the ground. At last he felt so
hungry, having tasted no food since supper-time the previous evening,
that he halted for the purpose of eating a morsel of maple sugar. A
line of bushes in the distance indicated water, so he sped on again, and
was soon seated beneath a willow, drinking water from the cool stream.
No game was to be found here; but there were several kinds of berries,
among which wild grapes and plums grew in abundance. With these and
some sugar he made a meal, though not a good one, for the berries were
quite green, and intensely sour.

All that day Dick Varley followed up the trail of his companions, which
he discovered at a ford in the river. They had crossed, therefore, in
safety, though still pursued, so he ran on at a regular trot, and with a
little more hope than he had felt during the day. Towards night,
however, Dick's heart sank again, for he came upon innumerable buffalo
tracks, among which those of the horses soon became mingled up, so that
he lost them altogether. Hoping to find them again more easily by broad
daylight, he went to the nearest clump of willows he could find, and
encamped for the night.

Remembering the use formerly made of the tall willows, he set to work to
construct a covering to protect him from the dew. As he had no blanket
or buffalo-skin, he used leaves and grass instead, and found it a better
shelter than he had expected, especially when the fire was lighted, and
a pannikin of hot sugar and water smoked at his feet; but as no game was
to be found, he was again compelled to sup off unripe berries. Before
lying down to rest he remembered his resolution, and, pulling out the
little Bible, read a portion of it by the fitful blaze of the fire, and
felt great comfort in its blessed words. It seemed to him like a friend
with whom he could converse in the midst of his loneliness.

The plunge into the river having broken Dick's pipe and destroyed his
tobacco, he now felt the want of that luxury very severely, and, never
having wanted it before, he was greatly surprised to find how much he
had become enslaved to the habit. It cost him more than an hour's rest
that night, the craving for his wonted pipe.

The sagacious reader will doubtless not fail here to ask himself the
question, whether it is wise in man to create in himself an unnatural
and totally unnecessary appetite, which may, and often does, entail
hours--ay, sometimes months--of exceeding discomfort; but we w