ed visions of his happy home, his smiling wife, and the caresses
of his sunny haired children, cheered the father's heart, though his
step was languid, and his brow feverish. But oh! what a sight of horror
for a fond and loving heart met his eyes, as he came in sight of the
spot that contained his earthly treasures--the foreboding silence had
surprised him--he heard not the gleeful voices of his children, as they
were wont to bound forth to meet him, he saw not Marion stand at the
gate to greet his return--but a thick black smoke rose heavily to the
summits of the trees, and the smouldering logs of the building fell with
a sullen noise to the ground. The rain had quenched the fire, and the
house was not all consumed. Wild with terror, Kenneth rushed forward;
his feet slipped on the bloody threshhold, and he fell on the mangled
bodies of his father and his children. The demoniac laceration of the
stiffening victims told too plainly who had been their murderers. How
that night of horror passed Kenneth knew not. The morning sun was
shining bright--when the bereaved and broken-hearted man was roused from
the stupor of despair by the sound of the word "father" in his ears; he
raised his eyes, and beheld Mary, his eldest daughter, on her knees
beside him. For a moment Kenneth fancied he had had a dreadful dream,
but the awful reality was before him. He pressed Mary wildly to his
bosom, and a passionate flood of tears relieved his burning brain. Mary
had heard the yells of the savages, and the shrieks of her mother
convinced her that the dreaded Indians had arrived. She threw open the
window, and snatching the infant from its bed, flew like a wounded deer
to the woods behind the house. The frightened girl heard all, remained
quiet, and knowing her father would soon return, left the little Alice
asleep on some dried leaves, and ventured from her hiding place.

No trace of Marion or of Charles could be found--they had been reserved
for a worse fate; and for months a vigilant search was kept up--parties
of the settlers, led on by Kenneth, scoured the woods night and day.
Many miles off a bloody battle had been fought between two hostile
tribes, where a part of Marion's dress and of her son's was found, but
here all trace of the Indians ended, and Kenneth returned to his
desolated home. No persuasion could induce him to leave the place where
the joys of his heart had been buried: true, his remaining children yet
linked him to life,