ay was too well known and too universally respected
to suffer opprobrium in any member of his family. This bright, loving
creature in particular, won all hearts upon a first acquaintance--she
certainly did ours, from the outset.

She suffered much from rheumatism, and a remedy we gave her soon
afforded her almost entire relief. Her gratitude knew no bounds.
Notwithstanding that from long suffering she had become partially
crippled, she would walk all the way from the Barribault, a distance of
ten miles, as often as once in two or three weeks, to visit us. Then, to
sit and gaze at us, to laugh with childish glee at everything new or
strange that we employed ourselves about--to pat and stroke us every
time we came near her--sometimes to raise our hand or arm and kiss
it--these were her demonstrations of affection. And we loved her in
return. It was always a joyful announcement when, looking out over the
Portage road, somebody called out, "The _Cut-Nose_ is coming!" In time,
however, we learned to call her by her baptismal name of Elizabeth, for
she, too, was one of Mr. Mazzuchelli's converts.

She came one day, accompanied by a half-grown boy, carrying a young fawn
she had brought me as a present. I was delighted with the pretty
creature--with its soft eyes and dappled coat; but having often heard
the simile, "as wild as a fawn," I did not anticipate much success in
taming it. To my great surprise, it soon learned to follow me like a
dog. Wherever I went, there Fan was sure to be. At breakfast, she would
lie down at my feet, under the table. One of her first tokens of
affection was to gnaw off all the trimming from my black silk apron, as
she lay pretending to caress and fondle me. Nor was this her only style
of mischief.

One day we heard a great rattling among the crockery in the kitchen. We
ran to see what was the matter, and found that Miss Fan had made her way
to a shelf of the dresser, about two feet from the ground, and was
endeavoring to find a comfortable place to lie down, among the plates
and dishes. I soon observed that it was the shelter of the shelf above
her head that was the great attraction, and that she was in the habit of
seeking out a place of repose under a chair, or something approaching to
an "umbrageous bower." So after this I took care, as the hour for her
morning nap approached, to open a large green parasol, and set it on the
matting in the corner--then when I called "Fan, Fan," she would come