The arrow was in her throat; it was of white flint, and had evidently been sent from an Indian bow.

It was almost with fear and trembling that they availed themselves of the venison thus providentially thrown in their way, lest the Indians should track the blood of the doe, and take vengeance on them for appropriating it for their own use.

Not having seen anything of the Indians, who seemed to confine themselves to the neighbourhood of the lake, after many days had passed, they began to take courage, and even lighted an evening fire, at which they cooked as much venison as would last them for several days, and hung the remaining portions above the smoke to preserve it from injury.
One morning, Hector proclaimed his intention of ascending the hills, in the direction of the Indian camp.

"I am tired of remaining shut up in this dull place, where we can see nothing but this dead flat, bounded by those melancholy pines in the distance that seem to shut us in." Little did Hector know that beyond that dark ridge of pine hills lay the home of their childhood, and but a few miles of forest intervened to hide it from their sight.

Had he known it how eagerly would his feet have pressed onward in the direction of that dark barrier of evergreens! Thus is it often in this life: we wander on, sad and perplexed, our path beset with thorns and briars.