and the children—rosy, healthy little urchins—were rolling on the floor with unwashed skins and unkempt hair. Con held the youngest child in his arms, and it was pleasant to see how tenderly the wild fellow nursed the little creature, and what pains he took to amuse her while she I crowed in his laughing face with noisy glee. The mother was cooking Indian meal porridge for their supper.
Helen shook hands with Con, and, after noticing the other children, and especially the baby, she said:
“Con, I have bought you a new suit of full cloth; will you wear it for my sake?”
The boy coloured scarlet, and looked ingenuously up into her face.
“Is it for going to the wreck? It wasn’t I; it was Keefe Dillon.”
“You helped him,” said Helen.
“It wasn’t for your sake, Miss Lennox, it was for Mr. Dillon’s, and I don’t want to be paid for it.”
“A suit of clothes would be a poor payment for a life, Con,” said Helen, smiling. “I only wish to show you that I think you acted like a brave and noble boy, and that I’ll never forget your conduct while I live. Won’t you let me do that? Won’t you take my present? It is not much, I know, but it is all I have to offer.
The light in which Helen had now placed her gift subdued Con at once.
“I’ll take it as a present from you, then,” he said, “and many thanks for it.”
“Well, you are the kind girl to think of such a thing,” said his mother. “It’s a wonder to me how God puts it into the hearts of people to befriend us; and there’s Mr. Dillon, the best friend of all. It’s true what the boy says; it was to help Mr. Dillon he went to the wreck, and a good right he had, for only for him my boy would not be living to-day.”
“How was that?” asked Helen.
“Well, it was just one day last winter, when he was driving a team on the ice, and horses and sleigh all broke in, and though half-a-dozen men were there at the time, some cried to save the horses, and never thought of the boy; and more _ were too flustered to know what to do, for they ‘ were mostly greenhorns, and I’d never have laid eyes on Con again, only Mr. Dillon happened to come up, and he soon knew what to do.”
“I guess it wasn’t every one could have done it,” said Con. “The ice was awful bad, and it was crackling under him like rotten wood when he pulled me out of the hole; but he’d have lost his life that day or saved mine.”
“That he would,” said Mrs. Doyle, emphatically; “there ain’t his equal from one end of America to the other.”
“There ain’t his equal in the world,” said Con, “and I can’t say a bigger word, could I, Miss Lennox?”
“I think not,” said Helen, laughing; but perhaps she thought Con was not very much mistaken.
She had not gone far after leaving the shanty before Keefe’s little terrier leaped up on her, jumping round and barking for joy, and the next moment she saw Keefe close behind her. Her face brightened with pleasure on seeing him, and when the friendly tone in which he spoke to her seemed to prove that he was not offended with her, a weight was suddenly removed from her heart.
“When did you come home?” she asked, as they walked on together.
“This morning. I went to look for two panthers that were seen in the woods last week, and had done some damage in the next settlement. I found them, and have brought home their ears!”
“Panthers!” exclaimed Helen. “Did you go alone to attack such savage beasts? Was it not very dangerous?” “No, not to a good hunter; and I have had some practice. But if there were a little danger, it would only be an additional excitement. Back-woodsmen must not know fear. I suppose you are going to see Mrs. Wendell?”
Helen assented.
“And I am just on my way home; I am glad I met you.”
“But I want to hear about the panthers,” said Helen. “Are they often seen in these woods?"
“No, the only one I ever saw in this neighbourhood before was shot by Indian Louis, Coral’s grandfather.”
“Poor little Coral,” said Helen; “I wonder how she likes her new home. It must seem to her like one of the changes in a fairy tale.”
“Yes, but I don’t know whether it will make her ‘live happy ever after,’ as the story says.”
“Why not?” asked Helen.
“A life of city pleasures and luxuries must be as opposite to her nature as that of any wild deer of the woods. All the gay balls and fine jewels in the world could not give her half the joy she would feel in chasing the thistledown flying before the wind. She is a strange being, half sprite, half bird, partly child and angel; a life of rule and restraint, forms and conventionalities would be more hateful to her than death; and I fear she may be pining for the free woods, where she used to roam at will, for her canoe, which she paddled so skilfully over the lake, for all the wild joys of the forest life, which she loved with a natural love.”
“And perhaps for her forest friends, too,” said Helen.
“She had not many friends,” said Keefe. “I think she loved her brother Denis, as she called him, and me, but she cared for no one else. It would be better for her if she could attach herself more easily to people, but it is not her nature, and those she is among now can have nothing in common with her; they will not understand her, and she will dislike them. I wish—”
“What do you wish?” asked Helen.
“That she had known you, Miss Lennox. She would have loved you, and you would have been good to her, and have used your influence over her, to make her happy. It seems to me now, that she was like some rare instrument thrown among those who did not understand it, and were incapable of using it, but which could give most