hey had been separated from
their families, and by what sad accident they had been deprived of the
society of their beloved sister. When they brought their narrative down
to the disappearance of Catharine, the whole soul of the old trapper
seemed moved--he started from the log on which they were sitting, and
with one of his national asseverations, declared "That la bonne fille
should not remain an hour longer than he could help among those savage
wretches. Yes, he, her father's old friend, would go up the river and
bring her back in safety, or leave his grey scalp behind him among the
wigwams."

"It is too late, Jacob, to think of starting today," said Hector. "Come
home with us, and eat some food, and rest a bit."

"No need of that, my son. I have a lot of fish here in the canoe,
and there is an old shanty on the island yonder, if it be still
standing,--the Trapper's Fort I used to call it some years ago. We will
go off to the island and look for it."

"No need for that," replied Louis, "for though I can tell you the old
place is still in good repair, for we used it this very spring as a
boiling house for our maple sap, yet we have a better place of our own
nearer at hand--just two or three hundred yards over the brow of yonder
hill. So come with us, and you shall have a good supper, and bed to lie
upon."

"And you have all these, boys!" said Jacob opening his merry black eyes,
as they came in sight of the little log-house and the field of green
corn. The old man praised the boys for their industry and energy. "Ha!
here is old Wolfe too," as the dog roused himself from the hearth and
gave one of his low grumbling growls. He had grown dull and dreamy, and
instead of going out as usual with the young hunters, he would lie
for hours dozing before the dying embers of the fire. He pined for the
loving hand that used to pat his sides, and caress his shaggy neck, and
pillow his great head upon her lap, or suffer him to put his huge paws
upon her shoulders, while he licked her hands and face; but she was
gone, and the Indian girl was gone, and the light of the shanty had gone
with them. Old Wolfe seemed dying of sorrow.

That evening as Jacob sat on the three-legged stool, smoking his short
Indian pipe, he again would have the whole story of their wanderings
over, and the history of all their doings and contrivances.

"And how far, mes enfans, do you think you are from the Cold Springs?"

"At least twenty miles, perhap