"Now for supper, Nelly," said Roy, seizing his bow, when the hut was
completed, and splicing its broken part with a strip of deerskin cut
from the lines of the sledge.

"Get a goose, Roy, and pick out a nice fat one," cried Nelly, laughing,
"I'll have the fire ready when you come back."

"I'll try," said Roy, and he did try, but tried in vain. Although a
good shot, he was not sufficiently expert with the bow to shoot wild
fowl on the wing, so he returned to the hut empty-handed.

"We must make a new bow, Nell," said he, sitting down by the fire, "I
can do nothin' wi' this, and it won't do to use the gun for anythin' but
deer. Meanwhile let's have the remains of our dinner for supper. Come,
cheer up, old 'ooman; we shall feast on the fat of the land to-morrow!"

The stars were shining in the sky, and winking at their reflections down
in the depths of Silver Lake, and the lake itself lay, as black as ink,
under the shadow of the hills, when the brother and sister spread their
blanket above them that night, and sank, almost immediately, into
profound slumber.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

HUNTING, AND OTHER MATTERS, ON SILVER LAKE.

Sunrise is a gladsome event almost at all times; we say "almost,"
because there are times when sunrise is _not_ particularly gladsome. In
the arctic regions of Norway, for instance, we have seen it rise only
twenty minutes after it set, and the rising and setting were so much
mingled, that no very strong feelings of any kind were awakened.
Moreover, we were somewhat depressed at the time, in consequence of
having failed to reach those latitudes where the sun does not set at all
for several weeks in summer, but shines night and day. To the sick,
sunrise brings little comfort; too often it is watched for with
weariness, and beheld, at last, with a feeling of depression at the
thought that another day of pain has begun. But to the healthy, and
especially to the young, sunrise is undoubtedly, on most occasions, a
gladsome event.

At least Nelly Gore thought so when she awoke and beheld, from the floor
of the hut where she lay, a flood of yellow glory gushing through a
valley, turning Silver Lake into gold, tipping the trees with fire, and
blazing full in Roy's face, which was at that moment turned up to the
sky with the mouth open, and the nose snoring.

"Oh, _how_ beautiful!" screamed Nelly, in the exuberance of her delight.

"Hallo! murder! come on, ye black varmints," shouted Roy, as