The Settlers in Canada

"Don't be afraid; I'll only fire in self-defense, Malachi; that is, when I have no other chance left. I had rather trust to my heels than my rifle. Were you ever hugged by a bear?"

"Well, I wasn't ever hugged; but once I was much closer to one than ever I wish to be again."

"Oh! when was that? Do, pray, tell us," said Emma.

"It was when I was young, that one day I sounded a tree in the forest with my ax, and I was certain that a bear was in it: but the animal did not show itself, so I climbed up the tree to examine the hole at the top, and see if the bear was at home; as, if so, I was determined to have him out. Well, miss, I was on the top of the hollow trunk, and was just putting my head down into the hole, when, all of a sudden, the edge of the tree which I kneeled upon gave way, like so much tinder, and down I went into the hollow; luckily for me I did not go down head foremost, or there I should have remained till this time, for the hole in the middle of the tree, as I found, was too narrow for me to have turned in, and there I must have stuck. As it was, I went down with the dust and crumbles smothering me almost, till I came right on the top of the bear, who lay at the bottom, and I fell with such force, that I doubled his head down so that he could not lay hold of me with his teeth, which would not have been pleasant; indeed, the bear was quite as much, if not more astonished than myself, and there he lay beneath me, very quiet, till I could recover a little. Then I thought of getting out, as you may suppose, fast enough, and the hollow of the tree, providentially, was not so wide but that I could work up again with my back to one side and my knees to the other. By this means I gradually got up again to the hole that I fell in at, and perched myself across the timber to fetch my breath. I had not been there more than a quarter of a minute, and I intended to have remained much longer, when I perceived, all of a sudden, the bear's head within a foot of me; he had climbed up after me, and I saw that he was very angry, so in a moment I threw myself off my perch, and down I went to the ground at the foot of the tree, a matter of near twenty feet, even faster than I went down inside of it. I was severely shaken with the fall, but no bones were broken; in fact, I was more frightened than hurt; I lay quite still for a little while, when the growl of the bear put me in mind of him; I jumped on my legs, and found that he was coming down the tree after me, and was within six feet of the ground. There was no time to lose; I caught up my rifle, and had just time to put it to his ear and settle him, as he was placing his fore-foot on the ground."

"What a narrow escape!"

"Well, perhaps it was, but there's no saying, miss, which beats till the fight is over."

CHAPTER XXIV.

"To confess the truth, Emma," said Captain Sinclair, "my journey to Quebec is but the preparatory step to my return to England for perhaps two or three months."

"To England! Oh! how I wish—;" but here Emma stopped; she was going to say how much she wished that she was going also, but her uncle and aunt were present, and, recollecting that it might pain them and induce them to think that she was discontented, she added, "that you would bring me out all the new fashions."

"All the new fashions, my dear Emma?" said Henry. "Why, do you wish to be fashionably dressed in the woods of Canada?"

"Why not?" exclaimed Emma, who felt that she must appear to be very foolish, but could not get out of her scrape. "I can look at myself in the glass at all events."

"I will try to bring you out something which will give you pleasure," replied Captain Sinclair, "but as for the fashions, I know you are only joking, by your trusting a person so incompetent as I am to select them."

"Well, I do not think you would execute my commission very well, so I will not trouble you," replied Emma; "and now let us know why you are going to England."

"My dear Emma," said Mr. Campbell, "you ought not to put such questions; Captain Sinclair has his own reasons, I have no doubt."

"It is very true that I have my own reasons," replied Captain Sinclair, "and, as I have no secrets, I will with pleasure gratify Emma's curiosity. I do not know whether you are aware that I was an orphan at a very early age, and have been under the charge of a guardian. When my father died, he left directions in his will that I was not to take possession of my property till I was twenty-five years of age. I was twenty-five years old last year, and my guardian has written requesting me to come home, that he may be relieved of his responsibility, by making over to me the trust which has been confided to him."

"Will it detain you long?" inquired Mr. Campbell.

"It must not. It is very difficult to obtain leave of absence from your regiment in time of war. It is only through interest that I do so now. On my arrival at Quebec, the Governor will put me on his staff, and then he will give me leave. I shall not stay longer than is necessary, as I am anxious to be with my regiment again. You may, therefore, be certain that, if I am spared, I shall be with you again before the winter, if not much sooner. So now if you have really any commissions for me to execute, I can only say I shall be most happy to comply with your wishes to the best of my ability."

"Well," observed Emma, "we really were not aware that Captain Sinclair was a man of fortune. You think now you will come back," continued she, gravely, "but if once you get to England, you will remain, and forget all about Canada."

"My fortune is not very large," replied Captain Sinclair; "in England, hardly sufficient to induce a young lady of fashion to look upon me, although enough, perhaps, for a sensible woman to be happy upon. My fortune, therefore, will not detain me in England, and, as I said before, my greatest wish is to rejoin my regiment."

"Whether you come back or remain," observed Mr. Campbell, "you will always have our best wishes, Captain Sinclair. We are not ungrateful for your kindness to us."

"Nor shall I forget the many happy hours I have passed in your society," replied Captain Sinclair; "but we shall be melancholy if we talk too long upon the subject. The boat can not remain more than two hours, and Henry must be ready by that time. The commandant is anxious that it should start for Montreal this very evening."

"Then, indeed, we have no time to lose," observed Mr. Campbell; "Henry, get your trunk ready, and Martin will take it down into the boat before we sit down to dinner. It will be a long while before we have you to dine with us again," continued Mr. Campbell to Captain Sinclair; "but I wish you your health and much happiness till you return. Come, girls, look after the dinner. Mary! where's Mary?"

"She went into the room a few minutes ago," said Emma, "but I'm here, and can do all that is required without her or my aunt either. Come, Percival, lay the cloth; Alfred, come and help me, this is almost too heavy for me. Oh, here comes my aunt: now you may go away, Alfred; we can get on better without you."

"There's gratitude," said Alfred, laughing.

As Henry had been in daily expectation of the summons, he was not long in his preparations, and in a few minutes made his appearance, accompanied by Mary Percival. They then sat down to dinner, not very cheerful, for Captain Sinclair's unexpected departure had thrown a gloom over them all; however, they rallied a little toward the close of the meal, and Mr. Campbell produced one of his bottles of wine to drink success and happiness to the travelers. It was then time to start. Captain Sinclair and Henry shook hands with Mr. Campbell and the Miss Percivals, and accompanied by the gentlemen of the party, walked down to the beach.

"I can't bear parting with any one that I have been so intimate with," said Emma, after they were left alone. "I declare I could sit down and have a hearty cry at Captain Sinclair's departure."

Mary sighed, but made no answer.

"I am not surprised to hear you say so, Emma," said Mrs. Campbell. "In England, when we were surrounded with friends, parting was always painful; but here where we have so few, I might almost say only Captain Sinclair, it is of course most painful. However, it's only for a time, I hope."

"It must be very dull to be on duty at the fort," said Mary; "I should not be surprised at Captain Sinclair's not returning."

"I should be most exceedingly surprised," replied Emma; "I am sure that he will come back, if he is not unavoidably prevented."

"Since he has expressed so much desire to rejoin his regiment, I should be surprised as well as you, Emma," said Mrs. Campbell. "He is not a volatile young man; but, come, we must clear away the dinner-table."

Mr. Campbell, Alfred, Percival, and Martin soon returned, for Captain Sinclair was obliged to push off immediately, that he might return in time to the fort, in obedience to his orders. Malachi and John had gone out on a hunting expedition, and the Strawberry was at her own lodge. The party that sat in the kitchen in the evening was, therefore, much reduced, and the taking farewell of Captain Sinclair did not dispose them to be very lively. A few words were exchanged now and then, but the conversation drooped. Emma spoke of Captain Sinclair's expectations and projects.

"We never know what may come in this world of change, my dear Emma," said Mr. Campbell. "All Captain Sinclair's plans may be overthrown by circumstances over which he has no control. How seldom do we meet with results equal to our expectations. When I was practicing in my profession, I little expected that I should be summoned to take possession of Wexton Hall; when once in possession, as little did I expect that I should be obliged to quit it, and to come to these desolate wilds. We are in the hands of God, who does with us as He thinks fit. I have been reading this morning, and I made the observation not only how often individuals, but even nations, are out in their expectations. I do not know a more convincing proof of this than the narration of events, which from their recent occurrence, can hardly yet be considered as history, has offered to me. Perhaps there never was so short a period in which causes have produced effects so rapidly, and in which, in every case, the effects have been directly opposite to what short-sighted mortals had anticipated. It was in 1756, scarcely forty years ago, that the French, being in possession of the provinces, attempted to wrest from us those portions of America which we occupied. What was the result? After a war which, for cruelty and atrocity, is perhaps unequaled in history, both parties employing savages, by whom the French and English were alternately tortured and burned to death, France, in attempting to obtain all, lost all, and was compelled, in 1760, to surrender its own provinces to Great Britain. Here is one instance in which affairs turned out contrary to the expectations of France.

"Now again: At no period was England more prosperous or more respected by foreign nations than at the close of the war. Her prosperity made her arrogant and unjust. She wronged her colonies. She thought that they dared not resist her imperious will. She imagined that now that the French were driven from the Canadas, America was all her own, whereas it was because the French were driven from the Canadas that the colonies ventured to resist. As long as the French held this country, the English colonists had an enemy on their frontiers, and consequently looked up to England for support and protection. They required aid and assistance, and as long as they did require it, they were not likely to make any remonstrance at being taxed to pay a portion of the expense which was incurred. Had the French possessed an army under Montcalm ready to advance at the time that the Stamp Act, or the duty upon tea, salt, etc., was imposed, I question very much if the colonists would have made any remonstrance. But no longer requiring an army for their own particular defense, these same duties induced them to rise in rebellion against what they considered injustice, and eventually to assert their independence. Here, again, we find that affairs turned out quite contrary to the expectations of England.

"Observe again. The American colonists gained their independence, which in all probability they would not have done had they not been assisted by the numerous army and fleet of France, who, irritated at the loss of the Canadas, wished to humiliate England by the loss of her own American possessions. But little did the French king and his noblesse imagine, that in upholding the principles of the Americans, and allowing the French armies and navies (I may say the people of France en masse) to be imbued with the same principles of equality, that they were sowing the seeds of a revolution in their own country which was to bring the king, as well as the major part of the nobility, to the scaffold.

"There, again, the events did not turn out according to expectation, and you will observe in every attempt made by either party, the result was, that the blow fell upon their own heads, and not upon that of the party which it was intended to crush."

"I remember," said Alfred, after Mr. Campbell had finished speaking, "having somewhere read a story of an Eastern king who purchased a proverb of a dervise, which he ordered to be engraven on all the gold and silver utensils in the palace. The proverb was, 'Never undertake any thing until you have well considered the end.' It so happened, that there was a conspiracy against the king, and it was arranged that his surgeon should bleed him with a poisoned lancet. The surgeon agreed—the king's arm was bound up, and one of the silver basins was held to receive the blood. The surgeon read the inscription, and was so struck with the force of it, that he threw down the lancet, confessed the plot, and thus was the life of the king preserved."

"A very apt story, Alfred," said Mrs. Campbell.

"The question now is," continued Alfred, "as two of the parties, France and England, have proved so short-sighted, whether the Americans, having thrown off their allegiance, have not been equally so in their choice of a democratical government?"

"How far a modern democracy may succeed, I am not prepared to say," replied Mr. Campbell; "but this I do know, that in ancient times, their duration was generally very short, and continually changing to oligarchy and tyranny. One thing is certain, that there is no form of government under which the people become so rapidly vicious, or where those who benefit them are treated with such ingratitude."

"How do you account for that, sir?" said Alfred.

"There are two principal causes. One is, that where all men are declared to be equal (which man never will permit his fellow to be if he can prevent it), the only source of distinction is wealth, and thus the desire of wealth becomes the ruling passion of the whole body, and there is no passion so demoralizing. The other is, that where the people, or, more properly speaking, the mob govern, they must be conciliated by flattery and servility on the part of those who would become their idols. Now flattery is lying, and a habit equally demoralizing to the party who gives and to the party who receives it. Depend upon it, there is no government so contemptible or so unpleasant for an honest man to live under as a democracy."

"It is my opinion, sir, and I believe a very general one," said Alfred.

"How far the Americans may disprove such an opinion," continued Mr. Campbell, "remains to be seen; but this is certain, they have commenced their new form of government with an act of such gross injustice, as to warrant the assumption that all their boasted virtues are pretense. I refer to their not liberating their slaves. They have given the lie to their own assertions in their Declaration of Independence, in which they have declared all men equal and born free, and we can not expect the Divine blessing upon those who, when they emancipated themselves, were so unjust as to hold their fellow-creatures in bondage. The time will come, I have no doubt, although perhaps not any of us here present may see the day, when the retribution will fall upon their heads, or rather upon the heads of their offspring; for the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, even to the third and fourth generation. But it is time for us to think of retiring—good-night, and God bless you all."

CHAPTER XXV.

"I assure you, Mr. Campbell," said he, "I was very anxious about you last winter, and I am rejoiced that you got over it with so little difficulty. At one time we had apprehensions of the Indians, but these have passed over for the present. They meet again this summer, but the Quebec government are on the alert, and I have no doubt but that a little conciliation will put an end to all animosity. We expect a large supply of blankets and other articles to be sent up this spring, as presents to the tribes, which we hope will procure their good-will; and we have taken up several French emissaries, who were working mischief."

"But still we shall be liable to the assaults of straggling parties," said Mr. Campbell.

"That is true," replied the Colonel, "but against them you have your own means of defense. You would, in so isolated a position, be equally liable to a burglary in England—only with the difference that in England you would have the laws to appeal to, whereas here you must take the law into your own hands."

"It certainly is not pleasant to be in a continual state of anxiety," observed Mr. Campbell, "but we knew what we had to expect before we came here, and we must make the best of it. So you have lost Captain Sinclair, Colonel; he is a great loss to us."

"Yes, he is to go to England for a short time," replied the Colonel, "but we shall soon have him back again. He must be very fond of his profession to remain in it with his means."

"He told us that he was about to take possession of a small property."

"A property of nearly £2,000 per annum," replied the Colonel. "He may consider it a small property, but I should think it otherwise if it had fallen to my lot."

"Indeed I had no idea, from what he said, that it was so large," said Mrs. Campbell. "Well, I have a high opinion of him, and have no doubt but that he will make a good use of it."

"At all events, he can afford the luxury of a wife," said the Colonel, laughing, "which we soldiers seldom can."

The Colonel then entered into conversation with Mr. Campbell, relative to his farm, and after many questions, he observed:

"I have been thinking, Mr. Campbell, that it will be very advantageous to the government as well as to you, when your farm is cleared and stocked, if, with the water-power you possess here, you were to erect a flour-mill and a saw-mill. You observe that the government has to supply the fort with flour and provisions of all kinds at a very heavy expense of carriage, and the cattle we have at the fort will cost us more than they are worth, now that we have lost your prairie farm, so conveniently situated for us. On the other hand, your produce will be almost useless to you, at the distance you are from any mart; as you will not find any sale for it. Now, if you were to erect a mill, and grind your own wheat, which you may do in another year, if you have funds sufficient; and as you may have plenty of stock, you will be able to supply the fort with flour, beef, pork, and mutton, at a good profit to yourself, and at one-half the price which government pays at present. I have written to the Governor on the subject, stating that we have not the means of keeping our stock, and pointing out to him what I now point out to you. I expect an answer in a few days, and should he authorize me, I may make arrangements with you even now, which will be satisfactory, I have no doubt."

Mr. Campbell returned the Colonel many thanks for his kindness, and of course expressed himself willing to be guided by his advice. He stated that he had funds not only sufficient to erect a mill, but also, if he were permitted, to pay for the labor of any party of men which the commandant would spare during the summer season.

"That is the very point which I wished to ascertain; but I felt some delicacy about making the inquiry. Now I consider that there will be no difficulty in our arrangements."

The Colonel remained for some time looking over the farm and conversing with Mr. Campbell, and then took his leave.

In the meantime, Alfred and his cousins went out to walk; the weather was now beautifully clear, and in the afternoon the heat was not too oppressive. As they sauntered by the side of the stream, Mary said, "Well, Alfred, what do you think of the Colonel's proposition?"

"Yes," observed Emma, "you are a party deeply concerned in it."

"How so, dear coz?"

"Why, don't you perceive that if the mill is erected, you will be the proper person to have charge of it? What a change of professions, from a sailor to a miller. I think I see you in your coat, all white with flour, coming in to dinner."

"My dear Emma, you don't intend it, I am sure, but you do not know that you are inflicting pain upon me. When the Colonel made the proposition, I felt the importance of it, as it would be a source of great profit to my father; but at the same time, I don't know how it is, I have always indulged the idea that we may not stay here forever, and this plan appeared so like decidedly settling down to a residence for life, that it made me low-spirited. I know that it is foolish, and that we have no chance of ever removing—but still I can not, even with this almost certainty before my eyes, keep my mind from thinking upon one day returning to my profession, and the idea of becoming a miller for life is what I can not as yet contemplate with any degree of composure."

"Well, Alfred, I only did it to tease you a little—not to hurt your feelings, believe me," replied Emma. "You shall not be a miller if you don't like it. Henry will do better, perhaps, than you; but as for our quitting this place, I have no idea of it's being ever possible. I have made up my mind to live and die in the Canadian woods, considering it my wayward fate that all 'my sweetness should be wasted on the desert air.'"

"Repining is useless, if not sinful," observed Mary Percival. "We have much to be thankful for; at least we are independent, and if we are ever to repay the kindness of our uncle and aunt, who must feel their change of condition so much more than we do, it must be by cheerfulness and content. I have been thinking as well as you, Alfred, and I'll tell you what was in my thoughts. I looked forward to a few years, by which time, as the country fills up so fast, it is very probable that we shall have other settlers here as neighbors, in every direction. This will give us security. I also fancied that my uncle's farm and property became of value and importance, and that he himself became a leading man in the district; not only at his ease, but, for a settler, even wealthy; and then I fancied that, surrounded by others, in perfect security, and in easy and independent circumstances, my uncle would not forget the sacrifice which my cousin Alfred so nobly made, and would insist upon his returning to that profession to which he is so much attached, and in which I have no doubt but that he will distinguish himself."

"Well said, my sweet prophet," said Alfred, kissing his cousin, "you have more sense than both of us."

"Answer for yourself, Alfred, if you please," said Emma, tossing her head as if affronted. "I shall not forget that remark of yours, I can assure you. Now, I prophesy quite the contrary; Alfred will never go to sea again. He will be taken with the charms of some Scotch settler's daughter, some Janet or Moggy, and settle down into a Canadian farmer, mounted on a long-legged black pony."

"And I too," replied Alfred, "prophesy, that at the same time that I marry and settle as you have described Miss Emma Percival will yield up her charms to some long-legged, black, nondescript sort of a fellow, who will set up a whisky-shop and instal his wife as bar-maid to attend upon and conciliate his customers."

"Emma, I think you have the worst of this peeping into futurity," said Mary, laughing.

"Yes, if Alfred were not a false prophet, of which there are always many going about," replied Emma; "however, I hope your prophecy may be the true one, Mary, and then we shall get rid of him."

"I flatter myself that you would be very sorry if I went away; you would have no one to tease, at all events," replied Alfred, "and that would be a sad loss to yourself."

"Well, there's some sense in that remark," said Emma; "but the cows are waiting to be milked, and so, Mr. Alfred, if you are on your good behavior, you had better go and bring us the pails."

"I really pity Alfred," said Mary, as soon as he was out of hearing; "his sacrifice has been very great, and, much as he must feel it, how well he bears up against it."

"He is a dear, noble fellow," replied Emma; "and I do love him very much, although I can not help teasing him."

"But on some points you should be cautious, my dear sister; you don't know what pain you give."

"Yes I do, and am always sorry when I have done it, but it is not until afterward that I recollect it, and then I am very angry with myself. Don't scold me, dear Mary, I will try to be wiser; I wonder whether what you say will come to pass, and we shall have neighbors; I wish we had, if it were only on account of those Indians."

"I think it very probable," replied Mary; "but time will show."

Alfred then returned with the pails, and the conversation took another turn.

A few days afterward, a corporal arrived from the fort, bringing letters and newspapers; the first that they had received since the breaking up of the winter. The whole family were in commotion as the intelligence was proclaimed; Mary and Emma left the fowls which they were feeding; Percival threw down the pail with which he was attending the pigs; Alfred ran in from where he and Martin were busy splitting rails; all crowded round Mr. Campbell as he opened the packet in which all the letters and papers had been enveloped at the foot. The letters were few; three from Miss Paterson, and two other friends in England, giving them the English news; one to Alfred from Captain Lumley, inquiring after the family, and telling him that he had mentioned his position to his friends at the Board, and that there could be no call for his services for the present; one from Mr. Campbell's English agent, informing him that he had remitted the money paid by Mr. Douglas Campbell for the plants, etc., to his agent at Quebec; and another from his Quebec agent, advising the receipt of the money and inclosing a balance-sheet. The letters were first read over, and then the newspapers were distributed, and all of them were soon very busy and silent during the perusal.

After a while, Emma read out. "Dear uncle, only hear this, how sorry I am."

"What is it, my dear?" said Mr. Campbell.

"'Mrs. Douglas Campbell, of Wexton Hall, of a son, which survived but a few hours after birth.'"

"I am very sorry too, my dear Emma," replied Mr. Campbell; "Mr. Douglas Campbell's kindness to us must make us feel for any misfortune which may happen to him, and to rejoice in any blessing which may be bestowed upon him."

"It must have been a serious disappointment," said Mrs. Campbell; "but one which, if it pleases God, may be replaced; and we may hope that their expectations, though blighted for the present, may be realized on some future occasion."

"Here is a letter from Colonel Forster, which I overlooked," said Mr. Campbell; "it was between the envelope. He says that he has received an answer from the Governor, who fully agrees with him in his views on the subject we were conversing about, and has allowed him to take any steps which he may think advisable. The Colonel says that he will call upon me again in a few days, and that if in the meantime, I will let him know how many soldiers I wish to employ, he will make arrangements to meet my views as far as lies in his power. We have to thank Heaven for sending us friends, at all events," continued Mr. Campbell; "but at present, we will put his letter aside, and return to our English news."

"Dear England!" exclaimed Emma.

"Yes, dear England, my good girl; we are English, and can love our country as much now as we did when we lived in it. We are still English, and in an English colony; it has pleased Heaven to remove us away from our native land, but our hearts and feelings are still the same, and so will all English hearts be found to be in every settlement made by our country all over the wide world. We all glory in being English, and have reason to be proud of our country. May the feeling never be lost, but have an elevating influence upon our general conduct!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

It was very nearly five weeks before Henry returned from his expedition to Montreal. During this time, the Colonel had repeated his visit and made arrangements with Mr. Campbell. A party of twenty soldiers had been sent to work at felling timber and splitting rails, for whose services Mr. Campbell paid as before. The winter house and palisade fence for the sheep were put in hand, and great progress was made in a short time, now that so many people were employed. They had also examined the stream for some distance, to ascertain which would be the most eligible site for the water-mill, and had selected one nearly half a mile from the shore of the lake, and where there was a considerable fall, and the stream ran with great rapidity. It was not, however, expected that the mill would be erected until the following year, as it was necessary to have a millwright and all the machinery from either Montreal or Quebec. It was intended that the estimate of the expense should be given in, the contract made, and the order given during the autumn, so that it might be all ready for the spring of the next year. It was on a Monday morning that Henry arrived from the fort, where he had staid the Sunday, having reached it late on Saturday night. The bateaux, with the stock and stores, he had left at the fort; they were to come round during the day, but Henry's impatience to see the family would not allow him to wait. He was, as may be supposed, joyfully received, and, as soon as the first recognitions were over, he proceeded to acquaint his father with what he had done. He had obtained from a Canadian farmer forty ewes of very fair stock, although not any thing equal to the English; but the agent had worked hard for him, and procured him twenty English sheep and two rams of the best kind, to improve the breed. For the latter he had to pay rather dear, but they were worth any money to Mr. Campbell, who was quite delighted with the acquisition. In selecting the sheep, of course Henry was obliged to depend on the agent and the parties he employed, as he was no judge himself; but he had, upon his own judgment, purchased two Canadian horses, for Henry had been long enough at Oxford to know the points of a horse, and as they turned out, he had made a very good bargain. He had also bought a sow and pigs of an improved breed, and all the other commissions had been properly executed; the packages of skins also realized the price which had been put on them. As it may be supposed, he was full of news, talking about Montreal, the parties he had been invited to and the people with whom he had become acquainted. He had not forgotten to purchase some of the latest English publications for his cousins, besides a few articles of millinery, which he thought not too gay for their present position. He was still talking, and probably would have gone on talking for hours longer, so many were the questions which he had to reply to, when Martin came in and announced the arrival of the bateaux with the stores and cattle, upon which they all went down to the beach to see them disembarked and brought up by the soldiers, who were at work. The stores were carried up to the door of the storehouse, and the sheep and horses were turned into the prairie with the cows. A week's rations for the soldiers were also brought up from the fort, and the men were very busy in the distribution, and carrying them to the little temporary huts of boughs which they had raised for their accommodation, during the time they worked for Mr. Campbell. Before the evening set in every thing was arranged, and Henry was again surrounded by the family and replying to their remaining interrogatories. He told them that the Governor of Montreal had sent them an invitation to pass the winter at Government-House, and promised the young ladies that no wolf should venture to come near to them, and that the aids-de-camp had requested the honor of their hands at the first ball, which should be given after their arrival, at which they all laughed heartily. In short, it appeared that nothing could equal the kindness and hospitality which had been shown to him, and that there was no doubt, if they chose to go there, that it would be equally extended to the other members of the family.

There was a pause in the conversation, when Malachi addressed Mr. Campbell.

"Martin wishes me to speak to you, sir," said Malachi.

"Martin," said Mr. Campbell, looking round for him, and perceiving that he was not in the room; "why, yes, I perceive he is gone out. What can it be that he can not say for himself?"

"That's just what I said to him," replied Malachi; "but he thought it were better to come through me; the fact is, sir, that he has taken a liking to the Strawberry, and wishes to make her his wife."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, sir; I don't think that he would have said any thing about it as yet, but you see, there are so many soldiers here, and two or three of them are of Martin's mind, and that makes him feel uncomfortable till the thing is settled; and as he can't well marry while in your service without your leave, he has asked me to speak about it."

"Well, but the Strawberry is your property, not mine. Malachi."

"Yes, sir, according to Indian fashion, I am her father; but I've no objection, and shan't demand any presents for her."

"Presents for her! why we in general give presents or money with a wife," said Emma.

"Yes, I know you do, but English wives ain't Indian wives; an English wife requires people to work for her and costs money to keep, but an Indian wife works for herself and her husband, so she is of value and is generally bought of the father; I reckon in the end that it's cheaper to pay for an Indian wife than to receive money with an English one; but that's as may be."

"That's not a very polite speech of yours, Malachi," said Mrs. Campbell.

"Perhaps it ain't, ma'am, but it's near the mark, nevertheless. Now I am willing that Martin should have the Strawberry, because I know that he is a smart hunter, and will keep her well; and somehow or another, I feel that if he made her his wife, I should be more comfortable; I shall live with them here close by, and Martin will serve you, and when he has a wife he will not feel inclined to change service and go into the woods."

"I think it is an excellent proposal, Malachi, and am much pleased with it, as we now shall have you all together," said Mrs. Campbell.

"Yes, ma'am, so you will, and then I'll be always with the boy to look after him, and you'll always know where we are, and not be frightened."

"Very true, Malachi," said Mr. Campbell; "I consider it a very good arrangement. We must build you a better lodge than the one that you are in."

"No, sir, not a better one, for if you have all you want, you can't want more; it's big enough, but perhaps not quite near enough. I'm thinking that when the sheep-fold is finished, it might be as well to raise our lodge inside of the palisades, and then we shall be a sort of guard to the creatures."

"A very excellent idea, Malachi; well then, as far as I am concerned, Martin has my full consent to marry as soon as he pleases."

"And mine, if it is at all necessary," observed Mrs. Campbell.

"But who is to marry them?" said Emma; "they have no chaplain at the fort; he went away last year."

"Why, miss, they don't want no chaplain; she is an Indian girl, and he will marry her Indian-fashion."

"But what fashion is that, Malachi?" said Mary.

"Why, miss, he'll come to the lodge, and fetch her away to his own house."

Alfred burst out into laughter. "That's making short work of it," said he.

"Yes, rather too short for my approval," said Mrs. Campbell. "Malachi, it's very true that the Strawberry is an Indian girl, but we are not Indians, and Martin is not an Indian, neither are you who stand as her father; indeed, I can not consent to give my sanction to such a marriage."

"Well, ma'am, as you please, but it appears to me to be all right. If you go into a country and wish to marry a girl of that country, you marry her according to the rules of that country. Now, Martin seeks an Indian squaw, and why not therefore marry her after Indian fashion?"

"You may be right, Malachi, in your argument," said Mrs. Campbell; "but still you must make allowances for our prejudices. We never should think that she was a married woman, if no further ceremony was to take place than what you propose."

"Well, ma'am, just as you please; but still, suppose you marry them after your fashion, the girl won't understand a word that is said, so what good will it do?"

"None to her at present, Malachi; but recollect, if she is not a Christian at present, she may be hereafter; I have often thought upon that subject, and although I feel it useless to speak to her just now, yet as soon as she understands English well enough to know what I say to her, I hope to persuade her to become one. Now, if she should become a Christian, as I hope in God she will, she then will perceive that she has not been properly married, and will be anxious to have the ceremony properly performed over again; so why not do it now?"

"Well, ma'am, if it pleases you, I have no objection; I'm sure Martin will have none."

"It will please me very much, Malachi," replied Mrs. Campbell.

"And although there is no chaplain at the fort," observed Mr. Campbell, "yet the Colonel can marry in his absence; a marriage by a commanding officer is quite legal."

"Yes," replied Alfred, "and so is one by a Captain of a man-of-war."

"So be it then," replied Malachi, "the sooner the better, for the soldiers are very troublesome, and I can not keep them out of my lodge."

Martin, who had remained outside the door and overheard all that passed, now came in; the subject was again canvassed, and Martin returned his thanks for the permission given to him.

"Well," said Emma, "I little thought we should have a wedding in the family so soon; this is quite an event. Martin, I wish you joy—you will have a very pretty and a very good wife."

"I think so too, miss," replied Martin.

"Where is she?" said Mary.

"She is in the garden, miss," said Malachi, "getting out of the way of the soldiers; now that the work is done, they torment her not a little, and she is glad to escape from them; I'd tell them to go away, but they don't mind me; they know I must not use my rifle."

"I should hope not," replied Mrs. Campbell, "it would be hard to shoot a good man merely because he wished to marry your daughter."

"Why, yes, ma'am, it would," replied Malachi, "so the sooner she is given to Martin the sooner we shall have peace."

As the boat was continually going backward and forward between the fort and the farm, Mr. Campbell wrote to the Colonel, stating what they wished him to do, and the Colonel appointed that day week, on which he would come and perform the ceremony. It was a little fête at the farm. Mrs. Campbell and the Miss Percivals dressed themselves more than usually smart, so did all the males of the establishment; a better dinner than usual was prepared, as the Colonel and some of the officers were to dine and spend the day with them. Martin was very gayly attired, and in high spirits. The Strawberry had on a new robe of young deer skin, and had a flower or two in her long black hair; she looked as she was, very pretty and very modest, but not at all embarrassed. The marriage ceremony was explained to her by Malachi, and she cheerfully consented. Before noon the marriage took place, and an hour or two afterward they sat down to a well-furnished table, and the whole party were very merry, particularly as the Colonel, who was most unusually gay, insisted upon the Strawberry sitting at the table, which she had never done before. She acquitted herself, however, without embarrassment, and smiled when they laughed, although she could understand but little of what they said. Mr. Campbell opened two of his bottles of wine to celebrate the day, and they had a very happy party; the only people who were discontented were three or four of the soldiers outside, who had wanted to marry the Strawberry themselves; but the knowledge that the Colonel was there, effectually put a stop to any thing like annoyance or disturbance on their part. At sunset, the Colonel and officers departed for the fort, the family remained in the house till past ten o'clock, by which time all the soldiers had gone to bed. Mr. Campbell then read prayers, and offered up an additional one for the happiness of the newly-married couple, after which they all saluted the Strawberry and wished her good-night; she was then led to the lodge by Martin, accompanied by Alfred, Henry, Malachi, Percival, and John, who all went home with them as a guard from any interruption on the part of the disappointed suitors.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The scene was indeed cheerful and lively. The prairie on one side of the stream waved its high grass to the summer breeze; on the other, the cows, horses and sheep were grazing in every direction. The lake in the distance was calm and unruffled; the birds were singing and chirping merrily in the woods; near the house the bright green of the herbage was studded with the soldiers, dressed in white, employed in various ways; the corn waved its yellow ears between the dark stumps of the trees in the cleared land, and the smoke from the chimney of the house mounted straight up in a column to the sky; the grunting of the pigs and the cackling of the fowls, and the occasional bleating of the calves, responded to by the lowing of the cows, gave life and animation to the picture. At a short distance from the shore the punt was floating on the still waters. John and Malachi were very busy fishing; the dogs were lying down by the palisades, all except Oscar, who, as usual, attended upon his young mistresses; and under the shade of a large tree, at a little distance from the house, were Mr. Campbell and Percival, the former reading while the other was conning over his lesson.

"This looks but little like a wilderness now, Mary, does it?" said Emma.

"No, my dear sister. It is very different from what it was when we first came; but still I should like to have some neighbors."

"So should I; any society is better than none at all."

"There I do not agree with you; at the same time, I think we could find pleasure in having about us even those who are not cultivated, provided they were respectable and good."

"That's what I would have said, Mary; but we must go in, and practice the new air for the guitar which Henry brought us from Montreal. We promised him that we would. Here comes Alfred to spend his idleness upon us."

"His idleness, Emma; surely, you don't mean that; he's seldom if ever unemployed."

"Some people are very busy about nothing," replied Emma.

"Yes; and some people say what they do not mean, sister," replied Mary.

"Well, Alfred, here is Emma pronouncing you to be an idle body."

"I am not likely to be that, at all events," replied Alfred, taking off his hat and fanning himself. "My father proposes to give me enough to do. What do you think he said to me this morning before breakfast?"

"I suppose he said that you might as well go to sea again as remain here," replied Emma, laughing.

"No, indeed; I wish he had; but he has proposed that your prophecy should be fulfilled, my malicious little cousin. He has proposed my turning miller."

Emma clapped her hands and laughed.

"How do you mean?" said Mary.

"Why, he pointed out to me that the mill would cost about two hundred and fifty pounds, and that he thought as my half-pay was unemployed, that it would be advisable that I should expend it in erecting the mill, offering me the sum necessary for the purpose. He would advance the money, and I might repay him as I received my pay. That, he said, would be a provision for me, and eventually an independence."

"I told you that you would be a miller," replied Emma, laughing. "Poor Alfred!"

"Well, what did you reply, Alfred?" said Mary.

"I said yes, I believe, because I did not like to say no."

"You did perfectly right, Alfred," replied Mary. "There can be no harm in your having the property, and had you refused it, it would have given pain to your father. If your money is laid out on the mill, my uncle will have more to expend upon the farm; but still it does not follow that you are to become a miller all your life."

"I should hope not," replied Alfred; "as soon as Emma meets with that long black gentleman we were talking of, I'll make it over to her as a marriage portion."

"Thank you, cousin," replied Emma, "I may put you in mind of your promise; but now Mary and I must go in and astonish the soldiers with our music; so good-by, Mr. Campbell, the miller."

The soldiers had now been at work for more than two months, a large portion of the wood had been felled and cleared away. With what had been cleared by Alfred and Martin and Henry the year before, they had now more than forty acres of corn land. The rails for the snake-fence had also been split, and the fence was almost complete round the whole of the prairie and cleared land, when it was time for the grass to be cut down and the hay made and gathered up. This had scarcely been finished when the corn was ready for the sickle and gathered; in a barn had been raised close to the sheep-fold as well as the lodge for Malachi, Martin, and his wife. For six weeks all was bustle and hard work, but the weather was fine, and every thing was got in safe. The services of the soldiers were now no longer required, and Mr. Campbell having settled his accounts, they returned to the fort.

"Who would think," said Henry to Alfred, as he cast his eyes over the buildings, the stacks of corn and hay, and the prairie stocked with cattle, "that we had only been here so short a time?"

"Many hands make light work," replied Alfred; "we have done with the help from the fort what it would have taken us six years to do with our own resources. My father's money has been well laid out, and will bring in good return."

"You have heard of the proposal of Colonel Forster, about the cattle at the fort?"

"No; what is it?"

"He wrote to my father yesterday, saying, as he had only the means of feeding the cows necessary for the officers of the garrison, that he would sell all the oxen at present at the fort at a very moderate price."

"But even if we have fodder enough for them during the winter what are we to do with them?"

"Sell them again to the fort for the supply of the troops," replied Henry, "and thereby gain good profit. The commandant says that it will be cheaper to government in the end than being compelled to feed them."

"That it will, I have no doubt, now that they have nothing to give them; they trusted chiefly to our prairie for hay; and if they had not had such a quantity in store, they could not have fed them last winter."

"My father will consent, I know; indeed he would be very foolish not to do so, for most of them will be killed when the winter sets in, and will only cost us the grazing."

"We are fortunate in finding such friends as we have done," replied Alfred. "All this assistance would not have been given to perhaps any other settlers."

"No, certainly not; but you see, Alfred, we are indebted to your influence with Captain Lumley for all these advantages, at least my father and mother say so, and I agree with them. Captain Lumley's influence with the Governor has created all this interest about us."

"I think we must allow that the peculiar position of the family has done much toward it. It is not often that they meet with settlers of refined habits and cultivated minds, and there naturally must be a feeling toward a family of such a description in all generous minds."

"Very true, Alfred," replied Henry; "but there is our mother waiting for us to go in to dinner."

"Yes; and the Strawberry by her side. What a nice little creature she is!"

"Yes; and how quickly she is becoming useful. She has almost given up her Indian customs and is settling down quietly into English habits. Martin appears very fond of her."

"And so he ought to be," replied Henry; "a wife with a smile always upon her lips is a treasure. Come, let us go in."

Another fortnight passed away when an incident occurred which created some uneasiness. Mr. Campbell was busy with Martin and Alfred clearing out the store-room and arranging the stores. Many of the cases and packages had been opened to be examined and aired, and they were busily employed, when, turning round, Mr. Campbell, to his great surprise, beheld an Indian by his side, who was earnestly contemplating the various packages of blankets, etc., and cases of powder, shot, and other articles, which were opened around him.

"Why, who is this?" exclaimed Mr. Campbell, starting.

Martin and Alfred, who had their backs to him at the time of Mr. Campbell's exclamation, turned round and beheld the Indian. He was an elderly man, very tall and muscular, dressed in leggins and deer-skin coat, a war eagle's feather, fixed by a fillet, on his head, and a profusion of copper and brass medals and trinkets round his neck. His face was not painted, with the exception of two black circles round his eyes. His head was shaved, and one long scalp-lock hung behind him. He had a tomahawk and a knife in his belt and a rifle upon his arm. Martin advanced to the Indian and looked earnestly at him.

"I know his tribe," said Martin; "but not his name; but he is a chief and a warrior."

Martin then spoke to him in the Indian tongue. The Indian merely gave an "ugh" in reply.

"He does not choose to give his name," observed Martin; "and, therefore, he is here for no good. Mr. Alfred, just fetch Malachi; he will know him I dare say."

Alfred went to the house for Malachi; in the meantime the Indian remained motionless, with his eyes fixed upon different articles exposed to view.

"It's strange," observed Martin, "how he could have come here; but to be sure neither Malachi nor I have been out lately."

Just as he had finished his remark, Alfred returned with Malachi. Malachi looked at the Indian and spoke to him.

The Indian now replied in the Indian language.

"I knew him, sir," said Malachi, "the moment I saw his back. He's after no good, and it's a thousand pities that he has come just now and seen all this," continued Malachi; "it's a strong temptation."

"Why, who is he?" said Mr. Campbell.

"The Angry Snake, sir," replied Malachi. "I had no idea that he would be in these parts before the meeting of the Indian council, which takes place in another month, and then I meant to have been on the look-out for him."

"But what have we to fear from him?"

"Well; that's to be proved; but this I can say, that he has his eyes upon what appears to him of more value than all the gold in the universe; and he's any thing but honest."

"But we have nothing to fear from one man," observed Alfred.

"His party ain't far off, sir," said Malachi. "He has some followers, although not many, and those who follow him are as bad as himself. We must be on the watch."

Malachi now addressed the Indian for some time; the only reply was an "ugh."

"I have told him that all the powder and ball that he sees are for our rifles, which are more than are possessed by his whole tribe. Not that it does much good, but at all events it's just as well to let him know that we shall be well prepared. The crittur's quite amazed at so much ammunition; that's a fact. It's a pity he ever saw it."

"Shall we give him some?" said Mr. Campbell.

"No, no, sir; he would only make use of it to try to get the rest; however, I believe that he is the only one of his party who has a rifle. The best thing is to close the doors and then he will go."

They did as Malachi requested, and the Indian, after waiting a short time, turned round on his heel, and walked away.

"He is a regular devil, that Angry Snake," observed Malachi, as he watched him departing; "but never mind, I'll be a match for him. I wish he'd never seen all that ammunition, nevertheless."

"At all events, we had better not say a word in the house about his making his appearance," said Mr. Campbell. "It will only alarm the women, and do no good."

"That's true, sir. I'll only tell the Strawberry," said Martin; "she's an Indian, and it will put her on the look-out."

"That will be as well, but caution her not to mention it to Mrs. Campbell or the girls, Martin."

"Never fear, sir," replied Malachi; "I'll watch his motions nevertheless; to-morrow I'll be in the woods and on his trail. I'm glad that he saw me here, for he fears me; I know that."

It so happened that the Indian was not seen by Mrs. Campbell or any of them in the house, either upon his arrival or departure; and when Mr. Campbell and the others returned to the house, they found that no one there had any idea of such a visit having been paid. The secret was kept, but it occasioned a great deal of anxiety for some days. At last the alarm of Mr. Campbell gradually subsided. Malachi had gone out with John, and had discovered that all the Indians had come down near to them, to meet in council, and that there were many other parties of them in the woods. But although the visit of the Angry Snake might have been partly accidental, still Malachi was convinced that there was every prospect of his paying them another visit, if he could obtain a sufficient number to join him, so that he might obtain by force the articles he had seen and so much coveted.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Mr. Campbell acceded to the offer made by the commandant of the fort, and purchased of him, at a moderate price, eighteen oxen, which were all that remained of the stock at the fort, except the cows. He also took six weaning calves to bring up. The cattle were now turned into the bush to feed, that they might obtain some after-grass from that portion of the prairie on which they had been feeding. The summer passed quickly away, for they all had plenty of employment. They fished every day in the lake, and salted what they did not eat, for winter provision. Martin now was a great part of his time in the woods, looking after the cattle, and Malachi occasionally accompanied him, but was oftener out hunting with John, and always returned with game. They brought in a good many bear-skins, and sometimes the flesh, which, although approved of by Malachi and Martin, was not much admired by the rest. As soon as the after-grass had been gathered in, there was not so much to do. Henry and Mr. Campbell, with Percival, were quite sufficient to look after the stock, and as the leaves began to change, the cattle were driven in from the woods, and pastured on the prairie. Every thing went on in order; one day was the counterpart of another. Alfred and Henry threshed out the corn, in the shed, or rather open barn, which had been put up by the soldiers in the sheep-fold, and piled up the straw for winter-fodder for the cattle. The oats and wheat were taken into the store-house. Martin's wife could now understand English, and spoke it a little. She was very useful, assisting Mrs. Campbell and her nieces in the house, and attending the stock. They had brought up a large number of chickens, and had disposed of a great many to the Colonel and officers of the fort. Their pigs also had multiplied exceedingly, and many had been put up to fatten, ready to be killed and salted down. The time for that occupation was now come, and they were very busy curing their meat; they had also put up a small shed for smoking their bacon and hams. Already they were surrounded with comfort and plenty, and felt grateful to Heaven that they had been so favored.

The autumn had now advanced, and their routine of daily duty was seldom interrupted; now and then a visit was paid them from the fort by one or other of the officers or the commandant. The Indians had held their council, but the English agent was present, and the supply of blankets and other articles sent to the chiefs for distribution had the effect of removing all animosity. It is true that the Angry Snake and one or two more made very violent speeches, but they were overruled. The calumet of peace had been presented and smoked, and all danger appeared to be over from that quarter. Malachi had gone to the council, and was well received. He had been permitted to speak also as an English agent, and his words were not without effect. Thus every thing wore the appearance of peace and prosperity, when an event occurred which we shall now relate.

What is termed the Indian summer had commenced, during which there is a kind of haze in the atmosphere. One morning, a little before dawn, Mary and Emma, who happened to be up first, went out to milk the cows, when they observed that the haze was much thicker than usual. They had been expecting the equinoctial gales, which were very late this year, and Mary observed that she foresaw they were coming on, as the sky wore every appearance of wind; yet still there was but a light air, and hardly perceptible at the time. In a moment after they had gone out, and were taking up their pails, Strawberry came to them from her own lodge, and they pointed to the gloom and haze in the air. She turned round, as if to catch the wind, and snuffed for a little while; at last she said, "Great fire in the woods." Alfred and the others soon joined them, and having been rallied by Emma at their being so late, they also observed the unusual appearance of the sky. Martin corroborated the assertion of the Strawberry, that there was fire in the woods. Malachi and John had not returned that night from a hunting expedition, but shortly after daylight they made their appearance; they had seen the fire in the distance, and said that it was to northward and eastward, and extended many miles; that they had been induced to leave the chase and come home in consequence. During the remainder of the day, there was little or no wind, but the gloom and smell of fire increased rapidly. At night the breeze sprang up and soon increased to a gale from the north-east, the direction in which the fire had been seen. Malachi and Martin were up several times in the night, for they knew that if the wind continued in that quarter, without any rain, there would be danger; still the fire was at a great distance, but in the morning the wind blew almost a hurricane, and before twelve o'clock on the next day, the smoke was borne down upon them, and carried away in masses over the lake.

"Do you think there is any danger, Martin, from this fire?" said Alfred.

"Why, sir, that depends upon circumstances; if the wind were to blow from the quarter which it now does, as hard as it does, for another twenty-four hours, we should have the fire right down upon us."

"But still we have so much clear land between the forest and us, that I should think the house would be safe."

"I don't know that, sir. You have never seen the woods afire for miles as I have; if you had, you would know what it was. We have two chances: one is, that we may have torrents of rain come down with the gale, and the other is, that the wind may shift a point or two, which would be the best chance for us of the two."

But the wind did not shift, and the rain did not descend, and before the evening set in, the fire was within two miles of them, and distant roaring rent the air; the heat and smoke became more oppressive, and the party were under great alarm.

As the sun set, the wind became even more violent, and now the flames were distinctly to be seen, and the whole air was filled with myriads of sparks. The fire bore down upon them with resistless fury, and soon the atmosphere was so oppressive, that they could scarcely breathe; the cattle galloped down to the lake, their tails in the air, and lowing with fear. There they remained, knee-deep in the water, and huddled together.

"Well, Malachi," said Mr. Campbell, "this is very awful. What shall we do?"

"Trust in God, sir; we can do nothing else," replied Malachi.

The flames were now but a short distance from the edge of the forest; they threw themselves up into the air in high columns; then, borne down by the wind, burst through the boughs of the forest, scorching here and there on the way the trunks of the large trees; while such a torrent of sparks and ignited cinders was poured down upon the prairie, that, added to the suffocating masses of smoke, it was impossible to remain there any longer.

"You must all go down to the punt, and get on board," said Malachi. "There's not a moment for delay; you will be smothered if you remain here. Mr. Alfred, do you and Martin pull out as far into the lake as is necessary for you to be clear of the smoke and able to breathe. Quick, there is no time to be lost, for the gale is rising faster than before."

There was, indeed, no time to be lost. Mr. Campbell took his wife by the arm; Henry led the girls, for the smoke was so thick that they could not see the way. Percival and Strawberry followed. Alfred and Martin had already gone down to get the boat ready. In a few minutes they were in the boat, and pushed off from the shore. The boat was crowded, but, being flat-bottom, she bore the load well. They pulled out about half a mile into the lake, before they found themselves in a less oppressive atmosphere. Not a word was spoken until Martin and Alfred had stopped rowing.

"And old Malachi and John, where are they?" said Mrs. Campbell, who, now that they were clear of the smoke, discovered that these were not in the boat.

"Oh, never fear them, ma'am," replied Martin, "Malachi staid behind to see if he could be of use. He knows how to take care of himself, and of John too."

"This is an awful visitation," said Mrs. Campbell, after a pause. "Look, the whole wood is now on fire, close down to the clearing. The house must be burned, and we shall save nothing."

"It is the will of God, my dear wife; and if we are to be deprived of what little wealth we have, we must not murmur, but submit with resignation. Let us thank Heaven that our lives are preserved."

Another pause ensued; at last the silence was broken by Emma.

"There is the cow-house on fire—I see the flames bursting from the roof."

Mrs. Campbell, whose hand was on that of her husband, squeezed it in silence. It was the commencement of the destruction of their whole property—all their labors and efforts had been thrown away. The winter was coming on, and they would be houseless—what would become of them!

All this passed in her mind, but she did not speak.

At this moment the flames of the fire rose up straight to the sky. Martin perceived it, and jumped up on his feet.

"There is a lull in the wind," said Alfred.

"Yes," replied Martin, and continued holding up his hand, "I felt a drop of rain. Yes, it's coming; another quarter of an hour and we may be safe."

Martin was correct in his observation; the wind had lulled for a moment, and he had felt the drops of rain. This pause continued for about three or four minutes, during which the cow-house burned furiously, but the ashes and sparks were no longer hurled down on the prairie; then suddenly the wind shifted to the south-east, with such torrents of rain as almost to blind them. So violent was the gust, that even the punt careened to it; but Alfred pulled its head round smartly, and put it before the wind. The gale was now equally strong from the quarter to which it had changed; the lake became agitated and covered with white foam, and before the punt reached the shore again, which it did in a few minutes, the water washed over its two sides, and they were in danger of swamping. Alfred directed them all to sit still, and raising the blades of the oars up into the air, the punt was dashed furiously through the waves, till it grounded on the beach.

Martin and Alfred jumped out into the water and hauled the punt further before they disembarked; the rain still poured down in torrents, and they were wet to the skin; as they landed, they were met by Malachi and John.

"It's all over, and all is safe!" exclaimed Malachi, "it was touch and go, that's sartin; but all's safe, except the cow-house, and that's easily put to rights again. You all had better go home as fast as you can, and get to bed."

"Is all quite safe, do you think, Malachi?" said Mr. Campbell.

"Yes, sir, no fear now; the fire hasn't passed the stream, and even if it had, this rain would put it out, for we only have the beginning of it; but it was a near thing, that's sartin."

The party walked back to the house, and as soon as they had entered, Mr. Campbell kneeled down and thanked Heaven for their miraculous preservation. All joined heartily in the prayer, and, after they had waited up a few minutes, by which time they were satisfied that the flames were fast extinguishing and they had nothing more to fear, they took off their wet clothes, and retired to bed.