pleases.'

'Why, you little Miss Considerate, is that your principle always?' asked
Arthur, who had made a great playmate of her. She did not understand his
question; and on his explaining in simpler words, 'Oh, you know I always
try to think what God would like. That is sure to be right, isn't it?'

'I suppose so,' said Arthur, with sudden gravity.

'Edith taught me--she does just that,' continued the child. 'I don't
think _she_ ever does anything that is wrong at all. But oh, Mr. Wynn,'
and he felt a sudden tightening of her grasp on his hand, 'what big bird
is that? look how frightened the little ones are!'

A hawk, which had been circling in the air, now made a swoop on the
rigging, but was anticipated by his quarry: one of the birds flew
actually into Arthur's hands, and the other got in among some barrels
which stood amidships.

'Ah,' said Arthur, 'they were driven out here by that chap, I suppose.
Now I'll give you the pleasure of feeling one of them in your hands.'

'But that wicked hawk!'

'And that wicked Jay, ever to eat chickens or mutton.'

'Ah! but that is different. How his little heart beats and flutters! I
wish I had him for a pet. I would love you, little birdie, indeed I
would.'

For some days they stayed by the ship, descending on deck for crumbs
regularly furnished them by Jay, to whom the office of feeding them was
deputed by common consent. But nearing the island of Anticosti, they
took wing for shore with a parting twitter, and, like Noah's dove, did
not return. Jay would not allow that they were ungrateful.

CHAPTER III.

UP THE ST. LAWRENCE.

Little Jay could hardly be persuaded into the belief that they were now
sailing on a river; that the swift broad tide bearing against them, more
than one hundred and twenty miles across at this island of Anticosti,
was the mouth of a stream having source in a mountain far away, and once
narrow enough to step over. Arthur showed her the St. Lawrence on a map
hung in the saloon; but such demonstration did not seem to convince her
much. 'Then where are the banks? My geography says that a river always
has banks,' was her argument.

In the evening he was able to show her the wide pitiless snow ranges of
Labrador, whence blew a keen desert air. Perpetual pine-woods--looking
like a black band set against the encroaching snow--edged the land,
whence the brig was some miles distant, tacking to gain the benefit
of the breeze off shore.

P