In a few moment she was off, treading softly over the grass and joining the other Indians, as if nothing serious had happened.
At once Agnes stood by her brother's side.
"The path is clear, Fred," she breathed to "now for the horses; we are not far away from the trading post."
They reached the log house just as the sun was setting, but as they approached, Matthew emitted a cry of despair.
"The Indians have burned down the log house," he said sadly. "The smoke is still breaking through the woods."
Cautiously they made their way through the woods, and soon stood beside the remains of their log house, where during the previous year they had spent so many happy hours.
"What a pity," Agnes said; "so this is the fruit of war and hatred."
Tears welled into her eyes.
"And our Sunday school classes have become our enemies, no doubt,"
Matthew reflected; "all of love's labor is lost."
"War destroys, and peace builds up," Fred spoke calmly; "we must expect all this, and more. The end is not yet."
"What do you mean?" Agnes asked as she watched her brother's furrowed brow. "Do you expect trouble?"