“Then we downward crept in silence—not a rustle, scarce a stir—
Till by chance a stone we loosened, which descended with a whirr.
“Rose the dog who had been lying in the cabin’s deepest shade,
Snuffed our presence in the valley, and, to warn his master, bayed.
“Then aroused he came to tear us, in his fury, limb from limb,
But my hatchet’s blow unerring was enough to quiet him.
“There was stirring in the cabin, and I heard old Merrill say—
‘Wife, that is some wearied hunter, who perchance has lost his way.
“‘Rouse you, stir the ash-hid embers, and get ready to prepare
Bed of feathers for the stranger and a bait of cabin fare.’