Catharine lifts the wooden latch, and steps in--the embers are nearly burned out, to a handful of grey ashes--old Wolfe is not there--all is silent--and Catharine sits down to still the beating of her heart and await the coming up of her slower companions, and gladdens her mind with the hope that her brother and Louis will soon be home--her eye wanders over every old familiar object--all things seem much as she had left them, only the maize is in the ear and the top feather waves gracefully with the summer breeze--it promises an abundant crop; but that harvest is not to be gathered by the hands of the young planters--it was left to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field--to those humble reapers who sow not, neither do they gather into barns, for their Heavenly Father feedeth them.

While the two girls busied themselves in preparing a fine roast of venison old Jacob stalked away over the hills to search for the boys, and it was not long before he returned with Hector and Louis.
I must not tell tales, or I might say what tears of joy were mingled with the rapturous greetings with which Louis embraced his beloved cousin; or I might tell that the bright flush that warmed the dusky cheek of the young Indian, and the light that danced in her soft black eyes, owed its origin to the kiss that was pressed on her red lips by her white brother.

Nor will we say whose hand held hers so long in his while Catharine related the noble sacrifice made for her sake, and the perils encountered by the devoted Indiana--whose eyes were moistened with tears as the horrors of that fearful trial were described--or who stole out alone over the hills, and sat him down in the hush and silence of the summer night to think of the acts of heroism displayed by that untaught Indian girl, and to dream a dream of youthful love; but with these things, my young readers, we have nothing to do.
"And now, my children," said old Jacob, looking round the little dwelling, "have you made up your minds to live and die here on the shores of this lake, or do you desire again to behold your father's home?
Do your young hearts yearn after the hearth of your childhood ?" "After our fathers' home!" was Louis's emphatic reply.

"After the home of our childhood!" was Catharine's earnest answer.

Hector's lips echoed his sister's words, while a furtive troubled glance fell upon the orphan stranger; but her timid eye was raised to his young face with a trusting look, as she would have said.