he wintry
snow, and with another to clothe the landscape with profuse and
luxuriant vegetation. How strange to see the humming-bird dart like a
streak of golden light among the fragrant shrubs; stranger still to see
the butterfly, attracted by the lines of some stray wild flower,
flutter away again, repelled by the chilling neighbourhood of the last
remnant of a snow-drift lying in a sheltered corner, where no sunbeam
ever finds its way.

It is a pleasant evening, and on a little wooded knoll, on the summit
of a cliff that overhangs the St. Lawrence two or three miles above
Quebec, there is a little group of persons, all of whom we have seen
before. One of them is Boulanger, and in the man now seated beside
him, notwithstanding his mean attire and his careworn look, the honest
woodman had been at no loss to recognise his visitor of the previous
autumn, Isidore de Beaujardin. The latter had been welcomed with a
warmth and sincerity that touched him deeply, and although he had not
originally thought of saying anything about his troubles to persons in
so humble a condition, some mistaken suppositions on their part as to
the cause of his reappearing amongst them in so unexpected a plight had
led him to tell them that he had been obliged to fly from France. Even
his own family had taken part against him he said, adding that he had
not a friend in the world to whom he could turn for help or comfort.
As he spoke this in the bitterness of his heart, poor Bibi, who stood
by, was melted to tears, and the sturdy woodsman looked half disposed
to follow her example; whilst Amoahmeh, who sat a little way apart, yet
near enough to catch every word that fell from their visitor's lips,
turned away, and bent her head over the work on which she was engaged.

"But, monsieur," said Boulanger at length, "there is surely your uncle,
the Baron de Valricour, whom I remember well, and who is the most kind
and generous of gentlemen one could possibly desire to have for one's
friend--surely he can help you."

"It was indeed for that very reason that in my despair I resolved to
come out here and secure his assistance, not for my wretched self, but
for one who--who----" He paused awhile as his emotion overcame him;
then he continued: "My evil fate still pursues me. I learned this
afternoon at Quebec that M. de Valricour has just gone back to France
on leave and will not return for some months. But why should I trouble
your kind hearts with