ay sun, and watched
the progress of the fires upon the shore. At night the girls slept
securely under the canoe, which they raised on one side by means of
forked sticks stuck in the ground.

It was a grand sight to see the burning plains at night, reflected on
the water. A thousand naming torches flickered upon its still surface,
to which the glare of a gas-lighted city would have been dim and dull by
contrast.

Louis and Hector would speculate on the probable chances of the shanty
escaping from the fire, and of the fence remaining untouched. Of the
safety of the root-house they entertained no fear, as the grass was
already springing green on the earthen roof; and below they had taken
every precaution to secure its safely, by scraping up the earth near it.
_[FN: Many a crop of grain and comfortable homestead has been saved
by turning a furrow round the field; and great conflagrations have been
effectually stopped by men beating the fire out with spades, and hoeing
up the fresh earth so as to cut off all communication with the dry
roots, grass, and leaves that feed its onward progress. Water, even
could it be got, which is often impossible, is not near so effectual in
stopping the progress of fire; even women and little children can assist
in such emergencies.]_

Catharine lamented for the lovely spring-flowers that would be destroyed
by the fire. "We shall have neither huckleberries nor strawberries this
summer," she said, mournfully; "and the pretty roses and bushes will be
scorched, and the ground black and dreary."

"The fire passes so rapidly over that it does not destroy many of the
forest trees, only the dead ones are destroyed; and that, you know,
leaves more space for the living ones to grow and thrive in," said
Hector. "I have seen, the year after a fire has run in the bush, a new
and fresh set of plants spring up, and even some that looked withered
recover; the earth is renewed and manured by the ashes; and it is not so
great a misfortune as it at first appears."

"But how black and dismal the burnt pine-woods look for years!" said
Louis; "I do not think there is a more melancholy sight in life than one
of those burnt pine-woods. There it stands, year after year, the black,
branchless trees pointing up to the blue sky, as if crying for vengeance
against those that kindled the fires."

"They do, indeed, look ugly," said Catharine; "yet the girdled ones look
very nearly as ill." _[FN: The girdled pines ar