"Too long. Leave all to me. I will mount his horse; you can hand him up to me; I will then carry him in my arms to the wigwam—what say you?"
"Admirable!" cried George, as Charbonneau mounted and stood still, awaiting his burden.
George and Samuel then placed him before the guide. Charbonneau pressed his head against his chest, and started.
Going slowly, they were an hour on the journey.
The wigwam, as the hunter called it, was a charming habitation built of wood, upon the summit of an eminence, round which ran a silver stream, lined with well-constructed palisades.
"Your house is delicious," said Samuel Dickson, examining the residence. "You should be very comfortable."
"My good friend, I want for nothing except happiness."
"Are you going to have the blues again?" said Samuel.
"You know I hardly dare hope," replied George.
"You are very foolish. When you are rich, young, and loved, Master George, you ought to hope for the best."