quirrels, the fox, and the tame eagle, Pere Michaux's
companions in his hermitage. The appearance of the room was peculiar,
yet picturesque and full of comfort. It was a long, low apartment, the
walls made warm in the winter with skins instead of tapestry, and the
floor carpeted with blankets; other skins lay before the table and fire
as mats. The furniture was rude, but cushioned and decorated, as were
likewise the curtains, in a fashion unique, by the hands of half-breed
women, who had vied with each other in the work; their primitive
embroidery, whose long stitches sprang to the centre of the curtain or
cushion, like the rays of a rising sun, and then back again, was as
unlike modern needle-work as the vase-pictured Egyptians, with eyes in
the sides of their heads, are like a modern photograph; their patterns,
too, had come down from the remote ages of the world called the New,
which is, however, as old as the continent across the seas. Guns and
fishing-tackle hung over the mantel, a lamp swung from the centre of the
ceiling, little singing-birds flew into and out of their open cages near
the windows, and the tame eagle sat solemnly on his perch at the far end
of the long room. The squirrels and the fox were visible in their
quarters, peeping out at the new-comers; but their front doors were
barred, for they had broken parole, and were at present in disgrace. The
ceiling was planked with wood, which had turned to a dark cinnamon hue;
the broad windows let in the sunshine on three sides during the day, and
at night were covered with heavy curtains, all save one, which had but a
single thickness of red cloth over the glass, with a candle behind which
burned all night, so that the red gleam shone far across the ice, like a
winter light-house for the frozen Straits. More than one despairing man,
lost in the cold and darkness, had caught its ray, and sought refuge,
with a thankful heart. The broad deep fire-place of this room was its
glory: the hearts of giant logs glowed there: it was a fire to dream of
on winter nights, a fire to paint on canvas for Christmas pictures to
hang on the walls of barren furnace-heated houses, a fire to remember
before that noisome thing, a close stove. Round this fire-place were set
like tiles rude bits of pottery found in the vicinity, remains of an
earlier race, which the half-breeds brought to Pere Michaux whenever
their ploughs upturned them--arrow-heads, shells from the wilder
beaches, li