we can't give him up," added Uncle
Walter; "we couldn't spare a soul from the settlement; we couldn't
spare the leastest of your little brats, Troffater! But where are
Matthew and the Major?"

"They followed Julia to the woods, very early, to see if they could
find a trace of the boy," replied Mother Fabens.

"Then we must follow them in a trice," said Uncle Walter; and a general
council was had, and it was agreed that they should form a line of all
the men and women, four rods apart, and sweep the woods for a distance
round; and with horns and bells to give salutes, and luncheon to
refresh them when hungry, they marched through the moaning woods.

Night overtook them while they looked still for day, and they returned
heavy-hearted and weary to their homes. Large and diligent had been
the search, and all the kind Indians were out with them, but no trace
could be found of the lost boy. The Indians shook their heads
dolefully, and gave signs of despair, though little was said in
discouragement, and all volunteered to continue the search the next
day. No fires were kindled that night, and only once, in an hour, the
horn was sounded, from each house, to give signs of watchfulness, and
keep the wild beasts in their distant dens. Morning returned, and
another council convened to compare suggestions, and commence another
search. Mother Fabens related a dream of the last night, and all
gathered around, to hear it. She dreamed that Clinton was passing near
the sugar camp, and a creature standing on his hind legs, rushed upon
the boy, and bore him off to a multitude that looked like the creature,
and let him go free among them. That Clinton wept at first, and tried
to get away, but after awhile he looked cheerful again, and stayed with
them till she awoke.

"Dreadful!" cried poor comfortless Julia; "can it, say, can it be true?"

"But that does not show he's killed; and I will not give him up yet,"
said Uncle Walter.

"The wolves hev muttoned him afore this, you may depend," said
Troffater.

"I don't believe that," said Colwell.

"And I don't believe you do aither," said Mr. Waldron, to Troffater.
"There's a good 'eal in that dream, I say now; and it gives me hope.
Come, let's give another good hunt."

"Hugh!" groaned an Indian, dolefully; "he gone, he dead; we no find
'im."

"So I b'lieve," added Troffater. "I dremp las night tew, as wal as
Granny Fabens; but then our dreams don't agree azackly. I dremp a