ng
our perilous adventures, we returned to the hut, where we were welcomed
by our three canine friends, which had been left to guard it under
charge of one of Uncle Stephen's men.

The autumn soon passed by, and once more the winter was upon us. We had
plenty of work in felling trees, and either burning them or dragging
them over the snow to places where we intended to cut them up.
Occasionally we paid a visit to the settlement; indeed, I was always
glad of an excuse for passing a few hours with Lily when I could spare
the time. I looked in, also, on my friends the Claxtons. Both they and
my uncles, as Lily had told me, were, I observed, becoming more and more
discontented with the settlement, as were likewise a number of other
people, and the attractions of the new regions of the far west were the
constant subject of conversation. We at the hut troubled ourselves much
less about such matters than did our friends. We had plenty of hard
work, and were pretty well tired when the day's labours were over. Mike
declared that the only drawback to his happiness was the loss of his
fiddle, which he never expected to see again.

"Dat am de cause ob my grief," observed Quambo, putting his hand to his
heart. "If you did get it, would not we hab a dance! We would kick up
de heels all night long, to make up for lost time."

It was some days after this that we one evening saw an Indian coming
through the opening which had now been made down to the river, walking
on snow-shoes, and with a package of some size on his back.

"Here comes Kakaik! I wonder what him bring!" exclaimed Quambo, running
forward to meet our visitor.

Kakaik having made signs that he had got something valuable, Mike
advanced with open mouth and outstretched hands. An idea had occurred
to him.

"What is it, me friend?" he asked eagerly.

The Indian began a long speech.

"Och, man alive! just tell us what it's all about," cried Mike, who
could no longer restrain his curiosity.

By this time Uncle Mark had come out of the hut. The Indian, however,
would go on with his address, of which we did not understand a word.
Mike kept all the time pointing to the package, and entreating him to
undo it.

At length the Indian stopped and commenced untying the thongs which
secured the mysterious parcel, and exposed to the delighted eyes of
Mike--his fiddle and bow.

"Sure, I thought so!" exclaimed the Irishman, eagerly grasping his
treasure. "Erin go b