"Ah, but I have been far away," he answered. "I first tried to get at the poor boy from this side, and finding that would not do, I took a long round and came upon them from the west; but I got nothing but some information; and then I made up my mind. Them Ingians are as cunning as Satan. I have circumvented them once, but they won't let a man do it twice."
Mr. Prevost had stood listening, eager to hear anything that related to his son. "We will more of this by and by, Brooks. Come into the hall and have some food. You must be hungry and tired, both, I am sure."
"No," replied Woodchuck, "I am not hungry. Tired a little I am, I guess, though I have not walked more than forty miles. But I met a young Ingian, two or three hours ago, who gave me some venison steaks off his own fire. Some rest will soon set all to rights."
"Take some wine at least," said Mr. Prevost; "that will do you good; you look quite faint."
"Faint in limb, but not in heart," replied Woodchuck, stoutly. "However, I won't refuse the wine, for it was given to cheer the heart of man, as the Bible says, and mine wants cheering, though it does not want strengthening; for I'll do what I say, as I'm a living man."
They took him into the hall, and persuaded him both to eat and drink, evidently to his benefit, for though he did not lose the sad tone in which he spoke, his voice was stronger, and his features seemed to grow less sharp.
"And where have you been ever since the snow has been on the ground?" asked Edith, when he seemed a little revived. "You cannot surely have been wandering in the woods during the terribly severe weather we had in January."
"I hutted myself down," he said, "like an Ingian or a beaver, and covered the lodge all over with snow. I planted it upon a ledge of rock, with its mouth close behind an old hemlock tree, and made it white all over, so they would have been worse than devils to find me; for life is sweet, Miss Prevost, even in winter time, and I did not wish to be tomahawked so long as I could help it."
"You must have had a sad, desolate time, I fear," said Mr. Prevost; "at least till the spring came round."
"I guess it wasn't very cheerful," answered Woodchuck; "but that's the best way to teach one's self not to care for what's coming. At least I used to think so once, and to believe that if a man could once make himself very miserable in this world he would not much care how soon he went out of it; but I've changed my opinion on that matter a little, for up there on the side of the hill, after four or five weeks, half famished, half frozen, I did not feel a bit more inclined to die than I did a year ago, when there were few lighter-hearted than myself. So I thought, before I did anything of the kind, knowing that there was no need of it just yet, I would just go and take a ramble among the mountains in the fine weather, like Jephtha's daughter."