in her own tongue, which was emphasized by an approving
grunt from her husband, was a sarcasm levelled at the inferiority and
mean-spiritedness of the white man, as exemplified in Andy's person.

One of the young fellows, who had dived into the forest an hour before,
returned with spoil in the shape of a skunk, which the ever-industrious
squaw set about preparing for the evening meal. The fearful odour of the
animal appeared unnoticed by the Indians, but was found so hateful by
Robert and his Irish squire, that they left the place immediately.

CHAPTER XXVI.

ON A SWEET SUBJECT.

This Indian family was only the precursor of half a dozen others, who
also established 'camps,' preparatory to their great work of tapping the
maple trees. The Wynns found them inoffensive neighbours, and made out a
good deal of amusement in watching their ways.

'I'd clear 'em out of that in no time,' said Zack Bunting, 'if the land
were mine. Indians hain't no rights, bein' savages. I guess they darsn't
come nigh my farm down the pond--they'd be apt to cotch it right slick,
I tell you. They tried to pull the wool over my eyes in the beginnin',
an' wanted to be tappin' in my bush as usual, but Zack Buntin' warn't
the soft-headed goney to give in, I tell you. So they vamosed arter jest
seein' my double-barrel, an' they hain't tried it on since. They know'd
I warn't no doughface.'

'Well, I mean to let them manufacture as much sugar as they want,' said
Robert; 'there's plenty for both them and me.'

'Rights is rights,' returned Zack, 'as I'd soon show the varmints if
they dar'st come near me. But your Britisher Government has sot 'em
up altogether, by makin' treaties with 'em, an' givin' 'em money, an'
buyin' lands from 'em, instead of kickin' 'em out as an everlastin'
nuisance.'

'You forget that they originally owned the whole continent, and in
common justice should have the means of livelihood given to them now,'
said Robert. 'It is not likely they'll trouble the white man long.'

'I see yer makin' troughs for the sap,' observed Zack. 'What on airth,
you ain't never hewin' 'em from basswood?'

'Why not?'

''Cos 'twill leak every single drop. Yer troughs must be white pine or
black ash; an' as ye'll want to fix fifty or sixty on 'em at all events,
that half-dozen ain't much of a loss.'

'Couldn't they be made serviceable anyhow?' asked Robert, unwilling
quite to lose the labour of his hands.

'Wal, you might burn the i