
lads from Diamond Harbor arrived in Three Rivers, the night
before the election. The Black River boys, — the St. Maurice
is locally known by that name, — had dropped in one by one on
the preceding day, and were secreted in a tavern on the market
place, and were well armed with long heavy bludgeons. There
was but one polling place in the town, and voting commenced
quietly enough ; it having been agreed that the candidates should
poll vote about, while voters presented themselves on either side-
About noon voters began to come in more slowly, and an hour
later the Government candidate had registered a slight majority.
All this time the fighting reserves lay in ambush, voters were
being hurried up, the crowd was increasing, and there was an un-
usual stir among the spectators. People grew excited ; the crowd
swayed hither and thither, while loud talking and petty contests
took the place of the preceding quiet. Presently it was found
that the Black Eiver bullies and their allicG had found their way
through the crowd and taken possession of the poll, ostensibly to
preserve the peace ; but when voters for the Government candidate
arrived, they were hustled about, their clothes torn, and kept away
from voting. It was time for action. The Quebec lads, mere
boys in fact, were on the scene in a moment. They came with a
light, springy step, entering the crowd like a wedge, holding their

THST TWO.

short, light sticks by the middle, and led by a lad of sovcnteen, sob
of a Quebec hotel-keeper — a lad who, by the way, now figures
in London^ the compimion of Lords and Earls. They gave a
ringiog cheer, and the masses opened out a way for tliem. Their
pace became n run as they neared the polling booth, and closing
with their adversaries, the heavy olubs of tbe latter could be
seen high in the air ready to smash them to the earth. Strange
to say, however, the clubs fell harmlessly as if by mngic, and then
was heard a rain of quick, sharp strokes, followed by the retreat
of the disarmed bullies, pursued in every direction by the boys
from Quebec. The onset, the victory, and the chase were all over
in five minutes. A Methodist minister passing at the moment,
and a sympathiser with the local candidate, fairly roared with
laughter when recounting the battle to some friends, and said it
was more neatly dono than anything he had ever seen, even in
old Ireland. The Black Biver men had seized their sticks by
the extreme end, so as to give a more crushing blow, but ler ing
the forearm unguarded ; while the Quebec boys, well used to
election rows, just tapped them above the wrists, anu vheir weap.
ons dropped uselessly to the ground. Order was soon restored,
but the Government candidate had possession of the poll. He
acted fairly, and kept a pasoage open for all comers ; but the sup-
porters of the local candidate were demoralized, and when the
poll closed in the evening Mr. Allen's man had registered fifty of
a majority, and on the morrow was proclaimed duly elected.
There was talk of protest and contestation; but it was of little
use to take proceedings against a Government member, when his
friends had the naming of the committee which would try the
case. Mr, Allen returned to Montreal well satisfied with the
result, although he had spent all Huntly's money and some of
his own in addition.

CHAPTER VI.

During Iluntly Marston's absence in Quebec and Three Rivers,
Maud Maxwell had been several times to the Marston's, as she
was desirous of an introduction to Lucy. Lucy did not much
long for the honor, but had to confess to herself that Muud was
very nice. Her heart did not warm to her. She thought her too
cold, too patronizing. She would hate to see Huntly united to
her for life, and she was sure she could not make him happy.
Other visitors also had been calling at the Marston's. Frank
Meredith came there daily. With him Lieutenant Napier of
the — th ; also a young commercial blood, Tom McKenzie.
There had been one or two delightful tobogganing parties ; and
another on the evening after Huntly's return which they induced
him to join, Maud was also one of the party. The weather still
continued fine, the days bright and the nights cloudless. The
slope of the mountain was in fine order for sliding, and the tobog.
gans shot down with a swiftness that almost stopped the breath.
Edith called it" shooting the moonbeams." Indeed, I think she
enjoyed the sport most of all, and laughed a little nt the gentlemen
being Bopresaing. This play, when indulged in recklescly , is rather
dangerous ; that perhaps is one of the reasons why it is so enticing.
With care and experience there is but little danger ; and minor
casualties of a sufficiently ridiculous nature often occur, which
gives rise to banter and merriment. On coming home the ladies,
too, looked so bewitching with brightened eyes, dishevelled locks*
and cheeks of rosy red.*

Perfect happiness for all is not the rule in this world. Neither
is constant happiness for any one. I mean to worldly happiness.
Lucy \(as not quite happy this night. Through Edith's manage-
ment Mr. Meredith had monopolized her, while Huntly was obliged
to take charge of Miss Maxwell. As for Edith, she said she could

• What we called " tobogganing" in 1876 was simply called "sliding" in 1836.

THEY TWO.

■■"».

take care of herself; but Mr. Napier successfully disputed that
point. Florence was looked after by Mr. McKenzie, but she
much rather preferred the attentions of the Lieutenant, a fact
of which Edith was perfectly aware, and which she quite enjoyed.
Mary had preferred staying at home with her mother, and had
refreshments ready, and when these were discussed there was an
iterim for music and singing. Lucy had a sweet, clear voice, true
ab a bird's, and could accompany herself well on the piano. She
did not feel like singing, except it might be the lament that,
" Her harp was hung on the willow tree." But she always liked
to be agreeable, and readily acceded to a request made so unani-
mously. Frank Meredith wished for that pretty French hijou, —
" Fleur de 1' Alsace," but Lucy preferred Moore's Canadian boat
song, for she and Huntly had often joined their voices in the
refrain, " Row, brothers row, " when skimming over the dusky
waters of the Ottawa. While she sang the words to the plain-
tive air to which the poet has written them, Huntly was gra-
dually drawn from Mims ^Jaxwell's side to the piano, and the
musician was rewarded with a grateful smile as she concluded
ihe line, "The rapids are near and the daylight passed."
Little did either of them then think how prophetic were the
words. Maud followed Lucy. She had a cultivated voice and
splendid execution. She sang her favorite song from her
highest prized poet, Byron : — /:

" There be none of Beauties' daughters
_ ■ With a magic like thee ;

And like music on the waters, ^

Is ihy sweet voice to me."

The lines lost nothing by her singing, fur there was a volcano of
latent fire beneath the cold and polished exterior, Huntly was
ravished, silly fellow that he was.

Moore was a great favorite in the Marston family. Doubtless
thisDiay be accounted for by his Celtic blood on the mother's side.
All the Marston girls were good singers, and Florence rendered
with much spirit, " Go where glory waits thee." A broadside
evidently intended for the Lieutenant. Mary declined singing just

THEY TWO.

then. Edith explaining; that she must have had a lecture lately
from her pet Methodist parson ; and wound up the eTcning by
herself singing that rather masculine song, — " Young Lochin-
var," with an Han that oven Dame Heron might have envied.
There were such dash and sauciness about Edith, that the words
came from her cherry lips quite naturally. Edith could afford
to bo merry, for she was heart whole. And yet some one sings, —

'"Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all. "

It was arranged before parting that all would attend the f mcy
dress Carnival at the Skating rink on the following Saturday ;
and Miss Maxwell obtained a promise that they should meet at
her house on the succeeding Monday evening.

Lucy on retiring to her room sat down to indulge in some self-
questionings. She was glad that Huntly had decided on leaving
for the Ottawa in a few days. She was more than ever weary of
the attentions of Frank Meredith. She thought that he was too
much of a trifler. He was idling his time, and spending his
patrimony. She disliked all idlers, yet she could not say that
she disliked Frank. Perhaps she was too hard on him ? He had
always been kind to her, and it \ra8 ungrateful to judge him
harshly. Was she doing him justice ? Might he not settle
down to useful work once he got married ? Was she doing her-
self justice ? Was it wise of her to dream on of a happiness that
might never be herd? Huntly had been a dear friend, but
there never had been any talk of love between them. Suppose
Huntly some day found out that he loved her, as something to!d
her he would, what about Huntly's family ? What about his
mother ? Mothers, are always so jealous of those who sup-
plant them in their son's affections. She could no* feel decided
about Huntly's mother. Then there was Miss Maxwell, Huntly
appeared to liko her. Her large fortune, too, was tempting ;
though she was sure Huntly was in no way mercenary. Then
old Mr. Marston, it would seem, according to Edith, that he

THEY TWO.

; ! piill

! ill

had made up his mind that Huntly should marry a rich wife, and
that the wife should be Maud Maxwell. She was sorry that she
had given her promise to be one of that iaJy's little party on
Mond.iy evening. Yet after all it would aflFord her an opportu-
nity of observing Huntly's conduct; and if her cherished hope was
to suffer shipwreck, better to know so at once. Or if by good
guidance she steered the ship through shoals and breakers into
the longed-for and quiet haven, she would do so. If she failed,
the wreck would be hidden deep down where none should ever
discover any of the lost cargo. And now, dismissing all worldly
thouglits, she retired to sleep peacefully till the morrow.

The everlasting arms are still outspread,
To bear the burthen of each human life.
And whosoever will may lay his head
Against the heart of God, and cease from etrife."

The youn;i people at Mr. Marston's were very busy next day
getiing ready for the rink. The whole family were going ; Mr.
Marston having secured tickets for all, which had not proved an
easy matter, there being a brisk sale, and the grounds were sure
to be crowded. The rink was an open one, with little decoration,
and instead of giving a description of the carnival on this
particular evening, I will take the liberty of placing before the
reader the det^cription of a similar event in Montreal, by a
modern newspaper reporter:

" The directors determined to open the entertainment as early as
seven p.m., it being Saturday ; and the two committees, one of
ladies, and the other of gentlemen, had so well attended to the
decorations that nothing further could be desired. * No pleasure
dome with caves of ice,' reared in the imagination of a Kubla
Khan, could have been finer. The oflScers of the various regi-
ments in the city vied with each other in furnishing flags, and
draping them tastefully among the evergreen spruce and balsams.
Round in front of the dressing-rooms were columns v.\ii alcoves
of the deepest green, enlivened with the bright colors of the
different regiments ; while aloft bung graceful festoons of Boston
pine, blossoming with the scarlet berries of the mountain ash and

/liilUil

THEY TWO.

woodbine ; the whole lit up with a blaze of lights reflected from
the polished mirror of the ict f oor, transporting the beholders
into very * fairyland.' The ice itself, so soon to grow dull and
white under the glistening steel, was to be a scene still more
wonderful. All the space allotted to spectators was closely
packed ; the sea of expectant faces watching the rink in silence.
A single bugle-call broke the stillness, and instantly were seen to
glide out upon the ice representatives of almost every nation on
this babbling earth. A sudden crash of music burst from the
brass bands in attendance, and the majority of the skaters darted
into swift and graceful motion. An hour was allowed for fancy
skating, vhen each could follow the promptings of his own sweet
will. T'jen there was to be a recess of thirty minutes for promen-
ading, after which an hour was to be spent in dancing. The
scene on the ice now became intensely grotesque and interesting.
The costumes were so diversified, so foreign to the eye, so pictu-
resque and mingled together, and eddied round with such grace
and swiftness, that the onlookers grew almost bewildered. Then
some ludicrously matched couples might be seen shooting out to
an open space, to do the ' backward roll,' or the ' outside edge ; '
to cut the figure of eight, or carve the letters of their names.
Here it was a tall Highlander with a small Esquimo lass as his
companion ; there a ' Jumping Jack,' and a squat German
peasant girl, whose blue eyes laughed at his antics. Yonder, a
solemn ' Turk,' gliding silently after a tittering belle, dressed as
• La Folic,' while near by is a ' Jim Crow ' filuting round a

stately
Maid.'

' Evening Star.' ' Jack Frost ' is pursuing a " Milk

and * Uncle Sam ' is busy with an American Indian
while a * Danish Viking ' keeps close in the wake

' Princess ; '

'Maid of Erin.

of the 'Maid of Erin.' Old affinities, I suppose, hold these two
together. The hour having elapsed, a bugle call sounds the
retreat, and only single couples are seen on the ice for a Httle
season. The thirty minutes, aided by chaff" and banter, soon fly
past, and the committees make arrangements for dancing. It is not
every one who can dance, much less waltz, on skates, consequently
a aot large portion of the ice was occupied by these, and the

THEY TWO.

vacant space remained for any who wished to continue skating.
The bugle call once more rung ont, the dancers took their places,
the bands striking up, * Les Rues da Paris ' in fine style, and a
smooth and stately 'quadrille' ws.s performed, the dancers
moving as if in air. This was succeeded by a * gallop.' Mill-
ard's ' Le Eeveil,' the ' Sparkling Gem,' a waltz by Grueuwald,
another ' quadrille,' another " gallop,' and then another waltz.
The entertainment closed by the band pl.iying * Vive la Cana-
dienne,' and 'God save the Queen. The whole was over by
ten o'clock. No dances in the gay salons of graceful but godless
Paris could compare with the airy circles of these Canadian
belles oyer the glittering ice floor ; and in lon<^ years after grey
bearded veterans on the heights of A' ran, and by the watch- tires
of Balaklava, reverted pleasantly to these remembrances of
fresh young life in Canada."

Here I must say good-bye to my newspaper reporter, and
continue my story, true to time as well as place. The Marston
party were highly delighted with the evening at the rink. Lucy
was in raptures over her new skates. She moved upon them like
one with wings, and when the skating was over she returned to
Huntly with glowing face, once more to thank him for his pre-
sent. It just then struck Huntly 's father that thiis lovely girl was
a dangerous companion for his son on that long journey up the
Ottawa, in view of the future which he had been mapping out
for him. To tell the truth, had it been the father at Huntly's
age, and driving all day close to such a girl, he would have im-
proved his opportunity. But that was not Huntly's style. Had
the old man known a little of the future, he might have kept his
mind at rest. Lucy was not to be Huntly's companion up the
Ottawa. Her pleasure at the rink was efomewhat dashed by the
attentions paid by Huntly to Maud Maxwell. Another circum-
stance of the evening furnished food for grave reflection. She
was the Indian girl whom " Uncle Sam," or Frank Meredith,
pursued so persistently. During the " recess," finding a fitting
opportunity, he had asked her to bo his wife, and she had
refused. She had answered him as kindly as she knew how;
,,, ■■■ :. .■: ...• -.. y - ;#-

THEY TWO.

and, with Lucy, that was to be treated very tenderly, but also
very firmly, leaving him without any ground for hope. On
reaching Mr. Marston's she pleaded fatigue, and on getting
to her room broke quite down. It had been a hard battle for the
last hour and a half to keep up appearances. She had let slip
one proffered anchor, and was now at sea, following an uncer-
tain light to a shadowy shore. Happy for her now that she had
another anchor, which was cast " within the vail." The soft
whisper, "peace, be still," fell upon her soul, sweeter than the
sweetest " carol of a bird." Secure within the " golden links,"
that *' bind the whole world to the fee- of God."

The following Sunday afforded grateful relief from the
unrest and disquiet of the week. It was a "pearl of
days." Lucy went with the Marstons to the Episcopal church
in the forenoon, for though they had attended the Methodist
chapel in Quebec, they gradually grew estranged from it after
coming to Montreal ; and mixing a good deal with members of
the Church of England, finally decided on joining that com-
munion. Mr. Marston personally preferred the Presbyterian
church in Montreal, but was overruled by Florence and Edith,
Mary and her mother still occasionally attended the Methodist
services. Lucy herself was nominally a Methodist, but was no
bigot, for no true Christian is a bigot ; and on the morning in
question she entered heartily in the spirit of the grand old
ritual, of the grand old church, which Emerson calls " An antho>
logy of the piety of ages and of nations." The sermon was short*
and as a literary composition perfect. To Lucy there was some-
thing wanting. It was too much like an essay. The voice of
the minister seemed far away, and Lucy longed to see him put
his manuscript under the pulpit cushion, and speak to her some
living words. At dinner that day there was a discussion about
churches. Mr. Marston thought there was but little difference
between those styled " orthodox Protestant." If a man wanted
to do right he could obtain help towards the saving of his soul in
«ny of them ; and if he did not want to do right, church organiza-
tion could do little for him. Mary thought that if a church

THEY TWO.

had not the Spirit of the Master, that is a Missionary Spirit, it
would eflFect but little good. It must do as the Master did,
" Preach the gospel to the poor." Something was also wanting
in society. The young people should have more innocent amuse*
ment in their own homes.

Huntly did not know about the amusements. They were good in
their place, but he thought that honest work was the best thing
for girls and boys. Youth was possessed of extra vital force, and
if expended in work, was not likely to waste itself in wickedness.
It was the old story of idle hands and misohief. All Ood's tasks
were blessings ; and when man was ordered to " earn his bread by
the sweat of his brow," God saw that honest work was man's
great safeguard ; even " earth's cares," as Cowper sings, " are
comforts, so by Heaven designed." He was not much given
to speak of these things, but had a settled belief, as all men should.
He accepted the fundamental truths of Christanity as being the
mort rational and best suited to mankind. He looked out upon
this fair creation as his Father's handywork ; for " Earth and
Heaven are threads of the same loom ; " * and God has placed
His ear so close to us, that He can hear our faintest whisper.
And if the curse of sin were once removed, would not this earth
be very heaven ? All around us is full of beauty and attraction.
Is not the light pleasant to the eyes ; and does not the melody of
sweet sounds fall kindly on the ear ; we have friendships, loves,
and happy homes, and even here is heaven if our hearts beat in
unison with nature and with Gbd. As to the future what cause
is there for disquiet ? A change of body does not imply a change
of being. Death but separates my soul and spirit from my mor-
tal body. My soul, which is a counterpart of my mortal body,
is still my spirit's body ; and is the vehicle which bears my iden-
tity as I pass the portal "men call death." It will still be my
spirit's body until such time as Christ gives me onie like unto His
x/wn. My act of dying does not change the heart of God towards

• '< Tbe position we bave been led to take ap is not that the Bplritoftl
lawB are analogong to the uatural laws, but that the*; are the tame lam."

THJBY TWO.

4ft

me. I am His the moment I close my eyes on earth, I am His
the next moment that I open them in heaven. And after all
Chrifct has abolished death : —

" What seems so is transition ;

This life of mortal breath
Is but the suburb of the life Elysian,

Whose portal we call death. "

•

CHAPTER VIT.

Lucy felt a little nervous on the morrow when she thought of the
possibility of meetinjif Frank Meredith at Miss Maxwell's. She
wa» anxious, also, to look her best that night. She had made
use of Mr. Marston's New Year's gift in procuring a pretty even-
ing dress. None of the girls intended wearing ball costumes,
though they knew there would be dancing ; but they knew also
that Miss Maxwell did not approve of large assemblies where
dancing was the principal amusement. Indeed she thought it
absolutely vulgar that girls should bounce, or be bounced, about
for an entire evening. She preferred to vary an entertainment
that shrank from a crowd and crush. It was more rational,
more enjoyable, to have a few congenial friends, — married as
well as single, — who could chat pleasantly together, if occasion
offered, varied with music and singing.

Miss Maxwell's invitation included Mr. and Mrs. Marston, and
they accepted. Before leaving home in the evening Mr. Marston
took his son aside, and requested that he would make himself
agreeable to Miss Maxwell. Huntly opened his eyes somewhat,
but gave the promise. He would have to draw on his father
shortly for some money, and it was not policy to cause him
any displeasure. Lucy felt much relieved when she found that
Frank Meredith did not put in an appearance at the party. He
bad written an apology, saying that he had been suddenly
called home on business. Lucy who heard' his absence casually
explained felt more kindly towards him than ever in her life
before ; and who can say but that she secretly regretted that
she had not been more Indulgent. Still she had done for the
best, and must abide results. Lieutenant Napier did not miss
roll call. Thomas McKenzie was in waiting, also a Capt. Boxom,
whom Lucy thought was likely to dispute Huntly's claim to
Maud. There is no harm in saying that she felt some inward
satisfaction in the idea, but before the evening was past she had

THEY TWO.

fai>

reaoon to change her mind, for Oapt. Boxom transferred his
attentions to herself, and opened for Huntly a way in the dreaded
direction. There were also present two other married parties,
apart from Mr. Marston, representing law and physic. They
were highly cultivated persons, "quite jolly," as Edith said, and
contributed largely to the evening's enjoyment. The doctor had
travelled largely through the Fronch-Canadian parishes, and
told some good stories of his early experience in the houses of
habitants. The lawyer was not to be outdone by the doctor, and
recounted many of his escapades in his student days in and around
Montreal. The laughing hours sped fast, and it was verging
upon midnight when Capt. Boxom asked Lucy for a song ; just
before parting, for it was well understood that Miss Maxwell's
entertainment closed at twelve o'clock. ' Lucy wore a gay exterior
all the evening, though sharp pains often pierced her heart.
Huntly was beneath his father's eye, and careful to obey his
wishes. The fair hostess was evidently well pleased. Huntly,
to do lum justice, would have preferred his old and friendly style
of chat with Lucy, and probably might have risked a little of his
father's displeasure to obtain the gratification, only that it seemed
to him that whenever he noticed her, she appeared to relish Capt.
Boxom's attentions. He therefore avoided her the greater part
of the evening. He was pleased, however, to observe th t she had
on his favorite colors, and wore in her hair a bouquet of his that
recalled pleasant memories. Lucy Dclisle, her mother and him-
self had the previni^s spring taken a stroll through the woods not
far from their village home. It was a balmy morning in the
early May. That "quaint broideress " had touched the dim
earth here and there with glowing tracery ; and the bees were
already buzzing among the basswood blossoms, — those tilleul
blossoms, that give name to the color so much affected by modern
belles. The iris, or blue pumila, the rosy ipegea, or ground
laurel, were peeping through the withered leaves, while blotches
of green and scarlet pointed out the vicinity of the pommette, or
" winter green." Huntly had found in a quiet nOok a beautiful
bunch of these ; formed differently from what are commonly met

THEY TWO.

with, the berries being in a cluster, surrounded by a profusion of
glossy leaves. He gatliered it carefully, and with Lucy's per-
mission adjusted it in her hair. Lucy set groat store by this
curiosity, or " sport," as our neighbors would call it, and had
coated the leaves and berries with a transparent varnish which
preserved their color and freshness, — a trick she had learned from
a flower maker when in Paris, she owned a brilliant, the last
gift of her dear father, and this she got a jeweller to arrange, so
tliat she could fasten the bouquet in her hair, and it was both
unique and pretty. When asked by Capt. Sozom to sing, she
took a quick glance to ascertain Huntly's locality, and finding him
near enough to hear and notice her, she selected a favorite of his,
" A la claire fontaine." The words are supposed to be sung by
a man, but Lucy did not care just then, Huntly liked them and
she would sing them. She fult a shade of melancholy steal over
her; a sense of strangeness and of loss, which gave a gentle
sadness to her voice, well suited to the minor key in which nearly
all our French-Canadian songs are pitched. She sang in French,
and as she closed with the lines : —

"II y a longtemps que je t'aime, r
Jamais je ne t'oubliprai."

She raised a hurried look to Huntly, and was pained to see
him still occupied with Miss Maxwell ; though, had she only
known the truth, Huntly's heart throbbed to every word she sang ;
and he determined that on his way up the Ottawa, he would
explain the reason of his attentions to Maud Maxwell. He
thought he owed that much to Lucy.

I will give the reader the benefit of an English version of Lucy's
Bong, as translated by Q-. S. L. of the New York World, made
when a mere boy ; and to whom, by the way, the readers of that
journal are indebted for the spirituel rendering of some of the
modern French poets:

THEY TWO.

A LA CLAIRE FONTAINE.

Of yonder crystal stream,

The waters were so fair,
That as I passed I paused,

And went and bathed me there ;
I've loved you long, I love you yet,

And you I never can forget

Then by the stream I sat,
Under the maple boughs ;

The cool wind stirred my hair ;
And fanned and dried my brows.

And there among the boughs
Of that fair maple tree ; ,

A^nightingale there was,
Right merrily sang he.

Sing, nightingale, sing,

Sing thou whose heart is glad ;

Thy heart is merry and gay.
And mine is weary and sad.

My love and I are foes,

Eight bitter foes are we ;
I would not cull her arose.

From yonder briar tree. ' ' '

I wish with all my heart.

The rose were on the tree ;
That rose and briar and all

Were cast in yonder sea. • ,

Were sunk in yonder sea.

Were sunk in yonder main;
And that my love and I,

Were friends — were friends again.
I've loved you long, I love you yet,
And you I never can forget.
D

4»

TIIEY TWO.

The party now broke up and goodniglits were repeated,

Huntly felt dl.'^satisfied with himself and was gloomy. Lucy wa»

strangely conpcious of some impending misfortune. She could

not rest during the night, and in the morning she had a splitting

headache. Huntly, who had made his preparations for starting

up the Ottawa, deferred it for the day. Noon melted into evening

and Lucy was no better. The pain extended to her back, and

she grew nervous and alarmed, Mr. Marston called in the doctor.

Ho pronounced it 80)all-pox. Lucy proposed leaving for home at

once, but the doctor forbid. She then desired to bo sent to the

hospital, but the Marstons would not consent; they were not

afraid of sniall-pox, and they would notify their friends at once

not to call. Lucy was very sorry as well as very sick ; but what

more could she do ? She had been vaccinated when a child, and

anticipated only a slight attack. Knowing the worst she grew

more composed, and from the extreme kindness of the Marstons

they rapidly increased in her esteem. Huntly waited another

day, and then as the doctor was quite decided in his opinion, he

reluctantly concluded to leave. He would break the bad news as

gently as possible to Mrs. Delisle. He would leave his driving

horses at the village, and as Edmond would be sure to be home

soon, he could come down for Lucy and bring her home. He had

his old nag which he would take to the woods. - There was no

opportunity for confidences, and the matter being thus settled,

he said bis good-byes and started.

CHAPTER VIII.

It is necessary to retrace our steps somewhat, anrl take up a few
threads which weave themselves into our web. In the vilhiiie of
Nicolet, anil towards the South, or Eastern Townships side, is a
low, white house with a wide verandali in front. To the north
and rear of this dwelling are rows of stiibl- , and long, large barns
well filled with hay and grain. The wliolo has a cozy and com-
fortable aspect. These buildings and the surrounding fertile
acres arc owned by farmer Louis Leblanc. The horses in his
stables are of the genuine Canadian breed, and can travel their
ninety miles a day. His cattle bear evident traces of the Aldernoys,
brought over the sea by his ancestors. This man has a numerous
family of sons and daughters. His wife is the sister of the late
Mr. Delisle, the father of Lucy. Madame Leblanc is a well
preserved and hearty looking woman, considering that she is the
mother of fourteen living children. She works herself, and makes
them work ; although there is a goodly store of old French and
Spanish crowns laid past for future need. Madame Leblano
comes of an industrious and frugal r^ce, and abhors idleness. It
is a gloomy November evening and some of the boys have just
come in from the stables ; the first snow has fallen, and there ia
talk of the navigation soon closing on the St. Lawrence. Every-
thing, however, looks bright and busy in the spacious kitchen.
A large double stove, a four-feet St. Maurice casting, difiFuses a
genial glow, while three or four tallow candles shew light to the
workers. Madame Leblanc herself is engaged in spinning wool,
and one of the daughters is reeling the yarn of the spindles into
hanks. The loom to weave these hanks into itoffe dupayt stands
in a corner of the kitchen. Another daughter is knitting socks
and mitts for the men, there being six sons — four of them grown
up — while a third is preparing straw for braiding and making into
hats. Two others are employed in manufacturing toiU du payt^
and the sixth, Louise, a girl of sixteen, is reading a book, one of

THEY TWO.

the prizes she had obtained at the last examinatioa of pupils at
the Ursuline convent of Three Rivers. The two eldest daughters
were married and away from home. Louise was to get another
year's schooling at the convent, and then the two sisters younger
than she were to have their turn. The education of the other
sisters had been finished. I am afraid the boys had been rather
neglected. It was the custoi • to educate *he girls, and possibly
one or two boys out of a family for the priesthood or the law ;
the other boys however might shift for themselves. Pierre, the
second son of Mr. Leblanc, had been to school for a couple of
years, and preferring the life of a voyageur had been a shanty
clerk for the late Mr. Delisle, and was serving Huntly in the
same capacity, but never said anything to Huntly of his relation-
ship to Lucy Delisle, nor did she know of his being in Huntly's
employment.

" Pierre," said Madame Leblanc, " do you intend going up the
Ottawa for this winter ; because if you do, I would like you to
take Louise down to Three Rivers to school, and you can board
the steamboat there for Montreal instead of at Port St. Francis,
and it will save your father a journey ? "

Pierre did not answer imiucdiately, and Louise raised her head
from her book. She had not icit well after tlie summer vacation,
and was allowed to remain at home a month or two after the
beginning of the school torm ; but Madame Leblanc knew the
good sisters would only be too glad to have her back, no matter
when she went. The head which Louise raised from her book
was finely set on a graceful neck and shoulders, and her short
scarlet petticoat — her outside skirt being tucked up — displayed
a well turned ankle.

" Mamma," said Louise, " I am quite ready, my new purple
uniform fits very nicely, and my lace cap is a perfect beauty."

Louise spoke with that pure French accent for which the
Ursuline nuns of Three Rivers are remarkable. Pierre answered
his mother that he would be going up the river a^ain, and would
take Louise to the convent. The religious establishment to which
Louise was returning is one of the oldest on this continent, having

^^Mi^

THEY TWO.

been founded in 1697 by the second Bishop of Quebec, Monsei-
gneur St. Valier. The Ursulines, to whom the buildings jind
grounds belong, are a cloistered order, and arrived in Quebec
from France in 1640, where they established the famous *' Hotel
Dieu." They were accompanied by the celebrated Madame do
la Peltrie — the '* Theresa of France," — known in Canada
under her religious name of " Marie de I'lncarnation." Ban-
croft says : " The venerable ash tree still lives beneath which
Mary of the Incarnation, so f^med for Christian piety, genius^
and good judgment, toiled though in vain for the culture of
Huron children."

Three Eivers itself is the oldest French Canadian town in
Canada. Pontgravd associated himself with Champlain in 1603,
and shortly after we find him making Three Rivers the head-
quarters of the young colony. The old chateau where resided
the first Governor is still standing, nor' was it till 1660 that
Quebec and Montreal began to assume importance. Previous to
that date all treaties with the Indians were made at Three Rivers
and as late as the year 1672 we find the populations of the most
ancient towns of Canada to be as follows: Montreal, 584; Quebec,
555 ; Three Eivers, 461. At that early date Montreal began to
take the lead, and still holds it. In all the early writings of
Champlain we find the project of only one establishment, and
that is Three Eivers. In all the places where Pontgrav^ stopped
or wrote from, — Tadousac, Quebec, and Montreal, — the idea of
an establishment does not seem to have inspired him ; but from
Three Eivers he writes, " Here, according to my judgment, is a
proper place to be inhabited and promptly fortified." From the
oldest document in Canada, the original of which is still preserved,
we find Champlain sending Mr. LaViolette with a vessel from
Quebec containing French artisans and others, and they landed
at Three Rivers on the 4th of July, 1634. On the third of
September following the Rcvds. Paul le Jeune and P. Buteau, of
the Society of Jesus, celebrated the first mass.

4. '

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CHAPTER IX.

The grey of a short day in January is deepening into night, up
among the pine woods cl" the Ottawa. The " soft and soul-like
sound " of the pines is broken in upon by the familiar noises ot
a large timber slianty, built not far from a small lake on one
of the branches of the lliver Coulouge. The camp is a long,
low building made of sided logs, and roofed with bark, having
openings overhead for the escape of the smoke. The ruddy glare
of the fire in the centre brings into relief the weatlicr-beatcn
feature? and rugged outlines of the woodmen. Some of the
teamsters who have come in from the stables after seeing to their
hors(s are drying their hands on the long towel rollers hanging
l)ehind the shanty door. The cook at one end, and his assistant at
the other, are filling the tin cups on the tables with coffee made
from burned bread, or are placing dishes of steaming pork and
loaves of bread at convenient distances. The men have all
returned to the camp after their day's work Some stand with
their backs to the fire, others seat themselves at the tables, while
a few lounge about their sleeping berths, and eat apart.

" I'll tell you what it is," remarked a wiry French Canadian,
^ho held a thick slice of bread and a cut of cold pork on the top
of it in one hand, and a jackknife in the other, " there is nothing
like a slice of sweet bread a day old eaten with its own thickness
of fat cold pork."

" Not even ' pea soup,' " replied a raw boned Yankee near
by, "but as for me I can tell you what is better if you could
only get it ; taku a dish of small white beans, pick them clear as
diamonds, steep them in water for an hour or two, and then
strain them dry ; take your bake pot and put them into it with
a few strips of sweet pork and a shake of pepper, dig a hole in the
red ashes and cover up the pot so that no steam can get out, and
leave them buried all night, keeping the ashea hot all the time ;

(1.1,

KVMMREMI

THEY TWO.

And when you remove the cover of the pot in the morning you
have a mess tasty as almonds and fit for an emperor ; and what
is better, it will make you as strong as a giant."

"Yes," laughed Baptiste, "and you want the stomach of
an ostrich or a Bastonnaib to digest them."

"Not so hard to digest as the beaver tail I saw you eating
,the other day, while the fat ran down your beard," responded
Jonathan.

" Good eating are beaver tails," insisted Baptiste, " not too
fat, only a little greasy."

" May be," said an Irishman, who overheard the conversa-
tion, '* you would like a bit of bear's meat or a polecat, by way
of variety; but as for myself, I hold to the decent old ship
biscuit, with a taste of fresh trout thrown in. 1 dip the biscuit in
the pot while the pork is boiling for about five minutes, and have
my fryiug-pau ready with some nice lard, I put in the biscuits
till they are biownetl, and cover them close to soften and keep
them warm while I fry my trout. I get a spotted beauty fresh
from the lake, slice him into pieces half the size of your hand,
roll them in flour, pop them into the sizzling lard in the pan until
-brown, and these eaten with your biscuit are fit for an empress."

Camp fire stories now became the rage for some time, and
Pierre Leblanc j)rocceded to give his hearers the benefit of his
.experience.

The reader must remember that in these relations I do not
pretend to give the exact words used, but the substance of the
stories as handed down to me. He said : "Two years ago, one
of our rafts was lying in the bay above L'Orignal, opposite the
Hiver Rouge, which coming from the north empties into the
Ottawa near the west end of the Township. Mr. Marston
wished to hire a pilot to run us over the Long Sault. I
volunteered to go to Grenville on this errand. There was a
jstrong breeze, so I thought it best to wait till evening when the
wind would fall as the sun set. I was somewhat mistaken, for
instead A a calm, big flurries of wind came down through the
laouutain notches on the Grenville side, and great black clouds

THEY TWO.

■ "n

IS 'a

skurried over their tops. I decided to cross in a canoe to the-
Bouge — one of the finest views in Canada is obtained from the
west end of the C. P. R. bridge over this river— and hire a horse-
from the man who kept the Jiouge terry, and proceed to Gren-
ville on horseback. It was dusk when I got across to the
Bouge, and before I got the horse saddled and I could start^
night was on ; it was not very dark, for once in a while the full,
moon shone out between the breaks in the clouds. I had got
about a mile and a quarter below the Rouge, to a place known
as " Deadman's Gully," when my horse stopped suddenly. I was
on the west side of the gully which had been formed by a small,
stream from the mountains ; and the bed of the stream had been
filled up with stones to form a bridge or passage, raising it
almost level with the roadway on either side. I did my best to .
urge the horse over, but he refused to cross. He trembled in all ,
his limbs, and as he swerved to one side I broke a branch from,
an overhanging tree and thrashed him soundly. The moon now
came out clear, and I saw an Indian walk ncrobs to the south side
of the bridge and disappear. The horse now recovered from his-
fright, and we crossed without any further trouble. I got down
all right to Grenville bay, and hired Orrin Cook to take the raft -
over the SauU, and hastened back to the Rouge. The night was
now calm and the moon shining brightly ; the clouds had all
gone as if by magic. I thought now and then of the bridge
vfhich I had to repass, but as the Indians were friendly I did not
dread any harm. The road, it is true, was very lonely, for there
was not a house from the little Calumet to the Rouge, a distance
of two miles. I had got back as far as the gully where I had
seen the Indian, when the horse stopped again, and showed more
signs of dread than he had done before. I could not get him to
advance a step, and looking towards the bridge I saw the head
of an Indian right in the centre, and nearly on a level with the
road. It seemed as if the head had been thrust up through sortie
opening from below. It did not rise higher than the neck, nor
sink any lower, but kept constantly turning from side to 8ide»
I felt shivers through my body and the hair stiffen on my head^

ill

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THBT TWO.

(it

while the horse quivered and snorted. There was nothing around,
to cast a shadow, there was no hole in the bridge, and I deter-
mined to cross. As the horse would not go forward, I wheeled
him round, and backed him down on the bridge, which was only^
about twenty feet wide. As I neared the centre I felt impelled
to look down for the head, and there, to my horror, it was, peering
at me from among the horse's feet. The moment he had passed
and saw it, he turned with a bound that nearly threw me off his
back, and galloped back to his stable at the Eouge. The horse
was in a foam, and I looked so frightened that the people asked
me what was the matter. I told them what I had seen. The
man looked at his wife and said, 'Jennie, what did I tell you?*
and turning to me he continued, ' I saw the Fame thing a year
ago this very night. When I came to live here first the people
told me it was all haunted' around about the Eouge, but I would
not believe them until I saw the Indian's head ; and it is not long
ago that old Bevin told me that an Indian had been murdered
in the gully, and that his body was buried under the stones.' I
did not delay long, and getting out of my canoe I hurried back,
to the raft."

While Ijeblanc had been telling his story, the number of"
listeners had gradually increased, and as he finished, a slightr
. ancient looking man seated himself on the bench beside him, and
thrusting the ends of his tawny beard into his vest pockets, took
a steady gaze at the big, hardy men about him. No one knew
anything of Caspar, the handy man, who repaired the sleighs,
mended the harness, and shod the horses, except that Tom had
met with him at James Bay, and brought him up the Ottawa
"He held you with his glittering eye," as did the "Ancient
Mariner." Some thought he might be the wandering Jew, who
had come down from Behrings Strait, where Sue first met him
only that his beard and hair were yellow, and his eyes blue. He
had travelled over most of the world, and was superior to the
position he then occupied. In his mysterious way he hinted that-
he knew something of the Rouge, or the river of the Great
Spirit, as the Indians called it. '' It was sacred to them, and

.J,,

THKY TWO.

■i'l

It ;

/■•■

there lived their Manitou. There were seven falls or chutes near
its mouth, and at the seventh, there was table rock, where in old
times they oflFercd sacrifice. On the east bank, and north of the
house built by old Bevin, are the graves of three men, seven feet
apart from one another. One was a white man, one an Indian*
and one a Negro. About these graves strange lights are seen to
dance on certain nights, and sometimes are seen to stand out as
pillars of fire against the granite mountains to the north-west.
South of the high eastern bank where these graves are, it is
thickly grown with white oaks; and below the slope a sandy
plain runs down to the Ottawa river, part of wnlch is covered
with white and Norway pine. The eastern part of the plain,
fronting the Ottawa river, has been the camping grounds of the
Indians time out of mind. Towards the close of the seventeenth
century, the French Fort of St. Anns, at the head of the Island
of Montreal, was unprotected for a time; the garrison having
gone to quell Indian disturbances on the Richelieu. The Iroquois
on the Upper Ottawa hearing this made a descent on the Fort,
carrying off arms, spoils, and some of the women ; and did not cry
halt till they put the portage of the Long SauU between them
and their enemies the French. They camped at the mouth of the
Rouge, — their sacred river, and commenced to feast on the good
things they had carried off. Word soon reached Montreal of the
sacking of the Fort at St. Anns, and a force was at once despatched
in pursuit. It overtook the Indians in the midst of their feasting,
and a deadly struggle ensued ; with the result that all the Indians
were massacred except their chief When he saw that all was lost
he turned and fled for the seven chutes on the Rouge, well known
-bo him when a boy. He was as fleet as a deer, and striking through
the pines and the oak trees on the hi;aher level on the east side of
the Rouge, he gained the "table rock " before his pursuers sighted
him. He flung his eagle plumes into the roaring torrent as an
offering to the Manitou, and bounding from cliff to cliff like an
antelope hurried on his way. There were those on his track as
fleet as he. Two ' braves ' of the Abenaquis, allies of the French,
were foremost in the chase, and as they ueared the highest of the

TRET TWO.

■seven chutes, the Iroquois was seen 'x) fall, and in a moment after
his enemies were upon him. As his foremost pursuer sprang
forward to bury his tomahawk in the prostrate man, his weapon
"came down only on the grey rock ; the Iroquois having disappeared
. into a deep fissure. He was nowhere to he found, and his
pursuers returned to the battle ground disappointed. Not long
ago I visited the old camping place at the Rouge, where you may
find Indian bones to this day ; and I have stowed away a quantity
of flint arrow heads, stone hatchets, and calumets, picked up
there during my stay. The wife of the ferry man Leblanc spoken
of told me, when I was on my visit, a strange occurrence. It
liappened in the winter. Her husband had gone to Grenville on
business, and was not to be back before nine o'clock that night.
His wife, who was as fearless as a lion, thought nothing of stopping
alone with tlie children. It was drawing up to ten o'clock and he
had not returned. A light snow had fallen during the evening,
but the night had cleared up, and the stars were out. Thinking
that she heard a noise outside the kitchen window, near which she
was sitting, she looked up and saw the face of an Indian looking
in at her : she opened the door and peered out. She could see no
one. After waiting for nearly an hour, and her husband not.^
making his appearance, she retired to the room oiF the kitchen,
and went to bed. She left the door unbarred, to save her getting
up when her husband returned. She soon fell asleep, but awoke
on hearing sleigh bells nearing the house. She heard the stable
door opened, and the trampling of the horses upon the floor.
Then the kitchen door was opened and closed, a chair drawn near
to the stove, and her husband, as she supposed, sit down to tak©
off his moccasins. As no one spoke she called out ' James, is that
you ? ' Receiving no answer she jumped out of bed and went into
the kitchen. There was no one there. Had shebeen dreaming?
"JSo, she had left the chair beside the window, and now it stood
olose by the stove. She now heard the trampling of horse's feet
in the stable, and concluded that her bu^ba^dwas there, and that
there was somethiDg wrong with the cattle. So wrapping herself
up, she went out to the stable, which lay about half an acre north

THBY TWO.

of the house, and close to a grove of tall red pines. Her husband'
was not there, and all was quiet. As she turned to go baok to the
house she was startled to see a tall Indian come running towards
her from the old camping ground, a little east of the house. She
was a brave woman, but she confessed to me that she felt her
knees smite together. He had eagle feathers in his hair, and bad
on snow-shoes of a circular pattern, dififerent from any she had
ever seen. He did not seem to notice her, but as he passed her h^
fired an arrow from the long bow he carried, and instantly disap-
peared among the pine trees. He was that close to her when he
fired the arrow, that she could hear the bow string whiz in the
frosty air. She was now for the fir.st time really alarmed, and
making for the house barred the duor the moment she entered.
A little while after her husband returned from Grcnville where he
had been detained longer than he expected. She did not fail
to tell him all she had heard and seen, but he only laughed at her .
supposing she hud been dreaming, or perhaps had invented the
story to prevent him from leaving her nlone again. When
morning came she insisted on his coming with her to look for the
tracks of the strange snow-shoes ; but no tracks could be found.
She then determined to visit the pine grove where she saw the
Indian disappear; and they had proceeded only a little way
when they discovered a milk white fawn lying dead upon the
snow, an arrow sticking from behind its shoulder. They went
no further, and on coming back to the house the husband took
a hand sled, and went to bring home the dead deer, but on
reaching the place where it had been lying, he found it gone,
nor ever after heard of it."

Appetite now grew from what it fed on, and Caspar was
importuned for another story. " Don't you," said one of the
men, " know something of the Northwest?" What was it Cas-
par did not know ? He had been all over the Northwest, the
" Great Heritage/* he called it, of Canadians. Though usually
silent, he seemed to-night in the vein for talking.

" I was," continued be, " at Fort Douglas when Lord Selkirk
landed, and when he and Provenoher and Dumoulin were so-

']'M

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fMb

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THEY TWO.

kind to the half-starved French Canadian voyageurs. naif-breeds
and Indians. I had been over a year with Yeliuw jdear and his
tribe, hunting and fishing. I saved Yellow Bear's life when he
was drowning in the Saskatchewan. The old fellow felt very
grateful. After ho hnd examined my hair and beard, he said,
' come with me, and I will make you richer than the Big Com-
pany.' I went with him and his tribe a thousand miles over
the plains, towards the setting sun, often up to our waists in tall
grasses. There was more game than we wanted to kill or eatt
Soon we struck a great river, known to voyageurs as the Atha-
basca. Here we hunted the buffalo till the Indians grew sick of
killing them ; and we travelled on till we came to the mouth of
Peace Eiver, where we camped for the winter. The buffalo were
running round in thousands, scratching up the snow, and feeding
on the rich bunch grass. The weather there in January was
finer than it is on the Coulonge. In the spring Yellow Bear said
he was going to cross over the Rockies to the big sea, taking
some of his men with him, and leaving the rest with the women
and children in their present encampment ; and that if I came with
him he would shew me gold, gold, gold. We started up the Peace
River, visiting the forts, disposing of furs, and obtaining supplies ;
and then we turned down south till we struck the head waters of
the Athabasca. Our course was now westerly, and after passing
Jasper House, we made for what is known as Yellow Head Pass
in the Rockies. The Indian said it was named after one of his
nation who had yellow hair, and that he had come a long time
ago from a sacred river in the south, where the water boiled
hissing up two hundred feet into the air ; and the steam turned
into silver, and the hills, along where the river boiled, were white
with it. He said there were places where you went down, down,
till the water pussed to the other side of the world, and where
you could see the stars in day light.* This yellow-headed
Indian who came from this sacred river in the south had
now been in the Rockies for a hundred years, and was all

DoubtleM Yellow Stoue Kiver.

- ;■< //

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THEY TWO.

.,, pj

the time gathering gold and hiding it nway. Not many mileij.
from the cave or place whore the Indian hid hia gold, wasi
a 'cache,' where voyageurs going west hid their provisions,
and the place was known to them as Tile Jaune Cache;
but the way to the cave was known only to some Indiarii
who had watched Tete Jaune, and found out his secret; theyhai
told him about it, but they were all dead now. No one but a yel-
jow head or Yellow Boar himself dare enter the cave, and then odIt
once in the twenty-four hours, because the spirit of Yellow Head
etill kept guard over his treasure. Ho asked me if I was afraid

' >to go with him, as only we two could go ? Of course I said, no ;.
and leaving the other toen at the * Cache ' we started for the
cave. The mists that curled round the tops of the mountains-

^ were melting into morning, when we got under way ; and shortly

' after the sun came out, and golden and crimson glories floated
and billowed round us as far as our eyes could see. You talk
about mountains here, but they are molehills to the mountaina
yonder. Great rugged and hoary fellows that send up their
peaks sixteen and seventeen thousand feet above the level of sea ;
away up above the clouds, where there is eternal sunshine. We
had been going down and up and down again all the morning,

. and now it was near noon. Yellow Bear stopped suddenly ;
right ahead of us rose a strange looking mountain, the front of
it, like castles here and there, piled up brown and beetling eight-
thousand feet against the sky. Yellow Bear skirted this moun-
tain for about half a mile, and ogain stopped. He stood erect
and found that he cast no shadow. I could see nothing
particular, but taking his way between two huge boulders he
came to a small opening in the mountain, wide enough, by tight
squeezing, to admit a man. He entered and I followed closely.
The light was dim, but by and by we could see pretty plainly..
After we had proceeded about fifty paces, the passage opened out
into a chamber about the size of this shanty. Over to one side I
could see broken rock and glittering metal. I felt my face flash
and my hands tremble. I soon reached the place and tried the
metal. It was hard, and when struck with the back of my

THEY TWO.

knife emitted sparks. It was only fool's gold, worthless iron
pyrites. Anger took the place of excitement, and I could have
struck Yellow Bear to the ground. He only gave a low chuckle,
and came close to the wall nenr whore I was standing. He now
pressed heavily against a particular spot in the wall, and slowly
a huiie slab began to revolve. It was in fact an immense stone
turnstile, on one side of which was a cavity, largo enough to
admit us, and an instant after we found ourselves on the inner
side, and jumped out. Never shall I forget the splendor that
burst upon my sight. Immense white column?, white as drifted
enow, rose above us, hundreds of feet in height; while from the
top, through domes of alabaster, unearthly rays of light stole
round about us. Great heaps of broken slaty quartz, mottled
with dull yellow metal, could be seen in many places, and piled up
against the pillars. There was no mistaking this time, the
blotches of yellow cut like lead. It was strange how cool I felt,
and my nerves had grown quite steady. Yellow Bear placed his
hand upon my arm, and whispered "the hour is up." Ho led
the way. He pressed the turnstile from the inner side, we
entered the cavity as it turned round, and in another second we
were well in the outer chamber ; nor could I perceive any crack
in the wall, so exactly fitted was the turnstile. We made our
way to the outlet. I stepped back to note the surroundings and
take my bearings, with a view to coming back at some future
time, when I paw a yellow headed Indian looking steadily at me
over one of the boulders. Next instant I heard like the twang
of a bowstring, and I fell flat on my face. In doing so I felt as
if a hot iron had grazed the back of my neok. Instantly there
was a crack like a cannon shot, and I jumped to my feet. Yellow
Bear did so also, and said he felt as I did ; but no Indians were
in sight. The thunder, however, was leaping from crag to crag,
and echoing from mountain unto mountain. The sun was shin*
ing round us, and far below the storm hissed and roared, and
bellowed. We oould see the grey and black clouds meeting, and
the forked lightning darting through them, and all the while
rolled heaven's artillery. Mount Hooker was answering Mount

•M

THEY TWO.

Brown, and every time they clapped their hands it was a clap of
• thunder. Gradually the eto.m rolled awny to eastward, and we
made all speed for the " Cache," where we arrived at nightfall
weary and footsore.

" And did you not go back ? " asked Patrick.
'* No," said Caspar, " I never will go back ; the man who
Tisks his life for gold is almost sure to lose both."

" Yellow Bear would remain no longer at the Cache. We
were on the head waters of the Frascr, which take a turn to the
north and overlap the Cariboo mountains, on its way down to
- the Pacific. These mountains are full of gold, gold enough to
buy the throne of England. Instead of following the course of
the Frascr, we struck due west, and after three days journey wo
came upon it again, where it is joined by the Quesnel. We kept
on down the Fraser fishing and hunting ; Yellow Bnar said it
would take us ten days to reach the coast if we travelled thirty
miles a day. But at the rate we went it took us near a month.
And lot me tell you, boys, that's the place for the big pine trees.
Why the pine trees on the Coulonge and the Dumono are only
walking sticks compared to them. The spruce and cedars there
are bigger than our biggest pines. I saw fir trees fifteen to
twenty feet across the stump. About a log's length from the
ground they narrow in to five or six feet across, and then up,
without a limb for a hundred feet or more. The choppers drive
in steps to stand on till they reach the narrow, and then chop
them down ; the stumps remaining fifteen or twenty teet above
tliC ground. They have no snow there like us, and take the
timber out round, never less than thirty feet in length, and some-
times over a hundred. The timber is peeled, and the roads all
skidded, and the skid's smealed with dogfish oil ; then five, or it
may be ten span of oxen are hitcliea to the great spar, and away
it goes over the oiled skids to the river.

" Patrick and Pierre talk about their trout, they would never
menv-on them again if they once saw the Ralmon in British Colum-
bia. Five different kinds of them come up the rivers. The smallest
sort weighs about five pounds, and the biggest seventy or eighty.

THEY TWO.

They come lo thiok that the Indian women and children walk
nto the rirers and pitch them out with their hands upon the
t ank. The aalmon were so thickly wedged in one of the riyers,
'that I eaw a British officer walk his horse over them as if it had
heen a bridge ; and they have other fish there so fat that they
burn them for candles."

"Now," said Patrick, "you are only gassing;" and Pierre
put in, "you drew 'the long bow' too about the gold."

"It is all true," replied Caspar, "and I can show you the
mark of the yellow headed Indian's arrow on my neck that haa
never healed till this day."

" No doubt," remarked Tom, " it is the mark of the hangman's
rope when you escaped the gcllows. Enough of this nonsense for
to-night j it was that fool Leblanc that started the Indian balder-
•dash. Tom did not relish stories just then about loup-garous
and Indians, a fact well known to Pierre, and darting a furious
look at Tom he told him, " if he did not take back his words, he
would knock his teeth down his throat."

Tom retorted, " that there was not man enough in Leblano'a
beefskins for the job," and drawing a knife was about making
a dart at him, but was anticipated by Leblanc, whose clenched
fist took Tom between the eyes, and he fell in a heap upon the
ahanty floor. He was soon up, but the men interfering, peace
was for the time estublished, and the men rolling themselves in
their blankets went to sleep, some to dream of gold, and others
of great pine trees. Caspar slept too sound to dream, he had a
clear conscience, for he only told the truth.

CHAPTER X.

HiTNTLT Marston had occasion to go down Notre Dame street
. on business before leaving Montreal for the Ottawa, and chanced
to meet Captain Boscois and Lieut. Napier. They enquired about-
deer hunting, and the Captain seemed anxious for a trip up
the Ottawa in order to have some sport. Huntly invited them'
to come, and make his camp their head-quarters. So it was
agreed that they would come towards the end of February, when
the snow would be deep, and probably crusted ; Huntly giving
them the necessary directions about the road.

He said his " good-byes" to his friends, and to the sick girl ;
and ^^ith a heart not too gay started on his journey. Mrs,,
T>elisle bore the news of her daughter's illness with more forti-
tude than Huntly had anticipated. She felt grateful for the
kindness of the Marstons ; and thanked Huntly very warmly for
his thougtfr'ness in leaving his horses at the village for Edmund
to take his sister home. Huutly made no delay at the village.
He left instructions at the office that Phil, who had charge of
the stables, should see Mr. Delisle's wishes promptly attended to.
On the morrow, " Old Charley," his trusty nag, was harnessed to
the burline. A piece of new rope was put below the seat, to draw
" Old Charley" out, should he get through the ice ; and putting
in a pair of snowshoes and his blankets, he drew the robes close
around him, waved adieu to his servants, and was off. Three
days' steady driving would bring him to his camp. He got along
nicely the first two days. He often thought of the sick girl at
his fathv r's, and much regretted the want of an opportunity to
explain tc her the reason of his attention to Miss Maxwell, and
at the same time make known the nature of his own feelings.
He did hope that Lucy was not indifferent towards him, and was
at a loss to account for Frank Meredith's marked attentions to
her, and his sudden departure from Montreal. He half suspected
that Lucy had dismissed him, and in this thought was a grain c£

THEY TWO.

comfort. He would come down to the vilbige by the end of*
March to see about some driving tools, when she must be home^
and then he would learn his fat<3. But should she not recover t
Should the grim tyrant cut her down ? Well, what then ? A.
term of loneliness and of sorrow here ; it might be only a littU
while, to be forever with her in a fairer land, in one of her-
Father's mansions, where the soft hand of our Elder Brother
would wipe the tears from off all faces. >

On the morning of the third day his course lay northwards.
The wind had veered eastward during the night, the horizorr,i
wore a bluish tint, and fine grains of snow were falling. The snovr
increased hourly, and by noon travelling was slow and heavy. It;
was two o'clock in the afternoon when he reached the stopping;
phice where he intended feeding his horse, and having dinner..
He SI ill had twenty miles to travel, part of the way through?
woods, and part over lakes and rivers. Tom had informed him.
in the fall that he intended altering the old road for a better^,
before coming within about ten miles of the camp. Huntly was-
in doubt about it; and two or three other shanty roads branched
off from the one ho was now travelling. He made as little delay
as possible at the stopping place, and although the good people
BUL'gested the wisdom of remaining over night, he decided to
push on ; for if he lay over till the morrow the roads might be
then impassable. The gray of evening was on before he reachect
the point where he thought the road branched off to his own.
camp. As the night fell the wind chopped round to the north-^
west, and the cold drift kept blinding him. Worst of all he was--
now upon the ice, and every now and then Old Charl-^y would
stumble off the road, for the drift was blinding him as well as->
his master. Huntly now got out, finding his way with his feet^
which was weary work, and Old Charley followed like a dog»
They liad not proceeded far in this way vhen the horse stopped^
and refused to go any farther. Here was a fix. Huntly came
back to where he stood, and found another road leading off the
ice, and up the bank towards the woods. He could not tell which
was the right road, but he would leave it to the instinct of bui-

THEY TWO.

trusty horse. He still must walk ahead, and on taking the new
road the horse followed him willingly. He regretted he had not
taken the advice of the people at the stopping place ; and came
to the conclusion that it was unwise to drive alone. He might
bave dropped through an open glade in the ice and be never
fcoard of, and even yet ho ran the risk of being lost, and
possibly frozen to death. Tramping through the snow had tired
him ; there was less drift in the woods so he took to his sleigh
again. He soon got cold and drowsy, he must rouse himself, or
muy be sleep the sleep of death. Just then the old horse quick-
ened his pace ; ht could hear the barking of dogs ; there was a
light ahead, and shortly he reached an old shanty that was
inhabited. The dogs thut barked and sniffed about him were
Indian dogs. He rapped at the shanty door, and it was opened
<by a young Indian, who, in French, asked him to come in.
Huntly first wished to get some hay or oats for his horse, but as
there was none, he threw a buffalo robe over him, and left him
manching snow at the door. It appeared to be a family of
Indian huntrrs who had taken possession of the shanty. There
was the old squaw, and .'ome papouses ; two men, rather villain-
ous looking; and, besides the young man who admitted him,
there was a young woman, in Indian dress, but with the coniplex-
^n and eyes of a Spaniard. The two elder men and th3 old
'woman did not, or would not, speak French, but the younger r. m
«nd the girl spoke French fluently. The girl seemed to have
control of the place and asked Huntly to have some supper ; and,
■though the food was only rabbit stew and some biscuit, ho
enjoyed it. Hunger is good sauce. Huntly, while partaking
of the hospitality, had time to make observations. There was
the usual litter of baskets, bark, snowshoes, hides, and deer-
skin mitts and moccasins, ^he children stood around while their
^elders were eating ; the men were silent, but the girl, was quite
^communicative. After supper, and while enquiring the way to
liis shanty, he took occasion to examine the girl's features more
«leariy. Although the light was but dim, he oould peroeivo the
extreme beauty aod delicacy of her features, and the symmetry

THEY TWO.

6»

and gracefulness of her person. He did not then know that shte
was the granddaughter of the famous Colonel VassalU, who»
ppent his life among the Indians,* nor that his life would on©^
day depend upon her intervention.

He was invited to remain overnight, but as there was no pro-
vender for his horse, and his own shanty only eight or nine miles
distant, he decided to proceed as soon as due politeness admitted ;;
for whether in the Indian hut or city mansion, Huntly observed,
life's proprieties. ».

At a word from the girl the young Indian proposed to bfr
Iluntly's guide ; thanking them for their kindness, and promising
to see them again, he proceeded to his camp which was to be
his home till near the spring. Ke often thought of the Indian
girl while on his way. What a powerful influence female beauty
has ou man ! Int-ended, doubtless, to refine and elevate his-
rud«r nature, but by sin turned 'mt/o the very sorceries of the-
devil. The old Abbot was wise when he commended that no
cow should be kept on the Island, " for " said he, '* where a cow
is, there must be a woman, and where a woman is, there will be>^
mischief" • ,, ' ■'. '[f /■■:„:;:■'<:'■■,' ;^:

Huntly reached his camp in safety, and though tired, waa
Foon cheered by the hearty welcome of his men. He was a
favorite with them, and made it a point to re-engage old hands^
When referring to the difficulty of finding his way on the ice,
his men told him it was fortunate Old Charley would not
follow him, for there was an op''n in it, within a few perches of
where he had turned up the b;ii*k on his way to the Inlian
camp. He prized his old horse all the more now, and, no doubt,,
was grateful to Him, without whorse notice a sparrow
doth not fall to the ground. On the morrow he went to.
the woods to see how the timber-makers were getting on. He
found that Tom bad everything in good shape, though Tom'*
sallow face grew still more sallow, on hearing his employer refer
to the pretty Indian girl who had given him his supper. It did

* She was a Mestizo Claro, amoug whom are some of the moat
beautiful women in the world. . ,i

.. •<^-

; i

; I,

THEY TWO.

Hantly's heart good to see the roads all in fine order, the men
had them already clear of snow, and they were as smooth and hard
«s ice. The horses were in good working order, the harnesses and
«leds strong and sound, and the men bright nnd willing. As
Buntly and Tom came up to a gang of timber m:iker8, the latter
•ran his eye up a fine pine tree. He motioned to the men to
" bed" it; that is to lay limbs transversely on the line where it
"would likely fall, to prevent the trunk from being buried in the
'deep snow. In a few minutes this giant of the forest was lying
prone. Quick as thought Tom indicated the spot towards the top
Jto which it should be rcased, or the bark smoothed to show the
mark of the chalk line. Then two trial notches were cut, and
the liner decided how much the tree would square. It was then
*' lined," and the " scorer " cut big notches along the sides, while
the " hewer " followed with his broad axe, — a tool weighing ten or
ftwelve pounds, with a bit twelve or fifteen inches wide — leaving his
work almost as smooth as if it had been planed. He kept an inch
outside of the line on both sides of the tree, so that when it was
turned over and fully squared, the " lined" side was »n inch
broader than the other. This lined side is always placed upper-
imost in rafting, and gives the timber a larger and b<;tter appear-
ance. This particular tree when squared measured twenty-two by
twenty-three inches in diameter; it was sixty feet long, and con-
'tained two hundred and ten cubic feet of timber. It was then
worth only six pence per cubic foot in QuebtJc, but still would
trin;.', when delivered there, five pounds five shillings. To-day
^he same stick, could such be found, would be wortli one shilling
and three pence per foot, and would realize in Quebec thirteen
pounds currency. As soon as the hewer had finished, there was
anotlier tree ready for him. The felling, lining, scoring, and
hewing were done within the hour. A gang of four men, Huntly
calculated, would make about eight piecos of timber per day ; many
of them much smaller than the one just calculiited, but he thought
they would make on an average ninety feet per piece. He had
eight such gangs of men working, and ten span of horses, and
computed that he could get out and bring to Quebec four or

THEY TWO.

fire rufits of one hundred thousand feet each. He hoped the
timber would not cost him over three pence per foot delivered in
Quebec, and he ought to realize five or six thousand pounds cur-
rency, clear profit. This was counting his chickens before they
■were hatched ; but if everything went right, he certainly would
realize that amount of profit. There is no more risky industry
in Cunada than lumbering ; none in which higher profits have
1>een realized, and none in which larger fortunes have been
lost. It has about it oil the fascination of gambling or of dram
^drinking, and the losing lumberman, like Solomon's old toper,
mutters, " when shall I awake that I may seek it yet again ? "

Huutly's presence in the works infused new energy into the
men, and the gangs vied with each other as to who should make the
most and finest timber per day. Each day's work of men and
teamsters was duly noted down, and *^e record read aloud in the
^amp every night after supper. A cloud could be seen gather-^
ing on Tom's face. Part of February was now past, and since
Uuntly's arrival Tom had not been down once to the Indian
^amp. Huntly had been there several times ; buying mitts or
moccasins for the men, procuring babiche, or getting snowshoes
mended. Pierre Leblanc had also been down. The men began
to joke Tom slyly about his being cut out. They proposed find-
ing a wolfs tail for him, as he would certainly require that
particular hair. His dark blood began to boil, for he had been
-deeply smitten by the beauty of the Indian girl, Tamaqua pro-
nounced, Taw-maw quaw. This was the name she was known
by among her own people ; her Christian name "^as Marguerite.
He determined that he would go to see her the following Sunday.
She received him very coldly. I do not know whether it was
Tom's long absence or Huntly's visits that caused the coolness.
'Tom however blamed Huntly, and the timber making did not
^t on as well as heretofore. Just as matteis were coming to a
-crisis, C iptain Boscom and Lieut. Napier arrived. They had
-called at the village on their way up, and Phil had provided
4hem with a driver who knew the road to Huntly's camp. The
<4hree Indians were engaged to go on the hunt, and Napier

THEY TWO.

i' si

•m

iodaeed Huntly to go with them . He liked Napier, hut distrostecl
Bo8com. Indeed Boscom was not the gentleman which, fromhis
position, might be anticipated. He had spent a goodly fortnqe
in extravagance ond dissipation. He had learned that Miss
Maxwell was wealthy, and he had made up his mind to marry her.
He had been very attentive to her after Huntly left, and not
speeding well in his wooing, he attributed it to her partiality for
Huntly. After the deer hunters hud left camp and gone further
up river, Tom found himself free for a di£Perent deer hunt
down the road. It T^ould appear that he was not very successful^
and Miss Tomaqua had grown as haughty as a duchess. I must
leave her for the present, and follow the hunters.

The Indians carried the necessary supplies principally on tobog-
gans, while the whole party footed it on snow-shoes. The snow wa»
not very deep, but there was little crust, and the snow-shoeing wa»
somewhat fatiguing. They journeyed north-east, as the moose
were likely to be more plentiful towards the head waters of the
Gatineau. The scenery was magnificent, though they were not
always in the *nood to enjoy it. The officers found it ditficult t»
climb^brupt hills on snow-shoes ; and on coming down steep pitches
there was nothing for it but to slide ; while a sudden stop at
bottom resulted in a toss, head foremost, in the snow. At times,,
however, Napier had to stop and admire. On attaining some
eminence the prospect would widen almost boundlessly. Along the
side of the hill beneath you a sweep of hard wood traes sent up>
their grey iind leafless branches into the thin air ; while beyond^
arose another stretch of upland, clothed to its summit in the
freshest green, deepening into black, where it touched the blue
sky line. Or suddenly they would come upon a lake, sleeping;
beneath a marble calm that no wind could ruffle ; the cliffs oa it»
margin sentinelled with pines and spruces that for centuries had
kept watch and word. Again, they would be shut in among ih»
brown pillars of a tamarac plain, any one of which would form a
mast for some "tall admiral" Nothing to break the eternal
stillness; no life save a timid rabbit flitting past. This was-
indeed the " forest primeval,"— what old Eansard might oait^
*^\e6 granda bois tourds.'^ ■* •

TH«T TWO.

They saw no indicationB of moose the firat day or two, but on
the third they found the remains of deer which had been chased
and torn by wolves. They camped early in the evening, as th&
officers expressed themselves tired of (nowshoe tramping ; Huntly
and the Indians were just beginning to warm to their work. Th&
tents were soon pitched, branches of younp, hemlock arranged for
beds, dry wood gathered, and fires lit. The camp kettles were
filled with water from a neighboring creek, frying pans got into
requisition, and supper was soon ready to satisfy sharpened ap-
petites. Capt. Boscom was not pleased with his first experiences..
He said it fell far short of moose hunting in Nova Scotia. There
you went in the fall and did not sufier from frost and snow. Your
guide peeled off some birch bark, and making a horn of it imitated
the lowing of the female moose so well, that before long a curious
bull would come striding through the bushes, when you could put
one or two bullets into him as the case required. Huntly thought
it rather mean to lure an animal to his death, — in fact, obtaining
your game under false pretences. The Captain gave a dry laugh^
saying that "all was fair in love, war, and hunting." A Hpeech^
the significance of which was recalled to Huntly's mind some
months later.

One of the Indians who had been out looking around communi-
cated something to his fellows, which the younger Indian inter-
preted. He said there was a beaver dam on the creek a short .
way down. This turned the conversation to the beaver and hi»
sagacity. Huntly thought that there was no animal so wise as
the beaver. He was the primeval engineer and lumberman. He
told how the beaver went out to explore fur a proper site to found
a colony. With what skill he chose the position for his dam, and
how he could calculate to within a few inches how far the embank-
ment he intended making would raise the water around the
dwelling he was about to build. No axe man could fell a tree so
neatly into the required position as could the beaver. When
about to construct his house, he chose a gentle slope on the oreek
above his dam, and built where the water would overflow its doors,,
but not u<x high enough to inundate the back part of his dwelling^

» X

f^:..

■y^.H

THET TWO.

i,''i

or family bedroom. The gentleman did not work alone, bat his
^ride elect Tied with him in making the'r home ^lecuro and com-
fortable. They went to the woods together and cut down young
t)iroh and alders for their winter's food. They sawed their lumber
into proper lengths for easy driving. They cleared tho small
streams emptying into their creek, hauled their little logs and
rolled them in, and drove them down to thoir d^^m, und carried
tihem to the back part of their dwelling for winter use. He
thought the beaver was not only a type of industry but also of
w^8dom and intelligence. After some further chat about the
habits of the beaver, mink, and marten, they rolled themselves
ii their blankets and fell asleep.

Breakfast was ready early next morning; the tents struck,
packs strapped up, and a fresh start made. The Indians looked
in better humor, and all felt more hopeful. They directed tiieir
xsourse by the compass, and as tho wind blew from the west they
turned partly in that direction, in order to face it ; for moose
always lie down to leeward oP their yard, and ensily detect
approach from that quarter. It is difficult in creeping moose to
be certain of your game, for while you follow in tl>e track where
the animal has been feeding, he may have doubled round, got
wind of you, and be off. Indians, when they know they are to
jeeward of the yard, quarter their ground, lilfc well trained
pointers. Our hunters had not travelled far, vhen one of the
«lder Indians who was in advance halted, and raising his hand
fiigncd the party to stop. He had come upon a fresh moose
track. The yard could not be far distant ; f jr moose, unlike the
•cariboo, do not travel round in the deep snow, but settle down in
«ome locality where moose-wood and young; ii:aples abound. A
brief council was held. It was decided thai thty should all keep
together, and proceed cautiously in Indian file, and a little to
-windward of the track. Huntly determined that he would not
f'^e, even if he got the chance ; for he did not approve of killing
moose at this season of the year, especially the cows. They had
3iot proceeded far when the foremost Indian stopped again, and
auctioning silence, pointed in advance, where was a partially open
«paoo, and two moose could be seen pulling down the branohos

THET TWO.

of the young trees with their long upper lips, and feeding, quite
tinsaspicious of danprer. They wore within easy range ; Boscom
and Napier each choosing his victim, fired. The shots evidently
told, but the animals started on the run ; the officers and the
-«Iuer Indians in pursuit. Presently one of the moose, a young
Ibull, and one that had not shed his horns in the fall, stopped
«hort, turning round to give battle; and as he did so, three
other moose strode past and into the thick timber beyond their
jard. No one fired at these ; but Boscom and the elder Indians
oontinuod their chase after the other wounded moose, — an old
bull, and seemingly as big as a horse. Napier was nearest the
joung bull when he turned and in his effort to dodge him
tripped on his snoeshoes and fell. Iluntly and the young
Indian had come to his rescue in the nick of time, and as
(the brute rose to cut Napier with his front feet, he got Huntly's
ibullet, which brought him on all fours ; he staggered, swayed to
one side, and fell dead upon the snow. He proved to be a three
year old, and in fine condition. It was decided that the toboggans
should bo brought up and unloaded, and two of them sent on by
Ihe young Indian after Capt. Boscom, who would want them to
bring back the hide and best parts of the moose he was following.
Huntly and Napier remained behind to erect a tent, and get
some dinner ready. Huntly was as apt at this kind of work as
any Indian.

It was late in the evening when Boscom and the Indians
-arrived in camp, tired and hungry, but bringing their spoils
with them. The captain had been on his snowshoes all day, and
After supper complained of pains in his limbs. He had gotten
what voyageurs call mal de .aquette ; and a dreadful mal it is.
He had enough of moose hunting, and intended getting back to
Montreal as quickly as possible. There was not much chat in
oamp that night, though there was little reason to complain of
the day's sport. The Indians prevailed on the captain to allow
them to striiig his feet up towards the roof of his tent ; the only
•quiek method of curing mal de raquette. As the captain would
hunt no longer, all started to return to Huntly's timber oamp oa
the moirow ; and reached there safely. He wished them to be his

THEY TWO.

guests for s'^me time, and take a rest, but the captain was for
getting home ; so on the following morning their carter harnessed
up, and leaving the moose hides for the Indians, they took a
little moat and the horns with them, and s;iid good-bye. Huntly
thought the captain's conduct strange ; and a day or two afler^
when visiting the Indians, he was surprised to see the captain't
rifle standing in a corner. The young Indian explained that
the captain had made the oldest of the Indiana a present of it.
On Huntly's leaving, the girl followed him outside the door, and
wurncd him to be c ireful, as he h;id enemies. He asked her to-
say who they were ? but she put her finger to her lipn and answered
that, " She dare not tell." Ha thought the hand and lips both
very pretty, and concluded that it was best for him not to come
there often. He thought the enemy was Boscom, but he could
see no motive. Possibly it miQ;ht be the young Indian, for he
obseryed that his eyes followed every movement of the girl, and
that b' appeared ill at case whenever he called. He did not
think of Tom, for no one had told him of Tom's visits to the
Indians. He acquitted himself of givins offence to any one. A»
to his own visits to the Indians, they were always on business ;.
true, the girl had strange attractions for him, and was always
pleased to see him, and her warning was friendly, perhaps timely ;
but all things dmsider.'d, it was best not to visit the Indians
again. Still the doubt came up ; if I cease going altogether I may
turn a friend into an enemy ; was it a wise course? "Hell knew
no fury like a woman scorned." Clouds were gathering over hi»
horizon. He had failed to speak out his mind to his father.
His dearest friend on earth lay sick of u dangerous disea-^e, and
though she must be better now, and in her own home, or else he
would ha^e heard of it, did he not go off and leave her without
a word of explanation ? After all, why be uneasy ? he would be
down to the village by the end of March, and hoped everything
would turn out for the best :

" To be weak is to be miserable,
Doing, or suffering."

And yet Huntly was not weak.

/ ,.

CHAPTER XL

About this time the Cur^ Perrault called at Louis Leblano's
«tNicolet. He aekcd if they had any iues!>ages for Pierre, as he
would be going on his mission to the shanties up the Ottawa ia
« few days ? Ho had been detailed by the Bishop of Quebec for
this service in the winter, and visited the Indians of the St.
Maurice in the summer. He was a large man, and overflowing
with physical life. He drove the best horse and sleigh in the
county, and his servant man, who had been an old voyageur, knew
a,ll the roads on the Ottawa from North River to Lake Labyrinth.
The <,''od father was as full of fun as a cricket, and though he
had never learned music, he carried an accordion round with him
to the lumber camps ; and on the Sunday evenings, after confes-
sions had been heard, and absolutions given, or penances imposed,
he made the instrument give out all the sounds of which it was
capable, for the benefit of the listeners. This musical machine
was new to Canada at that day.

Shortly after the departure of the officers from Huntly's camp,
the Rev. Mr. Perrault appeared upon the scene. Over half of
the forty men en?ployed by Huntly were French Canadians.
They were not burdened with devotion, but they respected the
clergy, and were staunch Roman Oatholica. Huntly was no bigot,
and gave a kindly welcome to the priest. On the Sunday after
his arrival, the foreman's quarters were tidied up, and handed
over for the day to sacred purposes. This was the priest's con-
fessional. It was curious to see how shy these men felt about
going in to face the priest. I do not know if they had as mnny
misdeeds to confess as if they had been living down in the settle>
ments, or in Montreal, or in Quebec ; but I think they found it
quite as hard to make what Paddy calls, "a clean breast of it,"
up in the shanty, than they would had they been kneeUng in
th«ir own church confesiional. The process was new to most
of them, and they felt as if they were about taking a naked plunge

:-ti-.'

*iiill'

; Ml

THET TWO.

in ioe-cold water. They all held back at first, but on neeiag Tom
make up his mmd to take the lend, thoir courage began to revive.
Their faces wore an anxious expression while Tom remained
inside ; and on his reappcarunoe among them, many were the
enquiries to know if tlie Cur^ had been bien dur f Tom certified
to the contrary, and it was funny to mark the shadows pass
from their faces as he assured them that there could be nothing
better, rien de mieux. They till thouglit if Tom got off so easily
there was a good chance for them, for they considered Tom a^
hard subject. Each now took his turn, and it was surprising
how fast the Cur^ was getting through. One young fellow from>
Rimounki — they are all very pious down there — thought the
Priest was letting him off too easily, and requested to hu>'o some
penances imposed ; but the young fellow was dismissed with,
" altons, mon brave g'irgon ;" " it is plenty of penance to live up^
here, and have only bread and poik to eat." The days when toa^
beans, peas, syrup and dried npples were served out to shanty
men had not yet arrived. The confessions and absolution were
all over by noon, and after dinner the accordion was produced,
and when all were in good humor, a list for subscriptions wa»
handed round, to raise funds to defray tiie expenses of the mi?.
sionary. Every man, Protestant and Catholic, gave something ;
and the list was confided to Huntly, who agreed to retaiu the
different sums subscribed, when settling with the men.
. Before visiting the next timber shanty, when the same routing
was to be gone through, the Priest paid a visit to the Indians^
who were Koman Catholics. I cannot say if the fair Tomaqua
was dismissed as summararily as were the shanty men ; but as a
result most likely of the Father's visit, there came a message in
a few days after, to Huntly, saying that Marguerite Tomaqua
wished to 8ce him. He thought it best to obey the summons.
He found the girl alone with the old squaw and the children^
who did not understand French. The girl told Huutly that
it was the " ojfficier Anglaii," meaning Captain Boscom, who
was his principal enemy, and that he had bribed the elder
Indii ns to keep a watch over Huntly, and prevent him somehow

'I,

THBT TWO.

79>

from oommg down the river. She said Wjandt, the jonnj^
Indian, had told her; and that lie had been the interpreter
for the officer on the day they had killed the big moose. He
had told her this bconuse he was her lover, and kept no secrots
from her. He was the son of a great chief, but she did not oaro
much for Wynnds. Huntly asked her if he had any other
enemies that uhe new of? After Home hesitation she said "yes,"^
Wyandfl, a little, nnd Monsieur Tom, a great deal." Huntly
thought he knew why Wyands mipht prove an enemy ; for he
marked how the rich blood of the Indian girl fluHhed her cheek
when she named him. He could not understand aliout Tom^
for lie hail yet to lenrn of Toip's admiration for Toinaqua. Ho
felt it best to make the interview a short one, und thinking the
girl very kindly for hor information withdrew. The clouds were
indeed i/atheriti^. Could this be an invention of the bewitching
Friinco-Indi:in, to place him under an obligation to her ? Hardly^
though she was undoubtedly clever, and not ignorant of her
charms. While he owed her gratitude, and must in some way
ackiiowit'dse his obligation, he would give her to understand that
any lu-t of kindnch*8, arose simply from that feeling. It '^'ould bo
a hxrd and rather ungracious task. It would partly miike him
despise himself im an. ej^otist while it could scarcely fail from,
arousing the pride, if not tho ani,'er, of this friend. Afti r all she
was only an Indian girl and nothing to him. He hnd been wrong
in coming so often to her camp. Question ? " Would ho have
come so olten had she been ugly?" He would not. lEo had
done wrong. And yet he had been stranjiely drawn toward*
her, iind whatever might happen, he must not give her offence
or cause her needless pain.

Durin<; the Cure Perrault's stay at the timber camp, Huntlj
remarked that he was very familiar with Pierre Leblanc, and
this arousing his curiosity he enquired of the good Father if he
knew Leblanc's people. He was surprised to find out that Pierre
was a first cousin of Lucy Delisle, and a distant relation of his
own. He at once questioned him, and found that Pierre had
long known of the relationship, but the young fellow's modestj

'■ ,'-■

,.*.-

.1 .

€0

THIT TWO.

! «

».

l»ad preTcnted him from referring to it. Huntly was not slow in
«howin^ that he appreciated Pierre more than heretofore, and
gave him greater control in the management of the shanty.
Thi « did DOt please Tom, who was very jealous of his authority.
One day meeting Pierre alone in the woods he asked him why he
interfered ahout the quantity of oats fed tu the horses ? Pierre

answered that it was by Mr. Marston's instructions. " D n

Huntly Maston," muttered Tom between his set teeth. M^hy
do you speak so of the hourgeoU f " enquired Pierre. " Do you
forget three summers ago whcu it was agreed for the first time
to man a crib of timber going over the Longue SauU, and we
sheered into the " big cellav " and got broken up ? You let go
the stick you had laid hold on, and throwing up your arms you
were going to the bottom ; ^Lo swam out at the risk of his own
life to save yours, and brought you safe to shore ?" " I know,"
«aid Tom, " and that is why I curse him, I cnnot bring myself
to do him any harm." " Why should you do him any harm ?"
asked Pierre, " Oh why ? " You know it well enough. I was all
rigbt down the road, till the bourgeois came, and now she scarce
will look at me." "Nonsenco," replied Pierre, *• that is not Mr.
Huntlj's fault. It is Wyands who has cut us all out, he says
she is to marry him when next the forest leaves dance red and
yellow in the sunshine."

Tom determined that he would not give her up for Wyands, or
for anybody else ; and the next Sunday he went to see her. She
was uore gracious than she had been for some time back, but
whether purposely or not, she made a request to Tom which
turned sweetness into gall. She asked him to be so good as to
carry to Mr. Huntly a pair of beautiful moccauins she had been
embroidering. He fulfilled her request but vowed vengea )o
on Huntly. As for the latter,' the gift to him was only a fresh
embarrassment

, . .^

CHAPTEE XII.

Over a month had passed, and Lucy Deli^le, though convales-
cent, waa still confined to her room. The Marstons had duly
■written to her mother, and the last letter tolo the good news that
ghe was now out of danger. She had been very ill, indeed mu'^h
■worse than she anticipated ; for at one time the doctor feared
vha^ the "old reaper would gather in this precious sheaf;" but
skilful prescriptions and good nursing, under the blessing of a
higher power, still held her to the field of time. Mental suJBFering
had yet to be added to the physical, ere each golden grain cotr'l
be filled to perfection. jMary had been her constant companioii
and comforter ; also a third one with them in the furnace, whose
presence was like unto the Sou of God. Florence and Edith had
been like sisters, and Mrs. ^larston and her husband, like the
kindest of pareats. All danger from infection was now passed,
and friends began to call at Mr. Marston's as usuaL Mary's pet
preacher had been twice to see them, and Lucy was as charmed
with his conversation as with his preaching. While she had
been lying ill and obtaining clearer views of life's uses, the value
cf time, and our uncertain hold upon it, she had partly concl';ided
that if she recovered she would abandon her idea of writing a book.
She had been collecting material for a story which she thought
■would prove interesting ; and though her desire to write returned
with reviving health, she questioned her own ability more thaa
ever. How many more wise and learned than she had wrifctea
books, and the trunk-makers were the only people benefited?
She also doubted the influence exerted by the modem novel j and
during the last conversation with the preacher — the Rev. Mr,
Lansdown — as he should be called, she slyly turned the curreat
of chat in that direction. She was rather surprised to hear tiie
clergyman say that he Lad read novels ; but her surprise abated la
he continued to explain. He said, " Wesley himself had abridgfd
and published a novel, — Henry Earl of Moreland, — for th«

WPSIH5

THEY TWO.

'InstrnctioD of Methodists and others. Since Wesley's days no7els
%ad much improved. There are novels, which, while they excite
our interest, remain true to nature, and are no more fiction than
^ painting. These better sort of novels liberalize our sentiments,
••enlighten our judgment, and better our hearts ; while there were
^Others, he was sorry to say, outraged nature, sickened our senti-
^iBeBts, confused our judgment, and corrupted our hearts. He
tthought that the legitimate novel should resemble a good painting,
reviving scenes from real life, which while pleasant and amusing
' 5teiid«d to cheer and elevate the mind ; but, doubtless, the proper
phMse of the novel was more to amuse and please us rather ohan to
instruct. Good people, in fact all right thinking people, were
bound to see that all their sources of amusement were innocent.
-Here lay the difficulty. Books were not like pictures to be jud^ -.'d
-of at sight. No true gentleman would allow improper pictures
^in ills house, yet how many there are, who allow novels
~in their libraries, which suggest thoughts and portray scene.",
'debasing to human nacure? There was a censorship over im-
moral paintings, and some supervision of obscene litei ature, but
we had failed to stamp with our public disapprobation the worse
than trashy novel. It was right and commendable for intelligent
people to keep abieast of the times, and to oe able to ppreciate
what was best in science, literature, and art; but it diu any one
small honor and less good to be able to say that, the members of
Paul De Kock's family, or his relatives in England and America ,
were among his acquaintance?."

Everything considered, Lucy thought it best to go on with her

work. Much reading and research were still required. She was

sure it would not contain anything objectionable. It would at

• least be innocent. In itself a rat! er negative quality, yet in chil-

■"dren how interesting? Some one had said, " Heaven was about

fus in our infancy," and the Master himself had left it on record,

'■♦'•Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." A recent writer had

.?-^one further, and exclaimed, — " I have been in heaven ; for I

"kiave been a child, and have lain in the arms and beneath tho

asmile of a loving mother." -, j ^ ^. ,,

^PW!^

THEY TWO.

" Tiift problem was, how to make a book, like a child, innocent
:aiid at the same time attractive ? Q-oody, goody books as a rule
were not read by a great many. Most of mankind after all had a
«pice of the devil in them. But they also had an attribute common
to the race, — curiosity. She must excite that to be successful. She
must adopt the common trick to some degree and weave her facts
together with the golden threads of love." Poor girl, and alas
the day ! but I must continue my story. Mary, in her younger
clays, had indulged a good deal in novel reading. She had given
up altogether the lighter works of fiction, and had for some time
back dipped somewhat into the religious novel. She felt back-
ward about giving her opinion, but thought it best to speak out
her mind. She thought books were somewhat like men ; it was
not always the wise who were the most entertaining, neither did
merit seem a test. Many first class works at one time could not
find a publisher. There were said to be ten fools for one wise
man, and if this were true, we need not wonder at the popularity
of sensational novels. Thoy were mental stimulants, giving no
moral nourishment, and therefore to be avoided. She did not
feel decided about the religious novel. Some of tliem left a good
impression, and many of them were ho weak as to leave none. So
far as she was herself concernod. She had come to the conclusion
that it was wisest for her to draw her religious instruction from
the Bible and the pulpit, and her amusement from works like those
of Dickens and Thackery. Poetry to her had of course been
always a source of unalloyed enjoyment. There were, however,
questions of import, not altogether speculative, which had occa-
fiionally troubled her.

^he thought it very sad that all living things must die. Sad-
der still if it was our sin which involved the innocent with the
guilty. She submitted her trouble to Mr Lansdown. He looked
grave. He said, that he knew very little, and the more he stu-
died, that little appeared to grow less. Our race had doubtlessly
been involved during the early period of its history, in some catas-
trophe, as allegorised in Genesis. There must, however, have been
^eath-in our world a long time prior to man's existence ; for large

THEY TWO.

portions of the solid crust of our earth were built up of organisms^
which lived millions of years before we did. Our sin, therefore,
could not involve pre-human insect and animal life in our dis-
aster. That sin, or the transgressions of God's law, brought
death to us, is a statement of revelation, and which I am bound
to receive in the Scripture sense as a fact.* It is sad to reflect,
that, our sin brings unnecessary suffering to great numbers
of the animal creation ; bat it has not brought death to them,
except when in cruelty we kill them prematurely. If we cause
any living creature needless pain, we commit a sin. We can-
not form a correct estimate of auluidl suffering, because we
possess no media of communication with them. The whole
animate creation, with which we think ourselves day by day so-
conversant, is as completely beyond our kin as the lives of angels.
However, we must not look upon death in itself as an evil, in-
deed it is one condition of our continued life. Each movement oF
a muscle or thought of mind destroys some living atom of brain
or tissue. The cell no kers that build up our bodies are in con-
stant motion, and every arrest to them is death. We presume
that animals have no premonitory fears of death, u is only we
poor mortals who borrow trouble from to-morrow.

*' We look before and after.

And pine for what is not ;
Our fiacerest laughter

Witli some pain is fraught :
Our sweetest songs are those

Which tell of saddest thought."

Mary admitted that sorrow could be mingled with joy, if
we included our spiritual life. But Mr. Lo.nsdown had only
diverted her thoughts from their main channel, it still was sad to
her to know that all living things must die. He remin(^,ed her
that, " there were many things which we must die to know ; but
in the mean time, we had the joyful assurance that the ' Giver
of life' has abolished death."

* Death of man, in the Scripture aense, luuat mean the death of man's souV
or Spiritual death.

iV.

TBET TWO.

Life itself waa another mystery to Mary ; some of its phases
^ven sadder thaa death itself.

Mr. Lansdown owned life was even a greater mystery than
•death ; and that to many death would come as a relief and
a revelation. He said, there appeared to be one law of life
'throughout our world, no man had ever found the wall which
separated vegetable from animal life, nor had he discovered the
partition between the vital principle in animals and men. It
was cell life throu'^hout the whole. Science shuts us up to
*he doctrine of the fundamental unity of life.* How close
upon the heels of modern science comes the old world guess
that ''iill life comes from an egg?" In speaking of life as
'known to us, and always in connection with whnt we call matter,
it was just possible that another factor might be present, distinct
from matter, as it was distinct from spirit, or pure intelligence.
A living immaterial substance, capable of assuming and retaining
form, in the varieties of plants or animals to which it might be-
come allied ; and where the organization was a sentient one,
'Capable of transmitting painful or pleasant feelings while in
itself void of sensation. It has been demonstrated that the grey-
ish matter of the spinal cord is the medium of sensory impres-
sions, such as touch, pain, temperature ; yet this substance is in
itself insensible. Is it unreasonable to suppose that an immaterial
sub.-tance might possess such properties ? I may be told that
sBOtliiug immaterial can aflFect my bodily senses. I question this.
It cannot be proved that heat or electricity possesses the attri-
butes of matter, and yet they affect me very materially. Scien-
tific experiments prove that there exist forces in nature which I
■cannot with my bodily ear or eye either hear or see; may not
(these with similar forces now under course of investigation be
attributes of that imm.iterial substance which produces all the
•varieties of our mundane life ? Strip matter itself of its various
.attributes, and you arrive at a point where this substance

• It 18 not to theologi&nr , but to Mr. Herbert Spenoer, that the Christian world
«a»'e the &nt ecientiflo definition of "eternal life."

,., '*

. -f-'-

THEY TWO.

becomes a desideratum — a sine qua non, The old philosopher*
made a close guess when they supposed the existence of aa
" anima mundi," or, Soul of the loorld. It is not a little curious
that modern biolog^y confirms this old world assumption. Why
may not all organized forms of life on this planet possess an im-
material body, or counterpart of the material body, perceptible to
us ? It is in no way irrational to suppose so ; and without this
necessary condition, we can give no satisfactoiy explanation of
life as it exists in our world. Take the human body and its dis-
solution by death natural or violent, and this immat.^rial body
again becomes a desideratum. If I did not possess such a body to
accompany me beyond the grave, how is my identity to be pre-
served ? How am I to bring my knowledge acquired here, and
my intellectual powers which have grown and strengthened on
earth, without what may be justly termed a spiritual body ? Even
the Jews who were dualists .speak of body, soul, and spirit. It
is by way of parenthesis that P.iul puts in — "there is a natural
body, and there is a spiritual body." i.s, not shall be. What about
the mutilations to which the human body is subject here? The
amputation of a limb will not .'iever any part from my spiritual
body. Nature herself gives a hint of this. Many are the authentic
records of patients who have had diseased limbs amputated, and
yet have felt the pains where the excised limb had grown, and tliis
long years after the operation. It is a glorious thing to know
that my spiritual body is inoestructihle, whether my fleshly
body be blown to shreds from a cannon's mouth, or fl ittoned be-
neath an avalanche. The immaterial forms of plants and animab
may have a different deHKiny. May be dissolved into the great
envelope of immaterial blastema which we know interlaps our
world, or settle earthward, — '* goeth downward " — as a sacred
writer puts it ; while the spiritual body of man, in virtue of its
inhabitant, returns towards God who gftve it. This is in accor-
dance with Scripture teaching. We are represented as being
active and interested in the affairs of eat^, after we have passed
the boundaries of time. Moses aud EUaa talked with Christy
about his decease which he was to accomplish at Jerusalem^

THEY TWO.

8t;

John fell at the feet of the angel to worship him, but he said,

" See thou do it not, I am thy fellow servant, and of thy bretheroo^
that have the testimony of Jesus, Worship God." It would '
seem not improbable that our bodily eye cannot perceive spiri-
tual forms. A color is lent to this idea in that passage in King's^
where the servant of Elisha informs his master of the hosts of '
enemies which had encamped around them ; and Elisha prays
that the Lord might open the eyes of the young man to see ; the
prayer was answered, and the young man saw the mountain filled
with horses of fire, and chariots of fire round about Elisha. It
is not unlikely that the risen body of Christ was often invisible
to his disciples ; and he informs them that it was expedient for
them that he should go away. It is a wise provision for our com-
fort that an impenetrable veil hides from our sight the world of
spirits. But these remarks are aside from the "Trichotomy,"
or three-fold human constitution. We see the necessity for a
spiritual body in explaining the phenomena of life ; the existence
of such a body is the latest outcome of biological science, and it .
is strange how we have forgotten that it was the doctrine of the ■
Christian church for the first four centuries. It was not until
the doctrine was adopted by some heritical sects that it became^
suspect, and soul and spirit came to be identified in substance^
and distinguished only in function. Tiie true doctrine is begin-
ning to be revived by the Anatomist Willis De Maistre, and •
others. The phenomena of spiritual or mental existence comes
before our notice daily. You see me close and open my hand.
What controls these motions? You reply, "my muscles, ia
obedience to my will." What is my will ? One of the functions
of my mind ; * the action of something above my will, or some ia-^
tcUigent agent which we call mind, or spirit. Is this spirit immor-
tal ? it is immaterial, and we therefore presume its immortality^
But the animal creation exhibit the same mental phases as men,,
are their mi^ds immortal? We may deny, but cannot disprove.
How much less than by the light of reason can we prove or dia^

* Some Bay, will it> mind.

:i!S

-11

THEY TWO.

proTe our own immortality ? We cannot transcend ourselves.
But where reason fails, revelation comes to our aid. Christ eays,
"I came that ye might have life, and have it more abundantly."
Th<! Apostle — " In Him was life." And again, " He hath
1>rought life and immortality to light."

Ij is time, however, to close this wearisome dissertation. The
girl'! said they were not at ill weary ; but it was decided to renew
these enquiries on some other occasion.

.il Hi miHUJ I l . l UKJiLM

CHAPTER XIII.

About this time her brother Edmonil arrived in Montreal to
take Lucy Delisle home. His presence acted like a chuvm upon
her. It called up all the j)leasaiit scenes of past year- They
must get home again. She yearned to see her mother. When
the Doctor was consulted he shook his hcail. 8he could not ven-
ture (in so long a journey in the winter for some days yet. The
light would be very trying to her eyes, and the skin was still tender.
The sweet face, however, had escapeil without a mark. So she had
to content herself for a little, and wrote to her mother accordingly.

Ednioiid did not appear to be very sorry to remain a few days.
Edith, who was shy with him at fir>t, suddeidy changed her man-
ner. Vivacity, sparkle, and freedom t iking the place of reserve.
Edraond had got free of boyish and awkward ways. He was
strong, tall, and sunburned ; or I might say weather tanned, but
bright as the morning, and bearing iibnut him the breezy freshness
of th<' piue woods. Though not quite twenty-dne years of age, he
had been received a Provincial Land Surveyor, and had travelled
over much of the Ottawa Valley. He had studied hard, and was not
only well up in his profession, but was also well read in the early his-
tory of his country. He resembled liissister in this, and thought
with her that French exploration and adventure, missions, trad-
ing, settlement, and Indian wars, furnished a mine of literary
wealth half hidden beneath neglected rubbish. " What," he would
say, " is there more romantic in the pages of fiction than the his-
•tory of IMadame De LaTour in Acadia ? Her heroism and mis-
fortune. The villainy of Charnisy, the defeat and exile of her
husband, and her own miserable death. Then, the brightening
■brtunes of Latour himself, his marriage with the widow of his
greatest enemy, — Charnisy, — the man who obliged his brave wife
to wear a halter around Lerneck while she witnessed the massacre
•of her gallant garrison ! "

"Where," he would again ask, "can you find finer examples

THET TViX

of heroism and endurance than in the explorations and adven-
tures of the French in North America ? How fearlessly thoy
dared, and foui^ht and coiuiuered ? The activity, persoveranco^
aad piety of tho Jesuit missionaries ? True there were crime and
blood, but there were also acts of justice and deeds of mercy ! A
'ivido and ul.iiust untrodden field this, for historians, poets, and
rom'incists! "

The Ottawa country put on new attractions for Edith, and
she was never better pleased than wlicn she got Edmond to tell
her of the sc'-ues he had passed through. She had often usked
Iluntly to tell her about bears aud wolves, but he was not half
so good natured as Edmoml.

One evening the young people had met in Lucy's room after
tea. It was dusk, but the caudles had not been lighted. The
conversation turned upon haunted houes ; Edith giving a won-
derful Hcco'int of what had been seen at McTavisb's, on the
slope of the mountain. It was a new mbjcctto Edmond. Edith
wished to know if he had a ghost story to tell them ? " Yes, he
had a genuine ghost story. It was as true as gospel," It was
just the hour for telling such a story. A crescent moon peeped
through the leafless trees, and in at the windows; the wind had.
begun to sigh among the branches, and weird shadows flitted
across the floor. Edith felt just a mite afraid, and drew her chair
closer to Edmond.

" Last summer," he begMu, " I was on the Dumoine, a north-
ern tributary of the Ottawa, and nearly one hundred miles further
west than the Coaloo^'e, where your brother lumbers. I had
left our party and went to see some people further up the river,
who were about to commence making hay on u farm belonging to
a ' lumber firm.' My visit paid, I was returning. I had about
twenty miles to travel, and taking some bread and pork for lunch,
I set out on my tramp. Most of my way was in sight of the
river, but the road was very rough, being used only in the winter
season. There was no house for the entire distance. The day
was very warm, and the air thick and choky, I got on butslowly.
It was near sundown, and I had yet between lour and five mileft

THET TWO.

id
lA
id

to travel. I had reached an open on the bank of the river, when
a crack, aa of a guDshot, exploded near me, and a long peal of
thunder rattled through the mountains. It became almost as
durk aa night; and in the silence that followed the thunderclap I
could hear the low moaning of the wind that presaged the storm.
A deserted shanty was not far distant ; but I did not like the
locality. It was what the Scotch call not " canny." A row had
taken place among the men who had worked there last ; two of
them had been killed, or rather murdered, and their bodies were
buried a little way behind the shanty. It was commonly reported
that strange noises, as of men in mortal combat, were heard about
the place at nights ; and queer shapes were seen to glide to and
fro. I felt inclined to proceed on my way, but as I had just come
to this conclusion, there was a blinding flash, another peal of
thunder, and then a roar of wind among the trees, and splattering
drops of rain. I was in for it. Any port in a storm ; and as the
rain poured down, I was glad to take refuge in the old shanty.
Flash followed flash, and peal succeeded peal, and for two mortal
hours the storm raged furiously. Thete was no use in attempt-
ing to proceed further that night. I groped about to find the
best place in which to stow my>elf till morning. I did not like
the idea of going to sleep, especially as the shanty door was open,
and I could not succeed in shutting it, for there was no door to
shut. I barricaded the opening with loose pieces of timber, which
were lying round, and then retired to the farthest corner of the
shanty, but not to sleep, I had had no supper, and to tell the
truth I felt a little nervous. The storm had now passed, but the
darkness and rain continued ; no noise save the monotonous patter
of the drops. My thoughts reverted to the dead men, and their
lonely graves, only a few rods from where I lay. Then came up
the stories I had heard about the strange noises, and the ghostly
shapes. My hearing became most acute in the dark and mid-
night stillness. If ever disembodied spirits visited the mouldering
remains of their earthly tenements, now was the place and hour.
I fancied I heard a sound ; I was sure I did. What noise wa»
it ? The clanking of a chain. It grew more distinct, clanky.

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WEBSTER, N.Y. USM

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THEY TWO.

«Iank, clank in measured cadence. I now remembered that an
'Ox-chain bad been used in strangling one of tbe dead men. Was
he getting out of bis grave ? Was he tug, tugging, to get rid of
tbe thing that bad choked him ? The noise approached the door.
There was the sound of weighty footsteps, and suppressed panting
-mixed with the clanking chain. I was nil ear, ac.d presently all
eye; for two balls of pale fire, and nearly a foot apart, looked in
at the shanty door. The footsteps and the clanking ceased, and
-a low moan proceeded from between the two pale lights. I bad
.Mattered myself that I was brave ; but my hair did now literally
stand on end ; there was no use any longer in denying tbe super-
natural. What was I to do ? I did not fancy facing this strange
.portent. Had I better say my prayers ? I suppose I did offer
up some kind of a petition, but it was of no avail. It was no
better than an incantation. The pale balls of fire still stood there
burning into my brain ; if I did not make some effort £ would go
<3razy. I got out of my corner, felt around for something to fling
at the corpse, devil, or whatever it might be. I found a piece of
£rewood, and with all the strength I could muster I let it fly at
the eyes of the phantom. Works availed more than faith, as the
creed of my church teaches, for the lights quivered and went out,
but tbe chain rattled fiercely. The physic.il exertion made me
wyself again, and I pushed forward to the door. It was not quite
so dark as it had been ; the clouds were breaking, and I could
perceive that my goblin was only an innocent ox. I found after-
wards that he belonged to one of the lumbermen's farms, and had
broken away from his mate some time before, taking part of his
yoke and chain along with him. He had at one time worked at
ithe shanty where I had taken refuge, and doubtless had made
his way hither for shelcer from the storm." " And," added
Edmond, "such are all ghost stories."

The house was being lighted up, and Lucy was induced to

xsome down stairs. Mr. Lansdown was invited to remain ; and

Lieutenant Napier also called. He gave tbe Marstons the latest

jiews from Huntly. News, not without interest for Lucy, though

«he made no enquiries. Boscom and be had not called on her

THEY TWO.

mother, Boscom being in haste to return to Montreal. Napier
fraternized at once with Edmond. He prized fellows who had
" roughed it ; " men who could bark squirrels with the rifle, steer
a bark canoe, or land a twenty pound trout with a singlo gufe
tackle.

The general chat turned on hunting and fishing, the ladies
asserting that nothing was half so interesting, except ghost stories.
Edmond, though no egotist, was again led on to speak of his
personal experiences. The Lieut, askod if he had ever been oa
a boar hunt? Edmond had been on several. " After the beaver^
he thought bears were the wisest animals in our Canaditin forests.
Indeed some habitants believe that bears were at onetime humaa
beings. Had Darwin only known this he might have allotted us
a different parentage from che gorilla. There must be something
in the habitants theory, for do not patent medicine men declare
that if bear's grease is rubbed upon a deal board, a crop of humaa
hair is the result.

"Our Canadian bears," continued Edmond, must have some-
thing of man's nature about them, for they both box and hug.
Our Indians treat bears with great respect, and Laplanders call
them, "old men in fr.r cloaks." Their favorite food is the blue-
berry, and thpy have the tooth of a school boy for honey. They
have been known to break open barrels of pork, and regale them-
selves on shanty men's fare. If you fall into their power and
feign death, they will cover your body with leaves and bark. They
are very seldom the attacking party, but if they are molested you
may look out. In the fall they are fat and good natured ; in the
spring, lank and ravenous. About two years ago they were very
plentiful near where our surveying party were encamped. We-
were short of meat, and a bear's ham, when one has had nothing
but salt pork to eat for months together, is very acceptable. I
took out my gun one evening, and went to a rocker over which I
knew the bears were likely to pass, on their way to an adjacent
blueberry patch. I hid myself behind a cliffy, and waited their
coming. I was not long under cover when two large bears passed
on, one in front of the other, for the way was narrow and abrupt^

IHET TWO.

Irat the fellows i^aled the rocks with the activity of moakeya. I
jiUowed them to pass on and fired, hitting the foremost one about
the tail. He must have received the impression that his com*
panion had struck him from behind, for he turned round instant-
ly and grappled with him. They eame tumbling down over the
loose stones in mortal combat. It was most ludicrous to see how
they cuffed and clouted each other. At last one of them appeared
to have got the worst of it, and falling down lay as dead. The
other then wulked quietly away. I judged that the fallen bear
was the one which I had shot, and that the wound had proved
mortal. Least he should be foxing, I emptied the other barrel
into him. He was up in a twinkling, and came at me. I thought
of the Irishmau's prayer under similar circumstances, when he
implored the Almighty if he could not help him, at least not to
help the bear. No master of fence can parry a blow like a bear.
I seized a dry branch near me to feign striking him with my left
hand, while I clubbed him with my right. He sent the branch
flying over my head, while he dodged his from the blow of my
gua. There was little use in aiming another stroke, so I flung

' the gun at him and retreated, making time to get out my knife,
which fortunately was long and sharp. He stopped for a few
seconds to take up the gun and examine it, possibly to admire the
deadly instrument, and then casting it from him he came on to
■choke me, — for keeping my hands by my sides he knew I did not
intend to club him, so he rose on his hind feet to give me a loving
squeeze. I kept still as death, he made no attempt to strike, and
as he closed his arms round me the cold steel was pointed for his
heart. Had the blade broke I was a dead man ; for though he
was bleeding profusely from the bullet wounds he had received,
there was still life enough in him to crush a dozen men to death.
His strong pressure sent the weapon home, and I found his hold
begin to relax. His eye was now glazing, and we came to the
ground together. He must have weighed over four hundred
pounds, and his pelt was black and glossy. After he was cut up
and carried to the camp, I did not care to taste any of his flesh,
for I thought there was a human look in his eyes as I unolas ped

^^ his limp arms from about me."

' >■■ .V

THEY TWO.

Mr. Marston thought that of all outdoor sports he preferred
fishing ; it was the most innoneiit and attractive. He had him*
celf, like Horace Greely, been going a fishing for the last thirty
jears ; and although he never accomplished his object, he had
«njoyed the pleasure of anticipation. He said Captain Comeau,
of the Montreal Police force, had told him some time ago of a
fishing excursion of his, on the lakes of the river St. Maurice,
^hich, if agreeable, he would tell them.

" At the time T speak of," continued Mr. Marston, " Comeau
^ -was in the employment of the Hudson's Bay Company. He was
«s hardy as a snipe, and as active as a wild cat. He had
■obtained leave of absence from his post for a month or two, and
was determined to enjoy himself. He was very fond of fishing.
Being at the rivers, where his wife's relatives resided, and where
he was well known, he soon got a party together, and tiiey start-
ed fo"- the lakes, on the river Bostonais, which empties into the
St. Maurice below the Tuque. It was September weather, and
theife were but few flies to annoy them. They got to their
destination without accident. Being dissatisfied with the size of
the trout on the lower or fir.st lake they had camped at, too of
the party and himself startt d for another lake, lying a few miles
Inland. The Indians had often told him of the great size of the
trout in this lake ; many of them weighing tlilit^ oi fui ty pounds
•each, and he was desirous to test the truth of their stories. They
brought no canoe with them, as the portage was too long, but
they reached the lake early in the day, and made themselves
«mall rafts of dry cedars that they found on the shore ; each man
had a raft of his own, with a long pole to propel it, and which
^hen inserted between the timbers and pushed well into the sandy
bottom of the lake served as an anchor. Comeau had shoved
his raft only a few yards from the shore, when he let his line fall
into the waiter to wet it, the houks were on, but no bait."

" Why, " said ]Srapier,"do you not use flies when fishing for trout
in thi.>^ country ? " '* Sometimes," answered Mr. Marston, " but
it was with small pieces of pork on their hooks they fished that
day. Comeau's line had no sooner touched the water than it was

■"■^

THET TWO.

seized, and to his astonishment he found that he had hooked'
a lar^e fish. His raft had not been anchored, and if he
attempted to do so now he would lose his fish. He had ibout
three hundred feet of good Salmon line on his reel, but before
you could say ' Jack Robinson ' the whole of it was run-
out, and as it tightened the fish rose at the further end ;
but bringing the point of his rod level with the water, and
tightening the slack, the trout had to come down with the hook
still in his gills. He now was able to wind up some of his line,
and feel the weight of bis fish ; but whenever it came withiir
a hundred feet or so of his raft, it took a sheer, and was away
again. He heard his friends shouting as he thought a I'tng
way off, and on looking shoreward, he found himself half a mile
out upon tlie lake, with possibly fifty fathoms of water under
him. His pole would be of no use here, and he had no paddle.
In any case he must not lose his fish. By good m magement
he got it between his raft and the shore, making it tow him
back. It rose only two or three times, being heavy, and it
was tired out by the time he could again touch bottom with his
pole. He got his trout landed safely, and is sure it weighed
over forty pounds. His companions had caught several large
fish also, and already complained that their arms were sore haul-
ing them in. His own felt a little stiff, now that the excitement
was over. After dinner they resumed the sport off shore,, as the
trout were in no way timid. Their arms were aching with the
toil, and one of the party proposed bending down the young^
saplings which grew close to the water'^ edge, attaching their
lines to the tops, and when the fish took, the saplings were
released and the recoil landed them on shore. In this way they
continued to fish for some time, until the ground on which they
stood was literally covered with trout, and they concluded to stop,
as it looked like butchery. The only trouble they had found ia
this novel m^ de of fishing was that, when the trout proved large
and the sapling slender, ^hey had to supplement the rebound
with a pull ; but if a small trout chanced to be hooked to a stout
sapling it came through the air like a meteor."

THEY TWO.

-^^'

The story sounded fishy, but the whole wns within the range >
•of possibility, and what was better it was strictly true.

Edith was anxious to hear about voyageurs, and their reputed
strength. Edmond ivas in a position to gratify her.

He said it was a common thing for medium-sized French Cana-
•diaos to carry a barrel of pork, with the brine on, weighing at
least three hundred and fifty pounds, on their backs up a portage
half a mile long slung, by a strip, or collet, passing over their fore-
heads, not slung from the shoulders. " How do you account for
their strength ? " asked Mr. Lansdowu. " Custom and climate,
I suppose," answered Edmond. " I remember reading some time
«go," remarked Mr. Lansdown, " of some experiments tried relat-
ing to the strength of students of different national itioe studying
at certain colleges. The result being that the Irishman stood
£rst, the Scotchman second, the Englishman third, the Belgian
fourth, and the Frenchman a poor fifth."

*' Look," exclaimed Edmond, " at the effect of our dry and
bracing climate ? Recent trials shew that in Canada, the Irish,
Scotch, ilhiglish, and their descendants still occupy their old re-
lative positions ; while the French Canadians have attained to
the place of the Englishman making a good third." All agreed
that the climate of Canada was destined to develop and build up
•one of the most hardy and finest races of men ^hich had ever
appeared in any purt of the world.

** Why," asked Mr, Lansdown, ** are not the French Canadians,
as a rule, as prosperous as the settlers in Ontario, or Canada
West ? " Edmond thought that the diffierence might be accounted
for from the fact that the lands in western Canada were better,
and the winters not so long. Mr. Marston contended that there
were no richer lands in the world than along the valley of the St.
Lawrence. Our long winters with a constant depth of snow were
advantages rather than drawbacks. In many parts of Western
Canada the roads were almost impassible in the winter months,
nothing but slush or half frozen mud ; while in Lower Canada,
one could always get around on sleighs, and perform work which
<oould not be accomplished in any other way. The timber inter-

THBT TWO.

ests, without snow, would prove complete failures. Theu tli»
roots of our grasses and trees were thoroughly protected fromkh»
frost by winter's soft, thick mantle ; so perfectly indeed that straw-
berry leaves were found green when the snow melted in April^
and the flower buds fully formed and ready to blossom in May.

i''S

'}'•.,:-,

CHAPTER XIV.

It was now well on in March, and Huntly Marston tlioughfe
that he would take a run down to the villige, for Lucy must be;
home by this time. On his airival he found that she had not
yet returned; but was rejoiced to hear from her mother tlial;
Lucy was quite recovcreJ, and that she expected her and Edmoni
back in a few days. He concluded to wait. Day after day ".
passed, and still they did not come. There was no telegraph then
to enable him to ascertain the cause, and there was no use ioi
writing, for his letter might paf)s thorn on the road. A week:
elapsed and they had not arrived. The sun was coming out strong,
and the ice on the upper Ottawa would not last many days. H&
had left no instructions with Tom about the teams, and if they
were to find there way down only after his return, he must wait
no longor. Perhaps he couM send up a message, for he saw one.
of the Indians from the Coulonge in the village the night after ho
himself had come down. He tried to find him, but could not
succeed. There were several letters at his office which had been ,
awaiting his arrival. Among these was one from the Ccmmis-
sioner of Crown Lards, enclosing his license for the timber limit
that had cost him so much trouble and expense. There was &lso»
one from his father, enclosing a short note from Mr. Allen, the>
lawyer. Saying that, having occasion to see the member for
Three Rivers some time previous, tbat gentleman, who doubtlesa
felt pleased at the manner in which his election had been man^
aged, informed him of a valuable block of timbered lands on ihct
Gratineau, that could be had at a nominal figure, and asking Mr%
Marston if he wished tu secure it ? Mr. Marston referred tha
matter to Huntly, and he at once wrote back saving, " by all
means do so." He also furnished Huntly with a little gossip.
He said, " Florence was likely to be married to Mr. Napier in
July, and they would try and so arrange it, that Huntly could be
present. Edith had taken it into her head to devote some morft

100

THEY TWO.

4iine to the study of French, and he had consented to allow her
' ^ go to the Convent in Three Rivers for that purpose, as the
•iSisters there had the reputation of being the best teachers of
French in the country. Captain Bosoom continued to lay seige
to Miss Maxwell, but that lady had too much good sense to
capitakte." ' < " ^ ' ' .

Two more days passed, but they did not bring Lucy. He
vottld delay no longer, so leaving kind remembrances with Mrs.
Ddisle for her son and daughter, he hurried back to the woods.
He was up none too soon, for a day or too after his teams got
■eway, the ice on the creeks, and on the main river, began to break
up, Lucy and her brother reached home all safe the very day
•after Huntly had left. Her mother gave her so*ue news, Huntly
iiad told her. A first cousin of hers, — Pierre Leblano, from
JNicolet, — a son of her father's sister, was up in the woods at
/^luBtly 's camp. Huntly said that he was a fine looking and intel-
iQigeut fellow ; and that he would take him to see them on their
"way down with the rafts. Lucy had heard her father speak of
4he Leblancs, but she hud never seen any of them. He seldom
•spoke to his wife of his relations. The spring opened early
<hat year, and by the middle of April the Coulonge was a roar-
ing torrent. Everything now was bustle and excitement. By
the first of May the landings had been cleared, and the timber
'was all in the river. Notliing like a river drive for waking
up men. They were out at work in the grey dawn, and the
-stars of evening found them still at it. Caspar was in his
■•element. He would dance and cheer as the big sticks swung
past, or plunged over the rapids. He was in front with Huntly
-and two-thirds of the gang; while Tom, and Leblanc with
; .the other third, brought up the tail of the drive. The front
.-gang now found less current in the river, in fact the water was '
arising, and yellow with timber ahead of them. There must be a
Jam somewhere. Huntly and Caspar went to reconnoitre. At a
oiarrow passage, there was a small fall, the timber had stopped, and
-was now piling up higher and higher. One long piece had done the
■oisohief. Huntly thought it was that very one Tom got squared >

■1

THEY TWO.

lOA

that firKt morning when he went to viflit the timber makers.
About ten feet of this stick rested behind a rock at the head of
the fall, and the other end was hidden among boulders and timber-
at the other side. The jam lay right across the current. But
little water was coming through the natural channel, and the-
black pools below were now quiet and sullen. The timber was >
piled up against and on top of this stick to the height of over
twenty feet. To clear the jam by rolling off from the top would*,
be a week's work for the whole gang. A week's time lost, aiid.
possibly the drive would be prevented from getting clean out
into the Ottawa. Before the day closed Tom and his men had
come up. One of the Indians was with him. Tom asked Huntly
to hire him, as he was a good driver, and Huntly consented. He^
also learned from Tom that the Indian camp was now broken up^
and the other Indians were on their way down to sell their furs-
at some trading post. Huntly did not like this, but said nothings
None of the men now opened their lips about the pretty Indian
girl, had they done so, Tom would have drawn the cold steel od.
them. On the morrow the jam was examined more minutely..
Huntly and Tom thought that the men must take to their pick»-.
and cant hooks and roll off from top. A pick handle is a.
rounded piece of timber, generally hard mapl«, about eight feet-
in length, two inches in dian^eter at the top, and swelling
to about four inches diameter at the lower end, which holds
the pick, — a piece of steel eight or nine inches long, over half of
which is inserted in the handle ; and about a foot in length of the
pick end of the handle is encircled with flat steel rings, to give:
Jt strength, and save it from wear. That part of the steel which,
projects from the handle is tapered to a point. A cant hook ia-
a piece of steel about ten inches long, half an inch thick, and on&
and a half inches wide, bent into the form of a sickle, the loose,.,
or under end turned in sharply, and pointed. The other end i»
fastened by a bolt to an open band or flat ring, which slips on to-
the pick handle, and is adjusted to it about eighteen inches frook
the extremity which holds the pick. The cant hook works loose>
opening and closing on the bolt that passes through the collar o£

■-* .-:\ •..-'.

102

THEY TWO.

the band or ring. When open the convex of the cant hooks lies
up against and in line with the handle, and if prop'' ly con-
structed the driver can grasp with this instrumont a piece of
timber, or log, of any diameter. Two or three men with cant
tiooks can " cant, " or turn over, almost auy piece of timber made<
In Wisconson, a driver calls a pick handspike, a " peevy." Picks
And cant hooks, jam dogs, and pike poles, are called " driving
tools." It was with such implements as tliese that Huntly's men
were to attack the jam. Before commencing, Caspar took another
look. He went below and examined all the surroundings but
especially the key, or that stick which first caused the jam, and
on which the whole rested. He told Huntly that if he con-
sented to let him cut about twelve feet off the big stick of timber
near the bottom of the jam, he would guarantee that the whole
"would give way, and save time and money. Hutitly could not
«ce how Caspar could cut the piece of timber and escape with his
life. Perhaps before he was half through the weight from above
"would cause it to snap, then where would Caspar be ? Daslied to
pieces in a chaos of timber, tumbling end on end among the swirl
«nd foam. It was not to be thought of. Caspar then induced
Huntly to go down with him, and pointed out how he could walk
'Over on the rocks, and obtain a footing where he could swing his
«ze. He shewed a place where the timber rested on the bottom,
and convinced Huntly that the body of the jam would swing to the
other side of the river. Huntly acknowleged the correctness of
this view, but the risk lay in the probubility that Caspar would
l>e overwhelmed before he had time to make his escape. Caspar
"was certain he could find time, and Huntly consented. The men
thought Caspar foolhardy, and looked upon him as doomed. He
vas as gay as if going to a wedding. He took his axe, and went
l)elow the jam to take another look. The men thought that he
^as sayiug farewell to the river, the trees, and the blue heavens
above him, but Caspar was only taking off his driving shoes, and
turning up his drawers. He steadied himself with a pike pole as
he waded over the slippery rocks, for the current was strong
enough to lift him off his feet, though not over knee deep betweea

THET TWO.

103

les
n-
of

»g

'the shore and his point of vantage. He gained the place in safety
:«Dd found space to wind bis axe and reach the timber, without
any inconvenience. Some of the men were crowding over the top
■of (he jam to see him chop, but be warned them off. He worked
with a will, and soon had the piece of timber half out through^
He stopped to listen. Yos, there was a slight crack, and he
thought that a tremor ran through the pile of timber above him.
All was still again, and he continued his work ; not for long, how-
ever, his ear had caught the warning note, and his quick eye per.
ceived a slight movement towards the further shore. He saw the
cut in the timber opening, he flung his axe towards shore, and
dived into a black pool which lay beneath him. The men were
scattering in all directions to secure safe positions on the river
banks. A low, grinding, half booming noise rose from the now
moving mass of timber. The very rook<) trembled, and the trees
on either side swayed and shivered. The jam had moved in an
almost solid body, and as the spnce below widened, and the pent
up river dashed over the fall, the wildest tumult might be marked
as the timber separated, plunged and eddied in its resistless rush
onward. It was a grand sight. A thousand white horses in mad
gallop over the green pampas, with manes tossing in the air, could
not be finer. But Caspar, whore was he? The men had seen
nothing of him. He must now be a lifeless and battered mass
among the careering timber I Not he. They came upon him behind
a rock, not far below the fall, where he had been quietly wringing
out his clothes, and was engaged in putting on his driving shoes
when the men came up to him. Many were the congratulations,
but none of them warmer than those of Huutly. Caspar took it
all very coolly; he just shrugged his shoulders, said it was
nothing at all, and turned to work with the others.

No event on the drive worth noting occurred after this. There
was the usual routine of following up the timber, starting it off
where it had grounded, breaking small jams, and keeping every-
■thing moving. They were at the mouth of the tributary in less
ithan three weeks from the time they had got fairly underway.
Wyands occasionally visited the Indian Tom had brought to

104

THEY TWO.

Huntly, and who /aa still on the drive, dodo of the other mem-
bers of the Indian camp h^d shown themselves, though they
were known to be keeping in the neighborhood.

The timber was n» v secured in booms in tHe first eddy below
the mouth of the Coulonge, and the men proceeded to raft it intO'
cribs of about fifty pieces each ; while about thirty cribs banded
together composed a raft. This work was through early '.a-
June, and on there way down they shipped their oars, and
obtained sjvwed lumb<^r to build their huts. The Calumette and.
Chats rapids were successfully run, and they reached the Ohau-
di^re Falls, Bytown, before the close of the month. ■

The foremost raft with Huntly and Tom on board dropped in
behind Sleeping Point, or Lazy Point, as some called it, on the
Hull side, and coming on shore Huntly was delighted to meet
Edmond Deliele. who was on his way home from Aylmer, and
with whom Huntly sent word to Mrs. Delisle that he would be
down to se3 them the following evening.

There was one heart in the widow's home that leaped for joy^
when Edmond gave Huntly's message. It was a lovely evenings
and when Lucy and her mother took a walk through the garden
after tea, earth seemed a very paradise. The cool air was laden '
with rose perfume, and the darkening Ottawa was flushing t»
crimson in the setting sun. And then to-morrow ! He would
be here I There came over her an indescribable longing once
more to hoar the voice of her dearest friend, — her more than,
dearest friend. Her color burned at the thought of meeting
him.

Just then the sun dipped behind the North Western hills, and
the deep flush of the Ottawa turned to blaokness. Lucy thought
she could hear the river sighing at the change. A chill came
over her, and turning faint she hurried into the house, with the
old refrain ringing in her ears, — " The rapids are near and the
daylight passed." Her mother followed her, and Edmond oom>
ing into the room where they were sitting, Lucy's spirits soon
revived, and after practising some of Huntly's favorite airs they
retired for the night. ^' ".

^ *;•«■'

THEY TWO.

10&

That same evening vrhon supper was oier Huntly proposed to
Tom that they would take a canoe, and visit the vicinity of the
slide. It was a dangerous trip for only two men, but they were
equal to the risk. They landed upon the little Island, where
Eddy's mills and piling grounds now stand ; for Huntly wished
to enjoy the scene. The sun was nearing the horizon, but still
lit up with splendor the Chiiudl^re Falls, and the brown cliffs
over part of which the everlasting waters glided. Huntly turned
to look at the great necromancer ere he hid himself behind the
mountfuns. How gorgeous m »s his retiring? What a wonder
of gold and crimson was pileu up around what seemed the
mouth of a huge furnace in white heat I He looked again at the
seething waters in the cauldron ; they were curdling into blood.
The houses in the town beyond were half hidden in the ruddy
mist rising above the falls, their windows flashing back the glory
shed upon them from those ** Western bastions fringed with
fire." He looked over the rocks and down the river, the same
crimson flush deepening into purple colored all the scene. In
imagination he heard the sweet cadences of Lucy's voice repeat-
ing, — "The rapids are near, and the daylight pa«sed." He
must have her sing that song to-morrow evening. He thoughi^
that he could discern canoes and Indians away down in the
eddies. He asked Tom if he did not see them ? Tom's face
darkened as he answered, " yes." Huntly said jokingly, " Tom,
take care, do not leave the running of the timber, to be running
after the Indian girl I " Huntly's answer was a back stroke
upon the face from a limb of flood wood which Tom had lifted, as
he stepped in front of Huntly. He gave the blow with all his
might, for his repressed jealousy was roused to madness. Huntly
lay at his feet motionless. Tom with set teeth gazed down at
his victim. He now realized some sense of his crime and situa-
tion. Ho stopped to examine the prostrate form. There was
no breathing, and the limbs were limp and nerveless. He must
be dead. How get rid of the body ? A sudden impulse seized
him. He lifted it in his arms, and finding his strength to be
superhuman he carried it to the head of the North, or little-

106

tHET TWO.

•ohannel, and with all liis might he heaved it into the water.
The shook brought Huntly back to life, and he struck for the
shore, but the uader tow of the fall proved too much for him and
he had to yield ; but seeing a piece of timber with one end rest-
ing on the shore he grasped it ; it loosened, and coming off, they
plunged over the falls together.

Tom watched them. A sudden sense of his fiendish act Wiia
«,wakened. He saw the man who at one time hud saved him
from death now perishing, and by his hand. He shouted at
the top of his voice ; he ran to the canoe and shoved it out, but
instead of going on uhore and b \stening to the spot where Huntly's
body might surge up umong the eddies, he paddled to the raft,
and raised the alarm ; stating that the master had missed his
footing, and had gone over the falls. All the men on board,
save the cook, hurried off to the foot of the fails ; but near an
hour hud elapsed since Huntly was swept over them. There
-was no sign of his body anywhere. All was still and lonely.
The purple light had fadsd into the grey of later evek.ing, and a
hush of night was creeping on. No noise save the etern il dash
of the falls, or the distant call of the whip-poor-will. Through-
out the short summer night the men continued their search for
the body, and when the light of morning again awoke the world
to activity it found them still engaged in this melancholy duty.
By noon they abandoned the search as useless. Bad news travels
fast, and the day had not fur advanced when it reached Huutly's
office, and the home of Lucy. Her mother hid it from her at
first, but somehow or other she ascertained the worst. She
went to her room, closed the door, and bowed her head in the
accustomed spot. " Break thou deep vase of chilling tears I "
But her heart was ice, and would not melt into this relief ; rather
it was dead, and hurried into the river there with Huntly.
Once or twice her mother peeped into her room, but she was still
kneeling with bowed head. Two hours passed, and at last her
mother determined to arouse her. She gently raised her, and
Jjuoy mechanically obeyed the request to come do^rn stairs and
liuve some tea ? She steadied herself upon her mother's arm

THEY TWO.

lOT

ter.
the
nd
est-

hiding her blank face upon her shoulder. She was still giddy
from the stunning blow. " Drunk with loss/' — the only mix-
ture in her bitter cup. Or like the — Unhappy bark,

That strikes by night a craggy shelf ;
And staggers blindly ere she sink,
It stunned her from tlie power to think. "

This was in itself a mercy. We have heard of " grief's delirium,"
^and we know that there is not any evil which humanity can
«uffer but brings with it gome alleviation. Indeed the direst
terror fascinates, and Livingstone tells us that, when the lion
tossed him m the air, it did not feel unpleasant.

The change, the physicial exertion, the sympathising face of
Edmond, her mother's tender care, her effort to take some food,
and be herself helped somewhat to raise the load of woe under which
she tottered. It was with a steadier step that she retired to her
room, and when tlie head was once again bowed in meek submission
to the chastisement, tears gave relief, and pniyer brought succor,
'The furnace had been seven times heated, but there was one there
wi*^ her, and no hair of her dear head was to be injured ; for he
had numbered them, and the white lips, so rosy some hours
before, murniered, as his lips once murmered, " Father, not my
will, but thine be done." It was late in the night when she
prepared for bed, but she slept. Slept beneath, " Those softly
folded wings of prayer ; " or as, dear old Chrummacher translates
the Psalmist, — " Thus ho giveth his beloved sleep. "

Tliere was general disorganization on the rafts. Tom had
drawn some money at the office, apparently for expenses, but
had disappeared, no one knew whether. This looked suspicious ;
the Indians too were gone, but little notice was taken of this fact.
The one who had been on the drive was paid off at the mouth of
the Coulon<;e; they had disposed of the furs to old Civewright at
the Fort, and doubtless had returned to their tribe. Tom's con-
tinued absence was still a mystery. Mr. Marston must at once
he informed of the disaster. £dmond could not bring himself to
he the bearer of suo'i a message. The clerk closed Huntly's

108

THEY TWO.

office for the time being, and proceeded to Montreal, while Ed-
mond tried to put matters straight for running the timber. He^
Pierre Leblanc, and Casper, assuming charge until the arrival
of Mr. Marston.

It was a sad day in the cheerful old home in Bleury street,
when the tale only half told was but too well understood!, Editb
was at the convent in Three Elvers, where she had gone on the
opening of navigation, but would be home after the examination
in July, when her sister Florence would be married. This event
must now be postponed, and other plans for the future sorrow
fully abandoned . Ye grief stricken ones, there is but little con-
solation, in the thought that: ** Never morning wore to evening
but some heart did break." Mr. Marston appeared to have
turned all at once into an old man, but he bravely undertook the
duty before him.

■. *,

Ill;

ivat

CHAPTER XV.

It ia necessary to recur to a few evcDts which happened prior
to the time of Huntly's tragedy.

Frank Meredith went home to Bangor, after his disappointment
that night on the skating rink. He could hardly hlame Lucy
for refusing him. He had been an idler ; but he flattered him-
self that if he could have persuaded her to become his wife, he
i^ould have grown to be an altered man. It was Lucy Delisle's
physical charms that he admired, nor is it likely he ever could
appreciate the beauty of her soul. There are some men so con-
stituted. The more the pity as the common saying has it.

Frank was completely his own i:;aster, both his parents being
dead. His admiration for Lucy, a Canadian, and his stay, in
Canada, had awakened in him an interest in the country, and as
spring drew on he thought that he could not more pleasantly spend
the summer, than by a ramble on foot, down through the Eastern
Townships and to the French Settlements ; where he uould make
himself more conversant with the language. He supplied himself
with money, got his knacksaek ready, and early May found him in
the vicinity of Island Pond, and on his way to Lennozville. He
had been told when in Montreal that the Eastern Townships would
jet be the garden of Lower Canada, and he had concluded to
-vbit them, examine their capabilities, and become acquainted
^ith their early history while progressing towards the seat of
Prench learning, Nicolet College.

While Frank Meredith is journeying toward his destiny, we
must see how Edmond Delisle and his assistants managed with
poor Huntly's timber.

It was a quarrelsome, I should say, an outrageous and^ wicked
time, just then at Bytown. The "Shiners," were in the hey
day of their ruffianisn^. The Irish raftsmen had formed a com-
pact to drive the French Canadians off the river. They lacked
neither the courage nor thej villainy. Huntly had always got

110

THEY TWO.

along smoothly with them. Indeed he was rather a pet of theirs^
and if the " shiners " took any one under their protection, woe to-
those who molested him.

Edmond Delisle when he decided to interest himself in running
his late friend's timber, wus fully awure of the difficulties. He
accordingly waited upon Peter Aylen, one of the chief men among
the " shiners," and explained to him how he was situated ; and
that Leblano, who will be principally in charge, was part French
Canadian. Aylen swore a deep oath that no one would be per-
mitted to meddle with the men on the timber of the dead Boss, '
He went with Edmond to see Martin Hcnnesy, who was perhaps-
the biggest bruiser about Bytown ; and Martin gave him the hand
of fellowship, — a hand that could fell an ox. Every knuckle wa»
double jointed, and its owner stood over six feet in his stocking
soles. He was also like the famous " Paddy Carrill," " double
jointed in the back." This remarkable man was afterwards killed
in a drunken quarrel by the blow of an iron poker 'in the hand»
of Doctor Whitney. It was do or die. If Whitney had not
brained Hcnnesy, Hennesy would have brained him. The law
nllowed the Doctor to go Scot free. Edmond was also introduced to
" Paddy Whelan," a Hercules in form and strength, having
solid plates of bone in lieu of ribs and his toes were webfooled^
like those of a waterfowl.

It vras a delicate operation to guide a crib of timber so as
to land it safely at the head of the North shore slides. The
channel instead of hollowing towards the centre, rounded up
as you neared the big Ohaudidre, and if the pilot allowed the crib
to veer a foot or two from the upheaved back of the torrent, over
it wtnt into the boiling cauldron below. In case of such a con-
tingency a well manned canoe generally waited at the Point, and
if immediate danger was feared the men on the crib jumped into
her and abandoned the timber to its fate.

Edmond and Leblano had made several successful trips and
had commenced banding up in the eddy on the South shore.
After tea one evening these two, with Caspar, went up from
the raft to transact some business in town. On coming

y^^y-::

THET TWO.

Ill

near a corner at the Sapper's bridge, they could hear the
rapping of stones one against another, and then a volley of
these missiles struck a fence on the opposite side of the street^
and a man ran past them, holding his hand to the side of his face,
doubtless he had been struck. Edmond and his companions
walked on slowly in the middle of the street. On getting to th»
corner they saw two or three men in long coats, — ulsters were th^
fashion with the "■ Shiners " in those days, and each of th&
fellows had a stone in either hand, and swinging their arms i»
measured heat, they would rap the stones against each other ia
front of them. This was the constant practice of the •* Shiners,"
and this rap, rap, was often the death knell of many a French
Canadian, as the frequent corpses in the hospital basin
testified. When Edmond and his companions came abrenst of
these fellows one of them stepped out in front, and said, "do yea
know where yez is?" "yes," answered Edmond, "in Rideau
street." The fellow took a sharp look at him, and then said,
" go on, yez is all right." They had not gone far however when
they heard more stones rattling on the fence they had just passed j
then two or three loud whistles, and the growling of fierce;
dogs. A. fight was raging behind them. The "feather edges,"'
as the " shiners " called the broken shingly limestone, were flying
in all directions. They did not wait to see the result ; " <li^cre-
tion is often the better part of valor. They got safe to Burpee's
and transacted the business they had come on, with old Mr.
Marston, who had been stopping there for some days past, and
was about leaving again for Montreal. It was still early, and they
decided on looking rouod a little. On coming near Griffith's
tavern, or " the hole in the wall " as the " boys " called it, they w6rft
met by a band of about a dozen men, all wearing white sheets up
to their chins. Their faces were blackened, and you could hear
the rap, rap, of the flat sides of the " feather edges " beneath th&
sheets, and their big pockets were doubtless well flUed with the
same murderous missiles. The leader of the gang stopped Edmond,
and his companions, and it might have gone hard with them if
Andrew Lemay had not come up in time. He invited Edmond^

'.../

■M

'lip

112

THEY TWO.

Leblano, aDd Caspar, into the tavern ; to refuse would have given
offence. In a room not too well lighted, half a dozen nten were
seated round a long deal table, their shaggy heads barely dis-
oernible through the clouds of tobacco smoke. They had been
drinking, and after the interruption caused by the entrance of
Lemay and those with him had subsided, the current of fun
proceeded in its ordinary course, which was " fast and furious."

" As I was telling you," said a dark square set man at the
head of the table, '* Father M. came unbeknownst that same
•«venin upon Jolly Moll, " By the holy Mary," says she, " there's
his riverence," and as she could not get out of his way by the
door, she jumped head foremost through the window taking the
sash with her round her neck." Edmond made bold to suggest that
It was rather a painful way of ** cutting hor stick." " Musha,"
lidded a chr.p near him " it was her neck she cut with her purty
necklace;" "and begorra," put in a third, "Moll was alwayg
fond of the glass."

A general laugL followed this sparkle, and the square set man
addressed his neighbor with, " Now Phil, for your song." Phil
was a wiry looking customer, with angular limbs, comical features,
and merry^twinkling eyes. He got up, and taking a small cane
that stood behind the door, came out on the floor and commenced
acting j" Donnybrook Fair." There was a part spoken, a part
whistled, and a part sang. Every now and then the actor would
tlirow himself into an attitude, twirl his cane deftly, and sing :—'

" Puff, fuff, fuff, of fresh air,

Oh then great luck to you, Donnybrook fair, (-

So neat as I handle my twig, twig, twig,

Oh the.i great luck to you Donnybrook jig."

The applause for Phil had not subsided when the first speaker
cried out, " Larry, ye divil, its your 'turn now."

Larry got up and took the stick laid down by Phil. He was
a large man, loose jointed, and possessed of a very pliable mouth.
He took down the house with a song Edmond bad never heard
before. Somewhat like the pveceding one, part was spoken, and'

■■■ I \:-

THIT TWO.

113

lea
kre

r
len

part cang. HiB acting was most groteoque as was the chorus, in
which one or two others joined :

"Hidderew, didderew, hubberew, hubberew, ;

Whack, folderlerjr.
Its ever time the merry pipes

Struck up the lilt so gaily."

As Larry seated himself the squa^'^t set man started the key
note of a song which was also new to Edmond, and in which all
the others joined. It was the song of the " Shiners."

"n'.X, )'.!|

" Rattle them over the Rideau, boys,

Fling the " feather^dge" atones. ;

A whirr, or a whistle, — that's the noise,

Break their beggarly bones. ^

Blacken the peepers of young * pea-soup,'

Smash them to smithereenR, Dan and Pat, '

Wallop them while you whistle and whoop,
' Knock them into a < three cooked hat.'

Beat and batter the brown ' bull-frogs,'
Stop the croaking of Johnny Crapaud ; '
/ Hiss! dirrl at them worry them, dogs,

A bark, and a bound, and over they go.

Down, to the bottom with every one.
Pitch them into the * basin' boys,
' If they rise they'll rot in the sun.

Sink or swim, we have stop'd their noise."

Then was repeated the first verse, — *^ Battle them into tho
Rideau, boys ; " and on coming to the last line, — <* Breiik their
beggarly bones," the sledge-hammer fists would come down in
concert on the table, making the tumblers jump and rattle again.

Edmond began to think it was time for him to be going, but
it was pleaded that "there was no offence," and he and his com-
panions were invited to drink. Pierre and Caspar complied, but
Edmond never drank, and as he would not, he was condemned
to sing. He gave them Dr. Waller's " Kitty Neil," which they

d m

114

THBT TWO.

hud never heard before, and they were m> pleased with it, that
he had to repeat it. The reader is probably acquaiDted with
the words, beginning : — i

"Ah, sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from the wheel,
Your neat little foot will be weary from spinning,
' , . Come trip down with me to sycamore tree.

Half the parish is there and the dance is beginning."

As Edmond closed with the line :

" Dance light, for my heart, it lies under your feet, love,"

he was pronounced, " a broth of a boy," and that he had the
blood of the " blue hen " in him ; and then Larry Front was
deputed to see him and his companions safe down Rideau street.
A not unnecessary precaution, for the 'boys " were out in force
that night, and next day revealed the fact that several French
Canadians had been badly beaten.

Such scenes as the above, and others of a coarser nature
enacted at an earlier date, in that part of the village known
as " Corktown," were disgraceful to any age or country ; but
happily they have passed, it is hoped never to return.

■*■ ■. :.i ^^'^, ' -■-■ < \S ■ •>'

••-:■■• • ■■'- '-^ ''^'v > .i-<^::k >r ;, -.:■■■■. ^ ■■■: ^f ■■

-'*'

bat
ith

the
was
eet.
rce
noh

are
own
but

• CHAPTER XVI.

As EdmoDd wns not engnged on any of the surveying parties
that summer, he consented to accompany the timber to Quebec.
They got over the Longue Sault at Grenville, and the rapids at
Carillon and St. Ann's, without any loss. Thoy ezperieaced
some delay at Little Biver, but managed to get the last raft as
far as Lake St. Peter by the end of July. They encountered
one or two storms on that Lake and lost considerable timber,
which with the delay and oodt of trying to pick up what was
scattered, cut down anticipated profit to one half.

Edmond after settling with the men and business matters with
old Mr. Marston in Quebec, started for home, but was induced
by Pierre to visit Nicolet on the way up, and see his aunt,
uncle, and cousins. Edmond was charmed with the pretty village,
and with his uncle's family. Louise was at home spending the
vacation. She reminded Edmond very much of his sister Lucy
He was also introduced to Mr. Frank Meredith, who was study-
ing French at the College, but who preferred boarding at Louis
Leblanc's. Best of all he heard from his cousin Louise, that
Edith Marston was spending her vacation at a friend's house in
Three Bivers. Edmond did not miss enjoying a few days in the
old town, and found out Edith. The meeting was a very sorrow-
ful one at first, for Edmond had not seen her since the loss oi her
brother, and Edith did not know how dear Huntly was to her
till it wad too late to show how much she really loved him, not-
withstanding her pretty domineering ways towards him, Edith,
though a *' rosebud set witli thorns," was sweet as Canadian uir
could make her ; and this visit of Edmond awoke anew all the
interest she had felt in him when he came to Montreal to take
home his sister Lucy.

I must not weary the reader's patience by giving at present
any details of Edith Marston's convent life, but without further
delay follow Huntly Marston on that terrible evening when Tom
Gendron flung him into the Little Chaudidre.

116

THIT TWO.

The Indian girl, Tomaqua, heard Tom's shout down in the
eddies where Wyando and she were fishing. Her first impulra
was to steer her canoe out to that part where nhe thought any-
thing ooming over the fall would he first likely to ri«>e to the
surface. Her judgment did not fail her, for as she reached the
place a piece of timber shot up, but there was no one clinging to
it. A second after a man's face turned over in the eddies.
Quick as thought she backed her canoe, and reaching her hand
down over the stem grasped Huntly by the hair, and directed
Wyando, who was in the bow, to paddle on shore. It was but
a limp and bruised form that they laid on the bank, and the
face was disfigured from Tom's ru£Ban blows. Wyando ran to
the Indian camp for help, and the body was inntantly conveyed
thither. The old squaw put her hand down Huntly's bosom,
and gave a contented nod, intimating that his heurt still beat.
The Indians seemed perplexed. They had been largely bribed
by Captain Boscom to see that Huntly Marston should not visit
Montreal that summer. The girl guessed their thoughts, and
at once originnted a plan of her own. She showed tliem that if
they made known what had happened they would be suspected,
and if Mr. Marston did not recover it might go hard with them ;
and if he did recover, his friends would take him home. Their
better way would be to move their oamp inland a mile or two at
once, take Mr. Marston with them, try and recover him, take
him over to the St. Maurice, where they had decided on return-
ing, and then send him home in the fall. The wily Tomaqua
flattered herself that by the time Huntly was better he would
have learned to love her. The Indians at once adopted her plan,
indeed her suggestions were as a law to them. The ohnnge of
position and the motion were just what Huntly required to res-
tore his respiration. When they were encamped for the night
about a mile and a half from the river, he breathed almost
naturally, but lay in a kind of stupor. He was very much
bruised, and lay without power to move his limbs. The old
squaw was sure that he would recover soon, but he was in the
same condition on the morrow, and when night came the Indians

THBT TWO.

the
Iso
ny-
the
the
to
les.
ind

strnok their tent, and pursued their journey inland. Threo weeks
passed and Huntly awoke to consciousness. He could not tell
where he was. The tender eyes of Tomaqua were looking into
his, and her red lips were parted in glad surprise to hear him
speak collectedly.

His first remembrance on the return of reason, for he had
raved in fewr for the lust three weeks, was thu ruddy mist of tlie
falls in the sunset, the blow whi^li fe'.'ed and stunned him, Ihe
plunge, and dash, and swirl, and aarkness, and then, blank
oblivion. . , . , ' -

He looked curiously around his strange lodging place. He
knew that it was still summer time, for his nurse had told him
how long he had been ill, but as yet had said nothing of the .
manner of his rescue from drowning. The place in which he lay
was delioiousiy cool, but he could not tell what time it was. He
thought it muHt be night for his chamber was lii^hted up with
pine knots. Tliose frescoed walls, but dimly seen in the uncer-
tain light, glittering in whiteness, were never built by the hand
of man. If he were not thoroughly awake, and possessed of all
his senses, he would have thought himself a " blessed ghost,"
and his ooinpauion the queen of some phantom castle in the
happy hunting-grounds beyond the setting sun. But all was
real. Tomaqua anticipated his questions and informed him '
that this was the great cave of the Ottawa Indians, known but
to them and a few otiier friendly tribes. The chamber in which
he lay was entered by a small opening connecting it with the
outer porch ; or what would seem to a casual observer the entire
extent of the cavern. This room wus about nine feet high, twenty
wide and eighty in length. These ure the dimensions given by an
explorer in his description of the " Wakefield Cavern," distant
twenty-one miles from the city of Ottawa. Huntly Marston was
doubtless the first white man who had slept in this chamber since
the creation. Lady Dufifurin is possibly the first English lady
who has ventured into the recesses of this wonderful cave. '

After describing the chamber to which Huntly had been oaiw
ried by the Indians, the explorer just referred to, continues :—

118

THEY TWO.

fl!

" Let us pass the next door I Hero is a vast grotto, neither
round nor square, high nor low. The stones which foim the
walls and dome are Titanic. As you look on them you tremble.
But all is solid. Millions of years have pnssed since the great
Architect rolled and piled them upon one another.

To your right is a pussagc, one hundred feet in length, and
not over three feet square. It is arched from floor to roof,
groined and fluted by a mixture of stalactites and stalagmites,
about six inches in diameter, and white as snow. In one place
a neighboring chamber rises to the height of fifty fe^t, the
ceiling's covered with designs as beautiful as they are fantastic.
These incrustations merit to be reproduced by ^^e engraver.
Another pussage opens to us pierced with defiles the most
capricious. Some end in grand cavities, others conduct back
to the principle entiy. For a distance of three hundred feet
in a straight line this network of corridors tends downwards.
Water at one time so rolled the stones about, that the floor
is covered with marbles. This labyrinth alone, surpasses in
interest all the other thirty caverns of our country. Imagine
an avalanche of rocks, rolling, and crushing, and grinding
their weight through this profundity into the immensity beyond !
It is un image of chaos ! It is chaos himself surprised under
arrest !

All the cavern in clean and bright as a new coin. There is
no truce of vegetation, not even a mushroom nor any moss. The
eye is struck by the work that the water has accomplished. The
smallest stones are round and smoth. The grottos are white as
enow, and translucent as polished marble. The corridors are
grey, the alcoves drab, and sometimes tlicre is a mingling of these
colors, with cintillations of quartz and lustrous metals. There
is no passage, or grotto, or chamber on the same level ; where wo
stand was one time the bed of the mighty river ; the uir is pure
and its circulation perfect.

'* How is this," I ask my guide, Mr. Plessier? He answers,
" let us descend I " "Where," I ask? "To a lower story!
you came in by the garret I "

THEY TWO,

119

Ither

the

kble.

treat

This is easier said than done. Plessier prostrates himself like
». Japanese ; we all slide after him ; and on coming down about
twenty feet we alight in a salon, — the salon. The walls are
cream color. The slighest word reverberates like thunder
throughout this story; for it is but a story, and but one of
m^ny. The mountain seems honeycombed.

" Take care ! " a precipice ! A sheer descent of forty feet opens
before you I Plessier places a ladder, solid, but not inviting.
Out of twenty tourists eighteen refuse the descent. We go down.
We are braves and savants. How is tliis ! The well has no
bottom, or next to none. We cannot find standing-room. Wait !
Here is Plessier ! Two seconds, and himself and torch disappear
round an angle of the rock ; and then we see him trotting down a
declivity where some ages before the water must hare fallen in
raging cascades. New chambers, new corridors and passages.
Then another well. Of all the horrors this is the finest. Points
of the whitest .flint project that no clumps of polished speals
could imitate. Still we must go down. Our reputation is at
stake. We find ourselves six hundred feet from, and one hun-
dred and fifty feet below, the entrance. More than two hundred
feet of granite blocks, pyrites, flint, and quartz rolled above our
head gear.

'* Take a seat 1 " says Plossier. Here is a stone on which my
sisters rest, who alone have preceded Lady DufferinI The
d — 1 ! and you brought them here ? I had to, you know when
a woman wills — ." "Here I we will write their names upon a
pillar." " It only remains for me," says Plessier, ** to show you
where my explorations ended ; stamp with your foot." It sound-
ed hollow. " I wished to find," he continued, " where this lower
gallery would lead to, what did I discover ? The void ! Tou
are at the vault of the cathedral ! I have opened it ; Look I "
Each one looks. By the aid of a lantern suspended from a cord
one hundred feet long, we explore the great subterranean lake
that received its waters before the creation of Adam. Plessier's
mining bur had made the openbg, it was not here the river had
/ • . . . .

120

THEY TWO.

But I must say good bye to our eutertaining cloerone, and
ask the reader's pardon for this long digression.

What a rush of memories came back on Uuntly I His mother
and his father, Lucy, and his sisters 1 Did they think him dead ?
Tomaqua could not tell him. Would not the Indians take him
home at once ? They would be paid liberally. Tamaqua shook
her head. . " Monsieur Huntly must remain perfectly quiet.
He must get quite well first." But he renewed his suit. His
importunity seemed to vex her, and he desisted.

He was very weak, and soon fell asleep r,gain. His nurse was
not only possessed of cleverness but also of ambition. She really
loved Indians and Indian life. It afforded her freedom. It was
not hemmed in by rules of society. She scorned the fine lady
who spent so much on dress, and who could not walk a mile
without feeling weary ; and grew faded in the very noon of her
summer. She was grieved for her people. She saw them
passing away from their hunting grounds. ' She thought that
she could tell the reason why. Their women were slaves, and
the vices of the white man were thinning the ranks of their best
and bravest. Why could not temperate and strong white men
become charmed with the simple, free, and healthful life of the
forest I Some had been so charmed, her grandfather for instance,
with the best blood of France in his veins; and others of whom
she had heard tell. If more would only imitate them I If
these men's wives were only educated vo be the companions, and
not the slaves of their husbands I Then new modes of life would
be introduced. The Indians vrould soon learn to till the soil,
and acquire mechanical crafts as did the white man. Larger
families would be reared, and the descendants of the TSte da
Boule, the Abenaquis, and the Algonquins would no longer melt
away as does the snow in spring. Why could not Huntly Mars-
ton become a chief among hur people ? He could hunt with
the best of them, and was handsomer than any of them. She
had no scruples about religion. She was a Roman Catholic her.
self, but she would never question him about his religion. The
Great Spirit was Huntly's maker as well as her's, and it was to

Iher
Id?
Mm

)0k

|iet.

[is

THEY TWO.

121

him that all people had to answer for the way they lived 1 Huntly
DOW heloDged to her, she had taken him out of i)he grave, watch-
ed over him, and hrought him hack to life ; he should never part
from her I Then she thought of Wyando. Poor simple Wyando,
who would put his head beneath her foot at her slightest bidding !
He was brave too, and he was the lawful chief of the TSte de
Boule : the only tribe which held together. He had come all the
distance from Wymonte-Chine with her to obtain news of her
futher, now over a year absent ; and she was going back to her
own people on Lake St. John without finding him. Wyando had
been ever kind to her. She had known him since she was a
child. How often had they played together, fished, hunted squir-
rels, and trapped rabbits in company ? He had spent nearly all
his share of profits from the hunt, in buying her pretty things at
the store in Hull. Well ! Wyando could get another wife !
plenty of young girls she knew, would be only too glad to have
hiro, and she would return all his presents. It would not break
his heart, men never break their hearts ; still, it would make
him suffer, and she did not like to give him pain, poor, kind
Wyando.

' . ■«

CHAPTER XVII.

Edmond's visits to Nicolet and Three Eivers were not quite
barren of results. He had an idea that his sister Lucy was collect-
ing materials for some sort of book. She had never told him so
in as many words, but from her questions about out-nf-the-way
things, and frequent entries in her journal, he guessed as much.
He also guessed her other secret, and sympathized with her la
his heart. He thought that now was the time to get her in-
terested in her work, and before leaving Three Rivers, diplomat
that he was, he obtained a promise from Edith that sho would
write to his sister Lucy, and give her all the gossip and historical
scraps she could glean about the old town and Ler own life in the
convent. Editu had much improved since the Srst night when
she tried to annoy poor Lucy. She had learned to prize the
patient sufferer, who used always to welcome her with a smile,
even when the hot temples throbbed with pain. Since Edmond's
trip dov^ a to Montreal to take home his sister, Edith had taken
a new liking to her, and Lucy could not help loving the bright,
impulsive girl. It was therefore a pleasant task that Edith
imposed on herself when she promised Edmond that she would
write to Lucy.

Edinond was surprised on reaching Port St. Francis on his
way home, to see Frank Meredith come on board the " John
Bull " Steamer, with his satchel slung over his shoulder, and his
fishing-rod done up in a canvas case, under his arm.

He had been enquiring of Edmond, when he had seen him at
his Uncle Leblanc's, about fishing on the Ottawa, and it was
from Edmond that he first learned of the tragic end of Huntly
Marston. Frank thought he would take a run up the Otta'.fa,
and make au excuse of a fishing tour, the means of again renew-
ing relations with Lucy Delisle, now ihat his rival was no
more. '

Edmond liked tho discursive talk of Frank, who had travelled

THBT TWO.

123

I ..

much, and was not unobservant. His praise of Canada was very
flattering to Edmond. for the latter thought that Canada would
one day, be among the foremost nations of the earth. The cursed
stiipe about race and religion always vexed him. He would
say to the Englishman, " we do not want to Frenchify you, "
and to the French Canadian, " we do not want to Anglify you, "
but he would say to both, *' we do want to Canadianize you.
My father was a Boman Catholic and my mother a Protestant.
I am a JEioman Catholic and my siitcr is a Protestant ; our home
has been a happy one, and we all love each other very dearly. I do
not advocate mixed marriages, but I do advocate peace and har-
mony ; why can we not agree to differ ? Heaven bless the good
old times, and send them back soon, when, as in the days of the
good Recollects in the city of Montreal, the Fathers offered mass
in the morning, the Anglicans had service in the afternoon, and
Presbyterians in the evening; all in the same church."

The two young men sat up late chatting, and had not yet
gone to bed when the steamer was well through Lake St. Peter.
Their conversation was out short by the cry of " fire. " In a
very short tim^ the boat was a roaring mass of flame. Edmond
and Frank were on the upper deck when the alarm was given.
They woke up passengers, helped to launch boats, constructed
temporary rafts, and assisted in saving many lives ; and at the
last they two managed to reach one of the islands below Sorel,
scorched, drenched, hungry, and done up.* Numbers had perish-
ed on the burning boat, and numbers were missing. The fatal
news spread rapidly over the country, down to Three Rivers and
Kicolet and up to Montreal and Bytown. Louise Leblano heard it,
and her heart sank within her, not so much on account of her
cousin Edmond as for Frank Meredith. Poor foolish, romantic,
pretty little Louise I Edith heard it and was in a fever of
anxiety, doubt, and sorrow, until the truth could be ascertained.
Lucy and her mother heard it, and feared, and hoped, and
trembled.

• The author boa here let slip the opportunity of giving a dramatic deaoription
of tbia Mui incident*— Bd.

124

THET TWO.

It was a full week after this sad accident, when Edmond and
Frank reached their destination. Frank went to the hotel, and
Edmond was soon locked in his mother's arms, Lucy kneelint;
beside them, grateful that their lant lamp of iiope had not been
extinguished. Her brother, her lost Huntly's dearest frieud,
was still left to them.

Frank Meredith paid his re!>pects on the day following. He
made no allusions to times past ; but hud much to talk of that
could hardly fail to interest Lucy. He found her much altered
since that night on the skuting-rink in Montreal. The rosy lip
was faded, and no longer vroathed in smiles. The blue eye,
which used to beum with light, wus dimmer, and each feuture
wore the stamp of grief. The white brow and glassy hair woi«
the same ; as were also the gentleness and the sweetness. A
purer and a kinder spirit than before, if that were possible. The
trial had been severe, but help was given her to conquer. It was
hard for her to look upon the river for many a day, but gradu-
ally she got the better of this feeling ; and then, the river had for
her a strange fascination ; and in the cool of evening would walk
along its banks, and peep into its black depths ; for the Ottawa is
not yelloto, as stated by Sir George Simpson. Gradually she
roused herself and helped her mother with the household duties ;
and set herself in earnest to collect material for the literary work
she contemplated. She no lon^^er made it a secret, for now it could
never be pleasant surprise to him. She had not formed any de-
finite plan as to the chape her labors were to assume. At first she
thought of a romance of Jesuit life among the Indians, but the
time was rather remote, and the leading theme too unworldly for
modern days of utilitarianism. Our early history had a great
charm for her. She thought she would gather into one brief
narrative the trials and triumphs of our early settlers ; but when
she came to jot down whu*< she know of these, she was astonished
at her own ignorance. ,

h.%-

J.:*'

nd
nd

°?
Ben

CHAPTER XVIII.

/■ - , . ^ ' .

Frank Meredith did not remain very long up the Ottawa.
He felt disappoint<^d. Lucy was neither cold nor distant towards
her old admirer. £ut a shadow stood hetween them. A thin,
but impassable partition. Frank had no heart to urge love, as
any approach to such a subject seemed to pain Lucy. He had
Bpent all his evenings at iVlrs. Delisle's, and both she and £d-
mond liked him very much, and parted from him with regret.
His absence was a relief to Lucy, but she chid herself for being
80 heartless.

A stronger temptation had come in Lucy's way, stronger, because
unsuspected.

Eevival work in the early spring had reduced the Bev. Mr.
Lansdown to ill health, and he had been sent to the quiet misb^on
where the Delisle's lived, in order to recruit; knowing Lucy he
made an early call at their house. He was always welcome, and
became a frequent visitor. Gossip had apprised him of a
possible enga£;ement between the late Huntly Marston and Lucy
when her great sorrow came upon her. Mr. Lansdown's atten-
tions to the family were delicately offered, and so truly kind, that
they could not help appreciating them.

Aft^r Lucy had begun to recover from the effects of the fatal
news about Huntly, and to busy herself around the house and
garden, and to venture to the river's brink, Mr. Lansdown often
accompanied her. He was but the shadow of his former self, the
keen blade had began to out the scabbard. He was so quiet,
gentlemanly, and intellectual, that his company could not fail to
be agreeable. His mind, so like the polished blade referred to,
would flash out one instant in the sunlight of truth, to be half
hidden in the next behind the lore of musty creeds. He had
been an untiring student. Had waded through the " Fathers "
of the early Christian Church, the teachings of Confucius and
Zoroaster, the Talmud of the liabbius, the Vcdas and Shastars

^:f-

'mm

126

THET TWO.

of the Hindoos, the Eddas and Sagas of Scandinavia and Ice-
land, ns well as the wild speculations of Buhmen and Sweden-
burg. Still all this study was not to the neglect of the standard
works of his own Church, our English classics, and current lito-
rature. Poetry liad become his recreation during his half holiday.
He urged Lucy to try her hand at versification, well knowing
that . .

" For an unquiet heart and brain,
I A use in measured languaj^e lies }

The sad mechanic exercise,

Like dull narcotics numbing pain." . >, . '

A slight hint of his object was inwardly resented by Lucy.

What could he tell about any unquiet in her heart ? It was
an intrusion. But when he curried her over Tennyson's " In
Memoriam," next evening, and read her the verses referring to
the raising of Lazarus, he was forgiven. Well he might be, for
few men possessed a sweeter or better modulated voice than he,
when the occasion required ; and where in all our English verse is
there anything more tender than the stanzas beginning ?

" Her eyes are homes of silent prayer." ^

Lucy rather neglected her more serious duties to pore over
" In Memoriam." In the cool of evening she would stroll down
to the Ottawa, a finger marking a favorite passage, to be soon
joined by Mr. Lansdown, who himself could say almost as pretty
things as Tennyson. She now began to think that she had nursed
her grief too much ; and on evenings when Mr. Lansdown did
not make his appearance she felt disappointed. Is it not the old
bard of Avon who cautions us about " opportunity," Lever, who
tells of the power of "propinquity," and the French, who have
ever said that, " Les ahsents ont toujours tort f " On detecting
this disappointment, she tried to persuade herself that it was not
the man's presence that she missed, but that she needed his
advice and spiritual counsel. Well, poor Lucy ! perhaps you did,
and I should not be the one to judge you harshly ! — >

Shortly after this Mr. Lansdown presented her with some

THKT TWO.

127

Terses from the German, entitled, " QocCs Anvil." I give the
two firbt 8tanzas : —

" Pain's furnace heat within me quivero,
God's breath upon the flame doth blow,

And all my heart in anguish shivers
And trembles at the flery glow ;

And yet I whisper, as God will i
And in his hottest fire stand still.

He comes and lays my heart, all heated,

On the hard anvil, minded so
Into his own fair shape to beat it

With his great hammer, blow on blow ;
And yet I whisper, ' As God will !

And at his heaviest blow stand still.' "

She neked herself what did Mr. Lansdown menn ? Did she
"wear her heart upon her sleeve?" No, but the minister had
keen perceptions. Ue was determined on doing her good.
" Spirits v^ not finely touched but to fine issues."

She must think less about people, and more about her garden
and her fiowers, she had been neglecting them lately. One dry,
dusty evening in the hot midsummer, she was pained on coming
into her garden to see her flowers so drooping. Without think-
ing of Tennyson's " Sad mechanic exercise," she addressed them
in verse, the first she had ever attempted :

Why do you droop, my lov'd and pretty flowers ?

Why do you wither, waste, and fall away ?
You weary of these hot and dusty hours.

And will no longer in this dry land stay !

Gay in the Master's glory, lovely flowers I
You liv'd a brief but bright and balmy day ; '

You drank the Master's sunlight and his shower?)
But grateful incense never failed to pay I

I . r.

When crushed and bleeding, my sweet, pretty flowers,
Beneath some careless foot you helpless lay,

No plaint was raised against " superior powers,"
No murmur could your calm content betray !

. \'^

1 f!

- ..-i -,,■•',-■■

i rf

^^-•=T-,'r^. i|-i*[f^J--t .

lE.^

128 THIT TWO.

, The myBtic touch that woke to life my flowers,
The soft, kind touch of the dear Master's hand,
Has come again, and to the fadeless bowers
You haste, to blossom in the " far off" land I

Qo to that land where dwell our lov'd and lost I
Bear them this message for me faithfully —

That when the dark, cold Jordan I have cross'd
I'll live with them, and love eternally I

Tou came to teach a lesson, gentle flowers I

In your own cheerful, inoffensive way ;
Better to us than gold, or all earth's dowers {

If heed to what is taught we timely pay t *

*T'k the same lespon, when He said,

*< Consider well the lilies how they grow I '*
; • ' *• If smitten on the right cheek, turn the head.
Nor think of paying back the angry blow I "

She die! not shew the verses to any one ; she did not feel for
them the fondness of a parent for its offspring. She was disap*
pointed. She might learn to rhyme, and thought that she was
to some extent, " dowered with the bate of hate, the soom of
Bcom, the love of love," but she never could be one of those

" The golden arrows of whose thoughts were headed, i
' And winged with flame."

It is well that we feel dissatisfied with our work ; it is one of
the incentives toward perfieotion. She found her thoughts too
often trailing along this lower world, sodden with salt tears.
She must rouse herself, nor suffer her drooping mind to become
" sicklied o'er with a pale cast of thought." She wanted more
fresh air and exercise ; richer blood to secure a healthy body and
a sound mind. She took longer walks into the country, some-
times with her mother, and sometimes alone.' Mr. Lansdown
often joined them. Lucy loved nature and so did he. He could
admire and talk of the " elfin-needled " cushion of moss beneath

* To me the meanest flower that blows oan give,

Thought* that do often lie too deep for tears."— IToodfworlA.

THEY TWO.

129

bis feet, as well as of the cataract with its " eternal thunder
and unceasing foam."

Her garden claimed much of her attention, especially domo
grape vines her father had carried over from France and planted
there. They were a hardy variety of the Golden Chaaselas;
and she made it a point to care for these vines herself. She fol-
lowed the French method of renewing the wood each year, and
thus found it easy to lay down the canes in the fall, and cover
them with a little earth. She was very particular in her summer
pruning, tlius securing large foliage and heavy cluster of fruit.
The bi'aring canes were never allowed to mature more than two
bunches each, were shortened in, and all laterals broken off, not
pinched back, as often recommended. Mr. Lansdown was much
interested one duy in this operation of summer pruning. His
thoughts were carried back to an Eastern vineyard, where ( Ine
was talking to his disciples and saying : — " I um the true vine,
and my Father is the husbandman ; every brnnoh in me that
beareth not fruit he taketh awuy, and every branch that beareth
fruit he purgeth it, chat it may bring forth more fruit." Here
was an exact illustration. The French method had no doubt
been adopted from ttie East. The luteral branch of the frait
bearing cane, which never produces any fruit, was broken off, or
taken away, while the cane it^^eif was shortened, or pruned,
purged, as our translators have rendered it, chat it might bring
forth more, or larger and richer fruit.

" I suppose," said Lucy " that they would not believe in Eng-
land we could raise such fine clusters of grapes in the open air of
Canada?"

" I do not know about that," replied Mr. Lansdown, " I happen
to have in my pocket a number of Chambers's Information for the
People, in which there is an extract from a letter of an Aberdeen
gardener wherein he says : — I got into a very good situation as soon
as I arrived in Montreal. I have three acres of a garden along with
ten acres of an apple orchard to take care of.. The peaches here
grow to a great sise and ripen excellently in the open air. The
grapes bear well on trellisses in the garden. I had a fine crop

130

THKT TWO*

of these, superior to any I ever saw in the houiies at home, and
the meloDS are also surpassingly fine. You will not be surprised
that we can grow all these things in the open air, when I inform
you what degree of heat we hiiyo for three months here during the
summer. The thermometer stood/or three months at 99 degrees
all day in the shade, and 86 nil night. I thouj^ht 1 would be
rousted alive, being obliged to take my bed out of the liouse, and
lie in an open shed." *** " But," remarked Luoy, " it is not true
about the heat." "Of course not, but can you not admire tho
philosophical invention of the Scotchman ? Our winters ore re-
presented as being so intensely cold and long, they must confer a
little heat upon us in the summer time." f

She reminded him that we do not suffer as much from cold in
Canada as they do in England. One winter she was there
she saw more blue cheeks and pinched noses in a day, than she
had seen in Canada all her lifetime ; and she never suffered aa
much from cold in Canada as she did the winter she spent in
Paris.

He thought that it wtis p'irtly our own fault that they bad
wrong impressions in England and France about our climate ;
most of our pictorial representations of scenery were winter ones.
Our ItmdHcapes were ice and snow, and the people rolled up to the
eyes in furs. In France they never had got over the idea sug-
gested to reconcile them with their loss, " that Canada was only
a few acres of snow."

Lucy was sure that they were profoundly ignorant in England
of our common customs. She had seen there a ^et of engravings
representing summer scenes in Canada, one of them was a hunting
excursion, and an individual was represented sitting on the edge
of a small bark canoe. Neither the designer or engraver could
have suspected the impossibility of such a situation.

• Chambers's Information, Vol 1, p. 271.

t The writer has eaten grapes ot the Chousalan de Fontainebleau variety, ripe
on the 10th Sept., in the open air, in the garden of.Mr. Maclca]r,of Paplneaayille.
The Tines were brought from France 60 years ago by Mr. Papiu^u, father, of
Mrs. Maokay, who tends them lovingly .^-Ed.

' ' I ■

'(.y.

THEY TWO.

131

ind

hed

>rm

Ithe

'ees

ind

[rue

Itho

re-

Ir a

"%'-

Mr. LansdowD assured hor that they did uot want to trouble
themselves id England about our oustomsi. They were a self-
satisfied people, believing that what they did not know was not
worth knowing. They simply did not care. In the rural districts
men lived to old age, who never were cwenty miles from the house
in which they were born ; and Canada might be in the moon, for
all these men oared. Ignorance however existed in higher circles.
In 1812 a British statesman proposed despatching a squadron to
Lake Erie to sweep the Americans off the upper lake8,forgetting the
obstacle of Niagara. The project was really taken into consider-
atioD, and the ships were to be furnished with apparatus to distil
these salt waters. In this same year, 1812, there was forwarded
from England to Montreal Canadian woods to fit up an office
with benches, mallets, wedges, etc., for the use of the workmen.
An English writer who visited Montreal informs his readers that
the Island of St. Helen, opposite the city, was named in remem-
brance of Napoleon ; while it was called after the wife of Cham-
plain who died two hundred years before the days of that General.'

" In France," said Lucy, " it is not a whit better. When I
went to post a lett3r for Quebec in the Paris office, a olerk enquir-
ed of me if I wished to forward it by Panama, or by the way of
Cape Horn ? " What I " said a Parisian, to my father, " you are
from Canada, and you came without your costume I Malte-Brun,
writes in 1817: " Civilization is a plant foreign to Canada." The
good man, what did he know about it I Wiiy French men who
have visited Canada, are known to have written home to their
friends of snow-shoe tracks which they had seen, being the
foot prints of strange animals, often shot between the cities of
Montreal and Quebec. " , »/-

, " The trouble is that you cannot get Englishmen interested in
any country but their own. You must bore a gimlet hole in the
head of an Englisnman, in order to get in a new idea."

" That is true, but when you get it in see how it sticks !
You remember the story of the farmer and the Duke. The
Duke disliked being looked at by the common people,
usually travelling in a close carriage. He was obliged to

132

THXT TWO.

draw up one day, in a crowded thoroughfare, and a farmer
who hsL<*. heard of the Duke's peculiarity, was determined
to have a look at him. He was driving a pig to market,
and edged his wav ck se to the carriage ; the bystanders began to
remonstrate with i <im, when seizing his pig by the ears, ho raised
him to the oarriag window, exclaiming : — " A woU zee him, and
ma pigwoll zee him too." There is something *o be admired
in the sturdy bull dog tenacity of the Englishman."

" Now," said Mr. Lansdown, on taking leave, " I want you to
do me a favor. Will you promise to write me a short poem on the
Ottawa ? " She blushed, protested but finally consented to try.
Thf.t night she set herself to the task. She managed the three
fuliowing stanzas, and came to a dead stop :

My birth was in the mountainn,

Where dun deer shyly play,
And the still crystal fountains

Sleep all the dewy day.

Where morning^s rosy fingers

The rays of light first trace,
And silence always lingers

Hiding her mystic face.

From northern sweeps of pioeland,

Sunward I rushing came ; j
Where commerce clothes my white strand

And saw-mills hiss and hum.

Next evening Mr. Lansdown called. He prevailed on her to
shew him how far she had progressed. He asked why she had
uot continued I " Well I it was the saw-mills that out her shore I
She began tu feel die sound of them in her teeth, and all imagiu-
ation vanbhed I " ' > . ' * '^

He thought saw-mills quite poetioal. How the monsters eat
up the pine giants, was in itself a marvel ; and then she might
not stop there, but continue through tue everlasting rush of the

THEY TWO.

133

er
ed

m w

rapids, and the liquid embrace of the circling waters around the
fertile and Eoyal Mount I —

" Then join the great green river,

Reflistlese, proud and free,

To sweep, and roll, and quiver,

nd glide into the seal "

She thanked him for finidhing up, and concluded, then and
there, never to be tempted again to her own confusion.

The roses began to revisit her checks. She became more inters
ested ;n current events and grew all at once devoted to the news
items in the papers. After her brother's return from Quebec,
he and Mr. Lansdown resumed the conversations begun in
Montreal. They were both very good-humored and more anxious
to find out truth than to foil in argument :—

" Seize upon truth where'er 'tis found,
The flower's divine where'er it grows.

On Christian, or on heathen ground,
Neglect the prickles, and assume the rose."

A short time after this Lucy asked Edmond to take her to see
the Chaudi^re Falls ? It was the first time she had alluded to
the fatal spot, and he consented, though reluctantly. He had
noted some change lately in Lucy. She was more easily excited ;
was occasionally moody, and then more cheerful than was her
wont. Could she have formed any insane purpose ? Did she
contemplate joining Huntly ? It could not be, and he put the
thought awoy from him. He would not even hint to his mother
such an unworthy suspicion.

They close a pleasant day early in September. Lucy shud
dered on looking into the seething waters below the falls. She
did not remain long. She was very thoughtful on her way home.
Edmond heard her murmur the word resurgam, several times
She asked him if every thing which floated down the falls luse
again to the surface in the eddies ? That was his opinion. What
did he think caused the foreman, Tom Grendson, to run away ?
He could not say. Did he know if there were any persons about
the foot of the falls on the day the accident happened ? He had

'31" 'I

litis

'i'i

Ilk I

134

THET TWO.

heard Caspar say that there was an Indian camp some where
near. What had become of these Indians? He could not say
they had disappeared suddenly. Would he enquire about them ?
He would do so. If he found out where they had gone to, would
he follow them and learn all they knew ? He promised.

■;ii*'> xt

I?
lid

CHAPTER XIX.

It is time that I should make the reader acquainted with the
events occurring in Montreal. Florence Marston's marriage with
Lieut. Napier was postponed for a time ; but he continued a
constant visitor at the house of his intended father-in law. Those
BunH^er days were very long, very warm, and very weary, as
well as very sorrowful, to the Marstons. But their sorrow did
not interfere with the ordinary course of events among their ac-
quaintances. Tom McKenzie, our commercial friend, who used
occasionally to visit the Marstons, dropped off during the summer
and of evenings was usually to be found at Miss Maxwell's. I do
not think that his commercial pursuits occupied much of his time.
He was turning out a dandy, and had adopted the haw-haw style
of some snobbish importations from the " Tight little Island." He
might be seen of an afternoon dressed in the most killing fashion,
walking in front of the Douegani, his nobby cane twirling
between his lavender-kidded fingers ; glancing occasionally over
bis shoulder, to see if any of the beauties who had just passed
were admiring him. The movement was rather difficult, for his
polished shirt collar stood so high, that the boys said he would
require a stepladder to see over it. We must not be too hard
on Mr. McKenzie ; greater men than cither you or I, my dear
render, have been vain. Lord Brougham winced under news-
paper criticism, dressed as a buck, and played the fool among
silly women. Bulwer also, but only more bedizened, and
more foolish. Campbell, Landseer, Whewell, and Sidney Smith,
fished for praise, and pined for female admiration. If we despise
our neighbors, perhaps Carnot's hit at Talleyrand may suit us :
" We have been studying too much of our own characters."

Captain Boscom rather held Mr. McKenzie in disdain ; but
Napier, who was better natured, kept him in countenance. There
were among the officers then quartered in Montreal, some pretty

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1 1 1

136

THET TWO.

hard characters. Mr. Marston occasionally heard of their tricks
and their manners," as the " person of the house " would say ; and
was not slow to condemn them. He was of the opinion that the
presence of the military in Montreal was not favorahle to morality.
IdleneES, high living and deep drinking, do not nourish pious
tendencies ; and there were few St. Keven's among the " bold
soger boys " of the days in question. Mr. Marston thought it
a great pity that the Horse Guards could not find some useful
employment for officers and men in time of peace ; but that is
a problem which up to the present remains unsolved.

Any way there were those among the officers who could not be
convicted of indoleTice. With some of the " bloods " the noctur-
nal wrenching off A door knockers was a favorite pastime. This
amusement was varied by the changing of sign boards, and a
barber's pole might be seen gracing a banker's office in the early
morning; or a tavern sign hoisted in front of a ladies boarding
school. Driving was popular and less objectionable. Tundcm was
the rage, and one comical fellow used catgut traces for harnessing
the front horse, and when the habitants would run to catch the
animal, thinking he was running away, he would have a great
laugh at them. They were up to all kinds of tricks, one of which
was the headng of penny pieces, and tossing them down from the
windows to the boys, who got their fingers badly burned in the
scramble.

Captain fioscom was not popular with his brother officers.
They roasted him about his visits to the " heiresa," well knowing
that it was her money that he wanted.

One evening a few of the leading spirits bribed a private or
two, to entice Miss Maxwell's groom and stable boy to a tavern
to drink. In the meantime they got hold of her favorite span of
horses, shaved them in the highest style of English art, led them
np the stairs of the officers' barracks, and picketed them in the
bedroom of Captain Boscom, who was absent at a party.

It is easy to conceive of the Captain's astonishment on arriving
home in the grey dawn, somewhat flushed with wine, to find two
such strange objects awaiting him ! , ,

■m

THEY TWO.

137

Ee was furious, but could not discover the delinquents. He
soon found out who owned the horses, and sent them home with
an explanatory note, but lucked the courage to make a call, and
was so chaffod and laughed at, that he determined to sell out and
return to England ; a good thing for Maud, and for Her Majesty's
service.

Tom McEenzie was highly delighted with the ridicule cast
upon the Captain, and still njore pleased with a result which rid
him of a rival. He fussed a good deal about Maud's horses, and
spoke of caning and horse whipping ; but could not Snd the pro-
per person, and after some time the trick ceased to be talked of.

Maud of course sympathized with the Marstons in the calamity
which had befallen them in her own stately and calm way.
Her heart had not been touched, so far as Huntly h;id been con-
cerned, and now that he was gone she thought it wise to open t\
warm corner in it for Tom McKenzie. He was very good
natured notwithstanding his vanity, and would not make a bad
husband for the heiress ; and he was sharp enough to see the
opportunity opened for him by the supposed death of Huntly, and
the retreat of the Captain . So he summoned the garrison, and
there was an unconditional surrender. Preliminaries and settle-
ments were soon arranged, and his father who was wealthy acted
very liberally towards him ; especially as he was marrying well.
Had he fancied a poor girl for his wife, it is not unlikely that the
governor, as Tom called his father, would have cut him o£f with
a shilling.

Towards the end of August the heiress became Mrs. McKenzie,
went on her wedding tour, and so fades from our story behind
orange blossoms, wedding presents, and the haze that enwraps the
honeymoon.

The regiment to which Lieut. Napier was attached was ordered
to Halifax about this time ; and though he desired to ask Flor-
ence to become his wife and accompany him, he had not the heart
to urge his suit and press her to exchange her recent mourning
for gay wedding robes. So it was understood that in a few
months he would obtain leave of absence, and come back to claim

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138

THEY TWO.

his bride. It was not Florence alone who had moist eyes while the
band of the Eegiment played the " Girl I left behind me," as the
steamer dropped down the current on the day the soldiers sailed
for Halifax. A good many servant girls, and young seamstresses
had obtained a half holiday, and mustered along the wharves.
The handkerchiefs were damp that waved a sad farewell. Just
so ! The scarlet fever is a bad disease I

' ,/

< V

CHAPTER XX.

I MUST now come back to Edith ; and I own not reluctantly.
She kept her promise to Edmond, and continued supplying Lucy
with scraps of gossip and bits of history. Lucy's papers enable
me to give these in Edith's own words :

" You know, " she writes, " how anxious I was to come to
Three Rivers, to perfect myself in French. We have pleasant
friends living here, and they gave the Ursulines such praise that
my father gave his consent to my coming. I must tell you of our
arrival, and of my reception at the convent. We left home by
one of the first trips of the steamboat in May, for my father and
mother came with me. Our friends, Mr. B. and his wife, were
waiting for us on the wharf, and we went to their house for the
night. They have only one daughter, but there are four or five
boys.

We went to the convent next morning, and were received by
two of the sisters. They wore black dresses, fastened with a
broad band at tlie waist. The skirt was looped up a little, show-
ing a drab petticoat beneath. The sleeves were long and loose.
They had each a string of beads hanging from their waists, and
a silver crucifix suspended on the breast. A black veil was thrown
over the head, and they had a band of white linen, a gamp, I
think they call it, across tho forehead, coming round the cheeks,
and terminating on the bosom. One of them was quite pretty,
if her looks had not been spoiled by the white band on her fore-
head. I had on a pink dress, which is the color of the pupils
summer uniform, and I think it was much nicer than the black
and drab of the nuns. The color of our winter uniforms will be
purple.

I was osked if I had breakfasted, and saying that I had, I was
told to bid good-bye to my friends, and it being eight o'clock, I
was taken to the school-room, and placed in one of the classes. ,

There was recess at half past ten, and from eleven to half past

fi| !

nif- jl
iiif i;

liliill

140

THEY TWO.

twelve, study, and then dinner. This meal was eaten in silence,
or supposed to be, while one of the pupils read aloud, mounted on
a high seat in the middle of the room, to whom, it is safe to say,
none of us listened.

After dinner we were allowed an hour's recreation, then a visit
of fifteen minutes to church, which is connected with the convent ;
then an hour's study, and classec from two to four. We had a
sort of lunch, or heurri, as the girls called it, at four o'clock, and
fifteen minutes to enjoy it and a social chat at the same time.
Work till five, study till six, then tea, an hour for recreation, an
hour's study, prayers, and bed at half past eight, when the last
bell for the night is tolled. There are only about fifty whole
boarders at present, and we all slept in the same dormitory. Each
boarder furnishes her own bed. Two nuns slept in the dormitory
with us to keep order, which you may believe was needed. We
had to be out of hid early next morning, and after prayers we
attended service in the convent chapel ; after which breukfast was
served ; and then there was study till eight o'clock, vhen the
classes were formed. The same routine is repeated day after day,
year in and year out

We have a walk in the garden during recreation, when the days
are fine, and we romp as much as we like. Some of the girls play
ball. It is the funniest thing, if we so much as breathe the name
of ** love," we are reproved, and yet, " Heathen mythology " is
included in our regular studies. The Lady Superior is a Misa
Caron, who rules the nuns, and there is a General Mistress, who
takes charge of the school. The classes are taught by nuns who
wear the black veil, but music is often taught by novices, or
those who wear the white veil. The school house is a large stone
building removed a little from the convent proper ; but they are
connected by a covered passage. There is a free school taught
in the basement of this building, largely attended by the poorer
town's girls ; while boarders and half boarders are taught in the
second story. To the east end of the convent proper is an hospital
attended to by the sisters, with sometimes two or three hired
nurses. The hospital is visited daily by a town physician, who

THET TWO.

141

also attends to his o:^ outside patients, he has a small salary
from the nuns, who in return enjoy an annual subsidy from
government. The church adjoins the hospital, and west of the
church are the cloisters. Of cloister life I know but little, but
they tell me it is pretty much the same as that of the boarders.
Each nun has her work portioned out to her, the same as the
scholars ; this is changed from time to time, except in cases when
there is a special aptitude for some particular branch. They are
out of bed earlier than the boarders ; rising at four in summer,
and at five in winter ; their prayers and hours for demotion are
also longer, but the noon and evening respites for recreation arc
the same for them as for the scholars. With such a regular and
busy life the time passes swiftly, and some of the sisters who have
been here for over thirty years say that the time has gone like a
dream."

This, with a little gossip about her class-mates, ended Edith's
first letter.

Lucy was not long in receiving another epistle from her, for the
reader must recollect that these letters were written by Edith
during vacation, and while she was stopping with her Three
flivers friends. -4 '

She never made any allusion to Edmond, but had a suspicion
that he would get a peep at the correspondence, and consequently
was a little prosaic and sensible.

We left Huntly Marston asleep in the Wakefield cavern, and
Marguerite T»maqua watching over him. His sleep was refresh-
ing, and when he again awoke he felt much better.

It was now the moon of strawberries, and this delicious fruit
was ripe. The invalid found the fragrant haut hois refreshing,
as served to him on birch bark trays, by the delicate hand of his
kind nurse. He had no cream or sugar with them, but returning
health gave him a keen relish, and what sugar could be sweeter
than the smiles of Tomaqua ? Brook trout, unleavened bread,
and cool spring water, were to his taste better than he had ever
thought them. Better, if men would only think so, than " cakes
and ale." In a few days he was able to get up, and with the

h -ii

142

THEY TWO.

help of Wyando could walk round a little. He found the rest of
the Indians camped at an adjacent lake. The pluoe was new
to him, and he could not tell where he was. No one would
enlighten him.

There was no use in asking the older Indians^ for they could
not understand him. Wyando would only shrug his shoulders
like a Frenchman, a habit doubtless learned from the voyageura ;
and as for Tomaqua, she looked myi^terious and placed a finger
on her pouting lips.

Huntly spoke to her of his people ; how they would reward
and love her, for she had at last told him of that evening when
Wyando and she had laid his lifeless body on the river bank.
She promised to have him conveyed home, " not for reward, not
for the love of his people," she told him, as her dark eyes looked
tenderly into his ; but the heaving bosom, and blushing cheeks,
revealed her secret.

The virtues of " ginsing," and '' maiden hair " were faat
restoring the sick man, and the Indians decided on moving their
camp. Huntly could tell that they travelled north-east. They
made easy stages on his account, going three or four miles in the
forenoon, and as many more in the afternoon. Il was all over
land, and they followed what appeared to be an old portage road.
On the evening of the third day, they reached the banks of a
river, which the Indians culled Wabassa, but which was no
other than the Lievre ) and if Huntly had only known it he
cor.ld have walked, even weak as he still was, in two or three
days time to the house of Mrs. Delisle ; or might easily have
fallen in with some of the settlers, who would have assisted him.
Contrary to his expectations they did not strike their tents next
morning, but did so as evening < losed, and instead of turning
down the stream, they commenced ascending. '<* ' i < ( ■ jt

They continued to travel only at night for over a week, and
rested in the day time ; Tomaqua giving it as a reason that it
was much cooler, and the flies were less troublesome. The true
reason was, lest they should meet any one, and Huntly suspected
•8 much, for he noticed they always took the precaution of camp-

<-ff r";* fll >"" < j

V( • (t •fin-, 7t:.\ J! ( i

:;. ru-f?

THEY TWO.

143

Ira

ing in off the river bank. As they came further north they
abandoned their former precaution, travelling in the day time,
and campii)g early in the evening. They grew less reserved, and
enjoyed themselves now without any apparent restraint. They
were getting up into their own wild fastness, and m;ide the grey
cliffs and tall pines ring back again their merry shouts and
laughter. They took the cool of the morning for continuing on
their way, and rested till evening, when they amused themselves
in fishing, or in games of play. How glorious nature seemed to
HuDtly afler his long confinement 1

" The common air, the sun, the skies,
To him were opening paradise."

He had grown quite strong, and were it not for the load at
his heart about his friends, and anxiety relating to business,
would have heartily enjoyed himself. He had never seen so much
pine in all his life ; it grew, as the shanty men say, " as thick as
the hair on a dog's back." For some time past ho had ample
opportunity to admire the beauty of our Canadian forests, and
become familiar with the life and manners of the Indians. It
was not all a pine country that they passed through. Sometimes
this timber was mixed with elm and ash ; and then aguiu the
evergreens would almost disappear, and birch and maple pre-
dominate. As they proceeded northward the oak, hemlock, and
butternut almost ceased ; while white, or silver birch, poplar, red
pine, and hardy shrubs became more frequent.

Among the forest flowers only few roses were met with ; but
beautiful andromedus, rhododendrons, and azalias abounded;
with occasionally some quaint orchids. The strange looking
Indian pipes were found in shady places, where the falling leaves
had enriched the mould. Nothing can be more delicate than
these wax-like fairy papers, transparent white, and of such cun-
ning workmanship. It is u great pity that they so soon turn
black when removed from the parent soil. The sweet garlic took
Huntly's especial notice; its two large green leaves rising from
the root, the delicate stem in the centre rising about a foot high,

144

THEY TWO.

crowned with a cluster of graoeful flowers, resembling blue bells
in shape and color. The wild turnip was ulso very beautiful.
Creeping plants covered the rocks, their small round leaves shaded
in the richest tints of green, besprinkled with bright blue flowers
to be replaced in later autunan by crimson berries. The mosses
were of all shades^ from deep emerald to silver ^rey, while the
Boston pine trailed its graceful festoons round the jutting crags.
Among the berries, the raspberry, the blackberry, the gooseberry,
and the blueberry were now the most common, succeeding one
another in this rotation, as the season advanced. The wild plum
was not unfrequent, and the skunk currant was often met with,
also the elder and pigeon berries.

Wild animals were not encountered often. Deer were sighted
only two or three times, and bears but once. Bea . or, foxes, hares
and squirrels were plentiful.

Not many birds were seen, especially songsters. There were
plenty of wild pigeons, also ducks and partridges. The " mana,"
or woodpecker, often looked curiously at the passer-by, with an
eye comical as a magpie's. Tlie owl uttered his harsh cry at
night, and the " wawonaissa," or whip-poor-will, woke the silence
with his melancholy plaint. Occasionally the " koneu," or groat
war eagle, floated high in the heavens, beyond rifle range.

There was no lack of fish, especially in the lake region through
which they were now passing, having struck eastward, in order
to fall in with the head waters of the Manawan, as Huntly after*
ward ascertained.

Among fish, the maskinong^ gave the greatest sport when being
captured, but were not so lively as the trout. In some lakes only
white fish and chub were met with ; the latter, the Indians called
*<wotasay," and they were darker skinned, and much finer
eating than the chub of our more Southern waters. In other
lakes again, only pike and dory were found. Black bass and
perch were pot so common.

Vft^l

lis

ll.

id
rs

CHAPTER XXT.

It was drawing towards the end of August, and the woathor wna
very warm. The woods were dry, and in making portages the
foot often f^lippcd ou the crisp leaves, aud walking grow tiresome.
They had encamped one evening rather earlier than usual, the
portage was a long one, and they pitched their tents by a sm dl
rivulet, which emptied into a lake two or three miles ahead, and
which they intended reaching that evening, had tlx' weather not
been so very trying. The air was growing smoky and op|iressivo.
The day darkened suddenly, and the westerly sun looked on
them like a bloody eye through the gloom. The heat was grow-
ing more intense and tiie smoke thicker. One of the Indians
placed his car close to t'le ground, and raising it terror stricken,
shouted, " ishkoudah," "fire!" The woods were in flames.
The tents were instantly struck and packed. The elder Indians
with the canoes started in front, making for the lake, and
motioned the rest to follow. Wyando would have lingered to see
to the safety of Tomaqua, but handing him Sipacton, she hur-
ried him forward. The elder woman and the children followed
close to tlie foremost Indians ; Huntly and Tomaqua remained a
few minutes, to see that the things which could not be carried
were plunged into the brook ; and each taking u bundle started
after the others. Unfortunately they had delayed too long. The
wind was rising, sweeping from the westward, and they could seo
the red cinders fiying over their heads in the darkness. They
hurried blindly forward, half sufiFocated with the smoke. Showers
of cinders flew past, hot whiffs of wind scorched their faces, and
they could hear the crush of falling trees in the distance, and the
roar of the approaching conflagration. Startled animals and
frightened birds galloped and flew by in the wildest terror. The
brook was tortuous, but they must follow it, as it was their only
guide. Tomaqua's foot caught in a root, and she came heavily
to the ground. She had sprained her ankle; she could not walk.

lip

146

THBT TWO.

Thepactons were abandoned. Huntly gathered her in his arms,
and staggered on through the smoke; bunches of dry leaves
spurting into ore as he passed. Scorched, blinded and breathless,
he came in view of the lake. Wjando came running to meet them,
and they succeeded in scrambling down the rocks where the brook
had found an inlet for itself, and reached a sheltered bay, where
were the other Indians, now safe from any immediate danger.

Under the cooling and strengthening properties of sassafras and
belles, Tomaqua's ankle viah soon well. l copious n storm
had followed the conflagration. The air was once more cool and
clear, and the travellers, after a few days' delay, were able to
resume their journey. On reachinc: the head waters of the
Manawan, they encountered two Indir,n families, old acquaint-
ances, who came with them down the river to the Port at Wey-
montachene on the St. Maurice. Huntly now ascertained where
he really was. Mr. McLeod was absent from the Post, and
though Gonzague Desert, a French Canadian who was in charge,
could not render him the assistance he wished, still he was
much comforted by the assurance of Desert, that he would soon
fall in with some of the Hudson Bay people, or a mission party.

Before leaving WeymontAchene, Huntly had a very serious
chat with Tomaqua. Ho had not been brought home, but instead
was now hundreds of miles distant. She became very distressed,
the dark eyes moistened, and the ripe undcrlip blanched and
quivered. She said, " he must forgive her. 8he had been selfish
in keeping him so long from home ; but his company had been so
pleasant, that: she had put back as far as possible what must, to
her, be a very painful parting. She had at one time hoped that
he might make up his mind to live the free and innocent life of
the forest ; become a great chief, and be a benefactor to a race of
people, to whom something was due by the white man."

If Lucy Delisle had been a shallow hearted " Cousin Amy,"
Tomaqua had not pleaded in vain ; but absence had the tradi-
tionary effect upon Huntly, notwithstanding the French adago to
the contrary.

Tcmaqua would not allow her weakness further to reveal itself.

THEY TWO.

147

She informed him that they would proceed dowa the St. Maurice,
where he would soon meet with friends. That the Indians could
not accompany hira much further than the river Corche, where
they were to meet some more of their people. In the meantime
they must be happy. The wily girl had learned that a grand
lacrosse match was coming oflf at the mouth of the Croche, early
in the moon of falling leaves, or September, and she thought that
a sight of this glorious game, as played by Indians, would help
towards enducing Hunt ly to reject artificial life and join in with
what was simple and pleasant.

They bid good-bye to old Desert and turned their backs on
Weymontachene, and continued down the St. Maurice. They
had over a hundred miles of pretty rough river to travel before
reaching the mouth of the Croche. They also had to make quite
a number of portages. The weather was fine, and the nights cool
and pleasant. ,

One lovely evening after supper, Tomaqua and Huntly were
sitting together beside a gurgling brook that lost itself in the St.
Maurice near their camp. The sun was setting behitid the moun-
tains that lay in grotesque masses against the sky. The green
of the forests was bathed in a golden^ haze. Nature was still
under the magic hush of closing day. Tomaqua looked pensively
into the brook, and sighed. He asked her if she would sing him
an Indian song ? He knew she could sing as true and sweet as
any bird. She said she'would sing him her mother's song, her
mother, now long since dead. It was a song to, " Sebow-is-ha"
or the " brook." An old, old Indian song. She could tell him
in French, afterwards, what it meant. " The rich and balmy
eve," the music of the brook, the plaintive melody of the soft
Indian sentences, and the marvellous wci^ltb of ^Y't'^'hery in the
gilr's looks, were fitted to more than melt the heart of a St,
Anthony. I do not say that Huntly was unmoved, otherwise he
had been more than man ; but he controlled himself, and thanked
her Wiirmly, and in his natural tone of voice, for her song. She
then translated it into French, and he retranslated it into English ;
and it is only natural to suppose that it has lost much of itssiippte

148

THEY TWO.

and tender sweetness in these operations. Is it not odd, that in
the '* long ago," these Indians should have sung a song to the
"brook," centuries, no doubt, before Tennyson dreamed his
immortal Idyl ? So true it is that ' ■

" One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."

Lucy Delisle has preserved a cupy of this song, given to her
presumably by Hut)tly :

TO SEBOW-IS-HA!

Beautiful babbler, sunuy ey'd,
, What is the song, 80 soft and clear.

Ever at morn and eventide, '

. Rises sweet on my ravished ear ? • ■'"'

" Oh, 1 am singing, because I must.

Whether in sun or shadow grey;
I live to murmur, — * love and trust,'

* Trust and love,' whether night or day." ' ■

Singing, dancing, sunny ey'd one,
What are you doing dreaming here; '

Sleeping under the shadows' dun.
Idly eddying all the year? '

" Oh, I am kissing the lily's roots.
Soft I nourish the rising sap ; *

Soon the glossy and golden shoots.
Bright in beauty will fill my lap."

Lightsome, laughing, and loving one.

Whither av.ay so free and far 1
To coquet and kiss the rising sun I

Or tryst and toy with the evening star?

"I take their kiss, but I covet none,
My own love waits, and sighs for me ;

Ceaseless I move to hush his moan,
Beautiful, boundless, sounding sea." '

-^!

.- :

t .

:'>*

.'«■' ■ >• ■

CHAPTER XXII.

On the morrow the tents were struck, and they proceeded south-
ward ; camping that night at the mouth of the river Croche. The
frioads whom they expected to meet them there had not yet
arrived. It was decided that they should wait for tbem ; for it
was on the beautiful flat at the mouth of this river, that the
Algonquins and the T§tes de Boules were to indulge in their
national game of Lacrosse. Huntly had never seen it played, and
it was so praised by Tomaqua, that he was all expectation.

The Indians who had come with them from the head waters of
the Manawan spoke French very well; and tbey and Wyando
were quite free with Huntly in telling of Indian life and manners.

They said that the Indians were what the Iroquois called
them, "Ongoucouno," or "men of always." Huntly thought
this name agreed well with Humboldt's views respecting the early
isolation of this race in America ; and the high state of cultiva-
tion to which at one period they had attained. There could be
no question of their eastern origin. As the Indians themselves
said, it was the Sun, the "father of colors," that had burned
them. The shape of the head and eyes, and the long blick hair,
prove their relationship to the Mongols, — the people of Tar-
tary ; while the remains of their ancient mounds resemble those
on which sacrifices were offered to ** Chan-Ty," the Supreme
being of the Chinese two thousand years before our era. Huntly
found thoir own religious belief very interesting. Thoir dim
traditlonr of a first parent, and a general deluge ; their belief in
one Supreme Bsing ; in the immortality of the soul, and of future
rewards and punishments. He also admired their simple faith,
their pious prayers, and their resignation. Much of their old
superstitions mingled with their Christianity; and though
baptised, they still miintained many of their old religious prac-
tices. Each Indian had his own " Okki," or guardian power,
and they believed in local deities of the woods and streams. They

160

THET TWO.

also think that the souls of the lower animals are immortal, and
that each creature has a guardian spirit of its own. Man is but
the king of animals. They desire greatly to pry into the future.
They consider dreams to be the medium by which the Great
Spirit condescends to converse with men ; hence they hold in deep
veneration the omens and warnings these foreshadow. They also
believe in a pigmy race of beings, similar in some respects to our
fairies; and these they call " puk weedgcs," and many are the
stories told of their pranks and hnrmleus mischief.

Wyando was well acquainted with Indian legends ; and one
evening when he was more communicative than usual, Huntly
induced him to speak of the " puk weedges."

Wyando said the story he was going to tell began about
blessing the corn field.

" Hinotqua was in love with Loneta, the most beautiful maiden
among the Algonquins. The mondamin, or Indian corn, had
been planted, and Loneta was to go round all the field to make
it fruitful."

From the delicate hints given by the narrator, Huntly under-
stood the performance was in the fashion of Godiva with this
difference : the Saxon lady rode through the town at noon, while
the Indian maiden walked round the field in the gloaming. The
rule as to privacy was strictly enforced, and its breach severely
punished. Wyando continued : " Hinotqua was coming in from
hunting, and had not heard the warning. By accident he met
Loneta ; and to hide her shame the ' Gitche Manito ' opened the
ground and hid her.

'' Loneta could nowhere be found, and Hinotqua went unpun-
ished, for his offence was not premeditated. He mourned his
lost Loneta, and v/f evenings wandered round the com field, only
the shadow of his former self.

" Once, when the moon was full grown, he came to the spot
where Loneta disappeared from his view, when a ' puk weedge '
c.une out of the ground and spoke to him. He told him he would
inform him where he could find Loneta if he gave his promise that

THEY TWO.

wlien * Pau Guk,' or death, called him away from his hunting
grounds, he would come and dwell with the ' puk weedges,' , ■ -

" Hinotqua promiseiil, for he would do anything to see Loneti.
Then the ' puk weedge ' instructed him to take his canoe, his
bow and arrows, his tomahawk, his calumet, and wampum, and
go to the great lake Shecaubish, where the " nahima," the sturgeon,
would meet him at the shore, and show him his lost Loneta.
When he came to lake Shecaubinh, the King of the fishes met
bim, and told him if he would see Loneta he must make him &
present of his canoe, for he had to sail over the 'Gumea' in
search of his missing queen. Hinotqua consented, ' then ' said
the sturgeon, ' you must cross the lake, and when you come to
the other shore, the 'Mokaw,' the bear, who is King of the
beasts, will tell you where to find Loneta 1 ' ' But how can I
cross without my canoe,' asked Hinotqua ? ' Just get on uiy
back ' suid the sturgeon. Hinotqua mounted, and the water
was in foam behind them. They soon came to the shore and he
dismounted, where he met ' Mokaw,' the King of the beasts*
* Where is Loneta ? ' cried Hinotqua ! * Give me your bow and
arruws,' said the bear, ' and I will show you.' As soon as he got
them he scrambled up the crags and Hinotqua followed him.
On the top stood the ' Keneu ' the King of the birds, smoothing
his beautiful feathers. ' There,' said the bear, turning gruffly
round, ' the King of the birds will tell you where to find Loneta.'
' Yes,' said the eagle, ' but he must first give me all his clothes,
to make a nest for my young ones.' Hinotqua gave him all his
clothes. ' Now,' said the eagle, ' mount upon my back,' and he
flew off, and lit with him in a lovely meadow, where " alimeek,"
the beaver, was building a dam.

'* * There, said the eagle, ' the beaver will show you Loneta.'
I will,' replied tlie beaver, ' but he must first give me his toma-
hawk.' Hinotqua gave him his tomahawk, for he was dying to
see Loneta. When the beaver got the tomahawk, he comiuenood
quietly to hew timber for his dam. ' Come,' said Hinotqua,
who now had nothing left but his calumet, and wampum ; ' a
bargain is a bargain.' So the beayor said .' lay hold of my tail,'

■Ik ! i

Ift2

V
THEY TWO.

and in a twinkling he was beside a river on the sides of which
were clifiFs of calumet stone enough to make ' podgans/ or pipes,
for all the Indians within the four winds of the world. * Throw
your * podgan ' into the river, siiid the heaver, and Loneta will
appear to you.' He threw in his calumet. The beaver dis-
appeared, and the ' puk weedge ' stood in his place. ' Ha 1 '
said Hinotqua, you did not keep your bargain I ' ' You shall
see,' answered ' puk weedge.' * Take ofiF your wampum belt,
lay it in the form of a new moon on the top of the ' waw-beek,'
stamp your foot, and shout ' Megissogwon ! ' Hinotqua did
so. Instantly the rock opened, and down he went, down, down,
till he came to another ' waw-beek,' but smoother, and another
river. On the side where he was standing were night and dark-
ness, and on the other side, were light and morning. ' ■- '>'-
" The rock was very high, so was the one on the other shore,
and a river, as of blood, rolled between. In the rosy light on the
other side lie saw trees, and flowers, and Loneta; his own

* ncnemoosha,' in all her loveliness. She came, and leaning over
the cliff, she beckoned him to cnme on. She wore the rod bird's
feather in her hair, like the lightning in a black cloud. He
CDuld see his c:inoc, his bow and arrows, his tomahawk, and his
clothes lying beside her. He was not ashamed, for he was inno-
cent. Loneta's sweet voice called him to come over. How
could he come ? She pointed out a single strand of elm cord
that stretched from cliff to cliff; — he must cross on that. He
ventured, but his head grew dizzy. She called to him, to look
up! But he had stood upon a ' way-mukkaw-na,' that the

* puk weedge ' had placed under his foot, he was unclean, he
8 ipped, and fell down into the crimson river.

" He awoke. He had been dreaming. He had drank of the
soul of mondamin to drown his grief for the loss of Loneta ; but
sure enough, she now stood beside him ; she had been away a
month, to hide her shame, and had now returned to her
Hinotqua."

A day or two after the relation of Wyando' fairy tnle the
lacrosse players arrived. All was now bustle and prepuration.

THEY TWO.

158

Tciaaqua grew more reserved towards Huntly. She remained
mostly Id her own tent, and the new comers paid her great de-
ference. ;. ; i

The day appointed for the sport was al! that could be desired.
Cool and clear, with only a slight breeze from the northwest.
Counting the women and children, there must have been a
hundred Indians on the camping ground. A little west of the
tents, and near the borders of the wood, lay the lacrosse field.
Twelve Algonquins were to play against twelve Tetes de Boules.
The players were all young men, and as Huntly scanned the
straight and lithe-looking athletes, he was vividly reminded of
Benjamin West, who, when he had arrived in Rome, and the
Statue of Apollo Belvedere was first shewn him, exclaimed : "Why
this is a model from a young American Indian 1 " ■ ■' •

The game was to commence shortly after breakfast, about which
time the players disappeared to decorate themselves. Their
different localities in the woods could be easily known from the
wild whoops and outlandish noisec uttered by the intending com-
batants.

The goals, one nt each end of the field, were now placed by a
president, or director of the match; a stake was fixed in the
centre, the ball laid beside it, and a signal given. Then the two
parties marched into the field, fantastically arrayed, brandishing
their sticks, and turnin<! heels over head.

At this juncture several young Indian girls ran out from among
the spectators to the centre of the field, with favors for their
gallants. Huntly was surprised to see Tomnqua among the
number. He saw her arrange a plume of the great war eagle in
the headdress of one of the players, whom he recognized as
Wyando. He felt for a moment jealous. The Indian blood in
Tomaqua was in fever heat that day. All her old love of Indian
prowess came over her like a tide that obliterates every landmark.
As she came back and stood beside him, her cheeks and eyes were
aflame, and her whole frame shook with ex«.itement. How unlike
the melancholy liquid game of the other evening, when the dark
orbs, as Pat would say, seemed in mourning for the murders they
had committed 1

«' r

CHAPTER XXIII.

The scene before them was novel to Huntly, and picturesque in
the extreme. Near him were the parties just put in possession of
the prize or stake, for which the match was to be hazarded. The
little gioups around were squatted promiscuously gay with bright
beads and feathers. Men, women and even cbildren were
already betting on the issue. The two parties of competitors lay
listlessly within a few feet of each other, around the stake, where
the bill was lying, waiting for the signal. This given, they laid
down their sticks, and sides were coimted. The director now'
gave an address to the players, enforcing fairness and inciting
. to emulation. The match was to consist of twenty games; and
two old men with sticks, one mm representing each party, sat
aside to keep score, while the players dispersed, and every man
assumdd bis own position. Umpires baing appointed, the signal
to " play " was given ; the director pitched the ball high in the
air, the men bounded forward, and as it neared the grouad, and
as they dashed pell-mell together, there was a clittcr of sticks, a
scramble, and one player was seen to leap over the surrounding
heads. He had caught the ball, over the field he went, the others
in full chase. He made for hisopposers' goal, which, if he could
but hit with the ball, it would count a run, but before he could
effect his purpose, he was ove-taken, tripped up, and the ball sent
flying. Then there was another scuffle, another catch, a run and
a scuffle ; which was repeated half a dozen times before the first
run was scored. The efforts made to obtain the ball, or to pre-
vent its being carried off, afforded studies for a sculptor. Almost
every pose of the body assumed by the players in these struggles
exhibited grace and strength. Sometimes they threw thomselves
into the strangest postures, and made the most extravagant leaps ;
the positions being often ludicrous as well as artistic. At one
instant; was to be seen a nimble fellow dart between the extended
limbs of another, whipping off the ball; the next, sprawling upon

THET TWO.

155

all foura, or extended on his back, amid shouts of laughtt r. The
game appeared to put every man upon his mettle, his courage,
his endurance, and his skill, had to be united with activity,
adroitness and cunning. There were doublings, and bends, and
dodges, as well as fleetness, magnificent sprinirs, and supple twists,
in which every joint seemed indeed rubber. The match continued
with varied success to the contending pnrties up till noon ; when
it was found that the Algonquins had made six games, and the
T§tes de Boules only five. The players now rested for a couple
of hours, and then resumed, with preliminaries much the same as
in the morning.

Wyando had been in the field all the forenoon, for he was fleet
of foot, and acted as what might be called cover point. He now
changed his position. He had played with energy, but hnd been
cautious not to tire himself; had hu.>Danded his wind, and brought
a clear eye, cool head, and steady hand to his work, nearer to the
goal than the position he occupied in the morning. Huntly's eye
told him that this must be an important point in any such game
as lacrosse, and wondered why in the forenoon the TStes de
Boules did not place a man or two specially to protect it. But
the Indians appeared to play every man on his own account, and
run all over the field, anywhere and everywhere; and as the goal
had to be struck by the ball, as we do in croquet, there was not
the same necessity for a goal keeper as where there are wickets.

There now appeared to be more science in the way in which
the T@tes de Boules played. A sudden method shewed in their
madness. The Algonquins found it difficult to get near their
opponents' goal with the ball, and when they succeeded in this,
Wyando sent it far afield by a cut, or blocked it. The caution
and method of the T^tes de Boules began to tell in their favor,
while the Algonquins grew more reckless.

The sun had not gone down when the match was declared fin-
ished ; the TStes de Boules winning by one game. ; ' ' , , * v^ '

Wyando felt proud of the result, and the defeated party had
DO reason to hang their heads, as the victors had not much to
boast of. Huntly was quite excited. He had never witnessed

156

THKY TWO.

< . I

any game t.hat so interestod him. Every player was en'j;aged as
if the game depended on his single effort. It wis easily urn ler-
stood, too. The spectator could not help giving his sympathy,
and Huntly's nerves tingled to join in the contests. He thought
no Olympic game could equal lacrosse; and that no Grecian
athlete could compare with an American Indian.

Marguerite Tomaqua was very proud of Wynndo, and gave him
one of her sweetest smiles, as she handed him the prize just con-
tended for. This was a valuable rifle, and it was to remain in
possession of the chief whose tribe had won it, until such time as
the chances of another match might carry it off.

There was general festivity on the evening of this day; and
dancing was kept up late on in the night. Tomaqua did not
join in the merriment. She sat apart. Huntly joined her. He
found that she was weeping. Ho pressed to ascertain the cause.
She said, '* the missionary was coming on tiie morrow, and that
in a day or two she would have to part from him, and go away
to her own people." Poor Huntly ! This girl had rescued him
from death, had nursed him as tenderly as a mother her dearest
child, and had brought him back to life and hope. He could
make her no adequate return, indeed no return at all. That
evening found him bankrupt. But he must be true to himself,
true to an absent one, and true to her also, and taking her unre-
sisting hand tenderly between his own, told her his whole story.

When he had finished, she withdrew her hand, stood erect,
trembled, tottered a step or two, and fell at his feet. Fortunately
they were but a short way from her tent, and all the rest of the
party were so bent on amusement that they were unobserved.
He carried her in, unclasped the cloth mantle from about her neck,
and sprinkled her face with cold water. She soon recovered and
requested him to leave her, and he of course obeyed. He hud
Bceu little of Wyando that evening. He always absented him-
self when he thought Tomaqua wished him to do so. He was
aware that Huntly was going home the first opportunity, and felt
n jealousy. If Tomaqua had told him to go and drown himself
he would have obeyed instantly.

THEY TWO.

157

Perhaps you will say that Wyando was a poltroon, and that
Huntly was a prig. Love had raised Wyando above all doubt, and
petty meanness, love, and religion, had made Huntly the "stain* •
less Kniglit and perfect gentlemen." Perhaps you will say that
Lucy was a prig, too. Well, you have a right to your opinion.
Perhaps we are all prigs, who do not yield to folly, fashion, or
impulse ; and scorn to lay our honor in the dust.

On the morrow Huntly was rejoiced to see Father Perrault
make his appearance. The latter was astonished at seeing Hunt-
ly ; and I believe crossed himself when he recognized him. He
was soon made aware of his wonderful escape, and of the kindness
of the Indians. Huntly said nothing of his suspicions why they
had carried him off. The priest thought it quite a romance, but
could not understand the reason for such a singular proceeding.
The good father hud just come over from Lake 8t. John, and
intended stopping two or three days at the encampment, to preach,
hear conCcS'^ions, and administer baptism. These ends accom-
plished, he would return to Three Kivers, and he offered Huntly
a place in his canoe, and a welcome to whatever he might want,
that was in his power to supply.

Tomaqua did not leave her tent during the two days that Mr.
Perrault remained at the Crochc. The other Indians were
moving off, and the place was looking deserted.

On the morning of Mr. Perrault's and Huntly's departure,
Wyando came to say that he and Tomaqua were going to accom-
pany them as far as the head of the Tomaqua portage, only a few
miles down the St. Maurice. Huntly was glad of this, having
felt delicate about intruding himself to say good bye, yet
knowing that he must do so before leaving.

Tomaqua did not lift her eyes to his on meeting him, but
busied hersolf with the priest and Wyando. Huntly said fare-
well to the Indians. He could give them no remuneration now,
but promised to send them presents next year, by the missionary.
■ The priest and Huntly got into the canoe, hia voyageurs
pushed off, foll'^wed by Wyando and Tomaqua.

THBT TWO.

On reaching the head of the Tuque portage, and as thoy land-
ed, they tnut a man who had juat oonie up, and was taking his
canoe off his shoulders. He appeared startled, and droppint; his
oanoe retreated baok towards the head of the falls, followed
closely by VVyando. A souffle ensued between the two men, while
the priest and Tomaqua, with Hintly und the voyageurt, pressed
after them. Wyando und Tim Gondron, for it wus he, were
engaged in mortnl combat. They were on a rook that overlooked
the long sweep of nearly a quarter of a mile, down whioh the St
Maurice rushes at headlong speed. The wrestlers were straining
every muscle in the effort to throw each other over, and notiood
nothing till Huntly and the rest were upon them. They relaxed
their grip a^^ he and Tomaquii rushed forward. Tom's eyeballs
were bursting as he stared at Huntly, and giving a wild soream he
dashed over the rook into the falls; but in doing so, he grasped
Tomaquu's long mitntlo and brought her down, before any effort
could be mude to save her. Iluuily, Wyando and the two
voyageurs bounded down the cliff. On the edge of an eddy below
Tomaqua was holding to a long root that projected into the water,
while Tom, at arm's length, still clutched the end of the muntle
that he had seized ; but his body swayed back and forth in the swifl
current outside the eddy, from which he could not draw himself.
Huntly was in front, plunged in where the girl was holding on
for life, under the tension from the draft of the current on Tom's
body. In a second she unclasped the large silver brooch which
fastened her mantle, and Tom went careering over the rapids.
The luck, and the agility of a Sam Patch, could not save him
here.

Tomaqua was carried ashore uninjured, and was wrapped in
one of the priest's blankets. Huntly kissed her pale lips, and
said farewell ; and as she returned to her canoe, leaning heavily
on Wyando, he could not remove his eyea from the marks made
on the dry rock, by the little wet moccasined foot of the gentle
gifted and loving Marguerite Tomuqua, until woke from his
reverie by Father Perrault.

THEY TWO.

169

Nothing more was seen or heard of Tom Gendron, whose infa-
tuation about this girl hud made him, in heart, a murderer. He
had heard from some Indians who were returning up the Big
Bostonais that Tomaqua's party were still at the Croohe, and he
VHB going to see her when overtaken by his Nemesis.

( •

■^"Wl^^PWUPH^

CHAPTER XXIV.

Frank Meredith had improved his opportunities while
boarding at the house of Mr. L'iblanc. He had made the vacation
80 agreeable to Louise, that she decided to prolong it ; and with
her parents' consent gave Frank the right to teach her other
lessons than those imposed by the Ursuline Sisters. Frank had
purchased a good farm and comfortable dwelling atBichmond,
and Louise, though young, felt competent to undertake the house-
keeping. It was arranged that the wedding should take place
towards the end of 8ept.ember. Louise had been growing prettier
day by day under the influences within and around her. She
loved Frank with all the fervor of a first passion, and the question
of religion had never thrown a shadow on the future. Lcblanc
had no oLjections to have a rich, steady, and good-looking ProteB-
tant for a son-in-law, and the Cur^ offered none.

There were great prepjirations for the wedding. Though
country people, they were not ignorant of good usages, and had
the knack of making things look nice. Besides, there was no
lack of means, quite a help, it will be aokowledgcd, under any
oircumstancea Leblanc prided himself on being a pood provider
lor hie I'amiiy. Indeed it might be said :

" It snowed in his house of meat and drinks."

A letter had been sent to Mrs. Delisle, inviting her, with Luoy
and Kdmond, to the marriage, and enclosing a note from Frank,
with the request that Edmond would act as groom!«man ; iilso,
conveying the information, that Edith Marsion had consented to
be bridesmaid. Mrs. Delisle thought it only right to accept the
proposed civility from her lute husband's sister, and Lucy felt
curious to see the young bride who was said to resemble herself,
and witness the ceremony that was to bestow her upon one who
might have been her own husband. This trip to Nioi>let awuke
strange interest in her. She could not account for the quickened

THEY TWO.

161

a' .<

pulsations of her heart. She, for no reason in the world, hurried
preparations, and they started in good season, so as to be at
Nioolet a day or two before the wedding, in accordance with Mrs.
Leblano's request.

The Eev. Mr. Perrault and Hnntly Marston passed part of
the day at the Tuque, >yhich had witnessed Tom (Jendron's
tragedy ; and then proceeded to Rat River, and the Piles. They
had to make a portiige here, and also at Shawencgan, and the-
Grds rapids, but they ran the Forges rapids, and the Gabelle,
arriving safe at Three Rivers, on the evening of the third day
from leaving the Tuque. Huntly felt disposed to remain over
night, procure some clothing, sec Edith in the morning, and get
home the following night. The good Cur^ would not hear of
such a proposal. He said if Huntly made his appearance at the
convent, where they knew of his reported fate, it would frigbteni
the Sisters out of their wits. He must come on that night with
him to Nicolet ; rest two or three days, and break the good news
gradually to his family ; for sudden joy was as fatal to some
natures as sudden calamity.

The Curd had his own reasons for this proposal. He had beea
out about the town, and had met Pierre Leblano and Udmond
Delisle, who had come over for E dith to attend the marriage of
Louise. He learned from them that the ceremony was to take
place next day, and that Mrs. Delisle and Lucy were at Nicolet.
He did not like to lose his share of the eclat which would attach
to the return of Huntly Marston from the grave. He procured
him the necessary articles for his toilet, and obtained ins consent
to accompany him. He said nothing to him about having seen.
Pierre and Edmond, neither had he told them anything about
Huntly. He had enquired of them if they could drive a couple
of passengers from Port St. Francis to Nicolet, aa*^ was answereA
in the affirmative, as they had two caleches at the Port ia
waiting. They had left their horses there in the morning and.
walked down to Bellofeuille's, from whence they had crossed to
Three Rivers. They had adopted this arrangement beoausft

mpiw

■nwa

162

THEY TWO.

Edmond remembered PMith's dislike to cross the St. Lawrence
•in canoe or bateau.

The steamboat arrived at Throe Eivers from Quebec about
eleven o'clock that night ; the bell rang out its brazen sisnals,
and the passengers crowded on board. The boat had not left the
wharf many minutes when Pierre Loblanc who was alone, thought
of hunting up the Cur(5 ; for Edit)i and Ediuond were enjoying
a moonlight chat on the upper deck. After considerable search*
he found him, and instantly recognized his companion. Pierre
was almost beside himself Ho would not listen to the priest or
Huntly, bat ran up stairs to Edmond and fcold the news. His
hearers thought him turned crazy, but changed their minds on
the arrival of Mr. Perrault, who in a few hurried words explained
to Edith, Huntly's wonderful deliverance, and his meeting with
him up the St. Maurice. Edith had to clasp her hands on the
hack of her chair beside where she was standing, to convince her-
self that all was real, and the objects round her not shadowy and
unpalpable. Mr. Perrault now went below and brought up
Huntly to see his sister. In a few minutes more they reached
Port St. Francis, where they must go ashore, and interrupt, for
the time being, the flow of questions, answers and explanations.

On their way to Nicolet it was arranged that Huntly should
go with Mr. Perrault to the Vicar's, where he intended stopping
for some time, and where Huntly was sUiC of a hearty welcome,

Edith requested that nothing should be said about hor brother's
return until the following morning. Edmond and Pierre promised,
but I am afraid that Edith had not been ten minutes alone with
Lucy, when the marvellous intelligence was pourod out amid
tears of joy, and entertaining arms.

The marriage of Frank :ind Louise was to take place in the
Parish Church at nine in the m )rning, and Mrs. Leblanc, who
had been made aware of the good news, sent Pierre to the Vicar's
to bring over Huntly, whom she suid muse be present. They
were a happy party that lovely September morning ; and as thoy
adjourned from the French church to the Anglican, where the
Eev. H. B. was to flatten down the Protestant end of the rivet,

1).. 3,.1,= /-

JBHe^ ^P l ' i WW ** ! !'!**''^"*'*

WWKWrrWWWMl

THEY TWO.

163

lldmond made bold to hint to Edith that, it would be no sin,
if one or two other couples present should follow such a good
■example ; but a little toss of the saucy head was his only answer.
There was a large assembly that night at Louis Leblanc's ; the
Our6 who tied the knot, the Anglican minister and his wife, as
well as Mr. Perrault, were present ; and cast no damper on the
music and dancing. ' _

Several topics of interest were discussed. Prank Meredith,
who had so successfully commenced the work of annexation,
was enthusiastic about Canada joining the United States ; but
his proposal fell upon deaf ears. The project was no more popular
then in the Province of Quebec than it is to-day.

Colonization was what we wanted, and the tenure of land in
free and common soccage.

A liberal system of education, and equal rights to all.

Honest legislators, and better enforcement of the laws. Less
liquor drinking, and increased industry.

These were the principal topics discussed among serious folks*
I do not know, but the reader can guess the themes most pro-
minent among merry makera.

While the revelry was at its height Huntly and Lucy stole out
to the bank of the (juiet river,

" They walked entranced in a land of morn."

Although it was only the pale harvest moon that was rising
above the clump of trees beyond the college, and flooding with
ailver light the gentle river at their feet ; quiet and gentle now,
that the rough and noisy days of its youth in Dudswell are all
past, and it wjeks a peaceful union with the St. Lawrence, both
to lose themselves whoru the gateways of the sun open on the wide
Atlantic .

And Lucy's book ? I fear it way postponed indefinitely ; but
I have given to the reader the marrow of sorao of the papers of
vhors which came into my possession. And so, " auf wiedershen.'

164 THEY TWO.

' WATCH 1 AND FARE YOU WELLl.

Watch ! the day is breaking— one tardy star
Glimmers through the crown of vapours from afar f
Give to the earth her part,
To Jesus give your heart. ' •

Watch 1 it is the morning, skies all bright,
But on the horizon, one speck, black as night ;
Rises, widens, wild with storm,
Hope, and dread no harm.

Watch I the noon is on, the sun is high and burning, .
Rest fron^ worldly toil while yet there is a turning j .
Hands be folded — spirit soar.
Knees incline and sor/!. adore.

Watch I the night is coming, chill zephyrs mount the sky^
To where the sunlight lingers, soon to fall and die ;
Get thee closer, God has smiled,
His twa arms are round his child..