y brought in 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 nothing but stitch, stitch, all day, and I am
tired of always doing the same thing. What a horrid thing a Canadian
winter is, and not one-half over yet."

"It is very dull and monotonous, my dear Emma, I admit, and if we had
more variety of employment, we should find it more agreeable, but we
ought to feel grateful that we have a good house over our heads, and
more security than we anticipated."

"Almost too much security, Mary; I begin to feel that I could welcome an
Indian even in his war-paint, just by way of a little change."

"I think you would soon repent of your wish, if it were gratified."

"Very likely, but I can't help wishing it now. When will they come
home? What o'clock is it? I wonder what they'll bring, the old story I
suppose, a buck; I'm sick of venison."

"Indeed, Emma, you are wrong to feel such discontent and weariness."

"Perhaps I am, but I have not walked a hundred yards for nearly one
hundred days, and that will give one the blues, as they call them, and I
do nothing but yawn, yawn, yawn, for want of air and exercise. Uncle
won't let us move on account of that horrid wolf. I wonder how Captain
Sinclair is getting on at the fort, and whether he is as dull as we
are."

To do Emma justice, it was seldom that she indulged herself in such
lamentings, but the tedium was more than her high flow of spirits could
well bear. Mrs Campbell made a point of arranging the hous