While Hector and Louis were preparing the sleeping-chamber, Catharine busied herself in preparing the partridge for their supper. Having collected some thin peelings from the ragged bark of a birch-tree, that grew on the side of the steep bank to which she gave the appropriate name of the “Birken shaw,” she dried it in her bosom, and then beat it fine upon a big stone, till it resembled the finest white paper. This proved excellent tinder, the aromatic oil contained in the bark of the birch being highly inflammable, Hector had prudently retained the flint that they had used in the morning, and a fire was now lighted in front of the rocky stone, and a forked stick, stuck in the ground, and bent over the coals, served as a spit, on which, gipsy-fashion, the partridge was suspended,—a scanty meal, but thankfully partaken of, though they knew not how they should breakfast next morning, The children felt they were pensioners on God’s providence not less than the wild denizens of the wilderness around them.
When Hector—who by nature was less sanguine than his sister or cousin—expressed some anxiety for their provisions for the morrow, Catharine, who had early listened with trusting piety of heart to the teaching of her father, when he read portions from the holy word of God, gently laid her hand upon her brother’s head, which rested on her knees, as he sat upon the grass beside her, and said, in a low and earnest tone, “‘Consider the fowls of the air; they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?’ Surely, my brother, God careth for us as much as for the wild creatures, that have no sense to praise and glorify his holy name. God cares for the creatures He has made, and supplies them with knowledge where they shall find food when they hunger and thirst. So I have heard my father say; and surely our father knows, for is he not a wise man, Hector?”
“I remember,” said Louis, thoughtfully, “hearing my mother repeat the words of a good old man she knew when she lived in Quebec;—‘When you are in trouble, Mathilde,’ he used to say to her, ‘kneel down, and ask God’s help, nothing doubting but that He has the power as well as the will to serve you, if it be for your good; for He is able to bring all things to pass. It is our own want of faith that prevents our prayers from being heard. And, truly, I think the wise old man was right,” he added.
It was strange to hear grave words like these from the lips of the giddy Louis. Possibly they had the greater weight on that account. And Hector, looking up with a serious air, replied, “Your mother’s friend was a good man, Louis. Our want of trust in God’s power must displease Him. And when we think of all the great and glorious things He has made,—that blue sky, those sparkling stars, the beautiful moon that is now shining down upon us, and the hills and waters, the mighty forest, and little creeping plants and flowers that grow at our feet,—it must, indeed, seem foolish in his eyes that we should doubt his power to help us, who not only made all these things, but ourselves also.”
“True,” said Catharine; “but then, Hector, we are not as God made us; for the wicked one cast bad seed in the field where God had sown the good.”
“Let us, however, consider what we shall do for food; for, you know, God helps those that help themselves,” said Louis. “Let us consider a little. There must be plenty of fish in the lake, both small and great.”
“But how are we to get them out of it?” rejoined Catharine. “I doubt the fish will swim at their ease there, while we go hungry.”
“Do not interrupt me, ma chere. Then, we see the track of deer, and the holes of the wood-chuck; we hear the cry of squirrels and chipmunks, and there are plenty of partridges, and ducks, and quails, and snipes; of course, we have to contrive some way to kill them. Fruits there are in abundance, and plenty of nuts of different kinds. At present we have plenty of fine strawberries, and huckleberries will be ripe soon in profusion, and bilberries too, and you know how pleasant they are; as for raspberries, I see none; but by-and-by there will be May-apples—I see great quantities of them in the low grounds, grapes, high-bush-cranberries, haws as large as cherries, and sweet too; squaw-berries, wild plums, choke-cherries, and bird-cherries. As to sweet acorns, there will be bushels and bushels of them for the roasting, as good as chestnuts, to my taste; and butter-nuts, and hickory-nuts,—with many other good things.” And here Louis stopped for want of breath to continue his catalogue of forest dainties.
“Yes; and there are bears, and wolves, and racoons, too, that will eat us for want of better food,” interrupted Hector, slyly. “Nay, Katty, do not shudder, as if you were already in the clutches of a big bear. Neither bear nor wolf shall make mincemeat of thee, my girl, while Louis and thy brother are near, to wield an axe or a knife in thy defence.”
“Nor catamount spring upon thee, ma belle cousine,” added Louis, gallantly, “while thy bold cousin Louis can scare him away.”