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Canadian Crusoes: A Tale of the Rice Lake Plains

by Catharine Parr Strickland Traill · English · Gutenberg #8382 · 484,116 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Canadian Crusoes: A Tale of the Rice Lake Plains

Author: Catharine Parr Strickland Traill


        
Release date: June 1, 2005 [eBook #8382]
                Most recently updated: November 20, 2016

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADIAN CRUSOES: A TALE OF THE RICE LAKE PLAINS ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team






CANADIAN CRUSOES.

A TALE OF THE RICE LAKE PLAINS


By Catharine Parr Traill

Authoress Of “The Backwoods Of Canada, Etc.”

Edited By Agnes Strickland

Illustrated By Harvey



     London:

     Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co.

     25, Paternoster Row.

     1852.


     Dedicated

     To The Children Of The Settlers

     On

     The Rice Lake Plains,

     By Their

     Faithful Friend And Well-Wisher

     THE AUTHORESS.

     OAKLANDS, RICE LAKE,

     15th Oct 1850




PREFACE

IT will be acknowledged that human sympathy irresistibly responds to any
narrative, founded on truth, which graphically describes the
struggles of isolated human beings to obtain the aliments of life.
The distinctions of pride and rank sink into nought, when the mind
is engaged in the contemplation of the inevitable consequences of the
assaults of the gaunt enemies, cold and hunger. Accidental circumstances
have usually given sufficient experience of their pangs, even to the
most fortunate, to make them own a fellow-feeling with those whom the
chances of shipwreck, war, wandering, or revolutions have cut off from
home and hearth, and the requisite supplies; not only from the
thousand artificial comforts which civilized society classes among the
necessaries of life, but actually from a sufficiency of “daily bread.”

Where is the man, woman, or child who has not sympathized with the poor
seaman before the mast, Alexander Selkirk, typified by the genius of
Defoe as his inimitable Crusoe, whose name (although one by no means
uncommon in middle life in the east of England,) has become synonymous
for all who build and plant in a wilderness, “cut off from humanity’s
reach?” Our insular situation has chiefly drawn the attention of the
inhabitants of Great Britain to casualties by sea, and the deprivations
of individuals wrecked on some desert coast; but it is by no means
generally known that scarcely a summer passes over the colonists
in Canada, without losses of children from the families of settlers
occurring in the vast forests of the backwoods, similar to that on which
the narrative of the Canadian Crusoes is founded. Many persons thus lost
have perished in the wilderness; and it is to impress on the memory
the natural resources of this country, by the aid of interesting the
imagination, that the author of the well-known and popular work, “The
Backwoods of Canada,” has written the following pages.

She has drawn attention, in the course of this volume, to the practical
solution _[FN: See Appendix A; likewise p. 310.]_ of that provoking
enigma, which seems to perplex all anxious wanderers in an unknown land,
namely, that finding themselves, at the end of a day’s toilsome march,
close to the spot from which they set out in the morning, and that this
cruel accident will occur for days in succession. The escape of Captain
O’Brien from his French prison at Verdun, detailed with such spirit in
his lively autobiography, offers remarkable instances of this propensity
of the forlorn wanderer in a strange land. A corresponding incident is
recorded in the narrative of the “Escape of a young French Officer from
the depôt near Peterborough during the Napoleon European war.” He found
himself thrice at night within sight of the walls of the prison from
which he had fled in the morning, after taking fruitless circular walks
of twenty miles. I do not recollect the cause of such lost labour being
explained in either narrative; perhaps the more frequent occurrence of
the disaster in the boundless backwoods of the Canadian colonies, forced
knowledge, dearly bought, on the perceptions of the settlers. Persons
who wander without knowing the features and landmarks of a country,
instinctively turn their faces to the sun, and for that reason always
travel in a circle, infallibly finding themselves at night in the very
spot from which they started in the morning. The resources and natural
productions of the noble colony of Canada are but superficially known.
An intimate acquaintance with its rich vegetable and animal productions
is most effectually made under the high pressure of difficulty and
necessity. Our writer has striven to interest children, or rather young
people approaching the age of adolescence, in the natural history of
this country, simply by showing them how it is possible for children to
make the best of it when thrown into a state of destitution as forlorn
as the wanderers on the Rice Lake Plains. Perhaps those who would
not care for the berry, the root, and the grain, as delineated and
classified technically in books of science, might remember their uses
and properties when thus brought practically before their notice as the
aliments of the famishing fellow-creature, with whom their instinctive
feelings must perforce sympathies. When parents who have left home
comforts and all the ties of gentle kindred for the dear sakes of their
rising families, in order to place them in a more independent position,
it is well if those young minds are prepared with some knowledge of what
they are to find in the adopted country; the animals, the flowers, the
fruits, and even the minuter blessings which a bountiful Creator has
poured forth over that wide land.

The previous work of my sister, Mrs. Traill, “The Backwoods of Canada,
by the Wife of an Emigrant Officer,” published some years since by Mr.
C. Knight, in his Library of Useful Knowledge, has passed through many
editions, and enjoyed, (anonymous though it was,) too wide a popularity
as a standard work for me to need to dwell on it, further than to say
that the present is written in the same _naïve_, charming style, with
the same modesty and uncomplaining spirit, although much has the sweet
and gentle--author endured, as every English lady must expect to do who
ventures to encounter the lot of a colonist. She has now devoted her
further years of experience as a settler to the information of the
younger class of colonists, to open their minds and interest them in
the productions of that rising country, which will one day prove the
mightiest adjunct of the island empire; our nearest, our soundest
colony, unstained with the corruption of convict population; where
families of gentle blood need fear no real disgrace in their alliance;
where no one need beg, and where any one may dig without being ashamed.




LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.

LOUIS CONFESSING HIS DECEPTION OF CATHARINE

FIRST BREAKFAST, THE

CATHARINE FOUND BY THE OLD DOG

WOLF FINDING THE WOUNDED DOE

HECTOR BRINGING THE INDIAN GIRL

KILLING WILD FOWL

INDIAN WOMAN AT THE DOOR OF THE HUT

CATHARINE CARRIED OFF

INDIANA BEFORE THE BALD EAGLE

INDIANA AT THE STAKE

ATTACK ON THE DEER

RETURN HOME THE

CANADIAN CRUSOES.




CHAPTER I.

  “The morning had shot her bright streamers on high,
  O’er Canada, opening all pale to the sky;

  Still dazzling and white was the robe that she wore,
  Except where the ocean wave lash’d on the shore.”
   _Jacobite Song._

THERE lies between the Rice Lake and the Ontario, a deep and fertile
valley, surrounded by lofty wood-crowned hills, the heights of which
were clothed chiefly with groves of oak and pine, though the sides of
the hills and the alluvial bottoms gave a variety of noble timber
trees of various kinds, as the maple, beech, hemlock, and others. This
beautiful and highly picturesque valley is watered by many clear
streams of pure refreshing water, from whence the spot has derived its
appropriate appellation of “Cold Springs.” At the time my little
history commences, this now highly cultivated spot was an unbroken
wilderness,--all tut two small farms, where dwelt the only occupiers of
the soil,--which owned no other possessors than the wandering hunting
tribes of wild Indians, to whom the right of the hunting grounds north
of Rice Lake appertained, according to their forest laws.

To those who travel over beaten roads, now partially planted, among
cultivated fields and flowery orchards, and see cleared farms and herds
of cattle and flocks of sheep, the change would be a striking one. I
speak of the time when the neat and flourishing town of Cobourg, now
an important port on the Ontario, was but a village in embryo--if it
contained even a log-house or a block-house it was all that it did, and
the wild and picturesque ground upon which the fast increasing village
of Port Hope is situated, had not yielded one forest tree to the axe
of the settler. No gallant vessel spread her sails to waft the abundant
produce of grain and Canadian stores along the waters of that noble
sheet of water; no steamer had then furrowed its bosom with her iron
wheels, bearing the stream of emigration towards the wilds of our
Northern and Western forests, there to render a lonely trackless desert
a fruitful garden. What will not time and the industry of man, assisted
by the blessing of a merciful God, effect? To him be the glory and
honour; for we are taught, that “without the Lord build the city, their
labour is but lost that build it; without the Lord keep the city, the
watchman waketh but in vain.”

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

Duncan Maxwell was a young Highland soldier, a youth of eighteen, at the
famous battle of Quebec, where, though only a private, he received the
praise of his colonel for his brave conduct. At the close of the battle
Duncan was wounded, and as the hospital was full at the time with sick
and disabled men, he was lodged in the house of a poor French Canadian
widow in the Quebec suburb; here, though a foreigner and an enemy, he
received much kind attention from his excellent hostess and her
family, which consisted of a young man about his own age, and a pretty
black-eyed lass not more than sixteen. The widow Perron was so much
occupied with other-lodgers--for she kept a sort of boarding-house--that
she had not much time to give to Duncan, so that he was left a great
deal to her son Pierre, and a little to Catharine, her daughter.

Duncan Maxwell was a fine, open-tempered, frank lad, and he soon won the
regard of Pierre and his little sister. In spite of the prejudices of
country, and the difference of language and national customs, a steady
and increasing friendship grew up between the young Highlander and the
children of his hostess; therefore it was not without feelings of deep
regret that they heard the news, that the corps to which Duncan
belonged was ordered for embarkation to England, and Duncan was so far
convalescent as to be pronounced quite well enough to join them. Alas
for poor Catharine! she now found that parting with her patient was a
source of the deepest sorrow to her young and guileless heart; nor was
Duncan less moved at the separation from his gentle nurse. It might be
for years, and it might be for ever, he could not tell; but he could not
tear himself away without telling the object of his affections how dear
she was to him, and to whisper a hope that he might yet return one day
to claim her as his bride; and Catharine, weeping and blushing, promised
to wait for that happy day, or to remain single for his sake, while
Pierre promised to watch over his friend’s interests and keep alive
Catharine’s love; for, said he, artlessly, “la belle Catrine is pretty
and lively, and may have many suitors before she sees you again, mon
ami.”

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

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

Thither Duncan, with the constancy of his nature, followed, and shortly
afterwards was married to his faithful Catharine. On one point they had
never differed, both being of the same religion. Pierre had seen a
good deal of the fine country on the shores of the Ontario; he had been
hunting with some friendly Indians between the great waters and the Rice
Lake, and he now thought if Duncan and himself could make up their minds
to a quiet life in the woods, there was not a better spot than the hill
pass between the plains and the big lake to fix themselves upon. Duncan
was of the same opinion when he saw the spot. It was not rugged and bare
like his own Highlands, but softer in character, yet his heart yearned
for the hill country. In those days there was no obstacle to taking
possession of any tract of land in the unsurveyed forests, therefore
Duncan agreed with his brother-in-law to pioneer the way with him, get a
dwelling put up and some ground prepared and “seeded down,” and then to,
return for their wives and settle themselves down at once as farmers.
Others had succeeded, had formed little colonies, and become the heads
of villages in due time; why should not they? And now behold our two
backwoodsmen fairly commencing their arduous life; but it was nothing,
after all, to Pierre, by previous occupation a hardy lumberer, or the
Scottish soldier, accustomed to brave all sorts of hardships in a wild
country, himself a mountaineer, inured to a stormy climate, and scanty
fare, from his earliest youth. But it is not my intention to dwell upon
the trials and difficulties courageously met and battled with by our
settlers and their young wives.

There was in those days a spirit of resistance among the first settlers
on the soil, a spirit to do and bear, that is less commonly met with
now. The spirit of civilization is now so widely diffused, that her
comforts are felt even in the depths of the forest, so that the newly
come emigrant feels comparatively few of the physical evils that were
endured by the older inhabitants.

The first seed-wheat that was cast into the ground by Duncan and Pierre,
was brought with infinite trouble a distance of fifty miles in a little
skiff, navigated along the shores of the Ontario by the adventurous
Pierre, and from the nearest landing-place transported on the shoulders
of himself and Duncan to their homestead:--a day of great labour but
great joy it was when they deposited their precious freight in safety
on the shanty floor. They were obliged to make two journeys for the
contents of the little craft. What toil, what privation they endured for
the first two years! and now the fruits of it began slowly to appear.
No two creatures could be more unlike than Pierre and Duncan. The
Highlander, stern, steady, persevering, cautious, always giving ample
reasons for his doing or his not doing. The Canadian, hopeful, lively,
fertile in expedients, and gay as a lark; if one scheme failed another
was sure to present itself. Pierre and Duncan were admirably suited to
be friends and neighbours. The steady perseverance of the Scot helped
to temper the volatile temperament of the Frenchman. They generally
contrived to compass the same end by different means, as two streams
descending from opposite hills will meet in one broad river in the same
valley.

Years passed on; the farm, carefully cultivated, began to yield its
increase, and food and warm clothing were not wanted in the homesteads.
Catharine had become, in course of time, the happy mother of four
healthy children; her sister-in-law had even exceeded her in these
welcome contributions to the population of a new colony. Between the
children of Pierre and Catharine the most charming harmony prevailed;
they grew up as one family, a pattern of affection and early friendship.
Though different in tempers and dispositions, Hector Maxwell, the eldest
son of the Scottish soldier, and his cousin, young Louis Perron, were
greatly attached; they, with the young Catharine and Mathilde, formed
a little coterie of inseparables; their amusements, tastes, pursuits,
occupations, all blended and harmonized delightfully; there were none
of those little envyings and bickerings among them that pave the way to
strife and disunion in after life.

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

Hector and Louis were fourteen--strong, vigorous, industrious and hardy,
both in constitution and habits. The girls were turned of twelve. It is
not with Mathilde that our story is connected, but with the two lads
and Catharine. With the gaiety and naïveté of the Frenchwoman, Catharine
possessed, when occasion called it into action, a thoughtful and
well-regulated mind, abilities which would well have repaid the care
of mental cultivation; but of book-learning she knew nothing beyond a
little reading, and that but imperfectly, acquired from her father’s
teaching. It was an accomplishment which he had gained when in the army,
having been taught by his colonel’s son, a lad of twelve years of age,
who had taken a great fancy to him, and had at parting given him a
few of his school-books, among which was a Testament, without cover
or title-page. At parting, the young gentleman recommended its daily
perusal to Duncan. Had the gift been a Bible, perhaps the soldier’s
obedience to his priest might have rendered it a dead letter to him,
but as it fortunately happened, he was unconscious of any prohibition
to deter him from becoming acquainted with the truths of the Gospel. He
communicated the power of perusing his books to his children Hector and
Catharine, Duncan and Kenneth, in succession, with a feeling of intense
reverence; even the labour of teaching was regarded as a holy duty in
itself, and was not undertaken without deeply impressing the obligation
he was conferring upon them whenever they were brought to the task. It
was indeed a precious boon, and the children learned to consider it
as the pearl beyond all price in the trials that awaited them in their
eventful career. To her knowledge of religious truths young Catharine
added an intimate acquaintance with the songs and legends of her
father’s romantic country, which was to her even as fairyland; often
would her plaintive ballads and old tales, related in the hut or the
wigwam to her attentive auditors, wile away heavy thoughts; Louis and
Mathilde, her cousins, sometimes wondered how Catharine had acquired
such a store of ballads and wild tales as she could tell.

It was a lovely sunny day in the flowery month of June; Canada had not
only doffed that “dazzling white robe” mentioned in the songs of her
Jacobite emigrants, but had assumed the beauties of her loveliest
season, the last week in May and the first three of June being parallel
to the English May, full of buds and flowers and fair promise of
ripening fruits. The high sloping hills surrounding the fertile vale
of Cold Springs were clothed with the blossoms of the gorgeous scarlet
enchroma, or painted-cup; the large pure white blossoms of the lily-like
trillium; the delicate and fragile lilac geranium, whose graceful
flowers woo the hand of the flower-gatherer only to fade almost within
his grasp; the golden cyprepedium, or mocassin flower, so singular, so
lovely in its colour and formation, waved heavily its yellow blossoms as
the breeze shook the stems; and there, mingling with a thousand various
floral beauties, the azure lupine claimed its place, shedding almost a
heavenly tint upon the earth. Thousands of roses were blooming on the
more level ground, sending forth their rich fragrance, mixed with the
delicate scent of the feathery ceanothus, (New Jersey tea.) The vivid
greenness of the young leaves of the forest, the tender tint of the
springing corn, were contrasted with the deep dark fringe of waving
pines on the hills, and the yet darker shade of the spruce and balsams
on the borders of the creeks, for so our Canadian forest rills are
universally termed. The bright glancing wings of the summer red-bird,
the crimson-headed woodpecker, the gay blue-bird, and noisy but splendid
plumed jay, might be seen among the branches; the air was filled with
beauteous sights and soft murmuring melodies. Under the shade of the
luxuriant hop-vines, that covered the rustic porch in front of the
little dwelling, the light step of Catharine Maxwell might be heard
mixed with the drowsy whirring of the big wheel, as she passed to and
fro guiding the thread of yarn in its course: and now she sang snatches
of old mountain songs, such as she had learned from her father; and now,
with livelier air, hummed some gay French tune to the household melody
of her spinning wheel, as she advanced and retreated with her thread,
unconscious of the laughing black eye that was watching her movements
from among the embowering foliage that shielded her from the morning
sun.

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

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

“Yes, I left her with mamma.” replied Louis, “and she said she would be
home shortly, so her absence need not stay you. She said you could take
a basket and try and bring home some berries for sick Louise. Hector is
sure he knows a spot where we shall get some fine ones, ripe and red.”
 As he spoke Louis whisked away the big wheel to one end of the porch,
gathered up the hanks of yarn and tossed them into the open wicker
basket, and the next minute the large, coarse, flapped straw hat, that
hung upon the peg in the porch, was stuck not very gracefully on the
top of Catharine’s head and tied beneath her chin, with a merry rattling
laugh, which drowned effectually the small lecture that Catharine began
to utter, by way of reproving the light-hearted boy.

“But where is Mathilde?”

“Sitting like a dear good girl, as she is, with sick Louise’s head on
her lap, and would not disturb the poor sick thing for all the fruit and
flowers in Canada. Marie cried sadly to go with us, but I promised her
and petite Louise lots of flowers and berries if we get them, and the
dear children were as happy as queens when I left them.”

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

“Yes, yes, ma belle,” said the giddy boy, quickly; “so come along, for
Hector is waiting at the barn; but stay, we shall be hungry before
we return, so let us have some cakes and butter, and do not forget a
tin-cup for water.”

Nothing doubting, Catharine, with buoyant spirits, set about her little
preparations, which were soon completed; but just as she was leaving the
little garden enclosure, she ran back to kiss Kenneth and Duncan, her
young brothers. In the farm yard she found Hector with his axe on his
shoulder. “What are you taking the axe for, Hector? you will find it
heavy to carry,” said his sister.

“In the first place, I have to cut a stick of blue-beech to make a broom
for sweeping the house, sister of mine; and that is for your use, Miss
Kate; and in the next place, I have to find, if possible, a piece of
rock elm or hiccory for axe handles; so now you have the reason why I
take the axe with me.”

The children now left the clearing, and struck into one of the deep
defiles that lay between the hills, and cheerfully they laughed and sung
and chattered, as they sped on their pleasant path; nor were they both
to exchange the glowing sunshine for the sober gloom of the forest
shade. What handfuls of flowers of all hues, red, blue, yellow and
white, were gathered only to be gazed at, carried for a while, then cast
aside for others fresher and fairer. And now they came to cool rills
that flowed, softly murmuring, among mossy limestone, or blocks of red
or grey granite, wending their way beneath twisted roots and fallen
trees; and often Catharine lingered to watch the eddying dimples of
the clear water, to note the tiny bright fragments of quartz or
crystallized limestone that formed a shining pavement below the stream;
and often she paused to watch the angry movements of the red squirrel,
as, with feathery tail erect, and sharp scolding note, he crossed
their woodland path, and swiftly darting up the rugged bark of some
neighbouring pine or hemlock, bade the intruders on his quiet haunts
defiance; yet so bold in his indignation, he scarcely condescended to
ascend beyond their reach.

The long-continued hollow tapping of the large red-headed woodpecker, or
the singular subterranean sound caused by the drumming of the partridge,
striking his wings upon his breast to woo his gentle mate, and the
soft whispering note of the little tree-creeper, as it flitted from
one hemlock to another, collecting its food between the fissures of the
bark, were among the few sounds that broke the noontide stillness of the
woods; but to all such sights and sounds the lively Catharine and
her cousin were not indifferent. And often they wondered, that Hector
gravely pursued his onward way, and seldom lingered as they did to mark
the bright colours of the flowers, or the bright sparkling of the forest
rill.

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

“Hector, sweet coz, is thinking perhaps of how many bushels of corn or
wheat this land would grow if cleared, or he may be examining the soil
or the trees, or is looking for his stick of blue-beech for your broom,
or the hiccory for his axe handle, and never heeding such nonsense as
woodpeckers and squirrels, and lilies and moss and ferns, for Hector is
not a giddy thing like his cousin Louis, or--”

“His sister Kate,” interrupted Catharine, merrily; “but when shall we
come to the Beaver Meadow?”

“Patience, ma belle, all in good time. Hark, was not that the ox-bell?
No; Hector whistling.” And soon they heard the heavy stroke of his
axe ringing among the trees, for he had found the blue-beech, and was
cutting it to leave on the path, that he might take it home on their
return; he had also marked some hiccory of a nice size for his axe
handles, to bring home at some future time.

The children had walked several miles, and were not sorry to sit down
and rest till Hector joined them. He was well pleased with his success,
and declared he felt no fatigue. “As soon as we reach the old Indian
clearing, we shall find strawberries,” he said, “and a fresh cold
spring, and then we will have our dinners.”

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

And the sunlight was seen streaming through the opening trees as they
approached the cleared space, which some called the “Indian clearing,”
 but is now more generally known as the little Beaver Meadow. It was
a pleasant spot, green, and surrounded with light bowery trees and
flowering shrubs, of a different growth from those that belong to the
dense forest. Here the children found, on the hilly ground above, fine
ripe strawberries, the earliest they had seen that year, and soon all
weariness was forgotten while pursuing the delightful occupation of
gathering the tempting fruit; and when they had refreshed themselves,
and filled the basket with leaves and fruit, they slaked their thirst
from the stream, which wound its way among the bushes. Catharine
neglected not to reach down flowery bunches of the fragrant white-thorn
and of the high-bush cranberry, then radiant with nodding umbels of
snowy blossoms, or to wreath the handle of the little basket with the
graceful trailing runners of the lovely twin-flowered plant, the Linnæa
borealis, which she always said reminded her of the twins, Louise and
Marie, her little cousins. And now the day began to wear away, for they
had lingered long in the little clearing; they had wandered from the
path by which they entered it; and had neglected, in their eagerness to
look for the strawberries, to notice any particular mark by which they
might regain it. Just when they began to think of returning, Louis
noticed a beaten path, where there seemed recent prints of cattle hoofs
on a soft spongy soil beyond the creek.

“Come, Hector,” said he gaily, “this is lucky; we are on the cattle
path; no fear but it will lead us directly home, and that by a nearer
track.”

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

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

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

And so they cheerfully pursued their way, till the sun, sinking behind
the range of westerly hills, soon left them in gloom; but they anxiously
hurried forward when the stream wound its noisy way among steep stony
banks, clothed scantily with pines and a few scattered silver-barked
poplars. And now they became bewildered by two paths leading in opposite
directions; one upward among the rocky hills, the other through the
opening gorge of a deep ravine.

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

Hector was the first to break the silence. “Cousin Louis, we were wrong
in following the course of the stream; I fear we shall never find our
way back to-night.”

Louis made no reply; his sad and subdued air failed not to attract the
attention of his cousins. “Why, Louis, how is this? you are not used to
be cast down by difficulties,” said Hector, as he marked something like
tears glistening in the dark eyes of his cousin.

Louis’s heart was full, he did not reply, but cast a troubled glance
upon the weary Catharine, who leaned heavily against the tree beneath
which she sat.

“It is not,” resumed Hector, “that I mind passing a summer’s night under
such a sky as this, and with such a dry grassy bed below me; but I do
not think it is good for Catharine to sleep on the bare ground in
the night dews,--and then they will be so anxious at home about our
absence.”

Louis burst into tears, and sobbed out,--“And it is all my doing that
she came out with us; I deceived her, and my aunt will be angry and much
alarmed, for she did not know of her going at all. Dear Catharine, good
cousin Hector, pray forgive me!” But Catharine was weeping too much to
reply to his passionate entreaties, and Hector, who never swerved from
the truth, for which he had almost a stern reverence, hardly repressed
his indignation at what appeared to him a most culpable act of deceit on
the part of Louis.

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

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

“Catharine, Louis spoke an untruth and acted deceitfully, and look at
the consequences,--we shall have forfeited our parents’ confidence, and
may have some days of painful privation to endure before we regain our
home, if we ever do find our way back to Cold Springs,” replied Hector.

“It is the grief and anxiety our dear parents will endure this night,”
 answered Catharine, “that distresses my mind; but,” she added in more
cheerful tones, “let us not despair, no doubt to-morrow we shall be able
to retrace our steps.”

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

The cloud still hung on Hector’s brow, till Catharine gaily exclaimed,
“Come, Hector! come, Louis! we must not stand idling thus; we must think
of providing some shelter for the night; it is not good to rest upon the
bare ground exposed to the night dews.--See, here is a nice hut, half
made,” pointing to a large upturned root which some fierce whirlwind had
hurled from the lofty bank into the gorge of the dark glen.

“Now you must make haste, and lop off a few pine boughs, and stick them
into the ground, or even lean them against the roots of this old oak,
and there, you see, will be a capital house to shelter us. To work, to
work, you idle boys, or poor wee Katty must turn squaw and build her own
wigwam,” she playfully added, taking up the axe which rested against the
feathery pine beneath which Hector was leaning. Now, Catharine cared
as little as her brother and cousin about passing a warm summer’s night
under the shade of the forest trees, for she was both hardy and healthy;
but her woman’s heart taught her that the surest means of reconciling
the cousins would be by mutually interesting them in the same
object,--and she was right. In endeavouring to provide for the comfort
of their dear companion, all angry feelings were forgotten by Hector,
while active employment chased away Louis’s melancholy.

Unlike the tall, straight, naked trunks of the pines of the forest,
those of the plains are adorned with branches often to the very ground,
varying in form and height, and often presenting most picturesque
groups, or rising singly among scattered groves of the silver-barked
poplar or graceful birch-trees; the dark, mossy greenness of the stately
pine contrasting finely with the light waving foliage of its slender
graceful companions.

Hector, with his axe, soon lopped boughs from one of the adjacent pines,
which Louis sharpened with his knife, and with Catharine’s assistance
drove into the ground, arranging them in such a way as to make the
upturned oak, with its roots and the earth which adhered to them, form
the back part of the hut, which, when completed, formed by no means
a contemptible shelter. Catharine then cut fern and deer grass with
Louis’s _couteau-de-chasse_, which he always carried in a sheath at his
girdle, and spread two beds, one, parted off by dry boughs and bark,
for herself in the interior of the wigwam, and one for her brother and
cousin nearer the entrance. When all was finished to her satisfaction,
she called the two boys, and, according to the custom of her parents,
joined them in the lifting up of their hands as an evening sacrifice of
praise and thanksgiving. Nor were these simple-hearted children backward
in imploring help and protection from the Most High. They earnestly
prayed that no dangerous creature might come near to molest them during
the hours of darkness and helplessness, no evil spirit visit them, no
unholy or wicked thoughts intrude into their minds; but that holy angels
and heavenly thoughts might hover over them, and fill their hearts with
the peace of God which passeth all understanding.--And the prayer of the
poor wanderers was heard, for they slept that night in peace, unharmed
in the vast solitude. So passed their first night on the Plains.




CHAPTER II.

“Fear not, ye are of more value than many sparrows.”

The sun had risen in all the splendour of a Canadian summer morning,
when the sleepers arose from their leafy beds. In spite of the novelty
of their situation, they had slept as soundly and tranquilly as if they
had been under the protecting care of their beloved parents, on their
little paliasses of corn straw; but they had been cared for by Him who
neither slumbereth nor sleepeth, and they waked full of youthful hope,
and in fulness of faith in His mercy into whose hands they had commended
their souls and bodies before they retired to rest.

While the children slept in peace and safety, what terrors had filled
the minds of their distracted parents! what a night of anguish and
sorrow had they passed!

When night had closed in without bringing back the absent children, the
two fathers, lighting torches of fat pine, went forth in search of the
wanderers. How often did they raise their voices in hopes their loud
halloos might reach the hearing of the lost ones! How often did they
check their hurried steps to listen for some replying call! But the
sighing breeze in the pine tops, or sudden rustling of the leaves
caused by the flight of the birds, startled by the unusual glare of the
torches, and the echoes of their own voices, were the only sounds that
met their anxious ears. At daybreak they returned, sad and dispirited,
to their homes, to snatch a morsel of food, endeavour to cheer the
drooping hearts of the weeping mothers, and hurry off, taking different
directions. But, unfortunately, they had little clue to the route which
Hector and Louis had taken, there being many cattle paths through the
woods. Louis’s want of truthfulness had caused this uncertainty, as he
had left no intimation of the path he purposed taking when he quitted
his mother’s house: he had merely said he was going with Hector
in search of the cattle, giving no hint of his intention of asking
Catharine to accompany them: he had but told his sick sister, that
he would bring home strawberries and flowers, and that he would soon
return. Alas, poor thoughtless Louis, how little did you think of the
web of woe you were then weaving for yourself, and all those to whom you
and your giddy companions were so dear! Children, think twice, ere ye
deceive once! Catharine’s absence would have been quite unaccountable
but for the testimony of Duncan and Kenneth, who had received her
sisterly caresses before she joined Hector at the barn; and much her
mother marvelled what could have induced her good dutiful Catharine to
have left her work and forsaken her household duties to go rambling away
with the boys, for she never left the house when her mother was absent
from, it, without her express permission, and now she was gone--lost
to them, perhaps for ever. There stood the wheel she had been turning,
there hung the untwisted hanks of yarn, her morning task,--and there
they remained week after week and month after month, untouched, a
melancholy memorial to the hearts of the bereaved parents of their
beloved.

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

It was not in the direction of the Rice Lake that Maxwell and his
brother-in-law sought their lost children; and even if they had done so,
among the deep glens and hill passes of what is now commonly called
the Plains, they would have stood little chance of discovering the poor
wanderers. After many days of fatigue of body and distress of mind, the
sorrowing parents sadly relinquished the search as utterly hopeless,
and mourned in bitterness of spirit over the disastrous fate of their
first-born and beloved children.--“There was a voice of woe, and
lamentation, and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children,
and refusing to be comforted, because they were not.” The miserable
uncertainty that involved the fate of the lost ones was an aggravation
to the sufferings of the mourners: could they but have been certified of
the manner of their deaths, they fancied they should be more contented;
but, alas! this fearful satisfaction was withheld.

  “Oh, were their tale of sorrow known,
  ‘Twere something to the breaking heart,
  The pangs of doubt would then be gone,
  And fancy’s endless dreams depart.”

But let us quit the now mournful settlement of the Cold Springs, and see
how it really fared with the young wanderers.

When they awoke the valley was filled with a white creamy mist, that
arose from the bed of the stream, (now known as Cold Creek,) and gave an
indistinctness to the whole landscape, investing it with an appearance
perfectly different to that which it had worn by the bright, clear
light of the moon. No trace of their footsteps remained to guide them in
retracing their path; so hard and dry was the stony ground that it left
no impression on its surface. It was with some difficulty they found
the creek, which was concealed from sight by a lofty screen of gigantic
hawthorns, high-bush cranberries, poplars, and birch-trees. The hawthorn
was in blossom, and gave out a sweet perfume, not less fragrant than
the “May” which makes the lanes and hedgerows of “merrie old England” so
sweet and fair in May and June, as chanted in many a genuine pastoral
of our olden time; but when our simple Catharine drew down the flowery
branches to wreathe about her hat, she loved the flowers for their own
native sweetness and beauty, not because poets had sung of them;--but
young minds have a natural poetry in themselves, unfettered by rule or
rhyme.

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

This lovely spot is now known as Sackville’s Mill-dike. The hand of
man has curbed the free course of the wild forest stream, and made it
subservient to his will, but could not destroy the natural beauties of
the scene. _[FN: This place was originally owned by a man of taste,
who resided for some time upon the spot, till finding it convenient to
return to his native country, the saw-mill passed into other hands. The
old log-house on the green bank above the mill-stream is still standing,
though deserted; the garden fence, broken and dilapidated, no longer
protects the enclosure, where the wild rose mingles with that of
Provence,--the Canadian creeper with the hop.]_

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

And now arose the question, “Where are we? What lake is this? Can it be
the Ontario, or is it the Rice Lake? Can yonder shores be those of the
Americans, or are they the hunting-grounds of the dreaded Indians?”
 Hector remembered having often heard his father say that the Ontario was
like an inland sea, and the opposite shores not visible unless in some
remarkable state of the atmosphere, when they had been occasionally
discerned by the naked eye, while here they could distinctly see objects
on the other side, the peculiar growth of the trees, and even flights of
wild fowl winging their way among the rice and low bushes on its margin.
The breadth of the lake from shore to shore could not, they thought,
exceed three or four miles; while its length, in an easterly direction,
seemed far greater beyond--what the eye could take in. _[FN: The
length of the Rice Lake, from its headwaters near Black’s Landing to the
mouth of the Trent, is said to be twenty-five miles; its breadth from
north to south varies from three to six.]_

They now quitted the lofty ridge, and bent their steps towards the lake.
Wearied with their walk, they seated themselves beneath the shade of
a beautiful feathery pine, on a high promontory that commanded a
magnificent view down the lake.

“How pleasant it would be to have a house on this delightful bank,
overlooking the lake,” said Louis; “only think of the fish we could
take, and the ducks and wild fowl we could shoot! and it would be no
very hard matter to hollow out a log canoe, such a one as I have heard
my father say he has rowed in across many a lake and broad river--below,
when he was lumbering.”

“Yes, it would, indeed, be a pleasant spot to live upon,” _[FN:
Now the site of a pleasant cottage, erected by an enterprising gentleman
from Devonshire, who has cleared and cultivated a considerable portion
of the ground described above; a spot almost unequalled in the plains
for its natural beauties and extent of prospect.]_ said Hector, “though
I am not quite sure that the land is as good just here as it is at Cold
Springs; but all these flats and rich valleys would make fine pastures,
and produce plenty of grain, too, if cultivated.”

“You always look to the main chance, Hec,” said Louis, laughing; “well,
it was worth a few hours’ walking this morning to look upon so lovely a
sheet of water as this. I would spend two nights in a wigwam,--would not
you, ma belle?--to enjoy such a sight.”

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

Poor Louis was overwhelmed with grief at the sight of his cousin’s
tears, and as the kind-hearted but thoughtless boy bent over her to
soothe and console her, his own tears fell upon the fair locks of the
weeping girl, and bedewed the hand he held between his own.

“If you cry thus, cousin,” he whispered, “you will break poor Louis’s
heart, already sore enough with thinking of his foolish conduct.” “Be
not cast down, Catharine,” said her brother, cheeringly: “we may not be
so far from home as you think. As soon as you are rested we will set out
again, and we may find something to eat; there must be strawberries on
these sunny banks.”

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

Suddenly darting down the bank, she exclaimed, “Come, Hector; come,
Louis: here indeed is provision to keep us from starving:”--for her eye
had caught the bright red strawberries among the flowers and herbage on
the slope; large ripe strawberries, the very finest she had ever seen.

“There is indeed, ma belle,” said Louis, stooping as he spoke to gather
up, not the fruit, but a dozen fresh partridge eggs from the inner
shade of a thick tuft of grass and herbs that grew beside a fallen
tree. Catharine’s voice and sudden movements had startled the partridge
_[FN: The Canadian partridge is a species of grouse, larger than
the English or French partridge. We refer our young readers to the
finely arranged specimens in the British Museum, (open to the public,)
where they may discover “Louis’s partridge.”]_ from her nest, and the
eggs were soon transferred to Louis’s straw hat, while a stone flung
by the steady hand of Hector stunned the parent bird. The boys laughed
exultingly as they displayed their prizes to the astonished Catharine,
who, in spite of hunger, could not help regretting the death of the
mother bird. Girls and women rarely sympathise with men and boys in
their field sports, and Hector laughed at his sister’s doleful looks as
he handed over the bird to her.

“It was a lucky chance,” said he, “and the stone was well aimed, but it
is not the first partridge that I have killed in this way. They are so
stupid you may even run them down at times; I hope to get another before
the day is over. Well, there is no fear of starving to-day, at all
events,” he added, as he inspected the contents of his cousin’s hat;
“twelve nice fresh eggs, a bird, and plenty of fruit.”

“But how shall we cook the bird and the eggs? We have no means of
getting a fire made,” said Catharine.

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

“They would satisfy us much better were they boiled, or roasted in the
ashes,” observed Hector.

“True. Well, a fire, I think, can be got with a little trouble.”

“But how?” asked Hector. “Oh, there are many ways, but the readiest
would be a flint with the help of my knife.”

“A flint?”

“Yes, if we could get one--but I see nothing but granite, which crumbles
and shivers when struck--we could not get a spark. However, I think it’s
very likely that one of the round pebbles I see on the beach yonder may
be found hard enough for the purpose.”

To the shore they bent their steps as soon as the little basket had
been well filled with strawberries, and descending the precipitous bank,
fringed with young saplings, birch, ash, and poplars, they quickly found
themselves beside the bright waters of the lake. A flint was soon found
among the water-worn stones that lay thickly strewn upon the shore, and
a handful of dry sedge, almost as inflammable as tinder, was collected
without trouble; though Louis, with the recklessness of his nature, had
coolly proposed to tear a strip from his cousin’s apron as a substitute
for tinder,--a proposal that somewhat raised the indignation of the tidy
Catharine, whose ideas of economy and neatness were greatly outraged,
especially as she had no sewing implements to assist in mending the
rent. Louis thought nothing of that; it was a part of his character to
think only of the present, little of the past, and to let the future
provide for itself. Such was Louis’s great failing, which had proved a
fruitful source of trouble both to himself and others. In this respect
he bore a striking contrast to his more cautious companion, who
possessed much of the gravity of his father. Hector was as heedful and
steady in his decisions as Louis was rash and impetuous.

After many futile attempts, and some skin knocked off their knuckles
through awkward handling of the knife and flint, a good fire was at last
kindled, as there was no lack of dry wood on the shore; Catharine then
triumphantly produced her tin pot, and the eggs were boiled, greatly
to the satisfaction of all parties, who were by this time sufficiently
hungry, having eaten nothing since the previous evening more substantial
than the strawberries they had taken during the time they were gathering
them in the morning.

Catharine had selected a pretty, cool, shady recess, a natural bower,
under the overhanging growth of cedars, poplars, and birch, which were
wreathed together by the flexile branches of the vine and bitter-sweet,
which climbed to a height of fifteen feet _[FN: Solatnum
dulcamara,--Bitter-sweet or Woody nightshade. This plant, like the
red-berried briony of England, is highly ornamental. It possesses
powerful properties as a medicine, and is in high reputation among the
Indians.]_ among the branches _[Illustration: THE FIRST BREAKFAST]_ of
the trees, which it covered as with a mantle. A pure spring of cold,
delicious water welled out from beneath the twisted roots of an old
hoary-barked cedar, and found its way among the shingles on the beach
to the lake, a humble but constant tributary to its waters. Some large
blocks of water-worn stone formed convenient seats and a natural table,
on which the little maiden arranged the forest fare; and never was a
meal made with greater appetite or taken with more thankfulness than
that which our wanderers ate that morning. The eggs (part of which they
reserved for another time) were declared to be better than those that
were daily produced from the little hen-house at Cold Springs. The
strawberries, set out in little pottles made with the shining leaves of
the oak, ingeniously pinned together by Catharine with the long spurs
of the hawthorn, _[FN: The long-spurred American hawthorn may be
observed by our young readers among that beautiful collection of the
hawthorn family and its affinities, which flourish on the north side
of Kensington Gardens.]_ were voted delicious, and the pure water most
refreshing, that they drank, for lack of better cups, from a large
mussel-shell which Catharine had picked up among the weeds and pebbles
on the beach.

Many children would have wandered about weeping and disconsolate,
lamenting their sad fate, or have embittered the time by useless
repining, or, perhaps, by venting their uneasiness in reviling the
principal author of their calamity--poor, thoughtless Louis; but such
were not the dispositions of our young Canadians. Early accustomed to
the hardships incidental to the lives of the settlers in the bush,
these young people had learned to bear with patience and cheerfulness
privations that would have crushed the spirits of children more
delicately nurtured. They had known every degree of hunger and
nakedness; during the first few years of their lives they had often
been compelled to subsist for days and weeks upon roots and herbs, wild
fruits, and game which their fathers had learned to entrap, to decoy,
and to shoot. Thus Louis and Hector had early been initiated into the
mysteries of the chase. They could make deadfalls, and pits, and traps,
and snares,--they were as expert as Indians in the use of the bow,--they
could pitch a stone, or fling a wooden dart at partridge, hare, and
squirrel, with almost unerring aim; and were as swift of foot as young
fawns. Now it was that they learned to value in its fullest extent
this useful and practical knowledge, which enabled them to face with
fortitude the privations of a life so precarious as that to which they
were now exposed.

It was one of the elder Maxwell’s maxims,--Never let difficulties
overcome you, but rather strive to conquer them; let the head direct the
hand, and the hand, like a well-disciplined soldier, obey the head
as chief. When his children expressed any doubts of not being able to
accomplish any work they had begun, he would say, “Have you not hands,
have you not a head, have you not eyes to see, and reason to guide
you? As for impossibilities, they do not belong to the trade of a
soldier,--he dare not see them.” Thus were energy and perseverance early
instilled into the minds of his children; they were now called upon
to give practical proofs of the precepts that had been taught them
in childhood. Hector trusted to his axe, and Louis to his
_couteau-de-chasse_ and pocket-knife; the latter was a present from an
old forest friend of his father’s, who had visited them the previous
winter, and which, by good luck, Louis had in his pocket--a capacious
pouch, in which were stored many precious things, such as coils of twine
and string, strips of leather, with odds and ends of various kinds;
nails, bits of iron, leather, and such miscellaneous articles as find
their way most mysteriously into boys’ pockets in general, and Louis
Perron’s in particular, who was a wonderful collector of such small
matters.

The children were not easily daunted by the prospect of passing a few
days abroad on so charming a spot, and at such a lovely season, where
fruits were so abundant; and when they had finished their morning
meal, so providentially placed within their reach, they gratefully
acknowledged the mercy of God in this thing.

Having refreshed themselves by bathing their hands and faces in the
lake, they cheerfully renewed their wanderings, though something both
to leave the cool shade and the spring for an untrodden path among the
hills and deep ravines that furrow the shores of the Rice Lake in so
remarkable a manner; and often did our weary wanderers pause to look
upon the wild glens and precipitous hills, where the fawn and the shy
deer found safe retreats, unharmed by the rifle of the hunter,--where
the osprey and white-headed eagle built their nests, unheeding and
unharmed. Twice that day, misled by following the track of the deer, had
they returned to the same spot,--a deep and lovely glen, which had once
been a water-course, but now a green and shady valley. This they named
the Valley of the Rock, from a remarkable block of red granite that
occupied a central position in the narrow defile; and here they prepared
to pass the second night on the Plains. A few boughs cut down and
interlaced with the shrubs round a small space cleared with Hector’s
axe, formed shelter, and leaves and grass, strewed on the ground, formed
a bed, though not so smooth, perhaps, as the bark and cedar-boughs that
the Indians spread within their summer wigwams for carpets and couches,
or the fresh heather that the Highlanders gather on the wild Scottish
hills.

While Hector and Louis were preparing the sleeping-chamber, Catharine
busied herself in preparing the partridge for their supper. Having
collected some thin peelings from the ragged bark of a birch-tree, that
grew on the side of the steep bank to which she gave the appropriate
name of the “Birken shaw,” she dried it in her bosom, and then beat it
fine upon a big stone, till it resembled the finest white paper. This
proved excellent tinder, the aromatic oil contained in the bark of the
birch being highly inflammable, Hector had prudently retained the flint
that they had used in the morning, and a fire was now lighted in front
of the rocky stone, and a forked stick, stuck in the ground, and bent
over the coals, served as a spit, on which, gipsy-fashion, the partridge
was suspended,--a scanty meal, but thankfully partaken of, though they
knew not how they should breakfast next morning, The children felt they
were pensioners on God’s providence not less than the wild denizens of
the wilderness around them.

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

“I remember,” said Louis, thoughtfully, “hearing my mother repeat the
words of a good old man she knew when she lived in Quebec;--‘When you
are in trouble, Mathilde,’ he used to say to her, ‘kneel down, and ask
God’s help, nothing doubting but that He has the power as well as the
will to serve you, if it be for your good; for He is able to bring all
things to pass. It is our own want of faith that prevents our prayers
from being heard. And, truly, I think the wise old man was right,” he
added.

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

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

“Let us, however, consider what we shall do for food; for, you know,
God helps those that help themselves,” said Louis. “Let us consider a
little. There must be plenty of fish in the lake, both small and great.”

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

“Do not interrupt me, ma chere. Then, we see the track of deer, and the
holes of the wood-chuck; we hear the cry of squirrels and chipmunks, and
there are plenty of partridges, and ducks, and quails, and snipes; of
course, we have to contrive some way to kill them. Fruits there are in
abundance, and plenty of nuts of different kinds. At present we have
plenty of fine strawberries, and huckleberries will be ripe soon in
profusion, and bilberries too, and you know how pleasant they are; as
for raspberries, I see none; but by-and-by there will be
May-apples--I see great quantities of them in the low grounds, grapes,
high-bush-cranberries, haws as large as cherries, and sweet too;
squaw-berries, wild plums, choke-cherries, and bird-cherries. As
to sweet acorns, there will be bushels and bushels of them for the
roasting, as good as chestnuts, to my taste; and butter-nuts, and
hickory-nuts,--with many other good things.” And here Louis stopped for
want of breath to continue his catalogue of forest dainties.

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

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

“Well, now that we know our resources, the next thing is to consider
how we are to obtain them, my dears,” said Catharine. “For fishing,
you know, we must have a hook and line, a rod, or a net. Now, where are
these to be met with?”

Louis nodded his head sagaciously. “The line I think I can provide; the
hook is more difficult, but I do not despair even of that. As to the
rod, it can be cut from any slender sapling on the shore. A net, ma
chere, I could make with very little trouble, if I had but a piece of
cloth to sew over a hoop.”

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

Lords took up the corner of his cousin’s apron with a provoking look.

“My apron, sir, is not to be appropriated for any such purpose. You seem
to covet it for everything.”

“Indeed, ma petite, I think it very unbecoming and very ugly, and never
could see any good reason why you and Mamma and Mathilde should wear
such frightful things.”

“It is to keep our gowns clean, Louis, when we are milking and
scrubbing, and doing all sorts of household duties,” said Catharine.

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

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

“Well, then, there is another good thing I did not think of before,
water mussels. I have heard my father and old Jacob the lumberer say,
that, roasted in their shells in the ashes, with a seasoning of salt and
pepper, they are good eating when nothing better is to be got.”

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

“Well, we can eat them with the best of all sauces--hunger; and then,
no doubt, there are crayfish in the gravel under the stones, but we must
not mind a pinch to our fingers in taking them.”

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

“Cut my curls! This is even worse than cousin Louis’s proposal of making
tinder and fishing-nets of my apron,” said Catharine, shaking back the
bright tresses, which, escaping from the snood that bound them, fell in
golden waves over her shoulders.

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

“For the matter of that, Louis, we could cut them with your
_couteau-de-chasse_. I could tell you a story that my father told me,
not long since, of Charles Stuart, the second king of that name in
England. You know he was the grand-uncle of the young Chevalier Charles
Edward, that my father talks of, and loves so much.”

“I know all about him,” said Catharine, nodding sagaciously; “let us
hear the story of his grand-uncle. But I should like to know what my
hair and Louis’s knife can have to do with King Charles.”

“Wait a bit, Kate, and you shall hear, that is, if you have patience,”
 said her brother. “Well then, you must know, that after some great
battle, the name of which I forget, _[FN: Battle of Worcester.]_ in
which the King and his handful of brave soldiers were defeated by the
forces of the Parliament, (the Roundheads, as they were called,) the
poor young king was hunted like a partridge upon the mountains; a large
price was set on his head, to be given to any traitor who should slay
him, or bring him prisoner to Oliver Cromwell. He was obliged to
dress himself in all sorts of queer clothes, and hide in all manner of
strange, out of the way places, and keep company with rude and humble
men, the better to hide his real rank from the cruel enemies that sought
his life. Once he hid along with a gallant gentleman, _[FN: Colonel
Careless.]_ one of his own brave officers, in the branches of a great
oak. Once he was hid in a mill; and another time he was in the house of
one Pendril, a woodman. The soldiers of the Parliament, who were always
prowling about, and popping in unawares wherever they suspected the
poor king to be hidden, were, at one time, in the very room where he was
standing beside the fire.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Catharine, “that was frightful. And did they take him
prisoner?”

“No; for the wise woodman and his brothers, fearing lest the soldiers
should discover that he was a cavalier and a gentleman, by the
long curls that the king’s men all wore in those days, and called
_lovelocks_, begged of his majesty to let his hair be cropped close to
his head.”

“That was very hard, to lose his nice curls.”

“I dare say the voting king thought so too, but it was better to lose
his hair than his head. So, I suppose, the men told him, for he suffered
them to cut it all close to his head, laying down his head on a rough
deal table, or a chopping-block, while his faithful friends with a large
knife trimmed off the curls.”

“I wonder if the young king thought at that minute of his poor father,
who, you know, was forced by wicked men to lay down his head upon a
block to have it cut from his shoulders, because Cromwell, and others as
hard-hearted as himself, willed that he should die.” “Poor king!”
 said Catharine, sighing, “I see that it is better to be poor children,
wandering on these plains under God’s own care, than to be kings and
princes at the mercy of bad and sinful men.”

“Who told your father all these things, Hec?” said Louis.

“It was the son of his brave colonel, who knew a great deal about
the history of the Stuart kings, for our colonel had been with Prince
Charles, the young chevalier, and fought by his side when he was in
Scotland; he loved him dearly, and, after the battle of Culloden, where
the Prince lost all, and was driven from place to place, and had not
where to lay his head, he went abroad in hopes of better times; (but
those times did not come for the poor Prince; and our colonel) after a
while, through the friendship of General Wolfe, got a commission in the
army that was embarking for Quebec, and, at last, commanded the regiment
to which my father belonged. He was a kind man, and my father loved both
him and his son, and grieved not a little when he parted from him.”

“Well,” said Catharine, “as you have told me such a nice story, Mister
Hec, I shall forgive the affront about my curls.”

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

“True,” said Hector, “the wild men of the wilderness, and the animals
and birds, all are fed by the things that He provideth; then, wherefore
should His white children fear?”

“I have often heard my father tell of the privations of the lumberers,
when they have fallen short of provisions, and of the contrivances of
himself and old Jacob Morelle, when they were lost for several days,
nay, weeks I believe it was. Like the Indians, they made themselves bows
and arrows, using the sinews of the deer, or fresh thongs of leather,
for bow-strings; and when they could not get game to eat, they boiled
the inner bark of the slippery elm to jelly, or birch bark, and drank
the sap of the sugar maple when they could get no water but melted
snow only, which is unwholesome; at last, they even boiled their own
mocassins.”

“Indeed, Louis, that must have been a very unsavoury dish,” said
Catharine.

“That old buckskin vest would have made a famous pot of soup of itself,”
 added Hector, “or the deer-skin hunting shirt.” “Well, they might have
been reduced even to that,” said Louis, laughing, “but for the good
fortune that befel them in the way of a half-roasted bear.”

“Nonsense, cousin Louis, bears do not run about ready roasted in the
forest, like the lambs in the old nursery tale.”

“Well now, Kate, this was a fact; at least, it was told as one by old
Jacob, and my father did not deny it; shall I tell you about it? After
passing several hungry days with no better food to keep them alive than
the scrapings of the inner bark of the poplars and elms, which was not
very substantial for hearty men, they encamped one night in a thick
dark swamp,--not the sort of place they would have chosen, but that they
could not help themselves, having been enticed into it by the tracks of
a deer or a moose,--and night came upon them unawares, so they set to
work to kindle up a fire with spunk, and a flint and knife; rifle they
had none, or maybe they would have had game to eat. Old Jacob fixed upon
a huge hollow pine, that lay across their path, against which he soon
piled a glorious heap of boughs and arms of trees, and whatever wood he
could collect, and lighted up a fine fire. You know what a noble hand
old Jacob used to be at making up a roaring fire; he thought, I suppose,
if he could not have warmth within, he would have plenty of it without.
The wood was dry pine and cedar and birch, and it blazed away, and
crackled and burnt like a pine-torch. By-and-by they heard a most awful
growling close to them. ‘That’s a big bear, as I live,’ said old Jacob,
looking all about, thinking to see one come out from the thick bush;
but Bruin was nearer to him than he thought, for presently a great
black bear burst out from the but-end of the great burning log, and made
towards Jacob; just then the wind blew the flame outward, and it caught
the bear’s thick coat, and he was all in a blaze in a moment. No doubt
the heat of the fire had penetrated to the hollow of the log, where he
had lain himself snugly up for the winter, and wakened him; but Jacob
seeing the huge black brute all in a flame of fire, began to think it
was Satan’s own self come to carry him off, and he roared with fright,
and the bear roared with pain and rage, and my father roared with
laughing to see Jacob’s terror; but he did not let the bear laugh at
him, for he seized a thick pole that he had used for closing in the
brands and logs, and soon demolished the bear, who was so blinded with
the fire and smoke that he made no fight; and they feasted on roast
bear’s flesh for many days, and got a capital skin to cover them
beside.”

“What, Louis, after the fur was all singed?” said Catharine.

“Kate, you are too particular,” said Louis; “a story never loses, you
know.”

Hector laughed heartily at the adventure, and enjoyed the dilemma of the
bear in his winter quarter; but Catharine was somewhat shocked at the
levity displayed by her cousin and brother, when recounting the terror
of old Jacob and the sufferings of the poor bear.

“You boys are always so unfeeling,” she said, gravely.

“Indeed, Kate,” said her brother, “the day may come when the sight of a
good piece of roast bear’s flesh, will be no unwelcome sight. If we do
not find our way back to Cold Springs before the winter sets in, we may
be reduced to as bad a state as poor Jacob and my uncle were in the pine
swamps, on the banks of the St. John.”

“Ah!” said Catharine, trembling, “that would be too bad to happen.”

“Courage, ma belle, let us not despair for the morrow. Let us see what
to-morrow will do for us; meantime, we will not neglect the blessings we
still possess; see, our partridge is ready, let us eat our supper, and
be thankful; and for grace let us say, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the
evil thereof.’”

Long exposure to the air had sharpened their appetites--the hungry
wanderers needed no further invitation, the scanty meal, equally
divided, was soon despatched.

It is a common saying, but excellent to be remembered by any wanderers
in our forest wilds, that those who travel by the sun travel in a
circle, and usually find themselves at night in the same place from
whence they started in the morning; so it was with our wanderers. At
sunset, they found themselves once more in the ravine, beside the big
stone, in which they had rested at noon. They had imagined themselves
miles and miles distant from it; they were grievously disappointed. They
had encouraged each other with the confident hope that they were drawing
near to the end of their bewildering journey; they were as far from
their home as ever, without the slightest clue to guide them to the
right path. Despair is not a feeling which takes deep root in the
youthful breast. The young are always hopeful; so confident in their
own wisdom and skill in averting or conquering danger; so trusting; so
willing to believe that there is a peculiar Providence watching over
them. Poor children! they had indeed need of such a belief to strengthen
their minds and encourage them to fresh exertions, for new trials were
at hand.

The broad moonlight had already flooded the recesses of the glen with
light, and all looked fresh and lovely in the dew, which glittered on
tree and leaf, on herb and flower. Catharine, who, though weary with
her fatiguing wanderings, could not sleep, left the little hut of boughs
which her companions had put up near the granite rock in the valley for
her accommodation, and ascended the western bank, where the last jutting
spur of its steep side formed a lofty clifflike promontory, at the
extreme verge of which the roots of one tall spreading oak formed a most
inviting seat, from whence the traveller looked down into a level track,
which stretched away to the edge of the lake. This flat had been the
estuary of the mountain stream, which had once rushed down between the
hills, forming a narrow gorge; but now, all was changed; the water
had ceased to flow, the granite bed was overgrown, and carpeted with
deer-grass and flowers of many hues, wild fruits and bushes, below;
while majestic oaks and pines towered above. A sea of glittering foliage
lay beneath Catharine’s feet; in the distance the eye of the young girl
rested on a belt of shining waters, which girt in the shores like a
silver zone; beyond, yet more remote to the northward, stretched the
illimitable forest.

Never had Catharine looked upon a scene so still or so fair to the
eye; a holy calm seemed to shed its influence over her young mind, and
peaceful tears stole down her cheeks. Not a sound was there abroad,
scarcely a leaf stirred; she could have stayed for hours there gazing
on the calm beauty of nature, and communing with her own heart, when
suddenly a stirring rustling sound caught her car; it came from a hollow
channel on one side of the promontory, which was thickly overgrown with
the shrubby dogwood, wild roses and bilberry bushes. Imagine the terror
which seized the poor girl, on perceiving a grisly beast breaking
through the covert of the bushes. With a scream and a bound, which the
most deadly fear alone could have inspired, Catharine sprung from the
supporting trunk of the oak, dashed, down the precipitous side of the
ravine; now clinging to the bending sprays of the flexile dogwood--now
to some fragile birch or poplar--now trusting to the yielding heads of
the sweet-scented _ceanothus_, or filling her hands with sharp thorns
from the roses that clothed the bank; flowers, grass, all were alike
clutched at in her rapid and fearful descent. A loose fragment of
granite on which she had unwittingly placed her foot rolled from
under her; unable to regain her balance she fell forwards, and was
precipitated through the bushes into the ravine below, conscious only
of unspeakable terror and an agonising pain in one of her ancles, which
rendered her quite powerless. The noise of the stones she had dislodged
in her fall and her piteous cries, brought Louis and Hector to her side,
and they bore her in their arms to the hut of boughs and laid her down
upon her bed of leaves and grass and young pine boughs. When Catharine
was able to speak, she related to Louis and Hector the cause of her
fright. She was sure it must have been a wolf by his sharp teeth, long
jaws, and grisly coat. The last glance she had had of him had filled her
with terror, he was standing on a fallen tree with his eyes fixed upon
her--she could tell them no more that happened, she never felt the
ground she was on, so great was her fright.

Hector was half disposed to scold his sister for rambling over the hills
alone, but Louis was full of tender compassion for _la belle cousine_,
and would not suffer her to be chidden. Fortunately, no bones had been
fractured, though the sinews of her ankle were severely sprained; but
the pain was intense, and after a sleepless night, the boys found to
their grief and dismay, that Catharine was unable to put her foot to the
ground. This was an unlooked-for aggravation of their misfortunes; to
pursue their wandering was for the present impossible; rest was their
only remedy, excepting the application of such cooling medicaments as
circumstances would supply them with. Cold water constantly applied to
the swollen joint, was the first thing that was suggested; but,
simple as was the lotion, it was not easy to obtain it in sufficient
quantities. They were a full quarter of a mile from the lake shore, and
the cold springs near it were yet further off; and then the only vessel
they had was the tin-pot, which hardly contained a pint; at the same
time the thirst of the fevered sufferer was intolerable, and had also to
be provided for. Poor Catharine, what unexpected misery she now endured!

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

Louis, ever fertile in expedients, crushed the cooling fruit and applied
them to the sprained foot; rendering the application still more grateful
by spreading them upon the large smooth leaves of the sapling oak;
these he bound on with strips of the leathery bark of the moose-wood,
_[FN: “_Dirca palustris_,”--Moose-wood. American mezereon,
leather-wood. From the Greek, _dirka_, a fountain or wet place, its
usual place of growth.]_ which he had found growing in great abundance
near the entrance of the ravine. Hector, in the meantime, was not idle.
After having collected a good supply of ripe strawberries, he climbed
the hills in search of birds’ eggs and small game. About noon he
returned with the good news of having discovered a spring of fine
water in an adjoining ravine, beneath a clump of bass-wood and black
cherry-trees; he had also been so fortunate as to kill a woodchuck,
having met with many of their burrows in the gravelly sides of the
hills. The woodchuck seems to be a link between the rabbit and badger;
its colour is that of a leveret; it climbs like the racoon and burrows
like the rabbit; its eyes are large, full, and dark, the lip cleft, the
soles of the feet naked, claws sharp, ears short; it feeds on grasses,
grain, fruit, and berries. The flesh is white, oily, and, in the summer,
rank, but is eaten in the fall by the Indians and woodsmen; the skin is
not much valued. They are easily killed by dogs, though, being expert
climbers, they often baffle their enemies, clinging to the bark beyond
their reach; a stone or stick well-aimed soon kills them, but they often
bite sharply.

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

“It is a great pity we have no larger vessel to bring our water from
the spring in,” said Hector, looking at the tin-pot, “one is so apt to
stumble among stones and tangled underwood. If we had only one of our
old bark dishes we could get a good supply at once.”

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

“How can you sew it together, cousin?” asked Catharine; “you have
neither deer sinews, nor war-tap.” _[The Indian name for the flexible
roots of the tamarack, or swamp larch, which they make use of in
manufacturing the birch baskets and canoes.]_ “I have a substitute at
hand, ma belle,” and Louis pointed to the strips of leatherwood that he
had collected for binding the dressings on his cousin’s foot.

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

The rough outside coatings of the bark, which are of silvery whiteness,
but are ragged from exposure to the action of the weather in the larger
and older trees, he peeled off, and then cutting the bark so that the
sides lapped well over, and the corners were secured from cracks, he
proceeded to pierce holes opposite to each other, and with some trouble
managed to stitch them tightly together, by drawing strips of the moose
or leather-wood through and through. The first attempt, of course, was
but rude and ill-shaped, but it answered the purpose, and only leaked a
little at the corners for want of a sort of flap, which he had forgotten
to allow in cutting out the bark; this flap in the Indian baskets and
dishes turns up, and keeps all tight and close. The defect he remedied
in his subsequent attempts. In spite of its deficiencies, Louis’s
water-jar was looked upon with great admiration, and highly commended by
Catharine, who almost forgot her sufferings--while watching her cousin’s
proceedings.

Louis was elated by his own successful ingenuity, and was for running
off directly to the spring. “Catharine shall now have cold water to
bathe her poor ancle with, and to quench her thirst,” he said, joyfully
springing to his feet, ready for a start up the steep bank: but Hector
quietly restrained his lively cousin, by suggesting the possibility of
his not finding the “fountain in the wilderness,” as Louis termed the
spring, or losing himself altogether.

“Let us both go together, then.” cried Louis. Catharine cast on her
cousin an imploring glance.

“Do not leave me, dear Louis; Hector, do not let me be left alone.” Her
sorrowful appeal stayed the steps of the volatile Louis.

“Go you, Hector, as you know the way: I will not leave you, Kate, since
I was the cause of all you have suffered; I will abide by you in joy or
in sorrow till I see you once more safe in your own dear mother’s arms.”

Comforted by this assurance, Catharine quickly dashed away the gathering
tears from her checks, and chid her own foolish fears.

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

After some little time had elapsed, Hector returned; the bark vessel had
done its duty to admiration, it only wanted a very little improvement to
make it complete. The water was cold and pure. Hector had spent a little
time in deepening the mouth of the spring, and placing some stones about
it. He described the ravine as being much deeper and wider, and more
gloomy than the one they occupied. The sides and bottom were clothed
with magnificent oaks. It was a grand sight, he said, to stand on the
jutting spurs of this great ravine, and look down upon the tops of the
trees that lay below, tossing their rounded heads like the waves of a
big sea. There were many lovely flowers, vetches of several kinds, blue,
white, and pencilled, twining among the grass. A beautiful white-belled
flower, that was like the “Morning glory,” (_Convolvulus major,_) and
scarlet-cups _[FN: _Erichroma,_ or painted cup]_ in abundance, with
roses in profusion. The bottom of this ravine was strewed in places with
huge blocks of black granite, cushioned with thick green moss; it opened
out into a wide flat, similar to the one at the mouth of the valley
of the Big Stone. _[FN: The mouth of this ravine is now under the
plough, and waving fields of golden grain and verdant pastures have
taken place of the wild shrubs and flowers that formerly adorned it. The
lot belongs to G. Ley, Esq.]_

These children were not insensible to the beauties of nature, and both
Hector and his sister had insensibly imbibed a love of the grand and
the picturesque, by listening with untiring interest to their father’s
animated and enthusiastic descriptions of his Highland home, and the
wild mountainous scenery that surrounded it. Though brought up in
solitude and uneducated, yet there was nothing vulgar or rude in the
minds or manners of these young people. Simple and untaught they were,
but they were guileless, earnest, and unsophisticated; and if they
lacked the knowledge that is learned from books, they possessed much
that was useful and practical, which had been taught by experience and
observation in the school of necessity.

For several days the pain and fever arising from her sprain rendered
any attempt at removing Catharine from the valley of the “Big Stone”
 impracticable. The ripe fruit began to grow less abundant in their
immediate vicinity, and neither woodchuck, partridge, nor squirrel had
been killed; and our poor wanderers now endured the agonising pains of
hunger. Continual exposure to the air by night and by day contributed
not a little to increase the desire for food. It is true, there was the
yet untried lake, “bright, boundless, and free,” gleaming in silvery
splendour, but in practice they knew nothing of the fisher’s craft,
though, as a matter of report, they were well acquainted with all
the mysteries of it, and had often listened with delight to the feats
performed by their respective fathers in the art of angling, spearing
and netting.

“I have heard my father say, that so bold and numerous were the fish in
the lakes and rivers he was used to fish in, that they could be taken
by the hand, with a crooked pin and coarse thread, or wooden spear; but
that was in the lower province; and oh, what glorious tales I have heard
him tell of spearing fish by torchlight!”

“The fish may be wiser or not so numerous in this lake,” said Hector;
“however, if Kate can bear to be moved, we will go down to the shore
and try our luck; but what can we do? we have neither hook nor line
provided.”

Louis nodded his head, and sitting down on a projecting root of a scrub
oak, produced from the depths of his capacious pocket a bit of tin,
which he carefully selected from among a miscellaneous hoard of
treasures. “Here.” said he, holding it up to the view as he spoke; “here
is the slide of an old powder-flask, which I picked up from among some
rubbish that my sister had thrown out the other day.”

“I fear you will make nothing of that,” said Hector, “a bit of bone
would be better. If you had a file now you might do something.”

“Stay a moment, Monsieur Hec., what do you call this?” and Louis
triumphantly handed out of his pocket the very instrument in question,
a few inches of a broken, rusty file; very rusty, indeed, it was, but
still it might be made to answer in such ingenious hands as those of
our young French Canadian. “I well remember, Katty, how you and Mathilde
laughed at me for treasuring up this old thing months ago. Ah, Louis.
Louis, you little knew the use it was to be put to then,” he added
thoughtfully, apostrophising himself; “how little do we know what is to
befall us in our young days!” “God knows it all,” said Hector, gravely,
“we are under His good guidance.”

“You are right, Hec., let us trust in His mercy and He will take good
care of us. Come, let us go to the lake,” Catharine added, and sprung
to her feet, but as quickly sunk down upon the grass, and regarded her
companions with a piteous look, saying, “I cannot walk one step; alas,
alas! what is to become of me; I am only a useless burden to you. If you
leave me here, I shall fall a prey to some savage beast, and you cannot
carry me with you in your search for food.”

“Dry your tears, sweet cousin, you shall go with us. Do you think that
Hector or Louis would abandon you in your helpless state, to die of
hunger or thirst, or to be torn by wolves or bears? We will carry you
by turns; the distance to the lake is nothing, and you are not so very
heavy, ma belle cousine; see, I could dance with you in my arms, you are
so light a burden,”--and Louis gaily caught the suffering girl up in his
arms, and with rapid steps struck into the deer path that wound through
the ravine towards the lake, but when they reached a pretty rounded
knoll, (where Wolf Tower _[FN: See account of the “Wolf Tower,” in
the Appendix.]_ now stands,) Louis was fain to place his cousin on a flat
stone beneath a big oak that grew beside the bank, and fling himself
on the flowery ground at her feet, while he drew a long breath, and
gathered the fruit that grew among the long grass to refresh himself
after his fatigue; and then, while resting on the “Elfin Knowe,” as
Catharine called the hill, he employed himself with manufacturing a rude
sort of fish-hook with the aid of his knife, the bit of tin, and the
rusty file; a bit of twine was next produced,--boys have always a bit
of string in their pockets, and Louis, as I have before hinted, was a
provident hoarder of such small matters. The string was soon attached
to the hook, and Hector was not long in cutting a sapling that answered
well the purpose of a fishing-rod, and thus equipped they proceeded
to the lake shore, Hector and Louis carrying the crippled Catharine by
turns. When there, they selected a sheltered spot beneath a grove of
over-hanging cedars and birches, festooned with wild vines, which,
closely woven, formed a natural bower, quite impervious to the rays of
the sun. A clear spring flowing from the upper part of the bank among
the hanging network of loose fibres and twisted roots, fell tinkling
over a mossy log at her feet, and quietly spread itself among the round
shingly pebbles that formed the beach of the lake. Beneath this pleasant
bower Catharine could repose, and watch her companions at their novel
employment, or bathe her feet and infirm ancle in the cool streamlet
that rippled in tiny wavelets over its stony bed.

If the amusement of fishing prove pleasant and exciting when pursued
for pastime only, it may readily be conceived that its interest must
be greatly heightened when its object is satisfying a craving degree of
hunger. Among the sunny spots on the shore, innumerable swarms of the
flying grasshopper or field crickets were sporting, and one of these
proved an attractive bait. The line was no sooner cast into the water,
than the hook was seized, and many were the brilliant specimens of
sun-fish that our eager fishermen cast at Catharine’s feet, all gleaming
with gold and azure scales. Nor was there any lack of perch, or that
delicate fish commonly known in these waters as the pink roach.

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

“Truly,” said Catharine, when the plentiful repast was set before her,
“God hath, indeed, spread a table for us here in the wilderness;” so
miraculous did this ample supply of delicious food seem in the eyes of
this simple child of nature.

They had often heard tell of the facility with which the fish could be
caught, but they had known nothing of it from their own experience,
as the streams and creeks about Cold Springs afforded them but little
opportunity for exercising their skill as anglers; so that, with the
rude implements with which they were furnished, the result of their
morning success seemed little short of divine interference in their
behalf. Happy and contented in the belief that they were not forgotten
by their heavenly Father, these poor “children in the wood” looked up
with gratitude to that beneficent Being who suffereth not even a sparrow
to fall unheeded.

Upon Catharine, in particular, these things made a deep impression, and
there as she sat in the green shade, soothed by the lulling sound of the
flowing waters, and the soft murmuring of the many-coloured insects that
hovered among the fragrant leaves which thatched her sylvan bower,
her young heart was raised in humble and holy aspirations to the great
Creator of all things living. A peaceful calm diffused itself over her
mind, as with hands meekly folded across her breast, the young girl
prayed with the guileless fervour of a trusting and faithful heart.

The sun was just sinking in a flood of glory behind the dark pine-woods
at the head of the lake, when Hector and Louis, who had been carefully
providing fish for the morrow, (which was the Sabbath,) came loaded
with their finny prey carefully strung upon a willow wand, and found
Catharine sleeping in her bower. Louis was loth to break her tranquil
slumbers, but her careful brother reminded him of the danger to which
she was exposed, sleeping in the dew by the water side; “Moreover,” he
added, “we have some distance to go, and we have left the precious axe
and the birch-bark vessel in the valley.”

These things were too valuable to be lost, and so they roused the
sleeper, and slowly recommenced their toilsome way, following the same
path that they had made in the morning. Fortunately, Hector had taken
the precaution to bend down the flexile branches of the dogwood and
break the tops of the young trees that they had passed between on their
route to the lake, and by this clue they were enabled with tolerable
certainty to retrace their way, nothing doubting of arriving in time at
the wigwam of boughs by the rock in the valley.

Their progress was, however, slow, burdened with the care of the lame
girl, and heavily laden with the fish. The purple shades of twilight
soon clouded the scene, deepened by the heavy masses of foliage, which
cast a greater degree of obscurity upon their narrow path; for they had
now left the oak-flat and entered the gorge of the valley. The utter
loneliness of the path, the grotesque shadows of the trees, that
stretched in long array across the steep banks on either side, taking,
now this, now that wild and fanciful shape, awakened strange feelings
of dread in the mind of these poor forlorn wanderers; like most persons
bred up in solitude, their imaginations were strongly tinctured with
superstitious fears. Here then, in the lonely wilderness, far from their
beloved parents and social hearth, with no visible arm to protect them
from danger, none to encourage or to cheer them, can it be matter of
surprise if they started with terror-blanched cheeks at every fitful
breeze that rustled the leaves or waved the branches above them? The gay
and lively Louis, blithe as any wild bird in the bright sunlight, was
the most easily oppressed by this strange superstitious fear, when
the shades of evening were closing round, and he would start with
ill-disguised terror at every sound or shape that met his ear or eye,
though the next minute he was the first to laugh at his own weakness. In
Hector, the feeling was of a graver, more solemn cast, recalling to his
mind all the wild and wondrous tales with which his father was wont to
entertain the children, as they crouched round the huge log-fire of an
evening. It is strange the charm these marvellous tales possess for the
youthful mind, no matter how improbable, or how often told; year after
year they will be listened to with the same ardour, with an interest
that appears to grow with repetition. And still, as they slowly wandered
along, Hector would repeat to his breathless auditors those Highland
legends that were as familiar to their ears as household words, and
still they listened with fear and wonder, and deep awe, till at each
pause he made, the deep-drawn breath and half-repressed shudder might
be heard. And now the little party paused irresolutely, fearing to
proceed,--they had omitted to notice some land-mark in their progress;
the moon had not long been up, and her light was as yet indistinct; so
they sat them down on a little grassy spot on the bank, and rested till
the moon should lighten their path.

Louis was confident they were not far from “the bigstone,” but careful
Hector had his doubts, and Catharine was weary. The children had already
conceived a sort of home feeling for the valley and the mass of stone
that had sheltered them for so many nights, and soon the dark mass came
in sight, as the broad full light of the now risen moon fell upon its
rugged sides; they were nearer to it than they had imagined. “Forward
for ‘the big stone’ and the wigwam,” cried Louis.

“Hush!” said Catharine, “look there,” raising her hand with a warning
gesture.

“Where? what?”

“The wolf! the wolf!” gasped out the terrified girl. There indeed, upon
the summit of the block, in the attitude of a sentinel or watcher, stood
the gaunt-figured animal, and as she spoke, a long wild cry, the sound
of which seemed as if it came midway between the earth and the tops of
the tall pines on the lofty ridge above them, struck terror into their
hearts, as with speechless horror they gazed upon the dark outline
of the terrible beast. There it stood, with its head raised, its neck
stretched outward, and ears erect, as if to catch the echo that gave
back those dismal sounds; another minute and he was gone, and the
crushing of branches and the rush of many feet on the high bank above,
was followed by the prolonged cry of some poor fugitive animal,--a doe,
or fawn, perhaps,--in the very climax of mortal agony; and then the
lonely recesses of the forest took up that fearful death-cry, the
far-off shores of the lake and the distant islands prolonged it, and the
terrified children clung together in fear and trembling.

A few minutes over, and all was still. The chase had turned across the
hills to some distant ravine; the wolves were all gone--not even the
watcher was left, and the little valley lay once more in silence, with
all its dewy roses and sweet blossoms glittering in the moonlight;
but though around them all was peace and loveliness, it was long
ere confidence was restored to the hearts of the panic-stricken and
trembling children. They beheld a savage enemy in every mass of leafy
shade, and every rustling bough struck fresh terrors into their excited
minds. They might have exclaimed with the patriarch Jacob, “How dreadful
is this place!”

With hand clasped in hand, they sat them down among the thick covert of
the bushes, for now they feared to move forward, lest the wolves should
return; sleep was long a stranger to their watchful eyes, each fearing
to be the only one left awake, and long and painful was their vigil. Yet
nature, overtasked, at length gave way, and sleep came down upon their
eyelids; deep, unbroken sleep, which lasted till the broad sunlight
breaking through the leafy curtains of their forest-bed, and the sound
of waving boughs and twittering birds, once more wakened them to life
and light; recalling them from happy dreams of home and friends, to an
aching sense of loneliness and desolation. This day they did not wander
far from the valley, but took the precaution, as evening drew on, to
light a large fire, the blaze of which they thought would keep away any
beast of prey. They had no want of food, as the fish they had caught the
day before proved an ample supply. The huckle-berries were ripening too,
and soon afforded them a never-failing source of food; there were also
an abundance of bilberries, the sweet rich berries of which proved a
great treat, besides being very nourishing.




CHAPTER III.

  “Oh for a lodge in the vast wilderness,
  The boundless contiguity of shade!”

A fortnight had now passed, and Catharine still suffered so much from
pain and fever, that they were unable to continue their wanderings; all
that Hector and his cousin could do, was to carry her to the bower
by the lake, where she reclined whilst they caught fish. The painful
longing to regain their lost home had lost nothing of its intensity; and
often would the poor sufferer start from her bed of leaves and boughs,
to wring her hands and weep, and call in piteous tones upon that dear
father and mother, who would have given worlds had they been at their
command, to have heard but one accent of her beloved voice, to have felt
one loving pressure from that fevered hand. Hope, the consoler, hovered
over the path of the young wanderers, long after she had ceased to
whisper comfort to the desolate hearts of the mournful parents.

Of all that suffered by this sad calamity, no one was more to be pitied
than Louis Perron: deeply did the poor boy lament the thoughtless folly
which had involved his cousin Catharine in so terrible a misfortune. “If
Kate had not been with me,” he would say, “we should not have been lost;
for Hector is so cautious and so careful, he would not have left the
cattle-path; but we were so heedless, we thought only of flowers and
insects, of birds, and such trifles, and paid no heed to our way.”
 Louis Perron, such is life. The young press gaily onward, gathering the
flowers, and following the gay butterflies that attract them in the
form of pleasure and amusement; they forget the grave counsels of the
thoughtful, till they find the path they have followed is beset with
briers and thorns; and a thousand painful difficulties that were unseen,
unexpected, overwhelm and bring them to a sad sense of their own folly;
and perhaps the punishment of their errors does not fall upon
themselves alone, but upon the innocent, who have unknowingly been made
participators in their fault.

By the kindest and tenderest attention to all her comforts, Louis
endeavoured to alleviate his cousin’s sufferings, and soften her
regrets; nay, he would often speak cheerfully and even gaily to her,
when his own heart was heavy, and his eyes ready to overflow with tears.
“If it were not for our dear parents and the dear children at home,”
 he would say, “we might spend our time most happily upon these charming
plains; it is much more delightful here than in the dark thick woods;
see how brightly the sunbeams come down and gladden the ground, and
cover the earth with fruit and flowers. It is pleasant to be able to
fish and hunt, and trap the game. Yes, if they were all here, we would
build us a nice log-house, and clear up these bushes on the flat near
the lake. This ‘Elfin Knowe,’ as you call it, Kate, would be a nice spot
to build upon. See these glorious old oaks; not one should be cut
down, and we would have a boat and a canoe, and voyage across to yonder
islands. Would it not be charming, ma belle?” and Catharine, smiling
at the picture drawn so eloquently, would enter into the spirit of the
project, and say,--

“Ah! Louis, that would be pleasant.”

“If we had but my father’s rifle now,” said Hector, “and old Wolfe.”

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

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

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

“And we should never want for meat, if we could catch a fine fawn from
time to time, ma belle.”

“Hec., what are you thinking of?”

“I was thinking, Louis, that If we were doomed to remain here all our
lives, we must build a house for ourselves; we could not live in the
open air without shelter as we have done. The summer will soon pass, and
the rainy season will come, and the bitter frosts and snows of winter
will have to be provided against.”

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

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

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

“No horrible wolves,” interrupted Catharine: “though I love this pretty
ravine, and the banks and braes about us, I do not think I shall like to
stay here. I heard the wolves only last night, when you and Louis were
asleep.”

“We must not forget to keep watch-fires.”

“What shall we do for clothes?” said Catharine, glancing at her
home-spun frock of wool and cotton plaid.

“A weighty consideration, indeed,” sighed Hector; “clothes must be
provided before ours are worn out, and the winter comes on.”

“We must save all the skins of the wood-chucks and squirrels,” suggested
Louis; “and fawns when we catch them.”

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

“I give up all hope? I shall hope on while I have life,” said Catharine.
“My dear, dear father, he will never forget his lost children; he will
try and find us, alive or dead; he will never give up the search.”

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

How often were Catharine’s hands filled with wild-flowers, to carry
home, as she fondly said, to sick Louise, or her mother. Poor Catharine,
how often did your bouquets fade; how often did the sad exile water them
with her tears,--for hers was the hope that keeps alive despair.

When they roused them in the morning to recommence their fruitless
wanderings, they would say to each other: “Perhaps we shall see our
father, he may find us here to-day;” but evening came, and still he came
not, and they were no nearer to their father’s home than they had been
the day previous.

“If we could but find our way back to the ‘Cold Creek,’ we might, by
following its course, return to Cold Springs,” said Hector.

“I doubt much the fact of the ‘Cold Creek’ having any connexion with our
Spring,” said Louis; “I think it has its rise in the ‘Beaver-meadow,’
and following its course would only entangle us among those wolfish
balsam and cedar swamps, or lead us yet further astray into the thick
recesses of the pine forest. For my part, I believe we are already fifty
miles from Cold Springs.”

It is one of the bewildering mistakes that all persons who lose their
way in the pathless woods fall into, they have no idea of distance, or
the points of the compass, unless they can see the sun rise and set,
which is not possible to do when surrounded by the dense growth of
forest-trees; they rather measure distance by the time they have been
wandering, than by any other token.

The children knew that they had been a long time absent from home,
wandering hither and thither, and they fancied their journey had been as
long as it had been weary. They had indeed the comfort of seeing the sun
in his course from east to west, but they knew not in what direction the
home they had lost lay; it was this that troubled them in their choice
of the course they should take each day, and at last determined them to
lose no more time so fruitlessly, where the peril was so great, but seek
for some pleasant spot where they might pass their time in safety, and
provide for their present and future wants.

  “The world was all before them, where to choose
  Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.”

Catharine declared her ancle was so much stronger than it had been since
the accident, and her health so much amended, that the day after the
conversation just recorded, the little party bade farewell to the valley
of the “big stone,” and ascending the steep sides of the hills, bent
their steps eastward, keeping the lake to their left hand; Hector led
the way, loaded with their household utensils, which consisted only of
the axe, which he would trust to no one but himself, the tin-pot, and
the birch-basket. Louis had his cousin to assist up the steep banks,
likewise some fish to carry, which had been caught early in the morning.

The wanderers thought at first to explore the ground near the lake
shore, but soon abandoned this resolution, on finding the under-growth
of trees and bushes become so thick, that they made little progress, and
the fatigue of travelling was greatly increased by having continually to
put aside the bushes or bend them down.

Hector advised trying the higher ground: and after following a deer-path
through a small ravine that crossed the hills, they found themselves
on a fine extent of table-land, richly, but not too densely wooded with
white and black oaks, diversified with here and there a solitary pine,
which reared its straight and pillar-like trunk in stately grandeur
above its leafy companions: a meet eyrie for the bald-eagle, that kept
watch from its dark crest over the silent waters of the lake, spread
below like a silver zone studded with emeralds.

In their progress, they passed the head of many small ravines, which
divided the hilly shores of the lake into deep furrows; these furrows
had once been channels, by which the waters of some upper lake (the site
of which is now dry land) had at a former period poured down into the
valley, filling the basin of what now is called the Rice Lake. These
waters with resistless course had ploughed their way between the hills,
bearing in their course those blocks of granite and limestone which
are so widely scattered both on the hill-tops and the plains, or form
a rocky pavement at the bottom of the narrow denies. What a sight of
sublime desolation must that outpouring of the waters have presented,
when those steep banks were riven by the sweeping torrents that were
loosened from their former bounds. The pleased eye rests upon these
tranquil shores, now covered with oaks and pines, or waving with a flood
of golden grain, or varied by neat dwellings and fruitful gardens; and
the gazer on that peaceful scene scarcely pictures to himself what it
must have been when no living eye was there to mark the rushing floods,
when they scooped to themselves the deep bed in which they now repose.

Those lovely islands that sit like stately crowns upon the waters, were
doubtless the wreck that remained of the valley; elevated spots, whose
rocky basis withstood the force of the rushing waters, that carried
away the lighter portions of the soil. The southern shore, seen from the
lake, seems to lie in regular ridges running from south to north; some
few are parallel with the lake-shore, possibly where some surmountable
impediment turned the current the subsiding waters; but they all find an
outlet through their connexion with ravines communicating with the lake.

There is a beautiful level tract of land, with only here and there a
solitary oak growing upon it, or a few stately pines; it is commonly
called the “upper Race-course,” merely on account of the smoothness of
the surface; it forms a high tableland, nearly three hundred feet above
the lake, and is surrounded by high hills. This spot, though now dry and
covered with turf and flowers, and low bushes, has evidently once been
a broad sheet of water. To the eastward lies a still more lovely and
attractive spot, known as the “lower Race-course;” it lies on a lower
level than the former one, and, like it, is embanked by a ridge of
distant hills; both have ravines leading down to the Rice Lake, and
may have been the sources from whence its channel was filled. Some
convulsion of nature at a remote period, by raising the waters above
their natural level, might have caused a disruption of the banks, and
drained their beds, as they now appear ready for the ploughshare or the
spade. In the month of June these flats are brilliant with the splendid
blossoms of the _enchroma_, or painted cup, the azure lupine and snowy
_trillium_ roses scent the evening air, and grow as if planted by the
hand of taste.

A carpeting of the small downy saxifrage _[FN: Saxifraga nivalis.]_
with its white silky leaves covers the ground in early spring. In the
fall, it is red with the bright berries and dark box-shaped leaves of a
species of creeping winter-green, that the Indians call spiceberry; the
leaves are highly aromatic, and it is medicinal as well as agreeable
to the taste and smell. In the month of July a gorgeous assemblage
of martagon lilies take the place of the lupine and trilliums; these
splendid lilies vary from orange to the brightest scarlet; various
species of sunflowers and _coreopsis_ next appear, and elegant white
_pyrolas_ _[FN: Gentiana linearis, G. crenata.]_ scent the air and
charm the eye. The delicate lilac and white shrubby asters next appear,
and these are followed by the large deep blue gentian, and here and
there by the elegant fringed gentian. _[FN: Pyrola rotundifolia,
P. asarifolia.]_ These are the latest and loveliest of the flowers
that adorn this tract of land. It is indeed a garden of nature’s own
planting, but the wild garden is being converted into fields of grain,
and the wild flowers give place to a new race of vegetables, less
ornamental, but more useful to man and the races of domestic animals
that depend upon him for their support.

Our travellers, after wandering over this lovely plain, found
themselves, at the close of the day, at the head of a fine ravine,
_[FN: _Pedophyllnm galmata_,--Mandrake, or May-apple.]_ where they
had the good fortune to perceive a spring of pure water, oozing beneath
some large moss-covered blocks of black waterworn granite; the ground
was thickly covered with moss about the edges of the spring, and many
varieties of flowering shrubs and fruits were scattered along the
valley and up the steep sides of the surrounding hills. There were
whortleberries, or huckleberries, as they are more usually called, in
abundance; bilberries dead ripe, and falling from the bushes at a touch.
The vines that wreathed the low bushes and climbed the trees were
loaded with clusters of grapes, but these were yet hard and green; dwarf
filberts grew on the dry gravelly sides of the hills, yet the rough
prickly calyx that enclosed the nut, filled their fingers with minute
thorns, that irritated the skin like the stings of the nettle; but
as the kernel when ripe was sweet and good, they did not mind the
consequences. The moist part of the valley was occupied by a large bed
of May-apples, _[FN: Kilvert’s Ravine, above Pine-tree Point.]_ the
fruit of which was of unusual size, but they were not ripe, August being
the month when they ripen; there were also wild plums still green, and
wild cherries and blackberries ripening; there were great numbers of the
woodchucks’ burrows on the hills, while partridges and quails were seen
under the thick covert of the blue-berried dog-wood, _[FN: _Cornus
sericea_. The blue berries of this shrub are eaten by the partridge
and wild-ducks; also by the pigeons and other birds. There are several
species of this shrub common to the Rice Lake.]_ that here grew in
abundance at the mouth of the ravine where it opened to the lake. As
this spot offered many advantages, our travellers halted for the night,
and resolved to make it their head-quarters for a season, till they
should meet with an eligible situation for building a winter shelter.

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

The temperature of the air for some days had been hot and sultry,
scarcely modified by the cool delicious breeze that usually sets in
about nine o’clock, and blows most refreshingly till four or five in
the afternoon. Hector and Louis had gone down to fish for supper, while
Catharine busied herself in collecting leaves and dried deer-grass, moss
and fern, of which there was abundance near the spring. The boys had
promised to cut some fresh cedar boughs near the lake shore, and
bring them up to form a foundation for their bed, and also to strew
Indian-fashion over the floor of the hut by way of a carpet. This sort
of carpeting reminds one of, the times when the palaces of our English
kings were strewed with rushes, and brings to mind the old song:--

  “Oh! the golden days of good Queen Bess,
  When the floors were strew’d with rushes,
  And the doors went on the latch----”

Despise not then, you, my refined young readers, the rude expedients
adopted by these simple children of the forest, who knew nothing of the
luxuries that were to be met with in the houses of the great and the
rich. The fragrant carpet of cedar or hemlock-spruce sprigs strewn
lightly over the earthen floor, was to them a luxury as great as if
it had been taken from the looms of Persia or Turkey, so happy and
contented were they in their ignorance. Their bed of freshly gathered
grass and leaves, raised from the earth by a heap of branches carefully
arranged, was to them as pleasant as beds of down, and the rude hut of
bark and poles, as curtains of silk or damask.

Having collected as much of these materials as she deemed sufficient
for the purpose, Catharine next gathered up dry oak branches, plenty of
which lay scattered here and there, to make a watch-fire for the night,
and this done, weary and warm, she sat down on a little hillock, beneath
the cooling shade of a grove of young aspens, that grew near the hut;
pleased with the dancing of the leaves, which fluttered above her head,
and fanned her warm cheek with their incessant motion, she thought, like
her cousin Louise, that the aspen was the merriest tree in the forest,
for it was always dancing, dancing, dancing, even when all the rest were
still.

She watched the gathering of the distant thunder-clouds, which cast a
deeper, more sombre shade upon the pines that girded the northern shores
of the lake as with an ebon frame. Insensibly her thoughts wandered far
away from the lonely spot whereon she sat, to the stoup _[FN:
The Dutch word for verandah, which is still in common use among the
Canadians.]_ in front of her father’s house, and in memory’s eye she
beheld it all exactly as she had left it. There stood the big spinning
wheel, just as she had set it aside; the hanks of dyed yarn suspended
from the rafters, the basket filled with the carded wool ready for
her work. She saw in fancy her father, with his fine athletic upright
figure, his sunburnt cheeks and clustering sable hair, his clear
energetic hazel eye ever beaming upon her, his favourite child, with
looks of love and kindness as she moved to and fro at her wheel.
_[FN: Such is the method of working at the large wool wheel,
unknown or obsolete in England.]_ There, too, was her mother, with her
light step and sweet cheerful voice, singing as she pursued her daily
avocations; and Donald and Kenneth driving up the cows to be milked, or
chopping firewood. And as these images, like the figures of the magic
lantern, passed in all their living colours before her mental vision,
her head drooped heavier and lower till it sunk upon her arm, and then
she started, looked round, and slept again, her face deeply buried in
her young bosom; and long and peacefully the young girl slumbered.

A sound of hurrying feet approaches, a wild cry is heard and panting
breath, and the sleeper with a startling scream sprang to her feet: she
dreamed that she was struggling in the fangs of a wolf--its grisly
paws were clasped about her throat; the feeling was agony and
suffocation--her languid eyes open. Can it be?--what is it that she
sees? Yes, it is Wolfe; not the fierce creature of her dreams by night
and her fears by day, but her father’s own brave devoted dog. What joy,
what hope rushed to her heart! She threw herself upon the shaggy neck of
the faithful beast, and wept from the fulness of heart.

“Yes,” she joyfully cried, “I knew that I should see him again. My own
dear, dear, loving father! Father! father! dear, dear father, here are
your children. Come, come quickly!” and she hurried to the head of
the valley, raising her voice, that the beloved parent, who she now
confidently believed was approaching, might be guided to the spot by the
well-known sound of her voice.

Poor, child! the echoes of thy eager voice, prolonged by every
projecting headland of the valley, replied in mocking tones, “Come
quickly!”

Bewildered she paused, listened breathlessly and again she called,
“Father, come quickly, come!” and again the deceitful sounds were
repeated, “Quickly come!”

The faithful dog, who had succeeded in tracking the steps of his lost
mistress, raised his head and erected his ears, as she called on her
father’s name; but he gave no joyful bark of recognition as he was wont
to do when he heard his master’s step approaching. Still Catharine could
not but think that Wolfe had only hurried on before, and that her father
must be very near.

The sound of her voice had been heard by her brother and cousin, who,
fearing some evil beast had made its way to the wigwam, hastily wound up
their line, and left the fishing-ground to hurry to her assistance. They
could hardly believe their eyes when they saw Wolfe, faithful old Wolfe,
their earliest friend and playfellow, named by their father after the
gallant hero of Quebec. And they too, like Catharine, thought that their
friends were not far distant, and joyfully they climbed the hills and
shouted aloud, and Wolfe was coaxed and caressed, and besought to follow
them to point out the way they should take: but all their entreaties
were in vain; worn out with fatigue and long fasting, the poor old
dog refused to quit the embers of the fire, before which he stretched
himself, and the boys now noticed his gaunt frame and wasted flesh--he
looked almost starved. The fact now became evident that he was in a
state of great exhaustion. Catharine thought he eyed the spring with
wishful looks, and she soon supplied him with water in the bark dish, to
this great relief.

Wolfe had been out for several days with his master, who would repeat,
in tones of sad earnestness, to the faithful creature, “Lost, lost,
lost!” It was his custom to do so when the cattle strayed, and Wolfe
would travel in all directions till he found them, nor ceased his search
till he discovered the objects he was ordered to bring home. The last
night of the father’s wanderings, when, sick and hopeless, he came back
to his melancholy home, as he sat sleeplessly rocking himself to and
fro, he involuntarily exclaimed, wringing his hands, “Lost, lost, lost!”
 Wolfe heard what to him was an imperative command; he rose, and stood
at the door, and whined; mechanically his master rose, lifted the latch,
and again exclaimed in passionate tones those magic words, that sent the
faithful messenger forth into the dark forest path. Once on the trail he
never left it, but with ah instinct incomprehensible as it was powerful,
he continued to track the woods, lingering long on spots where the
wanderers had left any signs of their sojourn; he had for some time
been baffled at the Beaver Meadow, and again where they had crossed Cold
Creek, but had regained the scent and traced them to the valley of
the “big stone,” and then with the sagacity of the bloodhound and the
affection of the terrier he had, at last, discovered the objects of his
unwearied, though often baffled search.

What a state of excitement did the unexpected arrival of old Wolfe
create! How many questions were put to the poor beast, as he lay with
his head pillowed on the knees of his loving mistress! Catharine knew it
was foolish, but she could not help talking to the dumb animal, as if
he had been conversant with her own language. Ah, old Wolfe, if your
homesick nurse could but have interpreted those expressive looks, those
eloquent waggings of your bushy tail, as it flapped upon the grass, or
waved from side to side; those gentle lickings of the hand, and mute
sorrowful glances, as though he would have said, “Dear mistress, I know
all your troubles. I know all you say, but I cannot answer you!” There
is something touching in the silent sympathy of the dog, to which only
the hard-hearted and depraved can be quite insensible. I remember once
hearing of a felon, who had shown the greatest obstinacy and callous
indifference to the appeals of his relations, and the clergyman that
attended him in prison, whose heart was softened by the sight of a
little dog, that had been his companion in his days of comparative
innocence, forcing its way through the crowd, till it gained the foot of
the gallows; its mute look of anguish and affection unlocked the fount
of human feeling, and the condemned man wept--perhaps the first tears he
had shed since childhood’s happy days.

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

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

Between the pauses of the tempest the long howl of the wolves, from
their covert in some distant cedar swamp at the edge of the lake, might
be heard from time to time,--a sound that always thrilled their hearts
with fear. To the mighty thunder-peal that burst above their heads they
listened with awe and wonder. It seemed, indeed, to them as if it were
the voice of Him who “sendeth out his voice, yea, and that a mighty
voice.” And they bowed and adored his majesty; but they shrank with
curdled blood from the cry of the _felon wolf._

And now the storm was at its climax, and the hail and rain came down
in a whitening flood upon that ocean of forest leaves; the old grey
branches were lifted up and down, and the stout trunks rent, for they
would not bow down before the fury of the whirlwind, and were scattered
all abroad like chaff before the wind.

The children thought not of danger for themselves, but they feared for
the safety of their fathers, whom they believed to be not far off from
them. And often ‘mid the raging of the elements, they fancied they could
distinguish familiar voices calling upon their names. “If our father had
not been near, Wolfe would not have come hither.”

“Ah, if our father should have perished in this fearful storm,” said
Catharine, weeping, “or have been starved to death while seeking for
us!” and Catharine covered her face and wept more bitterly.

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

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

The storm lasted till past midnight, when it gradually subsided, and the
poor wanderers glad to see the murky clouds roll off, and the stars
peep forth among their broken masses; but they were reduced to a pitiful
state, the hurricane having beaten down their little hut, and their
garments were drenched with rain. However, the boys made a good fire
with some bark and boughs they had in store; there were a few sparks
in their back log unextinguished, and this they gladly fanned up into a
blaze, with which they dried their wet clothes, and warmed themselves.
The air was now cool almost to chilliness, and for some days the weather
remained unsettled, and the sky overcast with clouds, while the lake
presented a leaden hue, crested with white mimic waves.

They soon set to work to make another hut, and found close to the head
of the ravine a great pine uprooted, affording them large pieces of
bark, which proved very serviceable in thatching the sides of the hut.
The boys employed themselves in this work, while Catharine cooked the
fish they had caught the night before, with a share of which old Wolfe
seemed to be mightily well pleased. After they had breakfasted, they
all went up towards the high table-land above the ravine, with Wolfe, to
look round in hope of getting sight of their friends from Cold Springs,
but though they kept an anxious look out in every direction, they
returned, towards evening, tired and hopeless. Hector had killed a red
squirrel, and a partridge which Wolfe “treed,”--that is, stood barking
at the foot of the tree in which it had perched,--and the supply of meat
was a seasonable change. They also noticed, and marked, with the axe,
several trees where there were bees, intending to come in the cold
weather, and cut them down. Louis’s father was a great and successful
bee-hunter; and Louis rather prided himself on having learned something
of his father’s skill in that line. Here, where flowers were so abundant
and water plentiful, the wild bees seemed to be abundant also; besides,
the open space between the trees, admitting the warm sunbeam freely,
was favourable both for the bees and the flowers on which they fed, and
Louis talked joyfully of the fine stores of honey they should collect
in the fell. He had taught little Fanchon, a small French spaniel of his
father’s, to find out the trees where the bees hived, and also the
nests of the ground-bees, and she would bark at the foot of the tree,
or scratch with her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at the
squirrels or the woodchucks; but Fanchon was far away, and Wolfe was
old, and would learn no new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his
own observation and the axe to depend upon for procuring honey.

The boys had been unsuccessful for some days past in fishing; neither
perch nor sunfish, pink roach nor mud-pouts _[FN: All these fish
are indigenous to the fresh waters of Canada.]_ were to be caught.
However, they found water-mussels by groping in the sand, and cray-fish
among the gravel at the edge of the water only; the last pinched their
fingers very spitefully. The mussels were not very palateable, for want
of salt; but hungry folks must not be dainty, and Louis declared
them very good when well roasted, covered up with hot embers. “The
fish-hawks,” said he, “set us a good example, for they eat them, and so
do the eagles and herons. I watched one the other day with a mussel in
his bill; he flew to a high tree, let his prey fall, and immediately
darted down to secure it; but I drove him off, and, to my great
amusement, perceived the wise fellow had just let it fall on a stone,
which had cracked the shell for him just in the right place. I often see
shells lying at the foot of trees, far up the hills, where these birds
must have left them. There is one large thick-shelled mussel, that I
have found several times with a round hole drilled through the shell,
just as if it had been done with a small auger, doubtless the work of
some bird with a strong beak.”

“Do you remember,” said Catharine, “the fine pink mussel-shell that Hec.
picked up in the little corn-field last year; it had a hole in one of
the shells too; _[FN: This ingenious mode of cracking the shells
of mussels is common to many birds. The crow (_Corvus corone_) has been
long known by American naturalists to break the thick shells of the
river mussels, by letting them fall from a height on to rocks and
stones.]_ and when my uncle saw it, he said it must have been dropped by
some large bird, a fish-hawk possibly, or a heron, and brought from the
great lake, as it had been taken out of some deep water, the mussels in
our creeks being quite thin-shelled and white.”

“Do you remember what a quantity of large fish bones we found in the
eagle’s nest on the top of our hill, Louis?” said Hector.

“I do; those fish must have been larger than our perch and sun-fish;
they were brought from this very lake, I dare say.”

“If we had a good canoe now, or a boat, and a strong hook and line, we
might become great fishermen.”

“Louis,” said Catharine, “is always thinking about canoes, and boats,
and skiffs; he ought to have been a sailor.”

Louis was confident that if they had a canoe he could soon learn to
manage her; he was an excellent sailor already in theory. Louis never
saw difficulties; he was always hopeful, and had a very good opinion
of his own cleverness; he was quicker in most things, his ideas flowed
faster than Hector’s, but Hector was more prudent, and possessed one
valuable quality--steady perseverance; he was slow in adopting an
opinion, but when once convinced, he pushed on steadily till he mastered
the subject or overcame the obstacle.

“Catharine,” said Louis, one day, “the huckleberries age now very
plentiful, and I think it would be a wise thing to gather a good store
of them, and dry them for the winter. See, ma chère, wherever we turn
our eyes, or place our feet, they are to be found; the hill sides are
purple with them. We may, for aught we know, be obliged to pass the rest
of our lives here; it will be well to prepare for the winter when no
berries are to be found.”

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

“Why so, ma belle?”

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

“Well, Cath., I think I know of a flat thin stone that will make a good
hearthstone, and we can get sheets of birch bark and sew into flat bags,
to keep the dried fruit in.”

They now turned all their attention to drying huckleberries (or
whortleberries). _[FN: From the abundance of this fruit, the
Indians have given the name of Whortleberry Plain to the lands on the
south shore. During the month of July and the early part of August,
large parties come to the Rice Lake Plains to gather huckleberries,
which they preserve by drying, for winter use. These berries make a
delicious tart or pudding, mixed with bilberries and red-currants,
requiring little sugar.]_ Catharine and Louis (who fancied nothing could
be contrived without his help) attended to the preparing and making of
the bags of birch bark; but Hector was soon tired of girl’s work, as he
termed it, and, after gathering some berries, would wander away over
the hills in search of game, and to explore the neighbouring hills and
valleys, and sometimes it was sunset before he made his appearance.
Hector had made an excellent strong-bow, like the Indian bow, out of a
tough piece of hickory wood, which he found in one of his rambles, and
he made arrows with wood that he seasoned in the smoke, sharpening the
heads with great care with his knife, and hardening them by exposure to
strong heat, at a certain distance from the fire. The entrails of the
woodchucks, stretched, and scraped and dried, and rendered pliable by
rubbing and drawing through the hands, answered for a bowstring; but
afterwards, when they got the sinews and hide of the deer, they used
them, properly dressed for the purpose.

Hector also made a cross-bow, which he used with great effect, being a
true and steady marksman. Louis and he would often amuse themselves with
shooting at a mark, which they would chip on the bark of a tree; even
Catharine was a tolerable archeress with the longbow, and the hut was
now seldom without game of one kind or other. Hector seldom returned
from his rambles without partridges, quails, or young pigeons, which
are plentiful at this season of the year; many of the old ones that pass
over in their migratory flight in the spring, stay to breed, or return
thither for the acorns and berries that are to be found in great
abundance. Squirrels, too, are very plentiful at this season. Hector and
Louis remarked that the red and black squirrels never were to be found
very near each other. It is a common belief, that the red squirrels make
common cause with the grey, and beat the larger enemy off the ground.
The black squirrel, for a succession of years, was very rarely to be met
with on the Plains, while there were plenty of the red and grey in the
“oak openings.” _[FN: Within the last three years, however, the
black squirrels have been very numerous, and the red are less frequently
to be seen. The flesh of the black squirrel is tender, white, and
delicate, like that of a young rabbit.]_ Deer, at the time our young
Crusoes were living on the Rice Lake Plains, were plentiful, and, of
course, so were those beasts that prey upon them,--wolves, bears, and
wolverines, besides the Canadian lynx, or catamount, as it is here
commonly called, a species of wild-cat or panther. These wild animals
are now no longer to be seen; it is a rare thing to hear of bears or
wolves, and the wolverine and lynx are known only as matters of history
in this part of the country; these animals disappear as civilization
advances, while some others increase and follow man, especially many
species of birds, which seem to pick up the crumbs that fall from the
rich man’s board, and multiply about his dwelling; some adopt new habits
and modes of building and feeding, according to the alteration and
improvement in their circumstances.

While our young people seldom wanted for meat, they felt the privation
of the tread to which they had teen accustomed very sensibly. One day,
while Hector and Louis were busily engaged with their assistant, Wolfe,
in unearthing a woodchuck, that had taken refuge in his burrow, on
one of the gravelly hills above the lake, Catharine amused herself
by looking for flowers; she had filled her lap with ripe May-apples,
_[FN: _Podophyllum peltatum_-May-apple, or Mandrake. The fruit of
the May-apple, in rich moist soil, will attain to the size of the magnum
bonum, or egg-plum, which it resembles in colour and shape. It makes
a delicious preserve, if seasoned with cloves or ginger; when eaten
uncooked, the outer rind, which is thick and fleshy, and has a rank
taste, should be thrown aside; the fine acid pulp in which the seeds are
imbedded alone should be eaten. The root of the Podophyllum is used as
a cathartic by the Indians. The root of this plant is reticulated,
and when a large body of them are uncovered, they present a singular
appearance, interlacing each other in large meshes, like an extensive
net-work; these roots are white, as thick as a man’s little finger, and
fragrant, and spread horizontally along the surface. The blossom is like
a small white rose.]_ but finding them cumbersome in climbing the steep
wooded hills, she deposited them at the foot of a tree near the boys,
and pursued her search; and it was not long before she perceived some
pretty grassy-looking plants, with heads of bright lilac flowers, and on
plucking some pulled up the root also. The root was about the size
and shape of a large crocus, and, on biting it, she found it far
from disagreeable, sweet, and slightly astringent; it seemed to be a
favourite root with the wood-chucks, for she noticed that it grew about
their burrows on dry gravelly soil, and many of the stems were bitten,
and the roots eaten, a warrant in full of wholesomeness. Therefore,
carrying home a parcel of the largest of the roots, she roasted them
in the embers, and they proved almost as good as chestnuts, and more
satisfying than the acorns of the white oak, which they had often
roasted in the fire, when they were out working on the fallow, at the
log heaps. Hector and Louis ate heartily of the roots, and commended
Catharine for the discovery. Not many days afterwards, Louis
accidentally found a much larger and more valuable root, near the
lake shore. He saw a fine climbing shrub, with close bunches of
dark reddish-purple pea-shaped flowers, which scented the air with a
delicious perfume. The plant climbed to a great height over the young
trees, with a profusion of dark green leaves and tendrils. Pleased with
the bowery appearance of the plant, he tried to pull one up, that he
might show it to his cousin, when the root displayed a number of large
tubers, as big as good-sized potatoes, regular oval-shaped; the inside
was quite white, tasting somewhat like a potato, only pleasanter, when
in its raw state, than an uncooked potato. Louis gathered his pockets
full, and hastened home with his prize, and, on being roasted, these
new roots were decided to be little inferior to potatoes, at all events,
they were a valuable addition to their slender stores, and they procured
as many as they could find, carefully storing them in a hole, which they
dug for that purpose in a corner of their hut. _[FN: This plant
appears to me to be a species of the _Psoralea esculenta_, or Indian
bread-root, which it resembles in description, excepting that the root
of the above is tuberous oval, and connected by long filaments.
The largest tubers are farthest from the stem of the plant.]_ Hector
suggested that these roots would be far better late in the fall, or
early in the spring, than during the time that the plant was in bloom,
for he knew from observation and experience that at the flowering
season the greater part of the nourishment derived from the soil goes to
perfect the flower and the seeds. Upon scraping the cut tuber, there was
a white floury powder produced resembling the starchy substance of the
potato.

“This flour,” said Catharine, “would make good porridge with milk.”

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

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

One fine day, Louis returned home from the lake shore in great haste,
for the bows and arrows, with the interesting news that a herd of five
deer were in the water, and making for Long Island.

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

“No fear, ma chère; they will stop to feed on the beds of rice and
lilies. We must have Wolfe. Here, Wolfe, Wolfe, Wolfe,--here, boy,
here!”

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

Hector was impatiently waiting the arrival of the bows and Wolfe. The
herd of deer, consisting of a noble buck, two full-grown females, and
two young half-grown males, were quietly feeding among the beds of
rice and rushes, not more than fifteen or twenty yards from the shore,
apparently quite unconcerned at the presence of Hector, who stood on
a fallen trunk eagerly eyeing their motions; but the hurried steps of
Louis and Catharine, with the deep sonorous baying of Wolfe, soon roused
the timid creatures to a sense of danger, and the stag, raising his head
and making, as the children thought, a signal for retreat, now struck
boldly out for the nearest point of Long Island.

“We shall lose them,” cried Louis, despairingly, eyeing the long bright
track that cut the silvery waters, as the deer swam gallantly out.

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

Wolfe dashed bravely into the lake.

“Head them! head them!” shouted Hector.

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

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

Catharine proved a dutiful ally, she did as she was bid; she waited
till the deer were within a few yards of the shore, then she shouted and
clapped her hands. Frightened at the noise and clamour, the terrified
creatures coasted along for some way, till within a little distance of
the thicket where Hector lay concealed, the very spot from which they
had emerged when they first took to the water; to this place they boldly
steered. Louis, who had watched the direction the herd had taken with
breathless interest, now noiselessly hurried to Hector’s assistance,
taking an advantageous post for aim, in case Hector’s arrow missed, or
only slightly wounded one of the deer.

Hector, crouched beneath the trees, waited cautiously till one of the
does was within reach of his arrow, and so good and true was his aim,
that it hit the animal hi the throat a little above the chest; the stag
now turned again, but Wolfe was behind, and pressed him forward, and
again the noble animal strained every nerve for the shore. Louis now
shot his arrow, but it swerved from the mark, he was too eager, it
glanced harmlessly along the water; but the cool, unimpassioned hand of
Hector sent another arrow between the eyes of the doe, stunning her with
its force, and then, another from Louis laid her on her side, dying, and
staining the water with her blood.

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

The boys were soon hard at work, skinning the animal, and cutting it up.
This was the most valuable acquisition they had yet effected, for many
uses were to be made of the deer, besides eating the flesh. It was a
store of wealth in their eyes.

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

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

The boys had learned from the Indians how precious were the tough sinews
of the deer for sewing. They knew how to prepare the skins of the deer
for mocassins, which they could cut out and make as neatly as the squaws
themselves. They could fashion arrow-heads, and knew how best to season
the wood for making both the long and cross-bow; they had seen the
fish-hooks these people manufactured from bone and hard wood; they knew
that strips of fresh-cut skins would make bow-strings, or the entrails
of animals dried and rendered pliable. They had watched the squaws
making baskets of the inner bark of the oak, elm, and basswood, and mats
of the inner bark of the cedar, with many other ingenious works that
they now found would prove useful to them, after a little practice
had perfected their inexperienced attempts. They also knew how to dry
venison as the Indians and trappers prepare it, by cutting the thick
fleshy portions of the meat into strips, from four to six inches in
breadth, and two or more in thickness. These strips they strung upon
poles supported on forked sticks, and exposed them to the drying action
of the sun and wind. Fish they split open, and removed the back and head
bones, and smoked them slightly, or dried them in the sun.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Hec., and a good warm shanty; these huts of bark and boughs will
not do when once the cold weather sets in.”

“A shanty would soon be put up,” said Hector; “for even Kate, wee bit
lassie as she is, could give us some help in trimming up the logs.

“That I could, indeed,” replied Catherine; “for you may remember, Hec.,
that the last journey my father made to the Bay, _[FN: Bay of
Quints.]_ with the pack of furs, that you and I called a _Bee_

_[FN: A Bee is a practical instance of duty to a neighbour. We
fear it is peculiar to Canada, although deserving of imitation in all
Christian colonies. When any work which requires many hands is in
the course of performance, as the building of log-houses, barns,
or shanties, all the neighbours are summoned, and give their best
assistance in the construction. Of course the assisted party is liable
to be called upon by the community in turn, to repay in kind the help he
has received.]_

to put up a shed for the new cow that he was to drive back with him, and
I am sure Mathilde and I did as much good as you and Louis. You know you
said you could not have got on nearly so well without our help.”

“Yes, and you cried because you got a fall off the shed when if was only
four logs high.”

“It was not for the fall that I cried,” said Catharine, resentfully,
“but because cousin Louis and you laughed at me, and said, ‘Cats, you
know, have nine lives, and seldom are hurt, because they light on their
feet,’ and I thought it was very cruel to laugh at me when I was in
pain. Beside, you called me ‘puss,’ and ‘poor pussie’ all the rest of
the _Bee_.”

“I am sure, ma belle, I am very sorry if I was rude to you,” said Louis,
trying to look penitent for the offence. “For my part, I had forgotten
all about the fall; I only know that we passed a very merry day. Dear
aunt made us a fine Johnny-cake for tea, with lots of maple molasses;
and the shed was a capital shed, and the cow must have thought us fine
builders, to have made such a comfortable shelter for her, with no
better help.”

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

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




CHAPTER IV.

  “Aye from the sultry heat,
  We to our cave retreat,
  O’ercanopied by huge roots, intertwined,
  Of wildest texture, blacken’d o’er with age,
  Bound them their mantle green the climbers twine.
  Beneath whose mantle--pale,
  Fann’d by the breathing gale,
  We shield us from the fervid mid-day rage,
  Thither, while the murmuring throng
  Of wild bees hum their drowsy song.”--COLERIDGE.

“Louis, what are you cutting out of that bit of wood?” said Catharine,
the very next day after the first ideas of the shanty had been started.

“Hollowing out a canoe.”

“Out of that piece of stick?” said Catharine, laughing. “How many
passengers is it to accommodate, my dear.”

“Don’t teaze, ma belle. I am only making a model. My canoe will be made
out of a big pine log, and large enough to hold three.”

“Is it to be like the big sap-trough in the sugar-bush at home?” Louis
nodded assent.

“I long to go over to the island; I see lots of ducks popping in and
out of the little bays beneath the cedars, and there are plenty of
partridges, I am sure, and squirrels,--it is the very place for them.”

“And shall we have a sail as well as oars?”

“Yes; set up your apron for a sail.”

Catharine cast a rueful look upon the tattered remnant of the apron.

“It is worth nothing now,” she said, sighing; “and what am I to do when
my gown is worn out? It is a good thing it is so strong; if it had been
cotton, now, it would have been torn to bits among the bushes.”

“We must make clothes of skins as soon as we get enough,” said Hector;
“Louis, I think you can manufacture a bone needle; we can pierce the
holes with the strong thorns, or a little round bone bodkin, that can be
easily made.”

“The first rainy day, we will see what we can do,” replied Louis; “but I
am full of my canoe just now.”

“Indeed, Louis, I believe you never think of anything else; but even
if we had a canoe to-morrow, I do not think that either you or I could
manage one,” said cautions Hector.

“I could soon learn, as others have done before me. I wonder who first
taught the Indians to make canoes, and venture out on the lakes and
streams. Why should we be more stupid than these untaught heathens? I
have listened so often to my father’s stories and adventures when he was
out lumbering on the St. John’s river, that I am as familiar with the
idea of a boat, as if I had been born in one. Only think now, ma belle,”
 he said, turning to Catharine; “just think of the fish--the big ones we
could get if we had but a canoe to push out from the shore beyond those
rush-beds.”

“It strikes me, Louis, that those rush-beds, as you call them, must be
the Indian rice that we have seen the squaws make their soup of.”

“Yes; and you remember old Jacob used to talk of a fine lake that he
called Rice Lake, somewhere to the northward of the Cold Springs, where
he said there was plenty of game of all kinds, and a fine open place,
where people could see through the openings among the trees. He said it
was a great hunting-place for the Indians in the fall of the year, and
that they came there to gather in the harvest of wild rice.”

“I hope the Indians will not come here and find us out,” said Catharine,
shuddering; “I think I should be more frightened at the Indians than at
the wolves. Have we not heard fearful tales of their cruelty?”

“But we have never been harmed by them; they have always been civil
enough when they came to the Springs.” “They came, you know, for
food, or shelter, or something that they wanted from us; but it may
be different when they find us alone and unprotected, encroaching upon
their hunting grounds.”

“The place is wide enough for us and them; we will try and make them our
friends.”

“The wolf and the lamb do not lie down in the fold together,” observed
Hector. “The Indian is treacherous. The wild man and the civilized man
do not live well together, their habits and dispositions are so contrary
the one to the other. We are open, and they are cunning, and they
suspect our openness to be only a greater degree of cunning than their
own--they do not understand us. They are taught to be revengeful, and we
are taught to forgive our enemies. So you see that what is a virtue with
the savage, is a crime with the Christian. If the Indian could be
taught the word of God, he might be kind and true, and gentle as well as
brave.”

It was with conversations like this that our poor wanderers wiled away
their weariness. The love of life, and the exertions necessary for
self-preservation, occupied so large a portion of their thoughts and
time, that they had hardly leisure for repining. They mutually cheered
and animated each other to bear up against the sad fate that had thus
severed them from every kindred tie, and shut them out from that home to
which their young hearts were bound by every endearing remembrance from
infancy upwards.

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

They crossed several narrow deep ravines, and the low wooded flat
_[FN: Now the fertile firm of Joe Harris, a Yankee settler whose
pleasant meadows and fields of grain form a pretty feature from the
lake. It is one of the oldest clearings on the shore, and speaks well
for the persevering industry of the settler and his family.]_ along the
lake shore, to the eastward of Pine-tree Point. Finding it difficult
to force their way through the thick underwood that always impedes the
progress of the traveller on the low shores of the lake, they followed
the course of an ascending narrow ridge, which formed a sort of natural
causeway between two parallel hollows, the top of this ridge being in
many places, not wider than a cart or waggon could pass along. The sides
were most gracefully adorned with flowering shrubs, wild vines, creepers
of various species, wild cherries of several kinds, hawthorns, bilberry
bushes, high-bush cranberries, silver birch, poplars, oaks and pines;
while in the deep ravines on either side grew trees of the largest
growth, the heads of which lay on a level with their path. Wild cliffy
banks, beset with huge boulders of red and grey granite and water-worn
limestone, showed that it had once formed the boundary of the lake,
though now it was almost a quarter of a mile in its rear. Springs of
pure water were in abundance, trickling down the steep rugged sides of
this wooded glen. The children wandered onwards, delighted with the wild
picturesque path they had chosen, sometimes resting on a huge block of
moss-covered stone, or on the twisted roots of some ancient grey old oak
or pine, while they gazed with curiosity and interest on the lonely but
lovely landscape before them. Across the lake, the dark forest shut all
else from their view, rising in gradual far-off slopes, till it reached
the utmost boundary of sight. Much the children marvelled what country
it might be that lay in the dim, blue, hazy distance,--to them, indeed,
a _terra incognita_--a land of mystery; but neither of her companions
laughed when Catharine gravely suggested the probability of this unknown
shore to the northward being her father’s beloved Highlands. Let not
youthful and more learned reader smile at the ignorance of the Canadian
girl; she knew nothing of maps, and globes, and hemispheres,--her only
book of study had been the Holy Scriptures, her only teacher a poor
Highland soldier.

Following the elevated ground above this deep valley, the travellers at
last halted on the extreme, edge of a high and precipitous mound, that
formed an abrupt termination to the deep glen. They found water not far
from this spot fit for drinking, by following a deer-path a little to
the southward. And there, on the borders of a little basin on a pleasant
brae, where the bright silver birch waved gracefully over its sides,
they decided upon building a winter house. They named the spot Mount
Ararat: “For here.” said they, “we will build us an ark of refuge and
wander no more.” And mount Ararat is the name which the spot still
bears. Here they sat them down on a fallen tree, and ate a meal of dried
venison, and drank of the cold spring that welled out from beneath the
edge of the bank. Hector felled a tree to mark the site of their house
near the birches, and they made a regular blaze on the trees as they
returned home towards the wigwam, that they might not miss the place.
They found less difficulty in retracing their path than they had
formerly, a there were some striking peculiarities to mark it, and
they had learned to be very minute in the remarks they made as they
travelled, so that they now seldom missed the way they came by. A few
days after this, they removed all their household stores, viz. the axe,
the tin pot, bows and arrows, baskets, and bags of dried fruit, the
dried venison and fish, and the deerskin; nor did they forget the deer
scalp, which they bore away as a trophy, to be fastened up over the door
of their new dwelling, for a memorial of their first hunt on the shores
of the Rice Lake. The skin was given to Catharine to sleep on.

The boys were now busy from morning till night chopping down trees for
house-logs. It was a work of time and labour, as the axe was blunt, and
the oaks hard to cut; but they laboured on without grumbling, and Kate
watched the fall of each tree with lively joy. They were no longer dull;
there was something to look forward to from day to day-they were going
to commence housekeeping in good earnest and they should be warm and
well lodged before the bitter frosts of winter could come to chill their
blood. It was a joyful day when the log walls of the little shanty were
put up, and the door hewed out. Windows they had none, so they did
not cut out the spaces for them; _[FN: Many a shanty is put up in
Canada without windows, and only an open space for a door, with a rude
plank set up to close it in at night.]_ they could do very well without,
as hundreds of Irish and Highland emigrants have done before and since.

A pile of stones rudely cemented together with wet clay and ashes
against the logs, and a hole cut in the roof, formed the chimney
and hearth in this primitive dwelling. The chinks were filled with
wedge-shaped pieces of wood, and plastered with clay: the trees,
being chiefly oaks and pines, afforded no moss. This deficiency rather
surprised the boys, for in the thick forest and close cedar swamps, moss
grows in abundance on the north side of the trees, especially on the
cedar, maple, beech, bass, and iron wood; but there were few of these,
excepting a chance one or two in the little basin in front of the house.
The roof was next put on, which consisted of split cedars; and when the
little dwelling was thus far habitable, they were all very happy. While
the boys had been putting on the roof, Catharine had collected the
stones for the chimney, and cleared the earthen floor of the chips and
rubbish with a broom of cedar boughs, bound together with a leathern
thong. She had swept it all clean, carefully removing all unsightly
objects, and strewing it over with fresh cedar sprigs, which gave out
a pleasant odour, and formed a smooth and not unseemly carpet for their
little dwelling. How cheerful was the first fire blazing up on their own
hearth! It was so pleasant to sit by its gladdening light, and chat away
of all they had done and all that they meant to do. Here was to be a set
of split cedar shelves, to hold their provisions and baskets; there a
set of stout pegs were to be inserted between the logs for hanging up
strings of dried meat, bags of birch-bark, or the skins of the animals
they were to shoot or trap. A table was to be fixed on posts in the
centre of the floor. Louis was to carve wooden platters and dishes, and
some stools were to be made with hewn blocks of wood, till something
better could be devised. Their bedsteads were rough poles of iron-wood,
supported by posts driven into the ground, and partly upheld by the
projection of the logs at the angles of the wall. Nothing could be more
simple. The framework was of split cedar; and a safe bed was made by
pine boughs being first laid upon the frame, and then thickly covered
with dried grass, moss, and withered leaves. Such were the lowly but
healthy couches on which these children of the forest slept.

A dwelling so rudely framed and scantily furnished would be regarded
with disdain by the poorest English peasant. Yet many a settler’s family
have I seen as roughly lodged, while a better house was being prepared
for their reception; and many a gentleman’s son has voluntarily
submitted to privations as great as these, from the love of novelty and
adventure, or to embark in the tempting expectation of realizing money
in the lumbering trade, working hard, and sharing the rude log shanty
and ruder society of those reckless and hardy men, the Canadian
lumberers. During the spring and summer months, these men spread
themselves through the trackless forests, and along the shores of
nameless lakes and unknown streams, to cut the pine or oak lumber, such
being the name they give to the felled stems of trees, which are then
hewn, and in the winter dragged out upon the ice, where they are formed
into rafts, and floated down the waters till they reach the great
St. Lawrence, and are, after innumerable difficulties and casualties,
finally shipped for England. I have likewise known European gentlemen
voluntarily leave the comforts of a civilized home, and associate
themselves with the Indian trappers and hunters, leading lives as
wandering and as wild as the uncultivated children of the forest. The
nights and early mornings were already growing sensibly more chilly. The
dews at this season fall heavily, and the mists fill the valleys, till
the sun has risen with sufficient heat to draw up the vapours. It was a
good thing that the shanty was finished so soon, or the exposure to the
damp air might have been productive of ague and fever. Every hour almost
they spent in making little additions to their household comforts, but
some time was necessarily passed in trying to obtain provisions. One
day Hector, who had been out from dawn till moonrise, returned with the
welcome news that he had shot a young deer, and required the assistance
of his cousin to bring it up the steep bank--(it was just at the
entrance of the great ravine)--below the precipitous cliff near the
lake; he had left old Wolfe to guard it in the meantime. They had now
plenty of fresh broiled meat, and this store was very acceptable, as
they were obliged to be very careful of the dried meat that they had.

This time Catharine adopted a new plan. Instead of cutting the meat in
strips, and drying it, (or jerking it, as the lumberers term it,) she
roasted it before the fire, and hung it up, wrapping it in thin sheets
of birch bark. The juices, instead of being dried up, were preserved,
and the meat was more palatable. Catharine found great store of wild
plums in a beautiful valley, not far from the shanty; these she dried
for the winter store, eating sparingly of them in their fresh state; she
also found plenty of wild black currants, and high-bush cranberries,
on the banks of a charming creek of bright water that flowed between
a range of high pine hills, and finally emptied itself into the
lake._[FN: This little stream flows through the green meadows
of “Glenlynden,” watering the grounds of Mr. Alfred Hayward, whose
picturesque cottage forms a most attractive object to the eye of the
traveller.]_ There were great quantities of water-cresses in this pretty
brook; they grew in bright round cushion-like tufts at the bottom of the
water, and were tender and wholesome. These formed an agreeable addition
to their diet, which had hitherto been chiefly confined to animal food,
for they could not always meet with a supply of the bread-roots, as
they grew chiefly in damp, swampy thickets on the lake shore, which
were sometimes very difficult of access; however, they never missed any
opportunity of increasing their stores, and laying up for the winter
such roots as they could procure.

As the cool weather and frosty nights drew on, the want of warm
clothes and bed-covering became more sensibly felt: those they had were
beginning to wear out. Catharine had managed to wash her clothes at the
lake several times, and thus preserved them clean and wholesome; but she
was often sorely puzzled how the want of her dress was to be supplied as
time wore on, and many were the consultations she held with the boys
on the important subject. With the aid of a needle she might be able to
manufacture the skins of the small animals into some sort of jacket,
and the doe-skin and deer-skin could be made into garments for the boys.
Louis was always suppling and rubbing the skins to make them soft. They
had taken off the hair by sprinkling it with wood ashes, and rolling
it up with the hairy side inwards. Out of one of these skins he made
excellent mocassins, piercing the holes with a sharpened bone bodkin,
and passing the sinews of the deer through, as he had seen his father
do, by fixing a stout fish-bone to the deer-sinew thread; thus he had an
excellent substitute for a needle, and with the aid of the old file he
sharpened the point of the rusty nail, so that he was enabled, with
a little trouble, to drill a hole in a bone needle, for his cousin
Catharine’s use. After several attempts, he succeeded in making some of
tolerable fineness, hardening them by exposure to a slow steady degree
of heat, till she was able to work with them, and even mend her clothes
with tolerable expertness. By degrees, Catharine contrived to cover
the whole outer surface of her homespun woollen frock with squirrel and
mink, musk-rat and woodchuck skins. A curious piece of fur patchwork of
many hues and textures it presented to the eye,--a coat of many colours,
it is true; but it kept the wearer warm, and Catharine was not a little
proud of her ingenuity and industry: every new patch that was added was
a source of fresh satisfaction, and the mocassins, that Louis fitted so
nicely to her feet, were great comforts. A fine skin that Hector brought
triumphantly in one day, the spoil from a fox that had been caught in
one of his deadfalls, was in due time converted into a dashing cap, the
brush remaining as an ornament to hang down on one shoulder. Catharine
might have passed for a small Diana, when she went out with her fur
dress and bow and arrows to hunt with Hector and Louis.

Whenever game of any kind was killed, it was carefully skinned and
stretched upon bent sticks, being first turned, so as to present the
inner part to the drying action of the air. The young hunters were most
expert in this work, having been accustomed for many years to assist
their fathers in preparing the furs which they disposed of to the fur
traders, who visited them from time to time, and gave them various
articles in exchange for their peltries; such as powder and shot, and
cutlery of different kinds, as knives, scissors, needles, and pins, with
gay calicoes, and cotton handkerchiefs for the women.

As the evenings lengthened, the boys employed themselves with carving
wooden platters: knives and forks and spoons they fashioned out of the
larger bones of the deer, which they often found bleaching in the sun
and wind, where they had been left by their enemies the wolves; baskets
too they made, and birch dishes, which they could now finish so well,
that they held water, or any liquid; but their great want was some
vessel that would bear the heat of the fire. The tin pot was so small
that it could be made little use of in the cooking way. Catharine had
made an attempt at making tea, on a small scale, of the leaves of the
sweet fern,--a graceful woody fern, with a fine aromatic scent like
nutmegs; this plant is highly esteemed among the Canadians as a
beverage, and also as a remedy against the ague; it grows in great
abundance on dry sandy lands and wastes, by waysides.

“If we could but make some sort of earthen pot that would stand the heat
of the fire,” said Louis, “we could get on nicely with cooking.” But
nothing like the sort of clay used by potters had been seen, and they
were obliged to give up that thought, and content themselves with
roasting or broiling their food. Louis, however, who was fond of
contrivances, made an oven, by hollowing out a place near the hearth,
and lining it with stones, filling up the intervals with wood ashes and
such clay as they could find, beaten into a smooth mortar. Such cement
answered very well, and the oven was heated by filling it with hot
embers; these were removed when it was sufficiently heated, and the meat
or roots placed within, the oven being covered over with a flat stone
previously heated before the fire, and covered with live coals. This
sort of oven had often been described by old Jacob, as one in common
use among some of the Indian tribes in the lower province, in which they
cook small animals, and make excellent meat of them; they could bake
bread also in this oven, if they had had flour to use. _[FN: This
primitive oven is much like what voyagers have described as in use among
the natives of many of the South Sea islands.]_

Since the finishing of the house and furnishing it, the young people
were more reconciled to their lonely life, and even entertained decided
home feelings for their little log cabin. They never ceased, it is true,
to talk of their parents, and brothers, and sisters, and wonder if all
were well, and whether they still hoped for their return, and to recall
all their happy days spent in the home which they now feared they
were destined never again to behold. About the same time they lost the
anxious hope of meeting some one from home in search of them at every
turn when they went out. Nevertheless they were becoming each day more
cheerful and more active. Ardently attached to each other, they seemed
bound together by a yet more sacred tie of brotherhood. They were now
all the world to one another, and no cloud of disunion came to mar
their happiness. Hector’s habitual gravity and caution were tempered
by Louis’s lively vivacity and ardour of temper, and they both loved
Catharine, and strove to smoothe, as much as possible, the hard life to
which she was exposed, by the most affectionate consideration for her
comfort, and she in return endeavoured to repay them by cheerfully
enduring all privations, and making light of all their trials, and
taking a lively interest in all their plans and contrivances.

Louis had gone out to fish at the lake one autumn morning. During his
absence, a sudden squall of wind came on, accompanied with heavy rain.
As he stayed longer than usual, Hector began to feel uneasy, lest some
accident had befallen him, knowing his adventurous spirit, and that he
had for some days previous been busy constructing a raft of cedar logs,
which he had fastened together with wooden pins. This raft he had nearly
finished, and was even talking of adventuring over to the nearest island
to explore it, and see what game, and roots, and fruits it afforded.

Bidding Catharine stay quietly within-doors till his return, Hector
ran off, not without some misgivings of evil having befallen his rash
cousin, which fears he carefully concealed from his sister, as he did
not wish to make her needlessly anxious. When he reached the shore, his
mind was somewhat relieved by seeing the raft on the beach, just as it
had been left the night before, but neither Louis nor the axe was to be
seen, nor the fishing-rod and line.

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

While he yet stood hesitating within himself which way to turn, he heard
steps as of some one running, and perceived his cousin hurrying through
the bushes in the direction of the shanty. It was evident by his
disordered air, and the hurried glances that he cast over his shoulder
from time to time, that something unusual had occurred to disturb him.

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

Louis now turned and held up his hand, as if to enjoin silence, till
Hector came up to him.

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

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

“How came you to see them?”

“I must tell you that when I parted from you and Cathy, instead of going
down to my raft, as I thought at first I would do, I followed the deer
path through the little ravine, and then ascending the side of the
valley, I crossed the birch grove, and kept down the slope within sight
of the creek. While I was looking out upon the lake, and thinking how
pretty the islands were, rising so green from the blue water, I was
surprised by seeing several dark spots dotting the lake. At first, you
may be sure, I thought they must be a herd of deer, only they kept too
far apart, so I sat down on a log to watch, thinking if they turned out
to be deer, I would race off for you and Wolfe, and the bows and arrows,
that we might try our chance for some venison; but as the black specks
came nearer and nearer, I perceived they were canoes with Indians in
them, three in each. They made for the mouth of the creek, and ran
ashore among the thick bushes. I watched them with a beating heart, and
lay down flat, lest they should spy me out; for those fellows have eyes
like catamounts, so keen and wild--they see everything without seeming
to cast a glance on it. Well, I saw them wind up the ridge till they
reached the Bare-hill. _[FN: Supposed to be a council hill. It is
known by the name of Bare-hill, from the singular want of verdure on its
surface. It is one of the steepest on the ridge above the little creek,
being a picturesque object, with its fine pine-trees, seen from Mr.
Hayward’s grounds, and forms, I believe, a part of his property.]_ You
remember that spot; we called it so from its barren appearance. In a few
minutes a column of smoke rose and curled among the pine-trees, and then
another and another, till I counted five fires burning brightly; and,
as I stood on the high ground, I could distinguish the figures of many
naked savages moving about, running to and fro like a parcel of black
ants on a cedar log; and by-and-by I heard them raise a yell like a
pack of ravenous wolves on a deer track. It made my heart leap up in my
breast. I forgot all the schemes that had just got into my wise head,
of slipping quietly down, and taking off one of the empty birch canoes,
which you must own would have been a glorious thing for us; but when I
heard the noise these wild wretches raised. I darted off, and ran as
if the whole set were at my heels. I think I just saved my scalp.” And
Louis put his hand to his head, and tugged his thick black curls, as if
to ascertain that they were still safe from the scalping knives of his
Indian enemies.

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

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

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

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

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

“Let us put out the fire, and hide ourselves in the big ravine below
Mount Ararat, dig a cave in one of the hills, and convey our house-hold
goods thither.” Such was Louis’s plan.

“The ravines would be searched directly,” suggested Hector; “besides,
the Indians know they are famous coverts for deer and game of all sorts;
they might chance to pop upon us, and catch us like woodchucks in a
burrow.”

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

Catharine’s counsel was deemed the most prudent, and the boys
immediately busied themselves with hiding under the broken branches of a
prostrate tree such articles as they could not conveniently carry
away, leaving the rest to chance; with the most valuable they loaded
themselves, and guided by Catharine, who, with her dear old dog, marched
forward along the narrow footpath that had been made by some wild
animals, probably deer, in their passage from the lake to their
feeding-place, or favorite covert, on the low sheltered plain; where,
being quite open, and almost, in parts, free from trees, the grass and
herbage were sweeter and more abundant, and the springs of water fresh
and cool.

Catharine cast many a fearful glance through the brushwood as they moved
onward, but saw no living thing, excepting a family of chipmunks gaily
chasing each other along a fallen branch, and a covey of quails, that
were feeding quietly on the red berries of the _Mitchella repens,_ or
twinberry, _[FN: Also partridge-berry and checker-berry, a lovely
creeping winter-green, with white fragrant flowers, and double scarlet
berry.]_ as it is commonly called, of which the partridges and quails
are extremely fond; for Nature, with liberal hand, has spread abroad
her bounties for the small denizens, furred or feathered, that haunt the
Rice Lake and its flowery shores.

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

But fear is not subject to the control of reason, and in the present
instance it invested the dreaded Indians with superhuman powers of sight
and of motion. A few minutes’ hasty flight brought our travellers to the
brow of a precipitous bank, nearly a hundred feet above the level open
plain which they sought. Here, then, they felt comparatively safe: they
were out of sight of the camp fires, the spot they had chosen was open,
and flight, in case of the approach of the Indians, not difficult, while
hiding-places were easy of access. They found a deep, sheltered hollow
in the bank, where two mighty pines had beep torn up by the roots, and
prostrated headlong down the steep, forming a regular cave, roofed by
the earth and fibres that had been uplifted in their fall. Pendent
from these roots hung a luxuriant curtain of wild grapevines and other
creepers, which formed a leafy screen, through which the most curious
eye could scarcely penetrate. This friendly vegetable veil seemed as
if provided for their concealment, and they carefully abstained from
disturbing the pendent foliage, lest they should, by so doing, betray
their hiding-place to their enemies. They found plenty of long grass,
and abundance of long soft green moss and ferns near a small grove of
poplars, which surrounded a spring of fine water. They ate some dried
fruit and smoked fish, and drank some of the clear spring; and
after they had said their evening prayers, they laid down to sleep,
Catharine’s head pillowed on the neck of her faithful guardian, Wolfe.
In the middle of the night a startling sound, as of some heavy body
falling, wakened them all simultaneously. The night was so dark
they could see nothing, and terror-struck, they sat gazing into the
impenetrable darkness of their cave, not even daring to speak to each
other, hardly even to breathe. Wolfe gave a low grumbling bark, and
resumed his couchant posture as if nothing worthy of his attention was
near to cause the disturbance. Catharine trembled and wept, and prayed
for safety against the Indians and beasts of prey, and Hector and Louis
listened, till they fell asleep in spite of their fears. In the morning,
it seemed as if they had dreamed some terrible dream, so vague were
their recollections of the fright they had had, but the cause was soon
perceived. A large stone that had been heaved up with the clay that
adhered to the roots and fibres, had been loosened, and had fallen on
the ground, close to the spot where Catharine lay. So ponderous was the
mass, that had it struck her, death must have been the consequence of
the blow; and Hector and Louis beheld it with fear and amazement, while
Catharine regarded it as a proof of Divine mercy and protection from
Him in whose hand her safety lay. The boys, warned by this accident,
carefully removed several large stones from the roof, and tried the
safety of their clay walls with a stout staff, to ascertain that all was
secure, before they again ventured to sleep beneath this rugged canopy.




CHAPTER V.

“The soul of the wicked desireth evil; his neighbour findeth no favour
in his eyes.”--_Proverbs_.

FOR several days, they abstained from lighting a fire, lest the smoke
should be seen; but this, the great height of the bank would have
effectually prevented. They suffered much cold at night from the copious
dews, which, even on sultry summer’s evenings, is productive of much
chilling. They could not account for the fact that the air, at night,
was much warmer on the high hills than in the low valleys; they were
even sensible of a rush of heat as they ascended to the higher ground.
These simple children had not been taught that it is the nature of the
heated air to ascend, and its place to be supplied by the colder and
denser particles. They noticed the effects, but understood nothing of
the causes that ruled them.

The following days they procured several partridges, but feared to cook
them; however, they plucked them, split them open, and dried the flesh
for a future day. A fox or racoon attracted by the smell of the birds,
came one night, and carried them off, for in the morning they were gone.
They saw several herd of deer crossing the plain, and one day Wolfe
tracked a wounded doe to a covert under the poplars, near a hidden
spring, where she had lain herself down to die in peace, far from the
haunts of her fellows. The arrow was in her throat; it was of white
flint, and had evidently been sent from an Indian bow. It was almost
with fear and trembling that they availed themselves of t

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