iles of the New World.

It had been my delight to accompany this gentleman on his excursions
while he was with us; and I prized a couple of books he had left with me
more than I should have done a lump of gold of the same weight. From
him I learned to preserve and stuff the skins of the birds and animals I
killed; a knowledge which I turned to profitable account, by my uncle's
advice--as they were sent, when opportunity occurred, to the Eastern
States, where they found a ready market.

"It pays very well in its way, Roger," observed Uncle Mark; "but work is
better. If you can combine the two, I have no objection; but you are
now too old to play, and, for your own sake, you should do your best to
gain your own living. While you were young, I was ready to work for
you; and so I should be now, if you could not work for yourself. I want
you, however, to understand that it is far nobler for a man to labour
for his daily bread, than to allow others to labour for him."

I fully agreed with Uncle Mark. Indeed, my ambition had long been to
support myself. I had an idea, nevertheless, that the skins I preserved
brought more immediate profit than did the result of his labours with
the axe. But, everything considered, we got on very well together; for
I was grateful to him for the affection and care he had bestowed on me
during my childhood.

I was hard at work that day preparing a number of birds I had shot in
the morning; and when dinnertime came, Uncle Mark, telling me to
continue my task, said he would get our meal ready. Having quickly
prepared it, he brought out the platters, and set himself down near me.
I washed my hands, and speedily despatched my dinner; after which I
returned to my work.

"Will you go on with the account you were giving me last night?" I
said, observing that he did not seem inclined to move. "You have more
than half an hour to rest, and I will then come and help you."

"Where was I? Oh! I remember," said my uncle. "In the middle of the
burning settlement, with you and Lily in my arms.

"We were wondering what had become of Yearsley, when we caught sight of
him rushing out from amid the burning huts.

"`They are all killed!--all, all, all!' he shrieked out. `Follow me,
lads;' and he pointed with a significant gesture in the direction he
supposed the Indians had taken.

"`But these children, Mr Yearsley! You would not have us desert them!
And my brother is too much injured, I fear,