I am sure."

"I know that, but I want to attract the notice of yonder tiresome
fisherman."

"And perhaps bring a swarm of savages down upon us, who may be lurking
in the bushes of the island."

"Pooh, pooh! Hec.:--there are no savages. I am weary of this
place--anything is better than this horrible solitude." And Louis fanned
the flame into a rapid blaze, and heaped up the light dry branches till
it soared up among the bushes. Louis watched the effect of his fire,
and rubbed his hands gleefully as the bark canoe was pushed off from the
island, and a few vigorous strokes of the paddle sent it dancing over
the surface of the calm lake.

Louis waved his cap above his head with a cheer of welcome as the vessel
lightly glided into the little cove, near the spot where the boys were
chopping, and a stout-framed, weather-beaten man, in a blanket coat,
also faded and weather-beaten, with a red worsted sash and worn
mocassins, sprung upon one of the timbers of Louis's old raft, and gazed
with a keen eye upon the lads. Each party silently regarded the other. A
few rapid interrogations from the stranger, uttered in the broad patois
of the Lower Province, were answered in a mixture of broken French and
English by Louis.

A change like lightning passed over the face of the old man as he cried
out--"Louis Perron, son of my ancient compagnon."

"Oui! oui!"--with eyes sparkling through tears of joy, Louis threw
himself into the broad breast of Jacob Morelle, his father's friend and
old lumbering comrade.

"Hector, son of la belle Catharine Perron,--and Hector, in his turn,
received the affectionate embrace of the warm-hearted old man.

"Who would have thought of meeting with the children of my old comrade
here at the shore of the Rice Lake?--oh! what a joyful meeting!"

Jacob had a hundred questions to ask: Where were their parents? did they
live on the Plains now? how long was it since they had left the Cold
Springs? were there any more little ones? and so forth.

The boys looked sorrowfully at each other. At last the old man stopped
for want of breath, and remarked their sad looks.

"What, mes fils, are your parents dead? Ah well! I did not think to have
outlived them; but they have not led such healthy lives as old Jacob
Morelle--hunting, fishing, lumbering, trapping,--those are the things to
harden a man and make him as tough as a stock-fish--eh! mes enfans, is
it not so?"

Hector then told the old lumberer how long t