vered with golden arrows.

John viewed the scenes through which they glided with eager eye.

Micah's countenance expressed intense satisfaction. He sat bolt
upright in the stern of the canoe, steering with his paddle, his keen
bullet eyes dancing from side to side examining every object as they
passed along. Both were silent.

At length, Micah exclaimed, "Well, Captin', this is the pootiest way
of livin' I know on, any heow. My 'pinion is that human natur was
meant to live reound on rivers and in the woods, or vyagin' on lakes,
and sech. I never breathe jest nateral and lively, till I git eout o'
between heouse walls into the free air".

"'Tis a glorious life, Micah! I agree to it".

"Hark!" said Micah! "Got yer piece ready? Maybe you'll hev' a chance
to bring sumthin' deown. I heerd an old squaw holler jest neow".

"I'm ready", said John. "But I didn't hear any sound. What was it
like?"

"O! kinder a scoldin' seound. Cawcawee! cawcawee! Don't yer hear the
critter reelin' of it off? Ha! 'tis dyin' away, though. We shall hear
it agin, by and by".

"An old squaw", said John, as the excitement the prospect of a shot
had raised in his mind subsided. "Do you have such game as _that_, in
Miramichi? I've heard of witches flying on broomsticks through the
air, but didn't know before that squaws are in the habit of skylarking
about in that way".

"Well, ye'll know it by observation, before long", said Micah, with a
slight twitch of one eye. "Them's ducks from Canada, a goin'
south'ard, as they allers do in the fall o' the year. They keep up
that ere scoldin' seound, day and night. Cawcawee! cawcawee! kind of
an aggravatin' holler! But I like it, ruther. It allers 'minds me of a
bustin' good feller that was deown here from Canada once".

"How remind you of him?" inquired John.

"Well, he cam' deown on bissiniss, but he ran afowl o' me, and we was
eout in the woods together, consid'able. He used to set eoutside the
camp, bright, starlight nights, and sing songs, and sech. He had a
powerful, sweet v'ice, and it allers 'peared to me as ef every kind of
a livin' thing hushed up and listened, when he sung o' nights. He
could reel off most anything you can think on. There was one kind of a
mournful ditty he sung, and once in a while he brung in a
chorus,--cawcawee! cawcawee,--jest like what them ducks say, only, the
way he made it seound, was soft and meller and doleful-like. I liked
to hear him sing that, only he was so