I remember, however, one incident that may perhaps
satisfy your desire for more thrilling adventures.

"An old woman living near what was called 'the Carter settlement,' some
six miles from us, started to pay a visit to a friend in the next
'clearing.' To reach her destination she had to pass through the
densest part of the forest, with no indication of a path to guide her:
but she never thought of danger as she started upon her long, lonely
walk.

"Several days elapsed before it was fairly realized that the old lady
was missing; and then the neighbors started en masse through the forest
with tin pans, tin horns, and stalwart lungs, to look for her. Their
shouts met with no response, but after a long search they met a pack of
wolves who fled rapidly past them. Fairly alarmed now lest the old
woman should have perished from fatigue and exposure, they pursued the
search with desperate haste, and not far from the spot where they had
met the wolves, found some scraps of a dress that was recognized as
hers, a few bones, and her feet, which, encased as they were in stout
boots, the wolves had disdained to devour. Whether the old woman had
fallen a live victim to the wolves, or had died of hunger and fatigue
and then furnished a repast to them, we never knew; this latter
supposition, however, seemed hardly probable, for she could have found
in the woods wild berries, succulent roots, and water sufficient to
subsist upon for several days."

A shiver of horror went around our little circle, and even Gabrielle's
love for the terrible was satisfied.

After a short pause, Marguerite said:

"You must often have felt lonely, mamma, did you not, living so far
away from all places of amusement, lectures, and the like? Indeed, I
suppose that buried as you were in the woods, you did not even have the
excitement of going to church."

"No," said mamma; "we were dependent for entertainment entirely upon
our own resources and the few books we had brought with us from
Vermont; but we children were never conscious of a lonely hour, and if
dear mother felt sad and weary of our uneventful life, we never knew it.

"We worked hard all day, every one of us, even little Margaret having
something to do; but in the evening we had a change of occupation. At
twilight, when father and brother Barnes had come home, and our early
supper was over, father would say:

"'Mary, what have you to read to us to-night?'

"Immediately fresh logs wo