satisfied.

"But what does he do there, Martin?" said Mrs. Campbell, as they were
clearing away the table after supper.

"Just nothing but look at the squaw, or at Malachi cleaning his gun, or
any thing else he may see. He never speaks, that I know of, and that's
why he suits old Malachi."

"He brought home a whole basket of trout this afternoon," observed Mary;
"so he is not quite idle."

"No, miss; he's fishing at daylight, and gives one-half to you and the
other to old Bone. He'll make a crack hunter one of these days, as old
Malachi says. He can draw the bead on the old man's rifle in good style
already, I can tell you."

"How do you mean, Martin?" said Mrs. Campbell.

"I mean that he can fire pretty true, ma'am, although it's a heavy gun
for him to lift; a smaller one would do better for him."

"But is he not too young to be trusted with a gun, uncle?" said Mary.

"No, miss," interrupted Martin, "you can't be too young here; the sooner
a boy is useful the better; and the boy with a gun is almost as good as
a man; for the gun kills equally as well if pointed true. Master
Percival must have his gun as soon as I am at leisure to teach him."

"I wish you were at leisure now, Martin," cried Percival.

"You forget, aunt, that you promised to learn to load and fire a rifle
yourself," said Mary.

"No. I do not; and I intend to keep my word, as soon as there is time;
but John is so very young."

"Well, Mary, I suppose we must enlist too?" said Emma.

"Yes; we'll be the female rifle brigade," replied Mary, laughing.

"I really quite like the idea," continued Emma; "I will put up with no
impertinence, recollect, Alfred; excite my displeasure, and I shall take
down my rifle."

"I suspect you will do more execution with your eyes, Emma," replied
Alfred, laughing.

"Not upon a catamount, as Martin calls it. Pray what is a catamount?"

"A painter, miss."

"Oh, now I know; a catamount is a painter, a painter is a leopard or a
panther.--As I live, uncle, here comes the old hunter, with John
trotting at his heels. I thought he would come at last. The visit is to
me, I'm sure, for when we first met he was dumb with astonishment."

"He well might be," observed Captain Sinclair; "he has not often met
with such objects as you and your sister in the woods."

"No," replied Emma; "an English squaw must be rather a rarity."

As she said this, old Malachi Bone came up, and seated himself, without
speaking, placing