Chapter Twenty Nine.

Chapter Twenty Nine.John shoots an Indian.Once more was the ground covered with snow to the depth of three feet. The cattle were littered down inside the enclosure of palisades round the cow-house; the sheep were driven into the inclosed sheep-fold, and the horses were put into a portion of the barn in the sheep-fold which had been parted off for them. All was made secure, and every preparation made for the long winter. Although there had been a fall of snow, the severe frost had not yet come on. It did, however, in about a fortnight afterwards, and then, according to the wishes of the Colonel, six oxen were killed for the use of the fort, and taken there by the horses on a sledge; this was the last task that they had to fulfil, and then Alfred bade adieu to the officers of the fort, as they did not expect to meet again till the winter was over. Having experienced one winter, they were more fully prepared for the second; and as Malachi, the Strawberry, and John were now regular inmates of the house (for they did not keep a separate table), there was a greater feeling of security, and the monotony and dreariness were not so great as in the preceding winter; moreover, everything was now in its place, and they had more to attend to—two circumstances which greatly contributed to relieve theennuiarising from continual confinement. The hunting-parties went out as usual; only Henry, and occasionally Alfred, remained at home to attend to the stock, and to perform other offices which the increase of their establishment required. The new books brought by Henry from Montreal, and which by common consent had been laid aside for the winter evenings, were now a great source of amusement, as Mr Campbell read aloud a portion of them every evening. Time passed away quickly, as it always does when there is a regular routine of duties and employment, and Christmas came before they were aware of its approach.It was a great comfort to Mrs Campbell that she now always had John at home, except when he was out hunting, and on that score she had long dismissed all anxiety, as she had full confidence in Malachi; but latterly Malachi and John seldom went out alone—indeed, the old man appeared to like being in company, and his misanthropy had entirely disappeared. He now invariably spent his evenings with the family assembled round the kitchen fire, and had become much more fond of hearing his own voice. John did not so much admire these evening parties. He cared nothing for new books, or indeed any books. He would amuse himself making mocassins, or working porcupine-quills with the Strawberry at one corner of the fire, and the others might talk or read, it was all the same, John never said a word, or appeared to pay the least attention to what was said. His father occasionally tried to make him learn something, but it was useless. He would remain for hours with his book before him, but his mind was elsewhere. Mr Campbell, therefore, gave up the attempt for the present, indulging the hope that when John was older he would be more aware of the advantages of education, and would become more attentive. At present, it was only inflicting pain on the boy without any advantage being gained. But John did not always sit by the kitchen fire. The wolves were much more numerous than in the preceding winter, having been attracted by the sheep which were within the palisade, and every night the howling was incessant. The howl of a wolf was sufficient to make John seize his rifle and leave the house, and he would remain in the snow for hours till one came sufficiently near for him to fire at, and he had already killed several when a circumstance occurred which was the cause of great uneasiness.John was out one evening as usual, crouched down within the palisades, and watching for the wolves. It was a bright starry night, but there was no moon, when he perceived one of the animals crawling along almost on its belly, close to the door of the palisade which surrounded the house. This surprised him, as, generally speaking, the animals prowled round the palisade which encircled the sheep-fold, or else close to the pigsties which were at the opposite side from the entrance door. John levelled his rifle and fired, when, to his astonishment, the wolf appeared to spring up on his hind legs, then fall down and roll away. The key of the palisade door was always kept within, and John determined to go in and fetch it, that he might ascertain whether he had killed the animal or not. When he entered Malachi said, “Did you kill, my boy?”“Don’t know,” replied John; “come for the key to see.”“I don’t like the gate being opened at night, John,” said Mr Campbell; “why don’t you leave it, as you usually do, till to-morrow morning; that will be time enough?”“I don’t know if it was a wolf,” replied John.“What, then, boy? tell me,” said Malachi.“Well, I think it was an Indian,” replied John; who then explained what had passed.“Well, I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Malachi; “at all events the gate must not be opened to-night, for if it was an Indian you fired at, there is more than one of them; we’ll keep all fast, John, and see what it was to-morrow.”Mrs Campbell and the girls were much alarmed at this event, and it was with difficulty that they were persuaded to retire to rest.“We will keep watch to-night at all events,” said Malachi, as soon as Mrs Campbell and her nieces had left the room.“The boy is right, I have no doubt. It is the Angry Snake and his party who are prowling about, but if the boy has hit the Indian, which I have no doubt of, they will make off; however, it will be just as well to be on our guard, nevertheless. Martin can watch here, and I will watch in the fold.”We have before observed that the lodge of Malachi, Martin, and his wife, was built within the palisade of the sheep-fold, and that there was a passage from the palisade round the house to that which surrounded the sheep-fold, which passage had also a palisade on each side of it.“I will watch here,” said Alfred; “let Martin go home with you and his wife.”“I will watch with you,” said John.“Well, perhaps that will be better,” said Malachi; “two rifles are better than one, and if any assistance is required there will be one to send for it.”“But what do you think they would do, Malachi?” said Mr Campbell; “they cannot climb the palisades.”“Not well, sir, nor do I think they would attempt it unless they had a large force, which I am sure they have not; no, sir, they would rather endeavour to set fire to the house if they could, but that’s not so easy; one thing is certain, that the Snake will try all he can to get possession of what he saw in your store-house.”“That I do not doubt,” said Alfred; “but he will not find it quite so easy a matter.”“They’ve been reconnoitring, sir, that’s the truth of it, and if John has helped one of them to a bit of lead, it will do good; for it will prove to them that we are on the alert, and make them careful how they come near the house again.”After a few minutes’ more conversation, Mr Campbell, Henry, and Percival retired, leaving the others to watch. Alfred walked home with Malachi and his party to see if all was right at the sheep-fold, and then returned.The night passed without any further disturbance except the howling of the wolves, to which they were accustomed.The next morning, at daybreak, Malachi and Martin came to the house, and, with John and Alfred, they opened the palisade gate, and went out to survey the spot where John had fired.“Yes, sir,” said Malachi; “it was an Indian, no doubt of it; here are the dents made in the snow by his knees as he crawled along, and John has hit him, for here is the blood. Let’s follow the trail. See, sir, he has been hard hit; there is more blood this way as we go on. Ha!” continued Malachi, as he passed by a mound of snow, “here’s the wolf-skin he was covered up with; then he is dead or thereabouts, and they have carried him off, for he never would have parted with his skin, if he had had his senses about him.”“Yes,” observed Martin, “his wound was mortal, that’s certain.”They pursued the track till they arrived at the forest, and then, satisfied by the marks on the snow that the wounded man had been carried away, they returned to the house, when they found the rest of the family dressed and in the kitchen. Alfred shewed them the skin of the wolf, and informed them of what they had discovered.“I am grieved that blood has been shed,” observed Mrs Campbell; “I wish it had not happened. I have heard that the Indians never forgive on such occasions.”“Why, ma’am, they are very revengeful, that’s certain, but still they won’t like to risk too much. This has been a lesson to them. I only wish it had been the Angry Snake himself who was settled, as then we should have no more trouble or anxiety about them.”“Perhaps it may be,” said Alfred.“No, sir, that’s not likely; it’s one of his young men; I know the Indian customs well.”It was some time before the alarm occasioned by this event subsided in the mind of Mrs Campbell and her nieces; Mr Campbell also thought much about it, and betrayed occasional anxiety. The parties went out hunting as before, but those at home now felt anxious till their return from the chase. Time, however, and not hearing anything more of the Indians, gradually revived their courage, and before the winter was half over they thought little about it. Indeed, it had been ascertained by Malachi from another band of Indians which he fell in with near a small lake where they were trapping beaver, that the Angry Snake was not in that part of the country, but had gone with his band to the westward at the commencement of the new year. This satisfied them that the enemy had left immediately after the attempt which he had made to reconnoitre the premises.The hunting-parties, therefore, as we said, continued as before; indeed, they were necessary for the supply of so many mouths. Percival, who had grown very much since his residence in Canada, was very anxious to be permitted to join them, which he never had been during the former winter. This was very natural. He saw his younger brother go out almost daily, and seldom return without having been successful; indeed, John was, next to Malachi, the best shot of the party. It was, therefore, very annoying to Percival that he should always be detained at home doing all the drudgery of the house, such as feeding the pigs, cleaning knives, and other menial work, while his younger brother was doing the duty of a man. To Percival’s repeated entreaties, objections were constantly raised by his mother; they could not spare him, he was not accustomed to walk in snow-shoes.Mr Campbell observed that Percival became dissatisfied and unhappy, and Alfred took his part and pleaded for him. Alfred observed very truly that the Strawberry could occasionally do Percival’s work, and that if it could be avoided, he should not be cooped up at home in the way that he was; and, Mr Campbell agreeing with Alfred, Mrs Campbell very reluctantly gave her consent to his occasionally going out.“Why, aunt, have you such an objection to Percival going out with the hunters?” said Mary. “It must be very trying to him to be always detained at home.”“I feel the truth of what you say, my dear Mary,” said Mrs Campbell, “and I assure you it is not out of selfishness, or because we shall have more work to do, that I wish him to remain with us; but I have an instinctive dread that some accident will happen to him, which I cannot overcome, and there is no arguing with a mother’s fears and a mother’s love.”“You were quite as uneasy, my dear aunt, when John first went out; you were continually in alarm about him, but now you are perfectly at ease,” replied Emma.“Very true,” said Mrs Campbell; “it is, perhaps, a weakness on my part which I ought to get over; but we are all liable to such feelings. I trust in God there is no real cause for apprehension, and that my reluctance is a mere weakness and folly. But I see the poor boy has long pined at being kept at home; for nothing is more irksome to a high-couraged and spirited boy as he is. I have, therefore, given my consent, because I think it is my duty; still the feeling remains, so let us say no more about it, my dear girls, for the subject is painful to me.”“My dear aunt, did you not say that you would talk to Strawberry on the subject of religion, and try if you could not persuade her to become a Christian? She is very serious at prayers, I observe; and appears, now that she understands English, to be very attentive to what is said.”“Yes, my dear Emma, it is my intention so to do very soon, but I do not like to be in too great a hurry. A mere conforming to the usages of our religion would be of little avail, and I fear that too many of our good missionaries, in their anxiety to make converts, do not sufficiently consider this point. Religion must proceed from conviction, and be seated in the heart; the heart, indeed, must be changed, not mere outward form attended to.”“What is the religion of the Indians, my dear aunt?” said Mary.“One which makes conversion the more difficult. It is in many respects so near what is right, that Indians do not easily perceive the necessity of change. They believe in one God, the Fountain of all good; they believe in a future state and in future rewards and punishments. You perceive they have the same foundation as we have, although they know not Christ; and, having very incomplete notions of duty, have a very insufficient sense of their manifold transgressions and offences in God’s sight, and consequently have no idea of the necessity of a mediator. Now it is, perhaps, easier to convince those who are entirely wrong, such as worship idols and false gods, than those who approach so nearly to the truth. But I have had many hours of reflection upon the proper course to pursue, and I do intend to have some conversation with her on the subject in a very short time. I have delayed because I consider it absolutely necessary that she should be perfectly aware of what I say before I try to alter her belief. Now, the Indian language, although quite sufficient for Indian wants, is poor, and has not the same copiousness as ours, because they do not require the words to explain what we term abstract ideas. It is, therefore, impossible to explain the mysteries of our holy religion to one who does not well understand our language. I think, however, that the Strawberry now begins to comprehend sufficiently for me to make the first attempt. I say first attempt, because I have no idea of making a convert in a week, or a month, or even in six months. All I can do is to exert my best abilities, and then trust to God, who, in His own good time, will enlighten her mind to receive His truth.”The next day the hunting party went out, and Percival, to his great delight, was permitted to accompany it. As they had a long way to go—for they had selected the hunting ground—they set off early in the morning, before daylight, Mr Campbell having particularly requested that they would not return home late.

Once more was the ground covered with snow to the depth of three feet. The cattle were littered down inside the enclosure of palisades round the cow-house; the sheep were driven into the inclosed sheep-fold, and the horses were put into a portion of the barn in the sheep-fold which had been parted off for them. All was made secure, and every preparation made for the long winter. Although there had been a fall of snow, the severe frost had not yet come on. It did, however, in about a fortnight afterwards, and then, according to the wishes of the Colonel, six oxen were killed for the use of the fort, and taken there by the horses on a sledge; this was the last task that they had to fulfil, and then Alfred bade adieu to the officers of the fort, as they did not expect to meet again till the winter was over. Having experienced one winter, they were more fully prepared for the second; and as Malachi, the Strawberry, and John were now regular inmates of the house (for they did not keep a separate table), there was a greater feeling of security, and the monotony and dreariness were not so great as in the preceding winter; moreover, everything was now in its place, and they had more to attend to—two circumstances which greatly contributed to relieve theennuiarising from continual confinement. The hunting-parties went out as usual; only Henry, and occasionally Alfred, remained at home to attend to the stock, and to perform other offices which the increase of their establishment required. The new books brought by Henry from Montreal, and which by common consent had been laid aside for the winter evenings, were now a great source of amusement, as Mr Campbell read aloud a portion of them every evening. Time passed away quickly, as it always does when there is a regular routine of duties and employment, and Christmas came before they were aware of its approach.

It was a great comfort to Mrs Campbell that she now always had John at home, except when he was out hunting, and on that score she had long dismissed all anxiety, as she had full confidence in Malachi; but latterly Malachi and John seldom went out alone—indeed, the old man appeared to like being in company, and his misanthropy had entirely disappeared. He now invariably spent his evenings with the family assembled round the kitchen fire, and had become much more fond of hearing his own voice. John did not so much admire these evening parties. He cared nothing for new books, or indeed any books. He would amuse himself making mocassins, or working porcupine-quills with the Strawberry at one corner of the fire, and the others might talk or read, it was all the same, John never said a word, or appeared to pay the least attention to what was said. His father occasionally tried to make him learn something, but it was useless. He would remain for hours with his book before him, but his mind was elsewhere. Mr Campbell, therefore, gave up the attempt for the present, indulging the hope that when John was older he would be more aware of the advantages of education, and would become more attentive. At present, it was only inflicting pain on the boy without any advantage being gained. But John did not always sit by the kitchen fire. The wolves were much more numerous than in the preceding winter, having been attracted by the sheep which were within the palisade, and every night the howling was incessant. The howl of a wolf was sufficient to make John seize his rifle and leave the house, and he would remain in the snow for hours till one came sufficiently near for him to fire at, and he had already killed several when a circumstance occurred which was the cause of great uneasiness.

John was out one evening as usual, crouched down within the palisades, and watching for the wolves. It was a bright starry night, but there was no moon, when he perceived one of the animals crawling along almost on its belly, close to the door of the palisade which surrounded the house. This surprised him, as, generally speaking, the animals prowled round the palisade which encircled the sheep-fold, or else close to the pigsties which were at the opposite side from the entrance door. John levelled his rifle and fired, when, to his astonishment, the wolf appeared to spring up on his hind legs, then fall down and roll away. The key of the palisade door was always kept within, and John determined to go in and fetch it, that he might ascertain whether he had killed the animal or not. When he entered Malachi said, “Did you kill, my boy?”

“Don’t know,” replied John; “come for the key to see.”

“I don’t like the gate being opened at night, John,” said Mr Campbell; “why don’t you leave it, as you usually do, till to-morrow morning; that will be time enough?”

“I don’t know if it was a wolf,” replied John.

“What, then, boy? tell me,” said Malachi.

“Well, I think it was an Indian,” replied John; who then explained what had passed.

“Well, I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Malachi; “at all events the gate must not be opened to-night, for if it was an Indian you fired at, there is more than one of them; we’ll keep all fast, John, and see what it was to-morrow.”

Mrs Campbell and the girls were much alarmed at this event, and it was with difficulty that they were persuaded to retire to rest.

“We will keep watch to-night at all events,” said Malachi, as soon as Mrs Campbell and her nieces had left the room.

“The boy is right, I have no doubt. It is the Angry Snake and his party who are prowling about, but if the boy has hit the Indian, which I have no doubt of, they will make off; however, it will be just as well to be on our guard, nevertheless. Martin can watch here, and I will watch in the fold.”

We have before observed that the lodge of Malachi, Martin, and his wife, was built within the palisade of the sheep-fold, and that there was a passage from the palisade round the house to that which surrounded the sheep-fold, which passage had also a palisade on each side of it.

“I will watch here,” said Alfred; “let Martin go home with you and his wife.”

“I will watch with you,” said John.

“Well, perhaps that will be better,” said Malachi; “two rifles are better than one, and if any assistance is required there will be one to send for it.”

“But what do you think they would do, Malachi?” said Mr Campbell; “they cannot climb the palisades.”

“Not well, sir, nor do I think they would attempt it unless they had a large force, which I am sure they have not; no, sir, they would rather endeavour to set fire to the house if they could, but that’s not so easy; one thing is certain, that the Snake will try all he can to get possession of what he saw in your store-house.”

“That I do not doubt,” said Alfred; “but he will not find it quite so easy a matter.”

“They’ve been reconnoitring, sir, that’s the truth of it, and if John has helped one of them to a bit of lead, it will do good; for it will prove to them that we are on the alert, and make them careful how they come near the house again.”

After a few minutes’ more conversation, Mr Campbell, Henry, and Percival retired, leaving the others to watch. Alfred walked home with Malachi and his party to see if all was right at the sheep-fold, and then returned.

The night passed without any further disturbance except the howling of the wolves, to which they were accustomed.

The next morning, at daybreak, Malachi and Martin came to the house, and, with John and Alfred, they opened the palisade gate, and went out to survey the spot where John had fired.

“Yes, sir,” said Malachi; “it was an Indian, no doubt of it; here are the dents made in the snow by his knees as he crawled along, and John has hit him, for here is the blood. Let’s follow the trail. See, sir, he has been hard hit; there is more blood this way as we go on. Ha!” continued Malachi, as he passed by a mound of snow, “here’s the wolf-skin he was covered up with; then he is dead or thereabouts, and they have carried him off, for he never would have parted with his skin, if he had had his senses about him.”

“Yes,” observed Martin, “his wound was mortal, that’s certain.”

They pursued the track till they arrived at the forest, and then, satisfied by the marks on the snow that the wounded man had been carried away, they returned to the house, when they found the rest of the family dressed and in the kitchen. Alfred shewed them the skin of the wolf, and informed them of what they had discovered.

“I am grieved that blood has been shed,” observed Mrs Campbell; “I wish it had not happened. I have heard that the Indians never forgive on such occasions.”

“Why, ma’am, they are very revengeful, that’s certain, but still they won’t like to risk too much. This has been a lesson to them. I only wish it had been the Angry Snake himself who was settled, as then we should have no more trouble or anxiety about them.”

“Perhaps it may be,” said Alfred.

“No, sir, that’s not likely; it’s one of his young men; I know the Indian customs well.”

It was some time before the alarm occasioned by this event subsided in the mind of Mrs Campbell and her nieces; Mr Campbell also thought much about it, and betrayed occasional anxiety. The parties went out hunting as before, but those at home now felt anxious till their return from the chase. Time, however, and not hearing anything more of the Indians, gradually revived their courage, and before the winter was half over they thought little about it. Indeed, it had been ascertained by Malachi from another band of Indians which he fell in with near a small lake where they were trapping beaver, that the Angry Snake was not in that part of the country, but had gone with his band to the westward at the commencement of the new year. This satisfied them that the enemy had left immediately after the attempt which he had made to reconnoitre the premises.

The hunting-parties, therefore, as we said, continued as before; indeed, they were necessary for the supply of so many mouths. Percival, who had grown very much since his residence in Canada, was very anxious to be permitted to join them, which he never had been during the former winter. This was very natural. He saw his younger brother go out almost daily, and seldom return without having been successful; indeed, John was, next to Malachi, the best shot of the party. It was, therefore, very annoying to Percival that he should always be detained at home doing all the drudgery of the house, such as feeding the pigs, cleaning knives, and other menial work, while his younger brother was doing the duty of a man. To Percival’s repeated entreaties, objections were constantly raised by his mother; they could not spare him, he was not accustomed to walk in snow-shoes.

Mr Campbell observed that Percival became dissatisfied and unhappy, and Alfred took his part and pleaded for him. Alfred observed very truly that the Strawberry could occasionally do Percival’s work, and that if it could be avoided, he should not be cooped up at home in the way that he was; and, Mr Campbell agreeing with Alfred, Mrs Campbell very reluctantly gave her consent to his occasionally going out.

“Why, aunt, have you such an objection to Percival going out with the hunters?” said Mary. “It must be very trying to him to be always detained at home.”

“I feel the truth of what you say, my dear Mary,” said Mrs Campbell, “and I assure you it is not out of selfishness, or because we shall have more work to do, that I wish him to remain with us; but I have an instinctive dread that some accident will happen to him, which I cannot overcome, and there is no arguing with a mother’s fears and a mother’s love.”

“You were quite as uneasy, my dear aunt, when John first went out; you were continually in alarm about him, but now you are perfectly at ease,” replied Emma.

“Very true,” said Mrs Campbell; “it is, perhaps, a weakness on my part which I ought to get over; but we are all liable to such feelings. I trust in God there is no real cause for apprehension, and that my reluctance is a mere weakness and folly. But I see the poor boy has long pined at being kept at home; for nothing is more irksome to a high-couraged and spirited boy as he is. I have, therefore, given my consent, because I think it is my duty; still the feeling remains, so let us say no more about it, my dear girls, for the subject is painful to me.”

“My dear aunt, did you not say that you would talk to Strawberry on the subject of religion, and try if you could not persuade her to become a Christian? She is very serious at prayers, I observe; and appears, now that she understands English, to be very attentive to what is said.”

“Yes, my dear Emma, it is my intention so to do very soon, but I do not like to be in too great a hurry. A mere conforming to the usages of our religion would be of little avail, and I fear that too many of our good missionaries, in their anxiety to make converts, do not sufficiently consider this point. Religion must proceed from conviction, and be seated in the heart; the heart, indeed, must be changed, not mere outward form attended to.”

“What is the religion of the Indians, my dear aunt?” said Mary.

“One which makes conversion the more difficult. It is in many respects so near what is right, that Indians do not easily perceive the necessity of change. They believe in one God, the Fountain of all good; they believe in a future state and in future rewards and punishments. You perceive they have the same foundation as we have, although they know not Christ; and, having very incomplete notions of duty, have a very insufficient sense of their manifold transgressions and offences in God’s sight, and consequently have no idea of the necessity of a mediator. Now it is, perhaps, easier to convince those who are entirely wrong, such as worship idols and false gods, than those who approach so nearly to the truth. But I have had many hours of reflection upon the proper course to pursue, and I do intend to have some conversation with her on the subject in a very short time. I have delayed because I consider it absolutely necessary that she should be perfectly aware of what I say before I try to alter her belief. Now, the Indian language, although quite sufficient for Indian wants, is poor, and has not the same copiousness as ours, because they do not require the words to explain what we term abstract ideas. It is, therefore, impossible to explain the mysteries of our holy religion to one who does not well understand our language. I think, however, that the Strawberry now begins to comprehend sufficiently for me to make the first attempt. I say first attempt, because I have no idea of making a convert in a week, or a month, or even in six months. All I can do is to exert my best abilities, and then trust to God, who, in His own good time, will enlighten her mind to receive His truth.”

The next day the hunting party went out, and Percival, to his great delight, was permitted to accompany it. As they had a long way to go—for they had selected the hunting ground—they set off early in the morning, before daylight, Mr Campbell having particularly requested that they would not return home late.

Chapter Thirty.Alfred seized by a Puma.The party had proceeded many miles before they arrived at the spot where Malachi thought that they would fall in with some venison, which was the principal game that they sought. It was not till near ten o’clock in the morning that they stood on the ground which had been selected for the sport. It was an open part of the forest, and the snow lay in large drifts, but here and there on the hill-sides the grass was nearly bare, and the deer were able, by scraping with their feet, to obtain some food. They were all pretty well close together when they arrived. Percival and Henry were about a quarter of a mile behind, for Percival was not used to the snow-shoes, and did not get on so well as the others, Malachi and the rest with him halted, that Henry and Percival might come up with them, and then, after they had recovered their breath a little, he said, “Now, you see there’s a fine lot of deer here, Master Percival, but as you know nothing about woodcraft, and may put us all out, observe what I say to you. The animals are not only cute of hearing and seeing, but they are more cute of smell, and they can scent a man a mile off if the wind blows down to them; so you see it would be useless to attempt to get near to them if we do not get to the lee side of them without noise and without being seen. Now the wind has been from the eastward, and as we are to the southward, we must get round by the woods to the westward, before we go upon the open ground, and then, Master Percival, you must do as we do, and keep behind, to watch our motions. If we come to a swell in the land, you must not run up, or even walk up, as you might show yourself; the deer might be on the other side, within twenty yards of you, but you must hide yourself, as you will see that we shall do; and when we have found them, I will put you in a place where you shall have your shot as well as we. Do you understand, Master Percival?”“Yes, I do, and I shall stop behind, and do as you tell me.”“Well then, now, we will go back into the thick of the forest till we get to leeward, and then we shall see whether you will make a hunter or not.”The whole party did as Malachi directed, and for more than an hour they walked through the wood, among the thickest of the trees, that they might not be seen by the animals. At last they arrived at the spot which Malachi desired, and then they changed their course eastward, towards the more open ground, where they expected to find the deer.As they entered upon the open ground, they moved forward crouched to the ground, Malachi and Martin in the advance. When in the hollows, they all collected together, but on ascending a swell of the land, it was either Malachi or Martin who first crept up, and looking over the summit, gave notice to the others to come forward. This was continually repeated for three or four miles, when Martin, having raised his head just above a swell, made a signal to those who were below that the deer were in sight. After a moment or two reconnoitring, he went down and informed them that there were twelve or thirteen head of deer scraping up the snow about one hundred yards ahead of them upon another swell of the land; but that they appeared to be alarmed and anxious, as if they had an idea of danger being near.Malachi then again crawled up to make his observations, and returned.“It is sartain,” said he, “that they are flurried about something; they appear just as if they had been hunted, and yet that is not likely. We must wait and let them settle a little, and find out whether any other parties have been hunting them.”They waited about ten minutes, till the animals appeared more settled, and then, by altering their position behind the swell, gained about twenty-five yards of distance. Malachi told each party which animal to aim at, and they fired nearly simultaneously. Three of the beasts fell, two others were wounded, the rest of the herd bounded off like the wind.They all rose from behind the swell and ran forward to their prey. Alfred had fired at a fine buck which stood apart from the rest, and somewhat farther off; it was evident that the animal was badly wounded, and Alfred had marked the thicket into which it had floundered; but the other deer which was wounded was evidently slightly hurt, and there was little chance of obtaining it, as it bounded away after the rest of the herd. They all ran up to where the animals lay dead, and as soon as they had reloaded their rifles, Alfred and Martin went on the track of the one that was badly wounded. They had forced their way through the thicket for some fifty yards, guided by the track of the animal, when they started back at the loud growl of some beast. Alfred, who was in advance, perceived that a puma (catamount, or painter, as it is usually termed) had taken possession of the deer, and was lying over the carcase. He levelled his rifle and fired; the beast, although badly wounded, immediately sprang at him and seized him by the shoulder. Alfred was sinking under the animal’s weight and from the pain he was suffering, when Martin came to his rescue, and put his rifle ball through the head of the beast, which fell dead.“Are you hurt much, sir?” said Martin.“No, not much,” replied Alfred; “at least I think not but my shoulder is badly torn, and I bleed freely.” Malachi and the others now came up, and perceived what had taken place. Alfred had sunk down and was sitting on the ground by the side of the dead animals.“A painter!” exclaimed Malachi; “well, I didn’t think we should see one so far west. Are you hurt, Mr Alfred?”“Yes, a little,” replied Alfred, faintly.Malachi and Martin, without saying another word, stripped off Alfred’s hunting-coat, and then discovered that he had received a very bad wound in the shoulder from the teeth of the beast, and that his side was also torn by the animal’s claws.“John, run for some water,” said Malachi; “you are certain to find some in the hollow.”John and Percival both hastened in search of water, while Malachi, and Martin, and Henry tore Alfred’s shirt into strips and bound up the wounds, so as to stop in a great measure the flow of blood. As soon as this was done, and he had drunk the water brought to him in John’s hat, Alfred felt revived.“I will sit down for a little longer,” said he, “and then we will get home as fast as we can. Martin, look after the game, and when you are ready I will get up. What a tremendous heavy brute that was; I could not have stood against him for a minute longer, and I had no hunting-knife.”“It’s a terrible beast, sir,” replied Malachi. “I don’t know that I ever saw one larger; they are more than a match for one man, sir, and never should be attempted singlehanded, for they are so hard to kill.”“Where did my ball hit him?” said Alfred.“Here, sir, under the shoulder, and well placed, too. It must have gone quite close to his heart; but unless you hit them through the brain or through the heart, they are certain to make their dying spring. That’s an ugly wound on your shoulder, and will put a stop to your hunting for five or six weeks, I expect. However, it’s well that it’s no worse.”“I feel quite strong now,” replied Alfred.“Another ten minutes, sir; let John and me whip off his skin, for we must have it to show, if we have all the venison spoiled. Mr Henry, tell Martin only to take the prime pieces and not to mind the hides, for we shall not be able to carry much. And tell him to be quick, Mr Henry, for it will not do for Mr Alfred to remain till his arm gets stiff. We have many miles to get home again.”In the course of ten minutes Malachi and John had skinned the puma, and Martin made his appearance with the haunches of two of the deer, which he said was as much as they well could carry, and they all set off on their return home.Alfred had not proceeded far when he found himself in great pain, the walking upon snow-shoes requiring so much motion as to open the wounds and make them bleed again; but Malachi gave him his assistance, and having procured him some more water, they continued their route.After a time the wounds became more stiff, and Alfred appeared to be more oppressed by the pain; they proceeded, however, as fast as they could, and at nightfall were not far from home. But Alfred moved with great difficulty; he had become very faint—so much so, that Martin requested John would throw down the venison, and hasten before them to request Mr Campbell to send some brandy or other cordial to support Alfred, who was scarcely able to move on from weakness and loss of blood. As they were not more than a mile from the house, John was soon there, and hastening in at the door, he gave his message in presence of Mrs Campbell and his cousins, who were in a state of great distress at the intelligence. Mr Campbell went to his room for the spirits, and as soon as he brought it out, Emma seized her bonnet, and said that she would accompany John.Mr and Mrs Campbell had no time to raise any objection if they were inclined, for Emma was out of the door in a moment, with John at her heels. But Emma quite forgot that she had no snow-shoes, and before she had gone half the distance, she found herself as much fatigued as if she had walked miles, and she sank deeper and deeper in the snow every minute that she advanced. At last they arrived, and found the party. Alfred was lying insensible on the snow, and the others making a litter of branches that they might carry him to the house.A little brandy poured down his throat brought Alfred to his senses; and as he opened his eyes he perceived Emma hanging over him.“Dear Emma, how kind of you!” said he, attempting to rise.“Do not move, Alfred; they will soon have the litter ready, and then you will be carried to the house. It is not far off.”“I am strong again now, Emma,” replied Alfred. “But you must not remain here in the cold. See, the snow is falling again.”“I must remain now till they are ready to carry you, Alfred, for I dare not go back by myself.”By this time the litter was prepared, and Alfred placed on it. Malachi, Henry, Martin, and John took it up.“Where is Percival?” said Emma.“He’s behind a little way,” replied John. “The snow-shoes hurt him, and he could not walk so fast. He will be here in a minute.”They carried Alfred to the house, where Mr and Mrs Campbell and Mary were waiting at the door in great anxiety; poor Emma was quite knocked up by the time that they arrived, and went into her own room.Alfred was laid on his bed, and his father then examined his wounds, which he considered very dangerous, from the great laceration of the flesh. Mr Campbell dressed them, and then they left Alfred to the repose which he so much required. The state of Alfred so occupied their minds and their attention, that nothing and nobody else was thought of for the first hour. Emma, too, had been taken very ill soon after she came in, and required the attention of Mrs Campbell and Mary. It was not until they were about to sit down to supper that Mr Campbell said, “Why, where’s Percival?”“Percival! Is he not here?” was the question anxiously uttered by all the party who had been hunting.“Percival not here!” exclaimed Mrs Campbell, starting up. “Where—where is my child?”“He was just behind us,” said John; “he sat down to alter his snow-shoes: the ties hurt him.”Malachi and Martin ran out of doors in consternation; they knew the danger, for the snow was now falling in such heavy flakes that it was impossible to see or direct their steps two yards in any direction.“The boy will be lost for sartain,” said Malachi to Martin; “if he has remained behind till this fall of snow, he never will find his way, but wander about till he perishes.”“Yes,” said Martin, “he has but a poor chance, that is the truth. I would have given my right arm this had not happened.”“Misfortune never comes single,” replied Malachi; “what can we do? Madam Campbell will be beside herself, for she loves that boy beyond all measure.”“It’s useless our going out,” observed Martin; “we should never find him, and only lose ourselves; but still we had better go back, and say that we will try. At all events, we can go to the edge of the forest, and halloo every minute or so; if the boy is still on his legs, it will guide him to us.”“Yes,” replied Malachi, “and we may light a pine torch; it might be of some use. Well, then, let’s go in, and tell them that we are going in search of the boy; as long as Madam knows that we are seeking him, she will not lose hope, and hope will keep up her spirits for the time, till she is better prepared for her loss.”There was much good sense and knowledge of the human heart in the observation of Malachi, who, although he was aware that all search would be useless, could not resolve to destroy at once all hope in the mind of the afflicted and anxious mother.They went in, and found Mrs Campbell weeping bitterly, supported by her husband and Mary. They stated that they were going to search for the boy, and bring him home if they could, and, taking three or four pine torches, one of which they lighted, they set off for the edge of the forest, where they remained for two hours with the light, shouting at intervals; but the snow fell so fast, and the cold was so intense, for the wind blew fresh from the northward, that they could remain no longer. They did not, however, return to the house, but went to their own lodge to recover themselves, and remained there till daylight. They then went out again; the snowstorm had ceased, and the morning was clear and bright; they went back into the forest (on the road by which they had come home) for three or four miles, but the snow now fallen had covered all the tracks which they had made the day before, and was in many places several feet deep. They proceeded to where Percival was last seen by John, who had described the spot very exactly; they looked everywhere about, made circuits round and round, in hopes of perceiving the muzzle of his rifle peeping out above the snow, but there was nothing to be discovered, and after a search of four or five hours, they returned to the house. They found Mr Campbell and Henry in the kitchen, for Mrs Campbell was in such a state of anxiety and distress, that she was in her room attended by Mary. Mr Campbell perceived by their countenances that they brought no satisfactory tidings. Malachi shook his head mournfully, and sat down.“Do you think that my poor boy is lost, Malachi?” said Mr Campbell.“He is, I fear, sir; he must have sat down to rest himself, and has been overpowered and fallen asleep. He has been buried in the snow, and he will not wake till the day of resurrection.”Mr Campbell covered his face with his hands, and after a time exclaimed, “His poor mother!”After a few minutes, he rose and went into Mrs Campbell’s room.“What of my child,—my dear, dear Percival?” exclaimed Mrs Campbell.“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,” replied Mr Campbell; “your child is happy.”Mrs Campbell wept bitterly; and having thus given vent to the feelings of nature, she became gradually more calm and resigned; her habitually devout spirit sought and found relief in the God of all comfort.

The party had proceeded many miles before they arrived at the spot where Malachi thought that they would fall in with some venison, which was the principal game that they sought. It was not till near ten o’clock in the morning that they stood on the ground which had been selected for the sport. It was an open part of the forest, and the snow lay in large drifts, but here and there on the hill-sides the grass was nearly bare, and the deer were able, by scraping with their feet, to obtain some food. They were all pretty well close together when they arrived. Percival and Henry were about a quarter of a mile behind, for Percival was not used to the snow-shoes, and did not get on so well as the others, Malachi and the rest with him halted, that Henry and Percival might come up with them, and then, after they had recovered their breath a little, he said, “Now, you see there’s a fine lot of deer here, Master Percival, but as you know nothing about woodcraft, and may put us all out, observe what I say to you. The animals are not only cute of hearing and seeing, but they are more cute of smell, and they can scent a man a mile off if the wind blows down to them; so you see it would be useless to attempt to get near to them if we do not get to the lee side of them without noise and without being seen. Now the wind has been from the eastward, and as we are to the southward, we must get round by the woods to the westward, before we go upon the open ground, and then, Master Percival, you must do as we do, and keep behind, to watch our motions. If we come to a swell in the land, you must not run up, or even walk up, as you might show yourself; the deer might be on the other side, within twenty yards of you, but you must hide yourself, as you will see that we shall do; and when we have found them, I will put you in a place where you shall have your shot as well as we. Do you understand, Master Percival?”

“Yes, I do, and I shall stop behind, and do as you tell me.”

“Well then, now, we will go back into the thick of the forest till we get to leeward, and then we shall see whether you will make a hunter or not.”

The whole party did as Malachi directed, and for more than an hour they walked through the wood, among the thickest of the trees, that they might not be seen by the animals. At last they arrived at the spot which Malachi desired, and then they changed their course eastward, towards the more open ground, where they expected to find the deer.

As they entered upon the open ground, they moved forward crouched to the ground, Malachi and Martin in the advance. When in the hollows, they all collected together, but on ascending a swell of the land, it was either Malachi or Martin who first crept up, and looking over the summit, gave notice to the others to come forward. This was continually repeated for three or four miles, when Martin, having raised his head just above a swell, made a signal to those who were below that the deer were in sight. After a moment or two reconnoitring, he went down and informed them that there were twelve or thirteen head of deer scraping up the snow about one hundred yards ahead of them upon another swell of the land; but that they appeared to be alarmed and anxious, as if they had an idea of danger being near.

Malachi then again crawled up to make his observations, and returned.

“It is sartain,” said he, “that they are flurried about something; they appear just as if they had been hunted, and yet that is not likely. We must wait and let them settle a little, and find out whether any other parties have been hunting them.”

They waited about ten minutes, till the animals appeared more settled, and then, by altering their position behind the swell, gained about twenty-five yards of distance. Malachi told each party which animal to aim at, and they fired nearly simultaneously. Three of the beasts fell, two others were wounded, the rest of the herd bounded off like the wind.

They all rose from behind the swell and ran forward to their prey. Alfred had fired at a fine buck which stood apart from the rest, and somewhat farther off; it was evident that the animal was badly wounded, and Alfred had marked the thicket into which it had floundered; but the other deer which was wounded was evidently slightly hurt, and there was little chance of obtaining it, as it bounded away after the rest of the herd. They all ran up to where the animals lay dead, and as soon as they had reloaded their rifles, Alfred and Martin went on the track of the one that was badly wounded. They had forced their way through the thicket for some fifty yards, guided by the track of the animal, when they started back at the loud growl of some beast. Alfred, who was in advance, perceived that a puma (catamount, or painter, as it is usually termed) had taken possession of the deer, and was lying over the carcase. He levelled his rifle and fired; the beast, although badly wounded, immediately sprang at him and seized him by the shoulder. Alfred was sinking under the animal’s weight and from the pain he was suffering, when Martin came to his rescue, and put his rifle ball through the head of the beast, which fell dead.

“Are you hurt much, sir?” said Martin.

“No, not much,” replied Alfred; “at least I think not but my shoulder is badly torn, and I bleed freely.” Malachi and the others now came up, and perceived what had taken place. Alfred had sunk down and was sitting on the ground by the side of the dead animals.

“A painter!” exclaimed Malachi; “well, I didn’t think we should see one so far west. Are you hurt, Mr Alfred?”

“Yes, a little,” replied Alfred, faintly.

Malachi and Martin, without saying another word, stripped off Alfred’s hunting-coat, and then discovered that he had received a very bad wound in the shoulder from the teeth of the beast, and that his side was also torn by the animal’s claws.

“John, run for some water,” said Malachi; “you are certain to find some in the hollow.”

John and Percival both hastened in search of water, while Malachi, and Martin, and Henry tore Alfred’s shirt into strips and bound up the wounds, so as to stop in a great measure the flow of blood. As soon as this was done, and he had drunk the water brought to him in John’s hat, Alfred felt revived.

“I will sit down for a little longer,” said he, “and then we will get home as fast as we can. Martin, look after the game, and when you are ready I will get up. What a tremendous heavy brute that was; I could not have stood against him for a minute longer, and I had no hunting-knife.”

“It’s a terrible beast, sir,” replied Malachi. “I don’t know that I ever saw one larger; they are more than a match for one man, sir, and never should be attempted singlehanded, for they are so hard to kill.”

“Where did my ball hit him?” said Alfred.

“Here, sir, under the shoulder, and well placed, too. It must have gone quite close to his heart; but unless you hit them through the brain or through the heart, they are certain to make their dying spring. That’s an ugly wound on your shoulder, and will put a stop to your hunting for five or six weeks, I expect. However, it’s well that it’s no worse.”

“I feel quite strong now,” replied Alfred.

“Another ten minutes, sir; let John and me whip off his skin, for we must have it to show, if we have all the venison spoiled. Mr Henry, tell Martin only to take the prime pieces and not to mind the hides, for we shall not be able to carry much. And tell him to be quick, Mr Henry, for it will not do for Mr Alfred to remain till his arm gets stiff. We have many miles to get home again.”

In the course of ten minutes Malachi and John had skinned the puma, and Martin made his appearance with the haunches of two of the deer, which he said was as much as they well could carry, and they all set off on their return home.

Alfred had not proceeded far when he found himself in great pain, the walking upon snow-shoes requiring so much motion as to open the wounds and make them bleed again; but Malachi gave him his assistance, and having procured him some more water, they continued their route.

After a time the wounds became more stiff, and Alfred appeared to be more oppressed by the pain; they proceeded, however, as fast as they could, and at nightfall were not far from home. But Alfred moved with great difficulty; he had become very faint—so much so, that Martin requested John would throw down the venison, and hasten before them to request Mr Campbell to send some brandy or other cordial to support Alfred, who was scarcely able to move on from weakness and loss of blood. As they were not more than a mile from the house, John was soon there, and hastening in at the door, he gave his message in presence of Mrs Campbell and his cousins, who were in a state of great distress at the intelligence. Mr Campbell went to his room for the spirits, and as soon as he brought it out, Emma seized her bonnet, and said that she would accompany John.

Mr and Mrs Campbell had no time to raise any objection if they were inclined, for Emma was out of the door in a moment, with John at her heels. But Emma quite forgot that she had no snow-shoes, and before she had gone half the distance, she found herself as much fatigued as if she had walked miles, and she sank deeper and deeper in the snow every minute that she advanced. At last they arrived, and found the party. Alfred was lying insensible on the snow, and the others making a litter of branches that they might carry him to the house.

A little brandy poured down his throat brought Alfred to his senses; and as he opened his eyes he perceived Emma hanging over him.

“Dear Emma, how kind of you!” said he, attempting to rise.

“Do not move, Alfred; they will soon have the litter ready, and then you will be carried to the house. It is not far off.”

“I am strong again now, Emma,” replied Alfred. “But you must not remain here in the cold. See, the snow is falling again.”

“I must remain now till they are ready to carry you, Alfred, for I dare not go back by myself.”

By this time the litter was prepared, and Alfred placed on it. Malachi, Henry, Martin, and John took it up.

“Where is Percival?” said Emma.

“He’s behind a little way,” replied John. “The snow-shoes hurt him, and he could not walk so fast. He will be here in a minute.”

They carried Alfred to the house, where Mr and Mrs Campbell and Mary were waiting at the door in great anxiety; poor Emma was quite knocked up by the time that they arrived, and went into her own room.

Alfred was laid on his bed, and his father then examined his wounds, which he considered very dangerous, from the great laceration of the flesh. Mr Campbell dressed them, and then they left Alfred to the repose which he so much required. The state of Alfred so occupied their minds and their attention, that nothing and nobody else was thought of for the first hour. Emma, too, had been taken very ill soon after she came in, and required the attention of Mrs Campbell and Mary. It was not until they were about to sit down to supper that Mr Campbell said, “Why, where’s Percival?”

“Percival! Is he not here?” was the question anxiously uttered by all the party who had been hunting.

“Percival not here!” exclaimed Mrs Campbell, starting up. “Where—where is my child?”

“He was just behind us,” said John; “he sat down to alter his snow-shoes: the ties hurt him.”

Malachi and Martin ran out of doors in consternation; they knew the danger, for the snow was now falling in such heavy flakes that it was impossible to see or direct their steps two yards in any direction.

“The boy will be lost for sartain,” said Malachi to Martin; “if he has remained behind till this fall of snow, he never will find his way, but wander about till he perishes.”

“Yes,” said Martin, “he has but a poor chance, that is the truth. I would have given my right arm this had not happened.”

“Misfortune never comes single,” replied Malachi; “what can we do? Madam Campbell will be beside herself, for she loves that boy beyond all measure.”

“It’s useless our going out,” observed Martin; “we should never find him, and only lose ourselves; but still we had better go back, and say that we will try. At all events, we can go to the edge of the forest, and halloo every minute or so; if the boy is still on his legs, it will guide him to us.”

“Yes,” replied Malachi, “and we may light a pine torch; it might be of some use. Well, then, let’s go in, and tell them that we are going in search of the boy; as long as Madam knows that we are seeking him, she will not lose hope, and hope will keep up her spirits for the time, till she is better prepared for her loss.”

There was much good sense and knowledge of the human heart in the observation of Malachi, who, although he was aware that all search would be useless, could not resolve to destroy at once all hope in the mind of the afflicted and anxious mother.

They went in, and found Mrs Campbell weeping bitterly, supported by her husband and Mary. They stated that they were going to search for the boy, and bring him home if they could, and, taking three or four pine torches, one of which they lighted, they set off for the edge of the forest, where they remained for two hours with the light, shouting at intervals; but the snow fell so fast, and the cold was so intense, for the wind blew fresh from the northward, that they could remain no longer. They did not, however, return to the house, but went to their own lodge to recover themselves, and remained there till daylight. They then went out again; the snowstorm had ceased, and the morning was clear and bright; they went back into the forest (on the road by which they had come home) for three or four miles, but the snow now fallen had covered all the tracks which they had made the day before, and was in many places several feet deep. They proceeded to where Percival was last seen by John, who had described the spot very exactly; they looked everywhere about, made circuits round and round, in hopes of perceiving the muzzle of his rifle peeping out above the snow, but there was nothing to be discovered, and after a search of four or five hours, they returned to the house. They found Mr Campbell and Henry in the kitchen, for Mrs Campbell was in such a state of anxiety and distress, that she was in her room attended by Mary. Mr Campbell perceived by their countenances that they brought no satisfactory tidings. Malachi shook his head mournfully, and sat down.

“Do you think that my poor boy is lost, Malachi?” said Mr Campbell.

“He is, I fear, sir; he must have sat down to rest himself, and has been overpowered and fallen asleep. He has been buried in the snow, and he will not wake till the day of resurrection.”

Mr Campbell covered his face with his hands, and after a time exclaimed, “His poor mother!”

After a few minutes, he rose and went into Mrs Campbell’s room.

“What of my child,—my dear, dear Percival?” exclaimed Mrs Campbell.

“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,” replied Mr Campbell; “your child is happy.”

Mrs Campbell wept bitterly; and having thus given vent to the feelings of nature, she became gradually more calm and resigned; her habitually devout spirit sought and found relief in the God of all comfort.

Chapter Thirty One.Percival lost.Thus in one short day was the family of Mr Campbell changed from a house of joy to one of mourning. And true was the remark of Malachi, that misfortunes seldom come single, for now they had another cause of anxiety. Emma, by her imprudent exposure to the intense chill of the night air and the wetting of her feet, was first taken with a violent cold, which was followed by a fever, which became more alarming every day. Thus, in addition to the loss of one of their children, Mr and Mrs Campbell were threatened with being deprived of two more; for their nieces were regarded as such, and Alfred was in a very precarious state. The wounds had assumed such an angry appearance, that Mr Campbell was fearful of mortification. This accumulated distress had, however, one good effect upon them. The danger of losing Emma and Alfred so occupied their minds and their attention, that they had not time to bewail the loss of Percival; and even Mrs Campbell, in her prayers, was enabled to resign herself to the Almighty’s will in taking away her child, if it would but please Him to spare the two others who were afflicted. Long and tedious were the hours, the days, and the weeks that passed away before either of them could be considered in a state of convalescence; but her prayers were heard, and, as the winter closed, their recovery was no longer doubtful. A melancholy winter it had been to them all, but the joy of once more seeing Emma resume her duties, and Alfred, supported on cushions, able to be moved into the sitting-room, had a very exhilarating effect upon their spirits. True, there was no longer the mirth and merriment that once reigned, but there was a subdued gratitude to Heaven, which, if it did not make them at once cheerful, at least prevented anything like repining or complaint. Grateful for the mercies vouchsafed to them in having Alfred and Emma spared to them, Mr and Mrs Campbell consoled themselves in reference to Percival, with the reflection, that at so early an age, before he had lived to be corrupted by the world, to die was gain—and that their dear boy had become, through Divine grace, an inhabitant of the kingdom of Heaven. By degrees the family became again cheerful and happy; the merry laugh of Emma once more enlivened them, Alfred again recovered his former health and spirits, and Mrs Campbell could bear the mention of the name of Percival, and join in the praises of the amiable child.The spring now came on, the snow gradually disappeared, the ice was carried down the rapids, and once more left the blue lake clear; the cattle were turned out to feed off the grass the year before left on the prairie, and all the men were busy in preparing to put in the seed. As soon as the snow was gone, Malachi, Martin, and Alfred, without saying a word to Mrs Campbell, had gone into the forest, and made every search for the body of poor Percival, but without success, and it was considered that he had wandered and died on some spot which they could not discover, or that the wolves had dug his remains out of the snow, and devoured them. Not a trace, of him could anywhere be discovered; and the search was, after a few days, discontinued. The return of the spring had another good effect upon the spirits of the party; for, with the spring came on such a variety of work to be done, that they had not a moment to spare. They had now so many acres for corn that they had scarcely time to get through all the preparatory work, and fortunate it was that Alfred was so much recovered that he could join in the labour. Malachi, John, and even Mr Campbell, assisted, and at last the task was completed. Then they had a communication with the fort, and letters from Quebec, Montreal, and England: there was none of any importance from England, but one from Montreal informed Mr Campbell that, agreeably to contract, the engineer would arrive in the course of the month with thebateauxcontaining the machinery, and that the water-mill would be erected as soon as possible. There was also a letter from England which gave them much pleasure; it was from Captain Sinclair to Alfred, informing him that he had arranged all his business with his guardian, and that he should rejoin his regiment and be at the fort early in the spring, as he should sail in the first vessel which left England. He stated how delighted he should be at his return, and told him to say to Emma that he had not found an English wife, as she had prophesied, but was coming back as heart-whole as he went. Very soon afterwards they had a visit from Colonel Foster and some of the officers of the garrison. The Colonel offered Mr Campbell a party of soldiers to assist in raising the mill, and the offer was thankfully accepted.“We were very much alarmed about you last autumn when the woods were on fire, Mr Campbell,” said the Colonel; “but I perceive that it has been of great advantage to you. You have now a large quantity of cleared land sown with seed, and if you had possessed sufficient means might have had much more put in, as I perceive all the land to the north west is cleared by the fire.”“Yes,” replied Mr Campbell; “but my allotment, as you know, extends along the beach, and we have sown the seed as far from the beach as the property extends.”“Then I should recommend you to write to Quebec, and apply for another grant on each side of the stream; indeed, at the back of and equal to what you now have.”“But if I do, I have not the means of working the land.”“No, not with your present force, I grant; but there are many emigrants who would be glad of work, and who would settle here upon favourable conditions.”“The expense would be very great,” said Mr Campbell.“It would; but the return would indemnify you. The troops at the fort would take all the flour off your hands, if you had ever so much.”“I am not inclined at present to speculate much further,” replied Mr Campbell; “but I shall see how this year turns out, and if I find that I am successful I will then decide.”“Of course you will but act prudently. You can send down to your agent at Quebec, and ascertain what would be the probable terms of the men you might require. But there is another way, which is to give them the land to cultivate and the seed, and to receive from them a certain portion of corn in return as rent; that is very safe, and your land will be all gradually brought into cultivation, besides the advantage of having neighbours about you. You might send one of your sons down to Montreal and arrange all that.”“I certainly will write to my agent and institute inquiries,” replied Mr Campbell, “and many thanks to you for the suggestion; I have still a few hundreds at the bank to dispose of, if necessary.”About three weeks after this conversation thebateauxarrived with the engineer and machinery for the flour and saw-mills: and now the settlement again presented a lively scene, being thronged with the soldiers who were sent from the fort. The engineer was a very pleasant, intelligent young Englishman, who had taken up his profession in Canada, and was considered one of the most able in the colony. The site of the mill was soon chosen, and now the axes again resounded in the woods, as the trees were felled and squared under his directions. Alfred was constantly with the engineer, superintending the labour of the men, and contracted a great intimacy with him; indeed, that gentleman was soon on such a footing with the whole family as to be considered almost as one of them, for he was very amusing, very well-bred, and had evidently received every advantage of education.Mr Campbell found that Mr Emmerson, for such was his name, could give him every particular relative to the emigrants who had come out, as he was so constantly travelling about the country, and was in such constant communication with them.“You are very fortunate in your purchase,” said he to Mr Campbell, “the land is excellent, and you have a good water-power in the stream, as well as convenient carriage by the lake. Fifty years hence this property will be worth a large sum of money.”“I want very much to get some more emigrants to settle here,” observed Mr Campbell. “It would add to our security and comfort, and I have not sufficient hands to cultivate the land which has been cleared by the fire of last autumn. If not cultivated in a short time, it will be all forest again.”“At present it is all raspberries, and very good ones too, are they not, Mr Emmerson?” said Emma.“Yes, miss, most excellent,” replied he; “but you are aware that, whenever you cut down trees here, and do not hoe the ground to sow it, raspberry bushes grow up immediately.”“Indeed, I was not aware of it.”“Such is the case, nevertheless. After the raspberries, the seedling hardwood trees spring up, and, as Mr Campbell says, they soon grow into a forest again.“I do not think that you would have much trouble in getting emigrants to come here, Mr Campbell, but the difficulty will be in persuading them to remain. Their object in coming out to this country is to obtain land of their own, and become independent. Many of them have not the means to go on, and, as a temporary resource, are compelled to act as labourers; but the moment that they get sufficient to purchase for themselves, they will leave you.”“That is very natural; but I have been thinking of obtaining a larger grant than I have now, and I wish very much that I could make an arrangement with some emigrants. The Colonel says that I might do so by supplying them with seed, and taking corn in return as rent.”“That would not be a permanent arrangement,” replied Mr Emmerson. “How much land do you propose applying for?”“Six hundred acres.”“Well, sir, I think it would meet the views of both parties if you were to offer terms like the following—that is, divide the land into lots of one hundred acres each, and allow them to cultivate for you the fifty acres that adjoin your own land, with the right of purchasing the other fifty as their own property, as soon as they can. You will then obtain three hundred acres of the most valuable land, in addition to your present farm, and have fixed neighbours around you, even after they are enabled to purchase the other fifty.”“I think that a very good arrangement, Mr Emmerson, and I would gladly consent to it.”“Well, sir, I shall have plenty of opportunities this summer of making the proposal to the emigrants, and if I find any parties who seem likely to prove advantageous as neighbours, I will let you know.”“And with such expectations I will apply for the additional grant,” said Mr Campbell, “for to have neighbours in this solitude, I would almost make them a present of the land.”“I suspect that in a few years you will have neighbours enough, without resorting to such an expedient,” replied Mr Emmerson, “but according to your present proposal, they may be better selected, and you may make terms which will prevent any nuisances.”The works at the mill proceeded rapidly, and before the hay-harvest the mill was complete. Alfred was very careful, and paid every attention to what was going on, and so did Martin, that they might understand the machinery. This was very simple. Mr Emmerson tried the mill, and found it to answer well. He explained everything to Alfred, and put the mill to work, that he might be fully master of it. As it was a fortnight after the mill was at work before Mr Emmerson could obtain a passage back to Montreal, Alfred and Martin worked both mills during that time, and felt satisfied that they required no further instruction. The soldiers, at the request of Mr Campbell, were allowed to remain till the hay-harvest, and as soon as the hay was gathered in, they were paid and returned to the fort. Captain Sinclair, who, from his letter, had been expected to arrive much sooner, came just as the soldiers had left the farm. It need hardly be said that he was received most warmly. He had a great deal to tell them, and had brought out a great many presents; those for poor little Percival he kept back, of course. Emma and Mary were delighted to have him again as a companion, and to resume their walks with him; a fortnight thus passed away very quickly, when his leave of absence expired, and he was obliged to return to the fort. Previous, however, to his going away, he requested a private interview with Mr and Mrs Campbell, in which he stated his exact position and his means, and requested their sanction to his paying his addresses to Mary. Mr and Mrs Campbell, who had already perceived the attentions he had shewn to her, did not hesitate to express their satisfaction at his request, and their best wishes for his success; and having so done, they left him to forward his own suit, which Captain Sinclair did not fail to do that very evening. Mary Percival was too amiable and right-minded a girl not at once to refuse or accept Captain Sinclair. As she had long been attached to him, she did not deny that such was the case, and Captain Sinclair was overjoyed at his success.“I have spoken frankly to you, Captain Sinclair,” said Mary; “I have not denied that you have an interest in my affections; but I must now request you to let me know what are your future views.”“To do just what you wish me to do.”“I have no right to advise, and no wish to persuade. I have my own path of duty pointed out to me, and from that I cannot swerve.”“And what is that?”“It is that, under present circumstances, I must not think of leaving my uncle and aunt. I have been bred up and educated by them; I have as an orphan shared their prosperity; I have a deep debt of gratitude to pay, and I cannot consent to return to England to enjoy all the advantages which your means will afford while they remain in their present isolated position. Hereafter circumstances may alter my opinion, but such it is at present.”“But if I am willing to remain with you here to share your fortunes, will not that satisfy you?”“No, certainly not; for that would be allowing you to do injustice to yourself. I presume you do not mean to quit your profession?”“I had no such intention; but still, if I have to choose between you and the service, I shall not hesitate.”“I trust you will not hesitate, but determine to adhere steadily to your profession for the present, Captain Sinclair. It will not do for you to give up your prospects and chance of advancement for even such a woman as me,” continued Mary, smiling; “nor must you think of becoming a backwoodsman for a pale-faced girl.”“Then what am I to do if, as you say, you will not leave your uncle and aunt?”“Wait, Captain Sinclair; be satisfied that you have my affections, and wait patiently till circumstances may occur which will enable me to reward your affection without being guilty of ingratitude towards those to whom I owe so much. On such terms I accept you, and accept you willingly; but you must do your duty to yourself, while I must discharge my duty towards my uncle and aunt.”“I believe you are right, Mary,” replied Captain Sinclair; “only I do not see any definite hope of our being united. Can you give me any prospect to cheer me?”“We are both very young, Captain Sinclair,” observed Mary; “in a year or two my uncle and aunt may be less lonely and more comfortable than at present. In a year or two the war may end, and you may honourably retire upon half-pay; in fact, so many chances are there which are hidden from us and come upon us so unexpectedly, that it is impossible to say what may take place. And if, after waiting patiently for some time, none of these chances do turn up, you have yet another in your favour.”“And what is that, Mary?”“That, perhaps, I may be tired of waiting myself,” replied Mary, with a smile.“Upon that chance, then, I will live in hope,” replied Captain Sinclair; “if you will only reward me when you consider that my faithful service demands it, I will serve as long as Jacob did for Rachael.”“Do so, and you shall not be deceived at the end of your services as he was,” replied Mary. “But now let us return to the house.”Captain Sinclair departed the day afterwards, quite satisfied with Mary’s resolution.

Thus in one short day was the family of Mr Campbell changed from a house of joy to one of mourning. And true was the remark of Malachi, that misfortunes seldom come single, for now they had another cause of anxiety. Emma, by her imprudent exposure to the intense chill of the night air and the wetting of her feet, was first taken with a violent cold, which was followed by a fever, which became more alarming every day. Thus, in addition to the loss of one of their children, Mr and Mrs Campbell were threatened with being deprived of two more; for their nieces were regarded as such, and Alfred was in a very precarious state. The wounds had assumed such an angry appearance, that Mr Campbell was fearful of mortification. This accumulated distress had, however, one good effect upon them. The danger of losing Emma and Alfred so occupied their minds and their attention, that they had not time to bewail the loss of Percival; and even Mrs Campbell, in her prayers, was enabled to resign herself to the Almighty’s will in taking away her child, if it would but please Him to spare the two others who were afflicted. Long and tedious were the hours, the days, and the weeks that passed away before either of them could be considered in a state of convalescence; but her prayers were heard, and, as the winter closed, their recovery was no longer doubtful. A melancholy winter it had been to them all, but the joy of once more seeing Emma resume her duties, and Alfred, supported on cushions, able to be moved into the sitting-room, had a very exhilarating effect upon their spirits. True, there was no longer the mirth and merriment that once reigned, but there was a subdued gratitude to Heaven, which, if it did not make them at once cheerful, at least prevented anything like repining or complaint. Grateful for the mercies vouchsafed to them in having Alfred and Emma spared to them, Mr and Mrs Campbell consoled themselves in reference to Percival, with the reflection, that at so early an age, before he had lived to be corrupted by the world, to die was gain—and that their dear boy had become, through Divine grace, an inhabitant of the kingdom of Heaven. By degrees the family became again cheerful and happy; the merry laugh of Emma once more enlivened them, Alfred again recovered his former health and spirits, and Mrs Campbell could bear the mention of the name of Percival, and join in the praises of the amiable child.

The spring now came on, the snow gradually disappeared, the ice was carried down the rapids, and once more left the blue lake clear; the cattle were turned out to feed off the grass the year before left on the prairie, and all the men were busy in preparing to put in the seed. As soon as the snow was gone, Malachi, Martin, and Alfred, without saying a word to Mrs Campbell, had gone into the forest, and made every search for the body of poor Percival, but without success, and it was considered that he had wandered and died on some spot which they could not discover, or that the wolves had dug his remains out of the snow, and devoured them. Not a trace, of him could anywhere be discovered; and the search was, after a few days, discontinued. The return of the spring had another good effect upon the spirits of the party; for, with the spring came on such a variety of work to be done, that they had not a moment to spare. They had now so many acres for corn that they had scarcely time to get through all the preparatory work, and fortunate it was that Alfred was so much recovered that he could join in the labour. Malachi, John, and even Mr Campbell, assisted, and at last the task was completed. Then they had a communication with the fort, and letters from Quebec, Montreal, and England: there was none of any importance from England, but one from Montreal informed Mr Campbell that, agreeably to contract, the engineer would arrive in the course of the month with thebateauxcontaining the machinery, and that the water-mill would be erected as soon as possible. There was also a letter from England which gave them much pleasure; it was from Captain Sinclair to Alfred, informing him that he had arranged all his business with his guardian, and that he should rejoin his regiment and be at the fort early in the spring, as he should sail in the first vessel which left England. He stated how delighted he should be at his return, and told him to say to Emma that he had not found an English wife, as she had prophesied, but was coming back as heart-whole as he went. Very soon afterwards they had a visit from Colonel Foster and some of the officers of the garrison. The Colonel offered Mr Campbell a party of soldiers to assist in raising the mill, and the offer was thankfully accepted.

“We were very much alarmed about you last autumn when the woods were on fire, Mr Campbell,” said the Colonel; “but I perceive that it has been of great advantage to you. You have now a large quantity of cleared land sown with seed, and if you had possessed sufficient means might have had much more put in, as I perceive all the land to the north west is cleared by the fire.”

“Yes,” replied Mr Campbell; “but my allotment, as you know, extends along the beach, and we have sown the seed as far from the beach as the property extends.”

“Then I should recommend you to write to Quebec, and apply for another grant on each side of the stream; indeed, at the back of and equal to what you now have.”

“But if I do, I have not the means of working the land.”

“No, not with your present force, I grant; but there are many emigrants who would be glad of work, and who would settle here upon favourable conditions.”

“The expense would be very great,” said Mr Campbell.

“It would; but the return would indemnify you. The troops at the fort would take all the flour off your hands, if you had ever so much.”

“I am not inclined at present to speculate much further,” replied Mr Campbell; “but I shall see how this year turns out, and if I find that I am successful I will then decide.”

“Of course you will but act prudently. You can send down to your agent at Quebec, and ascertain what would be the probable terms of the men you might require. But there is another way, which is to give them the land to cultivate and the seed, and to receive from them a certain portion of corn in return as rent; that is very safe, and your land will be all gradually brought into cultivation, besides the advantage of having neighbours about you. You might send one of your sons down to Montreal and arrange all that.”

“I certainly will write to my agent and institute inquiries,” replied Mr Campbell, “and many thanks to you for the suggestion; I have still a few hundreds at the bank to dispose of, if necessary.”

About three weeks after this conversation thebateauxarrived with the engineer and machinery for the flour and saw-mills: and now the settlement again presented a lively scene, being thronged with the soldiers who were sent from the fort. The engineer was a very pleasant, intelligent young Englishman, who had taken up his profession in Canada, and was considered one of the most able in the colony. The site of the mill was soon chosen, and now the axes again resounded in the woods, as the trees were felled and squared under his directions. Alfred was constantly with the engineer, superintending the labour of the men, and contracted a great intimacy with him; indeed, that gentleman was soon on such a footing with the whole family as to be considered almost as one of them, for he was very amusing, very well-bred, and had evidently received every advantage of education.

Mr Campbell found that Mr Emmerson, for such was his name, could give him every particular relative to the emigrants who had come out, as he was so constantly travelling about the country, and was in such constant communication with them.

“You are very fortunate in your purchase,” said he to Mr Campbell, “the land is excellent, and you have a good water-power in the stream, as well as convenient carriage by the lake. Fifty years hence this property will be worth a large sum of money.”

“I want very much to get some more emigrants to settle here,” observed Mr Campbell. “It would add to our security and comfort, and I have not sufficient hands to cultivate the land which has been cleared by the fire of last autumn. If not cultivated in a short time, it will be all forest again.”

“At present it is all raspberries, and very good ones too, are they not, Mr Emmerson?” said Emma.

“Yes, miss, most excellent,” replied he; “but you are aware that, whenever you cut down trees here, and do not hoe the ground to sow it, raspberry bushes grow up immediately.”

“Indeed, I was not aware of it.”

“Such is the case, nevertheless. After the raspberries, the seedling hardwood trees spring up, and, as Mr Campbell says, they soon grow into a forest again.

“I do not think that you would have much trouble in getting emigrants to come here, Mr Campbell, but the difficulty will be in persuading them to remain. Their object in coming out to this country is to obtain land of their own, and become independent. Many of them have not the means to go on, and, as a temporary resource, are compelled to act as labourers; but the moment that they get sufficient to purchase for themselves, they will leave you.”

“That is very natural; but I have been thinking of obtaining a larger grant than I have now, and I wish very much that I could make an arrangement with some emigrants. The Colonel says that I might do so by supplying them with seed, and taking corn in return as rent.”

“That would not be a permanent arrangement,” replied Mr Emmerson. “How much land do you propose applying for?”

“Six hundred acres.”

“Well, sir, I think it would meet the views of both parties if you were to offer terms like the following—that is, divide the land into lots of one hundred acres each, and allow them to cultivate for you the fifty acres that adjoin your own land, with the right of purchasing the other fifty as their own property, as soon as they can. You will then obtain three hundred acres of the most valuable land, in addition to your present farm, and have fixed neighbours around you, even after they are enabled to purchase the other fifty.”

“I think that a very good arrangement, Mr Emmerson, and I would gladly consent to it.”

“Well, sir, I shall have plenty of opportunities this summer of making the proposal to the emigrants, and if I find any parties who seem likely to prove advantageous as neighbours, I will let you know.”

“And with such expectations I will apply for the additional grant,” said Mr Campbell, “for to have neighbours in this solitude, I would almost make them a present of the land.”

“I suspect that in a few years you will have neighbours enough, without resorting to such an expedient,” replied Mr Emmerson, “but according to your present proposal, they may be better selected, and you may make terms which will prevent any nuisances.”

The works at the mill proceeded rapidly, and before the hay-harvest the mill was complete. Alfred was very careful, and paid every attention to what was going on, and so did Martin, that they might understand the machinery. This was very simple. Mr Emmerson tried the mill, and found it to answer well. He explained everything to Alfred, and put the mill to work, that he might be fully master of it. As it was a fortnight after the mill was at work before Mr Emmerson could obtain a passage back to Montreal, Alfred and Martin worked both mills during that time, and felt satisfied that they required no further instruction. The soldiers, at the request of Mr Campbell, were allowed to remain till the hay-harvest, and as soon as the hay was gathered in, they were paid and returned to the fort. Captain Sinclair, who, from his letter, had been expected to arrive much sooner, came just as the soldiers had left the farm. It need hardly be said that he was received most warmly. He had a great deal to tell them, and had brought out a great many presents; those for poor little Percival he kept back, of course. Emma and Mary were delighted to have him again as a companion, and to resume their walks with him; a fortnight thus passed away very quickly, when his leave of absence expired, and he was obliged to return to the fort. Previous, however, to his going away, he requested a private interview with Mr and Mrs Campbell, in which he stated his exact position and his means, and requested their sanction to his paying his addresses to Mary. Mr and Mrs Campbell, who had already perceived the attentions he had shewn to her, did not hesitate to express their satisfaction at his request, and their best wishes for his success; and having so done, they left him to forward his own suit, which Captain Sinclair did not fail to do that very evening. Mary Percival was too amiable and right-minded a girl not at once to refuse or accept Captain Sinclair. As she had long been attached to him, she did not deny that such was the case, and Captain Sinclair was overjoyed at his success.

“I have spoken frankly to you, Captain Sinclair,” said Mary; “I have not denied that you have an interest in my affections; but I must now request you to let me know what are your future views.”

“To do just what you wish me to do.”

“I have no right to advise, and no wish to persuade. I have my own path of duty pointed out to me, and from that I cannot swerve.”

“And what is that?”

“It is that, under present circumstances, I must not think of leaving my uncle and aunt. I have been bred up and educated by them; I have as an orphan shared their prosperity; I have a deep debt of gratitude to pay, and I cannot consent to return to England to enjoy all the advantages which your means will afford while they remain in their present isolated position. Hereafter circumstances may alter my opinion, but such it is at present.”

“But if I am willing to remain with you here to share your fortunes, will not that satisfy you?”

“No, certainly not; for that would be allowing you to do injustice to yourself. I presume you do not mean to quit your profession?”

“I had no such intention; but still, if I have to choose between you and the service, I shall not hesitate.”

“I trust you will not hesitate, but determine to adhere steadily to your profession for the present, Captain Sinclair. It will not do for you to give up your prospects and chance of advancement for even such a woman as me,” continued Mary, smiling; “nor must you think of becoming a backwoodsman for a pale-faced girl.”

“Then what am I to do if, as you say, you will not leave your uncle and aunt?”

“Wait, Captain Sinclair; be satisfied that you have my affections, and wait patiently till circumstances may occur which will enable me to reward your affection without being guilty of ingratitude towards those to whom I owe so much. On such terms I accept you, and accept you willingly; but you must do your duty to yourself, while I must discharge my duty towards my uncle and aunt.”

“I believe you are right, Mary,” replied Captain Sinclair; “only I do not see any definite hope of our being united. Can you give me any prospect to cheer me?”

“We are both very young, Captain Sinclair,” observed Mary; “in a year or two my uncle and aunt may be less lonely and more comfortable than at present. In a year or two the war may end, and you may honourably retire upon half-pay; in fact, so many chances are there which are hidden from us and come upon us so unexpectedly, that it is impossible to say what may take place. And if, after waiting patiently for some time, none of these chances do turn up, you have yet another in your favour.”

“And what is that, Mary?”

“That, perhaps, I may be tired of waiting myself,” replied Mary, with a smile.

“Upon that chance, then, I will live in hope,” replied Captain Sinclair; “if you will only reward me when you consider that my faithful service demands it, I will serve as long as Jacob did for Rachael.”

“Do so, and you shall not be deceived at the end of your services as he was,” replied Mary. “But now let us return to the house.”

Captain Sinclair departed the day afterwards, quite satisfied with Mary’s resolution.

Chapter Thirty Two.An Indian Letter.As Henry had predicted, during the autumn the whole family were fully employed. The stock had increased very much; they had a large number of young calves and heifers, and the sheep had lambed down very favourably. Many of the stock were now turned into the bush, to save the feed on the prairie. The sheep with their lambs, the cows which were in milk, and the young calves only were retained. This gave them more leisure to attend to the corn harvest, which was now ready, and it required all their united exertions from daylight to sunset to get it in, for they had a very large quantity of ground to clear. It was, however, got in very successfully, and all stacked in good order. Then came the thrashing of the wheat, which gave them ample employment; and as soon as it could be thrashed out, it was taken to the mill in the waggon, and ground down, for Mr Campbell had engaged to supply a certain quantity of flour to the fort before the winter set in. They occasionally received a visit from Captain Sinclair and the Colonel, and some other officers, for now they had gradually become intimate with many of them. Captain Sinclair had confided to the Colonel his engagement to Mary Percival, and in consequence the Colonel allowed him to visit at the farm as often as he could, consistently with his duty. The other officers who came to see them, perceiving how much Captain Sinclair engrossed the company of Mary Percival, were very assiduous in their attentions to Emma, who laughed with and at them, and generally contrived to give them something to do for her during their visit, as well as to render their attentions serviceable to the household. On condition that Emma accompanied them, they were content to go into the punt and fish for hours; and, indeed, all the lake-fish which were caught this year were taken by the officers. There were several very pleasant young men among them, and they were always well received, as they added very much to the society at the farm. Before the winter set in the flour was all ready, and sent to the fort, as were the cattle which the Colonel requested, and it was very evident that the Colonel was right when he said that the arrangement would be advantageous to both parties. Mr Campbell, instead of drawing money to pay, this year, for the first time, received a bill on the Government to a considerable amount for the flour and cattle furnished to the troops; and Mrs Campbell’s account for fowls, pork, etcetera, furnished to the garrison, was by no means to be despised.Thus, by the kindness of others, his own exertions, and a judicious employment of his small capital, Mr Campbell promised to be in a few years a wealthy and independent man.As soon as the harvest set in, Malachi and John, who were of no use in thrashing out the corn, renewed their hunting expeditions, and seldom returned without venison. The Indians had not been seen by Malachi during his excursions, nor any trace of their having been in the neighbourhood.All alarm, therefore, on that account was now over, and the family prepared to meet the coming winter with all the additional precautions which the foregoing had advised them of. But during the Indian summer they received letters from England, detailing, as usual, the news relative to friends with whom they had been intimate; also one from Quebec, informing Mr Campbell that his application for the extra grant of land was consented to; and another from Montreal, from Mr Emmerson, stating that he had offered terms to two families of settlers who bore very good characters, and if they were accepted by Mr Campbell, the parties would join them at the commencement of the ensuing spring.This was highly gratifying to Mr Campbell, and as the terms were, with a slight variation, such as he had proposed, he immediately wrote to Mr Emmerson, agreeing to the terms, and requesting that the bargain might be concluded. At the same time that the Colonel forwarded the above letters, he wrote to Mr Campbell to say that the interior of the fort required a large quantity of plank for repairs, that he was authorised to take them from Mr Campbell, at a certain price, if he could afford to supply them on those terms, and have them ready by the following spring. This was another act of kindness on the part of the Colonel, as it would now give employment to the saw-mill for the winter, and it was during the winter, and at the time that the snow was on the ground, that they could easily drag the timber after it was felled to the saw-mill. Mr Campbell wrote an answer, thanking the Colonel for his offer, which he accepted, and promised to have the planks ready by the time the lake was again open.At last the winter set in, with its usual fall of snow. Captain Sinclair took his leave for a long time, much to the sorrow of all the family, who were warmly attached to him. It was now arranged that the only parties who were to go on the hunting excursions should be Malachi and John, as Henry had ample employment in the barns; and Martin and Alfred, in felling timber and dragging up the stems to the saw-mill, would, with attending to the mill as well, have their whole time taken up. Such were the arrangements out of doors, and now that they had lost the services of poor Percival, and the duties to attend to indoors were so much increased, Mrs Campbell and the girls were obliged to call in the assistance of Mr Campbell whenever he could be spared from the garden, which was his usual occupation. Thus glided on the third winter in quiet and security; but in full employment, and with so much to do and to attend to, that it passed very rapidly.It was in the month of February, when the snow was very heavy on the ground, that one day Malachi went up to the mill to Alfred, whom he found alone attending the saws, which were in full activity; for Martin was squaring out the timber ready to be sawed at about one hundred yards’ distance.“I am glad to find you alone, sir,” said Malachi, “for I have something of importance to tell you of, and I don’t like at present that anybody else should know anything about it.”“What is it, Malachi?” inquired Alfred.“Why, sir, when I was out hunting yesterday I went round to a spot where I had left a couple of deer-hides last week that I might bring them home, and I found a letter stuck to them with a couple of thorns.”“A letter, Malachi!”“Yes, sir, an Indian letter. Here it is.” Malachi then produced a piece of birch-bark, of which the underneath drawing is a fac-simile.“Well,” said Alfred, “it may be a letter, but I confess it is all Greek to me. I certainly do not see why you wish to keep it a secret. Tell me.”“Well, sir, I could not read one of your letters half so well as I can this; and it contains news of the greatest importance. It’s the Indian way of writing, and I know also whom it comes from. A good action is never lost, they say, and I am glad to find that there is some gratitude in an Indian.”“You make me very impatient, Malachi, to know what it means; tell me from whom do you think the letter comes?”“Why, sir, do you see this mark here?” said Malachi, pointing to the one lowest down on the piece of bark.“Yes; it is a foot, is it not?”“Exactly, sir; now, do you know whom it comes from?”“I can’t say I do.”“Do you remember two winters back our picking up the Indian woman, and carrying her to the house, and your father curing her sprained ankle?”“Certainly; is it from her?”“Yes, sir; and you recollect she said that she belonged to the band which followed the Angry Snake.”“I remember it very well; but now, Malachi, read me the letter at once, for I am very impatient to know what she can have to say.”“I will, Mr Alfred; now, sir, there is the sun more than half up, which with them points out it is the setting and not the rising sun; the setting sun therefore means to the westward.”“Very good, that is plain, I think.”“There are twelve wigwams, that is, twelve days’ journey for a warrior, which the Indians reckon at about fifteen miles a day. How much does fifteen times twelve make, sir?”“One hundred and eighty, Malachi.”“Well, sir, then that is to say that it is one hundred and eighty miles off, or thereabouts. Now, this first figure is a chief, for it has an eagle’s feather on the head of it, and the snake before it is histotem, ‘the Angry Snake,’ and the other six are the number of the band; and you observe, that the chief and the first figure of the six have a gun in their hands, which is to inform us that they have only two rifles among them.”“Very true; but what is that little figure following the chief with his arms behind him?”“There is the whole mystery of the letter, sir, without which it were worth nothing. You perceive that the little figure has a pair of snow-shoes over it.”“Yes, I do.”“Well, that little figure is your brother Percival, whom we supposed to be dead.”“Merciful heavens! is it possible?” exclaimed Alfred; “then he is alive!”“There is no doubt of it, sir,” replied Malachi; “and now I will put the whole letter together. Your brother Percival has been carried off by the Angry Snake and his band, and has been taken to some place one hundred and eighty miles to the westward, and this information comes from the Indian woman who belongs to the band, and whose life was preserved by your kindness. I don’t think, Mr Alfred, that any white person could have written a letter more plain and more to the purpose.”“I agree with you, Malachi; but the news has so overpowered me, I am so agitated with joy and anxiety of mind, that I hardly know what I say. Percival alive! we’ll have him if we have to go one thousand miles and beat two thousand Indians. Oh, how happy it will make my mother! But what are we to do, Malachi? tell me, I beseech you.”“We must do nothing, sir,” replied Malachi.“Nothing, Malachi!” replied Alfred, with surprise.“No, sir; nothing at present, at all events. We have the information that the boy is alive, at least it is presumed so; but of course the Indians do not know that we have received such information; if they did, the woman would be killed immediately. Now, sir, the first question we must ask ourselves is, why they have carried off the boy; for it would be no use carrying off a little boy in that manner without some object.”“It is the very question that I was going to put to you, Malachi.”“Then, sir, I’ll answer it to the best of my knowledge and belief. It is this: the Angry Snake came to the settlement, and saw our stores of powder and shot, and everything else. He would have attacked us last winter if he had found an opportunity and a chance of success. One of his band was killed, which taught him that we were on the watch, and he failed in that attempt; he managed, however, to pick up the boy when he was lagging behind us, at the time that you were wounded by the painter, and carried him off, and he intends to drive a bargain for his being restored to us. That is my conviction.”“I have no doubt but that you are right, Malachi,” said Alfred, after a pause. “Well, we must make a virtue of a necessity, and give him what he asks.”“Not so, sir; if we did, it would encourage him to steal again.”“What must we do then?”“Punish him, if we can; at all events, we must wait at present, and do nothing. Depend upon it we shall have some communication made to us through him that the boy is in their possession, and will be restored upon certain conditions—probably this spring. It will then be time to consider what is to be done.”“I believe you are right, Malachi.”“I hope to circumvent him yet, sir,” replied Malachi; “but we shall see.”“Well; but Malachi, are we to let this be known to anybody, or keep it a secret?”“Well, sir, I’ve thought of that; we must only let Martin and the Strawberry into the secret; and I would tell them, because they are almost Indians, as it were; they may have someone coming to them, and there’s no fear of their telling. Martin knows better, and as for the Strawberry, she is as safe as if she didn’t know it.”“I believe you are right; and still what delight it would give my father and mother!”“Yes, sir, and all the family too, I have no doubt, for the first hour or two after you have told them; but what pain it would give them for months afterwards! ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,’ as my father used to read out of the Bible, and that’s the truth, sir. Only consider how your father, and particularly your mother, would fret and pine during the whole time, and what a state of anxiety they would be in! they would not eat or sleep. No, no, sir, it would be a cruelty to tell them, and it must not be. Nothing can be done till the spring at all events, and we must wait till the messenger comes to us.”“You are right, Malachi; then do as you say, make the communication to Martin and his wife, and I will keep the secret as faithfully as they will.”“It’s a great point our knowing whereabouts the boy is,” observed Malachi, “for if it is necessary to make a party to go for him, we know what direction to go in. And it is also a great point to know the strength of the enemy, as now we shall know what force we must take with us in case it is necessary to recover the lad by force or stratagem. All this we gained from the letter, and shall not learn from any messenger sent to us by the Angry Snake, whose head I hope to bruise before I’ve done with him.”“If I meet him, one of us shall fall,” observed Alfred.“No doubt, sir, no doubt,” replied Malachi; “but if we can retake the boy by other means, so much the better. A man, bad or good, has but one life, and God gave it to him. It is not for his fellow-creature to take it away unless from necessity. I hope to have the boy without shedding of blood.”“I am willing to have him back upon any terms, Malachi; and, as you say, if we can do it without shedding of blood, all the better; but have him I will, if I have to kill a hundred Indians.”“That’s right, sir, that’s right, only let it be the last resort; recollect that the Indian seeks the powder and ball, not the life of the boy; and recollect that if we had not been so careless as to tempt him with the sight of what he values so much, he would never have annoyed us thus.”“That is true; well then, Malachi, it shall be as you propose in everything.”The conversation was here finished; Alfred and all those who were possessed of the secret never allowed the slightest hint to drop of their knowledge. The winter passed away without interruption of any kind. Before the snow had disappeared the seed was all prepared ready for sowing; the planks had been sawed out, and all the wheat not required for seed had been ground down and put into flower barrels, ready for any further demand from the fort. And thus terminated the third winter in Canada.

As Henry had predicted, during the autumn the whole family were fully employed. The stock had increased very much; they had a large number of young calves and heifers, and the sheep had lambed down very favourably. Many of the stock were now turned into the bush, to save the feed on the prairie. The sheep with their lambs, the cows which were in milk, and the young calves only were retained. This gave them more leisure to attend to the corn harvest, which was now ready, and it required all their united exertions from daylight to sunset to get it in, for they had a very large quantity of ground to clear. It was, however, got in very successfully, and all stacked in good order. Then came the thrashing of the wheat, which gave them ample employment; and as soon as it could be thrashed out, it was taken to the mill in the waggon, and ground down, for Mr Campbell had engaged to supply a certain quantity of flour to the fort before the winter set in. They occasionally received a visit from Captain Sinclair and the Colonel, and some other officers, for now they had gradually become intimate with many of them. Captain Sinclair had confided to the Colonel his engagement to Mary Percival, and in consequence the Colonel allowed him to visit at the farm as often as he could, consistently with his duty. The other officers who came to see them, perceiving how much Captain Sinclair engrossed the company of Mary Percival, were very assiduous in their attentions to Emma, who laughed with and at them, and generally contrived to give them something to do for her during their visit, as well as to render their attentions serviceable to the household. On condition that Emma accompanied them, they were content to go into the punt and fish for hours; and, indeed, all the lake-fish which were caught this year were taken by the officers. There were several very pleasant young men among them, and they were always well received, as they added very much to the society at the farm. Before the winter set in the flour was all ready, and sent to the fort, as were the cattle which the Colonel requested, and it was very evident that the Colonel was right when he said that the arrangement would be advantageous to both parties. Mr Campbell, instead of drawing money to pay, this year, for the first time, received a bill on the Government to a considerable amount for the flour and cattle furnished to the troops; and Mrs Campbell’s account for fowls, pork, etcetera, furnished to the garrison, was by no means to be despised.

Thus, by the kindness of others, his own exertions, and a judicious employment of his small capital, Mr Campbell promised to be in a few years a wealthy and independent man.

As soon as the harvest set in, Malachi and John, who were of no use in thrashing out the corn, renewed their hunting expeditions, and seldom returned without venison. The Indians had not been seen by Malachi during his excursions, nor any trace of their having been in the neighbourhood.

All alarm, therefore, on that account was now over, and the family prepared to meet the coming winter with all the additional precautions which the foregoing had advised them of. But during the Indian summer they received letters from England, detailing, as usual, the news relative to friends with whom they had been intimate; also one from Quebec, informing Mr Campbell that his application for the extra grant of land was consented to; and another from Montreal, from Mr Emmerson, stating that he had offered terms to two families of settlers who bore very good characters, and if they were accepted by Mr Campbell, the parties would join them at the commencement of the ensuing spring.

This was highly gratifying to Mr Campbell, and as the terms were, with a slight variation, such as he had proposed, he immediately wrote to Mr Emmerson, agreeing to the terms, and requesting that the bargain might be concluded. At the same time that the Colonel forwarded the above letters, he wrote to Mr Campbell to say that the interior of the fort required a large quantity of plank for repairs, that he was authorised to take them from Mr Campbell, at a certain price, if he could afford to supply them on those terms, and have them ready by the following spring. This was another act of kindness on the part of the Colonel, as it would now give employment to the saw-mill for the winter, and it was during the winter, and at the time that the snow was on the ground, that they could easily drag the timber after it was felled to the saw-mill. Mr Campbell wrote an answer, thanking the Colonel for his offer, which he accepted, and promised to have the planks ready by the time the lake was again open.

At last the winter set in, with its usual fall of snow. Captain Sinclair took his leave for a long time, much to the sorrow of all the family, who were warmly attached to him. It was now arranged that the only parties who were to go on the hunting excursions should be Malachi and John, as Henry had ample employment in the barns; and Martin and Alfred, in felling timber and dragging up the stems to the saw-mill, would, with attending to the mill as well, have their whole time taken up. Such were the arrangements out of doors, and now that they had lost the services of poor Percival, and the duties to attend to indoors were so much increased, Mrs Campbell and the girls were obliged to call in the assistance of Mr Campbell whenever he could be spared from the garden, which was his usual occupation. Thus glided on the third winter in quiet and security; but in full employment, and with so much to do and to attend to, that it passed very rapidly.

It was in the month of February, when the snow was very heavy on the ground, that one day Malachi went up to the mill to Alfred, whom he found alone attending the saws, which were in full activity; for Martin was squaring out the timber ready to be sawed at about one hundred yards’ distance.

“I am glad to find you alone, sir,” said Malachi, “for I have something of importance to tell you of, and I don’t like at present that anybody else should know anything about it.”

“What is it, Malachi?” inquired Alfred.

“Why, sir, when I was out hunting yesterday I went round to a spot where I had left a couple of deer-hides last week that I might bring them home, and I found a letter stuck to them with a couple of thorns.”

“A letter, Malachi!”

“Yes, sir, an Indian letter. Here it is.” Malachi then produced a piece of birch-bark, of which the underneath drawing is a fac-simile.

“Well,” said Alfred, “it may be a letter, but I confess it is all Greek to me. I certainly do not see why you wish to keep it a secret. Tell me.”

“Well, sir, I could not read one of your letters half so well as I can this; and it contains news of the greatest importance. It’s the Indian way of writing, and I know also whom it comes from. A good action is never lost, they say, and I am glad to find that there is some gratitude in an Indian.”

“You make me very impatient, Malachi, to know what it means; tell me from whom do you think the letter comes?”

“Why, sir, do you see this mark here?” said Malachi, pointing to the one lowest down on the piece of bark.

“Yes; it is a foot, is it not?”

“Exactly, sir; now, do you know whom it comes from?”

“I can’t say I do.”

“Do you remember two winters back our picking up the Indian woman, and carrying her to the house, and your father curing her sprained ankle?”

“Certainly; is it from her?”

“Yes, sir; and you recollect she said that she belonged to the band which followed the Angry Snake.”

“I remember it very well; but now, Malachi, read me the letter at once, for I am very impatient to know what she can have to say.”

“I will, Mr Alfred; now, sir, there is the sun more than half up, which with them points out it is the setting and not the rising sun; the setting sun therefore means to the westward.”

“Very good, that is plain, I think.”

“There are twelve wigwams, that is, twelve days’ journey for a warrior, which the Indians reckon at about fifteen miles a day. How much does fifteen times twelve make, sir?”

“One hundred and eighty, Malachi.”

“Well, sir, then that is to say that it is one hundred and eighty miles off, or thereabouts. Now, this first figure is a chief, for it has an eagle’s feather on the head of it, and the snake before it is histotem, ‘the Angry Snake,’ and the other six are the number of the band; and you observe, that the chief and the first figure of the six have a gun in their hands, which is to inform us that they have only two rifles among them.”

“Very true; but what is that little figure following the chief with his arms behind him?”

“There is the whole mystery of the letter, sir, without which it were worth nothing. You perceive that the little figure has a pair of snow-shoes over it.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, that little figure is your brother Percival, whom we supposed to be dead.”

“Merciful heavens! is it possible?” exclaimed Alfred; “then he is alive!”

“There is no doubt of it, sir,” replied Malachi; “and now I will put the whole letter together. Your brother Percival has been carried off by the Angry Snake and his band, and has been taken to some place one hundred and eighty miles to the westward, and this information comes from the Indian woman who belongs to the band, and whose life was preserved by your kindness. I don’t think, Mr Alfred, that any white person could have written a letter more plain and more to the purpose.”

“I agree with you, Malachi; but the news has so overpowered me, I am so agitated with joy and anxiety of mind, that I hardly know what I say. Percival alive! we’ll have him if we have to go one thousand miles and beat two thousand Indians. Oh, how happy it will make my mother! But what are we to do, Malachi? tell me, I beseech you.”

“We must do nothing, sir,” replied Malachi.

“Nothing, Malachi!” replied Alfred, with surprise.

“No, sir; nothing at present, at all events. We have the information that the boy is alive, at least it is presumed so; but of course the Indians do not know that we have received such information; if they did, the woman would be killed immediately. Now, sir, the first question we must ask ourselves is, why they have carried off the boy; for it would be no use carrying off a little boy in that manner without some object.”

“It is the very question that I was going to put to you, Malachi.”

“Then, sir, I’ll answer it to the best of my knowledge and belief. It is this: the Angry Snake came to the settlement, and saw our stores of powder and shot, and everything else. He would have attacked us last winter if he had found an opportunity and a chance of success. One of his band was killed, which taught him that we were on the watch, and he failed in that attempt; he managed, however, to pick up the boy when he was lagging behind us, at the time that you were wounded by the painter, and carried him off, and he intends to drive a bargain for his being restored to us. That is my conviction.”

“I have no doubt but that you are right, Malachi,” said Alfred, after a pause. “Well, we must make a virtue of a necessity, and give him what he asks.”

“Not so, sir; if we did, it would encourage him to steal again.”

“What must we do then?”

“Punish him, if we can; at all events, we must wait at present, and do nothing. Depend upon it we shall have some communication made to us through him that the boy is in their possession, and will be restored upon certain conditions—probably this spring. It will then be time to consider what is to be done.”

“I believe you are right, Malachi.”

“I hope to circumvent him yet, sir,” replied Malachi; “but we shall see.”

“Well; but Malachi, are we to let this be known to anybody, or keep it a secret?”

“Well, sir, I’ve thought of that; we must only let Martin and the Strawberry into the secret; and I would tell them, because they are almost Indians, as it were; they may have someone coming to them, and there’s no fear of their telling. Martin knows better, and as for the Strawberry, she is as safe as if she didn’t know it.”

“I believe you are right; and still what delight it would give my father and mother!”

“Yes, sir, and all the family too, I have no doubt, for the first hour or two after you have told them; but what pain it would give them for months afterwards! ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,’ as my father used to read out of the Bible, and that’s the truth, sir. Only consider how your father, and particularly your mother, would fret and pine during the whole time, and what a state of anxiety they would be in! they would not eat or sleep. No, no, sir, it would be a cruelty to tell them, and it must not be. Nothing can be done till the spring at all events, and we must wait till the messenger comes to us.”

“You are right, Malachi; then do as you say, make the communication to Martin and his wife, and I will keep the secret as faithfully as they will.”

“It’s a great point our knowing whereabouts the boy is,” observed Malachi, “for if it is necessary to make a party to go for him, we know what direction to go in. And it is also a great point to know the strength of the enemy, as now we shall know what force we must take with us in case it is necessary to recover the lad by force or stratagem. All this we gained from the letter, and shall not learn from any messenger sent to us by the Angry Snake, whose head I hope to bruise before I’ve done with him.”

“If I meet him, one of us shall fall,” observed Alfred.

“No doubt, sir, no doubt,” replied Malachi; “but if we can retake the boy by other means, so much the better. A man, bad or good, has but one life, and God gave it to him. It is not for his fellow-creature to take it away unless from necessity. I hope to have the boy without shedding of blood.”

“I am willing to have him back upon any terms, Malachi; and, as you say, if we can do it without shedding of blood, all the better; but have him I will, if I have to kill a hundred Indians.”

“That’s right, sir, that’s right, only let it be the last resort; recollect that the Indian seeks the powder and ball, not the life of the boy; and recollect that if we had not been so careless as to tempt him with the sight of what he values so much, he would never have annoyed us thus.”

“That is true; well then, Malachi, it shall be as you propose in everything.”

The conversation was here finished; Alfred and all those who were possessed of the secret never allowed the slightest hint to drop of their knowledge. The winter passed away without interruption of any kind. Before the snow had disappeared the seed was all prepared ready for sowing; the planks had been sawed out, and all the wheat not required for seed had been ground down and put into flower barrels, ready for any further demand from the fort. And thus terminated the third winter in Canada.

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