little girl of three or
four years. The child fought and cried; but Suzanne held on, drew her to
the trunk of a tree, sat down, and held her on her lap by force. The poor
little thing was horribly dirty, but under its rags there were pretty
features and a sweetness that inspired pity. Alix sat down by my sister
and stroked the child's hair, and, like Suzanne, spite of the dirt, kissed
her several times; but the little creature still fought, and yelled [in
English]:

"Let me alone! I want to go home! I want to go home!"

Joseph advised my sister to let the child go, and Suzanne was about to do
so when she remembered having at supper filled her pocket with pecans. She
quickly filled the child's hands with them and the Rubicon was passed....
She said that her name was Annie; that her father, mother, and brothers
lived in the hut. That was all she could say. She did not know her
parents' name. When Suzanne put her down she ran with all her legs towards
the cabin to show Alix's gift, her pretty ribbon.

Before the sun went down the wind rose. Great clouds covered the horizon;
large rain-drops began to fall. Joseph covered the head of his young wife
with her mantle, and we hastened back to the camp.

"Do you fear a storm, Joseph?" asked Alix.

"I do not know too much," he replied; "but when you are near, all dangers
seem great."

We found the camp deserted; all our companions were on board the flatboat.
The wind rose to fury, and now the rain fell in torrents. We descended to
our rooms. Papa was asleep. We did not disturb him, though we were greatly
frightened.... Joseph and Gordon went below to sleep. Mario and his son
loosed the three bull-dogs, but first removed the planks that joined the
boat to the shore. Then he hoisted a great lantern upon a mast in the bow,
lighted his pipe, and sat down to keep his son awake with stories of
voyages and hunts.

The storm seemed to increase in violence every minute. The rain redoubled
its fury. Frightful thunders echoed each other's roars. The flatboat,
tossed by the wind and waves, seemed to writhe in agony, while now and
then the trunks of uprooted trees, lifted by the waves, smote it as they
passed. Without a thought of the people in the hut, I made every effort to
keep awake in the face of these menaces of Nature. Suzanne held my hand
tightly in hers, and several times spoke to me in a low voice, fearing to
wake papa, whom we could hear breathing regularly, sleeping without