"There ain't a bit on't left, Missus; 'twas all in the trunk dat tumbled out o' the cart when we swum through dat ar river," said the poor servant, in a tone of anxious dismay.
"Heaven save me now!" exclaimed the panic-stricken lady. "Adolphus, you must go to New Orleans to-morrow and bring me some."
"Thunder and Mars! You forget we are eight hundred miles from there, and what do you suppose would become of you all before I got back? You would be mounted on pack-mules, carried off to the Indian frontier, and made squaws of."
"O, father, don't leave us, I entreat of you!" sobbed Susette, on hearing these words.
"Why did I not die ere I came to this?" groaned Mrs. Camford. "Why did I not die when my eldest jewel and brilliant son were torn from my embrace? Alas! for what awful fate am I reserved?"
"Come, Nabby, this would do on the boards of the St. Charles, but toads and lizards can't appreciate theatricals. Pheny, can't you manage to get up some sort of a dinner out of the corn-meal and sweet potatoes I bought of the old Mynheer this morning; and there's a few eggs and a ham in the larder too. I declare I relish this new life already;—it is a change, Pheny, isn't it?" asked the father, looking in his fair daughter's face.
"Yes," answered she, "and if it wasn't for the snakes and lizards, I wouldn't complain."
"Never mind them," returned the squire, bravely; "they shan't hurt you. We'll have a nice, cosey home here a year from to-day."
CHAPTER X.
"It was the calm, moonshiny hour,