196
XXIII. STILL-HUNTING, 202
XXIV. LUMBERERS, 214
XXV. CHILDREN OF THE FOREST, 220
XXVI. ON A SWEET SUBJECT, 229
XXVII. A BUSY BEE, 235
XXVIII. OLD FACES UPON NEW NEIGHBOURS, 244
XXIX. ONE DAY IN JULY, 250
XXX. VISITORS AND VISITED, 259
XXXI. SUNDAY IN THE FOREST, 260
XXXII. HOW THE CAPTAIN CLEARED HIS BUSH, 274
XXXIII. THE FOREST ON FIRE, 280
XXXIV. TRITON AMONG MINNOWS, 291
XXXV. THE PINK MIST, 298
XXXVI. BELOW ZERO, 309
XXXVII. A CUT, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES, 315
XXXVIII. JACK-OF-ALL-TRADES, 324
XXXIX. SETTLER THE SECOND, 329
XL. AN UNWELCOME SUITOR, 338
XLI. THE MILL-PRIVILEGE, 343
XLII. UNDER THE NORTHERN LIGHTS, 351
XLIII. A BUSH-FLITTING, 359
XLIV. SHOVING OF THE ICE, 370
XLV. EXEUNT OMNES, 378

CEDAR CREEK.

CHAPTER I.

WHY ROBERT WYNN EMIGRATED.

A night train drew up slowly alongside the platform at the Euston Square
terminus. Immediately the long inanimate line of rail-carriages burst
into busy life: a few minutes of apparently frantic confusion, and the
individual items of the human freight were speeding towards all parts of
the compass, to be absorbed in the leviathan metropolis, as drops of a
shower in a boundless sea.

One of the cabs pursuing each other along the lamplit streets, and
finally diverging among the almost infinite ramifications of London
thoroughfares, contains a young man, who sits gazing through the window
at the rapidly passing range of houses and shops with curiously fixed
vision. The face, as momentarily revealed by the beaming of a brilliant
gaslight, is chiefly remarkable for clear dark eyes rather deeply set,
and a firm closure of the lips. He scarcely alters his posture during
the miles of driving through wildernesses of brick and stone: some
thoughts are at work beneath that broad short brow, which keep him thus
still. He has never been in London before. He has come now o