We must look out for some spot where there is a spring of good water, and--" "No horrible wolves," interrupted Catharine: "though I love this pretty ravine, and the banks and braes about us, I do not think I shall like to stay here.

I heard the wolves only last night, when you and Louis were asleep." "We must not forget to keep watch-fires." "What shall we do for clothes ?" said Catharine, glancing at her home-spun frock of wool and cotton plaid.
"A weighty consideration, indeed," sighed Hector; "clothes must be provided before ours are worn out, and the winter comes on." "We must save all the skins of the wood-chucks and squirrels," suggested Louis; "and fawns when we catch them." "Yes, and fawns when we get them," added Hector; "but it is time enough to think of all these things; we must not give up all hope of home." "I give up all hope?
I shall hope on while I have life," said Catharine.
"My dear, dear father, he will never forget his lost children; he will try and find us, alive or dead; he will never give up the search." Poor child, how long did this hope burn like a living torch in thy guileless breast.

How often, as they roamed those hills and valleys, were thine eyes sent into the gloomy recesses of the dark ravines and thick bushes, with the hope that they would meet the advancing form and outstretched arms of thy earthly parents: all in vain--yet the arms of thy heavenly Father were extended over thee, to guide, to guard, and to sustain thee.
How often were Catharine's hands filled with wild-flowers, to carry home, as she fondly said, to sick Louise, or her mother.

Poor Catharine, how often did your bouquets fade; how often did the sad exile water them with her tears,--for hers was the hope that keeps alive despair.
When they roused them in the morning to recommence their fruitless wanderings, they would say to each other: "Perhaps we shall see our father, he may find us here to-day;" but evening came, and still he came not, and they were no nearer to their father's home than they had been the day previous.
"If we could but find our way back to the 'Cold Creek,' we might, by following its course, return to Cold Springs," said Hector.
"I doubt much the fact of the 'Cold Creek' having any connexion with our Spring," said Louis; "I think it has its rise in the 'Beaver-meadow,' and following its course would only entangle us among those wolfish balsam and cedar swamps, or lead us yet further astray into the thick recesses of the pine forest.

For my part, I believe we are already fifty miles from Cold Springs." It is one of the bewildering mistakes that all persons who lose their way in the pathless woods fall into, they have no idea of distance, or the points of the compass, unless they can see the sun rise and set, which is not possible to do when surrounded by the dense growth of forest-trees; they rather measure distance by the time they have been wandering, than by any other token.
The children knew that they had been a long time absent from home, wandering hither and thither, and they fancied their journey had been as long as it had been weary.