on whenever they
left the house. Alfred, Martin and Henry went out almost daily on
hunting excursions; indeed, as there were no crops in the barn, they had
little else to do. Mr. Campbell remained at home with his wife and
nieces; occasionally, but not very often, Percival accompanied the
hunters; of Malachi and John, they saw but little; John returned about
every ten days, but although he adhered to his promise, his anxiety to
go back to Malachi was so very apparent, and he was so restless, that
Mrs. Campbell rather wished him to be away, than remain at home so much
against his will.

Thus passed away the time till the year closed in; confined as they were
by the severity of the weather, and having little or nothing to do, the
winter appeared longer and more tedious than it would have done had they
been settled longer, and had the crops to occupy their attention; for it
is in the winter that the Canadian farmer gets through all his thrashing
and other work connected with the farm, preparatory for the coming
spring. This being their first winter, they had, of course, no crops
gathered in, and were, therefore, in want of employment. Mrs. Campbell
and her nieces worked and read, and employed themselves in every way
that they could, but constantly shut up within doors, they could not
help feeling the monotony and _ennui_ of their situation. The young men
found occupation and amusement in the chase; they brought a variety of
animals and skins, and the evenings were generally devoted to a
narration of what occurred in the day during their hunting excursions,
but even these histories of the chase were at last heard with
indifference. It was the same theme only with variations, over and over
again, and there was no longer much excitement in listening.

"I wonder when John will come back again," observed Emma to her sister,
as they were sitting at work.

"Why he only left two days ago, so we must not expect him for some
time."

"I know that; I wonder if Oscar would kill a wolf; I should like to take
him out and try."

"I thought you had had enough of wolves already, Emma," replied Mary.

"Yes, well; that old Malachi will never bring us any more news about the
Indians," continued Emma, yawning.

"Why, I do not think that any news about them is likely to be pleasant
news, Emma, and therefore, why should you wish it?"

"Why, my dear Mary, because I want _some_ news; I want something to
excite me, I feel so dull. It's not