ly alluded to the difference in their religion; for
Kenneth was a staunch presbyterian, and his wife a Roman catholic; yet
that difference--for which so much blood has been shed in the
world--never for an instant dimmed the lustre of their peace; and Marion
told her glittering beads on the same spot where her husband breathed
his simple prayer. Kenneth, taking advantage of the smile he had roused,
waved his hand to the little group, and was soon out of sight.

The hot and sultry day was passed by Marion in a state of restless
anxiety, but it was for Kenneth alone she feared, and the hours sped
heavily till she might expect his return. Slowly the burning sun
declined in the heavens, and poured a flood of golden radiance on the
leafy trees and the bright waves of the majestic river, which rolled its
graceful waters past the settlers dwelling. Marion left her infant
asleep in a small shed at the back of the log-house, with Mary, her
eldest daughter, to watch by it, and taking Charlie by the hand went out
to the gate to look for her husband's return. Kenneth's father, an old
and almost superannuated man, sat in the door-way, with twin girls of
Kenneth's sitting on his knees, singing their evening hymn, while he
bent fondly over them.

Scarcely had Marion reached the wicket, when a loud yell--the wild
war-whoop of the savage--rang on her startled ear. A thousand dark
figures seemed to start from the water's edge--the house was surrounded,
and she beheld the grey hairs of the old man twined round in the hand of
one, and the bright curls of her daughters gleamed in that of another;
while the glittering tomahawk glared like lightning in her eyes. Madly
she rushed forward to shield her children; the vengeance of the Indian
was glutted, and the life-blood of their victims crimsoned the hearth
stone! The house was soon in flames--the war dance was finished--and
their canoes bounded lightly on the waters, bearing them far from the
scene of their havoc.

As the sun set a heavy shower of rain fell and refreshed the parched
earth--the flowers sent up a grateful fragrance on the evening air--the
few singing birds of the woods poured forth their notes of melody--the
blue jay screamed among the crimson buds of the maple, and the humming
bird gleamed through the emerald sprays of the beech tree.

The pearly moon was slowly rising in the blue aether, when Kenneth
Gordon approached his home. He was weary with his journey, but the
pictur