"That I really believe," replied Alfred; "a gale of wind at sea sounds very awful when down below jerking about in your hammock, but when on deck, you don't care a fig about it. Now the rifles are all loaded, and we may go to bed and sleep sound." They did retire to rest, but all parties did not sleep very sound; the howling of one wolf was answered by another; Emma and Mary embraced each other, and shuddered as they heard the sounds, and it was long before they forgot their alarm and were asleep.

CHAPTER XVI.

The next morning was bright and clear, and when Emma and Mary went out, attended by Alfred, to go and milk the cows, although the cold was intense, every thing looked so brilliant and sparkling in the sunshine that they regained their spirits. The lake was still unfrozen, and its waters, which were of an azure blue, contrasted with the whole of the country covered with snow, and the spruce firs with their branches loaded presented an alternate layer of pure white and of the darkest green. Birds there were none to be seen or heard. All was quiet, so quiet that as they stepped along the path which had been cleared away to the cow-house, they almost started at the sound of their own voices, which the atmosphere rendered more peculiarly sonorous and ringing.

Alfred had his rifle on his shoulder, and walked in front of his cousins.

"I have come to prove that all your fears are groundless, my dear Emma, and that you need not have any alarm about a skulking, cowardly wolf,"

said Alfred.

"Well, that may be," replied Emma, "but still we are very glad of your company."

They arrived at the cow-house without any adventure, let loose Sancho, who had been tied up, as it was decided that the dog should remain at home with the others, and proceded to milk the cows. Having finished that task and supplied them with fodder, Mary Percival observed, as they were retracing their steps,

"I must say that it would not only be more convenient but more agreeable if the cows were kept nearer to the house."

"It would be certainly," replied Alfred. "It is a pity that there is not a cow-shed within the palisades; but we have no means of making one at present. Next year, when my father has purchased his horses and his sheep, which he talks of doing, we are to build a regular yard and sheds for all the animals close to the house, and palisaded round as the house now is, with a pa.s.sage from one palisade to the other. Then it will be very convenient; but 'Rome was not built in a day,' as the proverb says; and we must, therefore, wait another winter."

"And be devoured by the wolves in the mean time," replied Emma, laughing.

"Why, you are getting over your fright already, Emma."

"Yes; I feel pretty bold, now I think there is nothing to be afraid of."

The remainder of the week was pa.s.sed away in practicing upon the snow-shoes by the males of the party, the women scarcely ever venturing out of doors, as the cold was very severe. Mary and Emma were accompanied by Alfred for the first three or four days; and after that, notwithstanding that the howling of the wolves was heard every night, they took courage when they found that the animals never made their appearance by daylight, and went as before to milk the cows by themselves. On the Sat.u.r.day, they were in the hopes of seeing old Malachi Bone, but he did not make his appearance, and John, who could now get on very well in his snow-shoes, became very impatient. Alfred and Martin were also very anxious to see the old man, that they might ascertain if he had made any discoveries relative to the Indians.

Sunday, as usual, was a day of rest from labor; the services were read by Mr. Campbell, and the evening pa.s.sed in serious conversation. Mr.

Campbell, although usually in good spirits, was certainly not so on that evening: whether it was that the severity of the winter which had set in and the known long duration of it which they had to encounter had an effect upon his spirits, he was melancholy as well as serious. He more than once referred to the former residence when in England, which was a very unusual thing for him to do, and by degrees the conversation was turned in that direction, and, although no one said so, they all felt what a change there was in their present position from that which they had been forced to leave. Mrs. Campbell, who perceived that a gloom was gathering over the whole party, made several remarks tending to reconcile them to their present lot, and, after a time Mr. Campbell observed--

"Perhaps, my dear children, it may be a divine mercy which has sent you here to this wilderness; true it is that we are removed from civilization, and shut up here by a severe winter, deprived of the enjoyments and pleasures which are to be found in the society which we were compelled to leave; but let us also bear in mind that we are removed from the many temptations which might have there a.s.sailed us."

"But still, papa, you would be very glad if circ.u.mstances would permit us to return to England; would you not?" said Percival.

"Yes, my child, I should, and even if I had remained here so long as to have become attached to the place and to the isolation which at first is felt so irksome, I would still return to England and to society, if I had the means. As Christians, we are not to fly from the world and its temptations, but to buckle on our armor, and putting our trust in Him who will protect us, fight the good fight; that is, doing our duty in that state of life to which it shall please G.o.d to call us."

"But if ever we were to return to England, there would be no chance of our living as we did before we left it, would there, papa?"

"I see none, my dear boy; but we never know what is in store for us.

Should any of us ever return, I presume it would be to live in a more humble way; and for my part, I should prefer that it were so, for although I trust I did not greatly misuse that wealth which I so long supposed to be mine, I should not be sorry to have much less, and therefore less responsibility."

"Indeed, my dear Campbell, imperfect as we all are, I do not believe that many could have made a better use of it than you did."

"I thought so at the time, my dear," replied Mr. Campbell, "but since it has been lost to me, I have often thought that I might have done more good with it. But the fact is, my dear children, there is nothing so dangerous to our eternal welfare as great wealth; it tends to harden the heart by affording the means of constant self-indulgence:--under such circ.u.mstances, man is apt to become selfish, easily satisfied with his own works, and too proud to see his errors. Did you observe in the Litany, which I read at this morning's service, how very appropriately is inserted the prayer, for deliverance under the perils of wealth?--

"'In all time of our tribulation, in all time of our _wealth_, in the hour of death, and in the day of judgment, good Lord deliver us.'

"Examine this, my dear children: in all time of our tribulation,--that is in poverty and distress, and perhaps famishing from want (and in few positions are people so incited to crime), _then_ in all time of our wealth, evidently and distinctly placing wealth as more dangerous to the soul's welfare than the extremest poverty and its accompanying temptations; and observe, only exceeded by the most critical of all dangerous positions, when all has been done and nothing can be undone,--the hour of death, followed by the day of judgment."

Mr. Campbell ceased speaking, and there was a pause for a minute or two in the conversation, when Mary Percival said, "What, then, my dear uncle, do you consider as the most enviable position in life?"

"I consider a moderate independence as the most enviable; not occupied in trade, as the spirit of barter is too apt to make us bend to that which is actually fraud. I should say, a country gentleman living on his own property and among his own tenants, employing the poor around him, holds a position in which he has the least temptation to do wrong, and the most opportunities of doing good."

"I agree with you, my dear Campbell," said his wife; "and yet how few are satisfied even with that lot."

"Because the craving after wealth is so strong, that every one would have more than he hath, and few men will be content. The desire of aggrandizement overcomes and masters us; and yet what can be more absurd than to witness the care and anxiety of those to gain riches, who have already more perhaps than is necessary for their wants,--thus 'heaping up riches, not knowing who may gather them,' and endangering the soul to obtain that which they must leave behind them when they die. Others ama.s.s wealth, not actuated by the avarice of h.o.a.rding it up, but by the appet.i.te for expending it; who collect unjustly that they may lavish profusely; these are equally foolish, and how important is that lesson given in the Scriptures." Mr. Campbell opened the Bible which lay before him and read--

"And he spake a parable unto them. The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully.

"And he said, What shall I do? because I have no room where to bestow my fruits.

"And he said: This will I do; I will pull down my barns and build greater, and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.

"And I will say to my soul: Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years, take thine ease; eat, drink, and be merry.

"But G.o.d said unto him: Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee."

After a short silence, Mrs. Campbell observed, "I have often reflected since I have been here upon what might have been our position had we decided upon remaining in England. We might at this moment have been in the greatest distress, even wanting a meal; and I have, therefore, often thanked G.o.d that He left us the means of coming here and providing for ourselves as we have done, and as I have no doubt shall, with His blessing, continue to do. How much better off are we at this moment than many thousands of our countrymen who remain in England! How many are starving! How many are driven into crime from want! while we have a good roof over our heads, sufficient clothing and more than sufficient food.

We have, therefore, great reason to thank G.o.d for the mercies He has vouchsafed to us; He has heard our prayer, 'Give us this day our daily bread.'" "Yes," continued Mr. Campbell, "'Give us this day our daily bread,' is all that we are taught to ask for; and it comprehends all; and yet how heartlessly is this p.r.o.nounced by many of those who do repeat their daily prayers. So is the blessing asked at meals, which is by too many considered as a mere matter of form. They forget, that He who gives can also take away; and in their presumption, suppose their own ability and exertion to have been the sole means of procuring themselves a daily supply of food; thanking themselves rather than the Giver of all good. How many thousands are there who have been supplied with more than they require from their cradle down to their grave, without any grateful feeling toward Heaven; considering the butcher and baker as their providers, and the debt canceled as soon as the bills are paid. How different must be the feeling of the poor cottager, who is uncertain whether his labor may procure him and his family a meal for the morrow, who often suffers privation and hunger, and, what is more painful, witnesses the sufferings of those he loves. How earnest must be his prayer when he cries, 'Give us this day our daily bread.'"

This conversation had a very strong effect upon the party, and when they retired to rest, which they did shortly after, they laid their heads upon their pillows not only with resignation, but with thankfulness for the mercies which had been vouchsafed to them, and felt that in the wilderness they were under the eye of a watchful and gracious Providence.

CHAPTER XVII.

On the Monday morning Alfred and Martin went to the cow-house, and slaughtered the bullock which they had obtained from the commandant of the fort. When it was skinned it was cut up, and carried to the storehouse, where it was hung up for their winter consumption.

As the party were sitting down to dinner, they were greeted by Captain Sinclair and a young lieutenant of the garrison. It hardly need be said that the whole family were delighted to see them. They had come overland on their snow-shoes, and brought some partridges, or grouse, as they are sometimes called, which they had shot on their way. Captain Sinclair had obtained leave from the commandant to come over and see how the Campbells were getting on. He had no news of any importance, as they had had no recent communications with Quebec or Montreal; all was well at the fort, and Colonel Forster had sent his compliments, and begged, if he could be useful, that they would let him know. Captain Sinclair and his friend sat down to dinner, and talked more than they ate, asking questions about every thing.

"By the by, Mr. Campbell, where have you built your pig-sties?"

"Inside the palisade, next to the fowl-house."

"That is well," replied Captain Sinclair, "for otherwise you may be troubled by the wolves, who are very partial to pork or mutton."

"We _have_ been troubled with them," replied Emma; "at least with their howlings at night, which make me tremble as I lie awake in bed."

"Never mind their howling, Miss Emma; we have plenty of them round the fort, I can a.s.sure you; unless attacked, they will not attack you, at least, I never knew an instance, although I must confess that I have heard of them."

"You will, of course, sleep here to-night?"

"Yes: we will, if you have a bear or buffalo skin to spare," replied Captain Sinclair.

"We will manage it, I have no doubt," said Mr. Campbell.