“Yes, we are all well,” answered John to my inquiries, as he took my load of venison and slung it over his more sturdy shoulders. “The canoe is finished, and we were only waiting for your return to set out. No positive news about our parents; but the Indians describe having seen a canoe with white people, women among them, pass down the river several weeks ago Ellen feels sure it was they who were seen; though, as is sometimes the case with her, dear girl, she can give no other reason than her own feelings. I am disappointed at not seeing Arthur; but we must put in to take him on board, and save him the journey through the forest.”
Of course John wanted to know all about our adventures, and I briefly recounted them as we walked homewards.
“It is, indeed, a mercy that your life was saved,” he observed. “I would almost advise you not to tell Ellen all the fearful dangers you went through; it will make her nervous, for she even now sometimes dreads that the Majeronas will again attack us.”
“They will certainly not come so far by water,” I remarked; “and our friends will give us warning should they venture by land. Still, as the canoe is ready, we ought not to delay in commencing our voyage.”
As soon as we emerged from the thick part of the forest, we caught sight of Ellen watching for us in front of the hut. She came running forward, followed by Maria and Oria, and not only by Nimble and Toby, but a whole troop of other creatures. John laughed. “There comes our little sister,” he said, “with her happy family. She and her young companions have not been idle. It is wonderful how they have contrived to tame all those creatures.”
In another minute Ellen and I were in each other’s arms. She looked very well, and glad to see me, but her eye roved about in quest of Arthur. She was satisfied, however, when I told her that he had remained behind to attend to the recluse.
“I am not surprised at it,” she said; “for I could not help fancying that there was some relationship between the two. Our strange friend was evidently more interested in Arthur than in any of us. In spite of his cold and repelling manner, Arthur, too, took greatly to him. However, perhaps I am wrong.”
“Yes; I suspect, Ellen, it is but one of your fancies. You would like it to be the case; it would be so interesting and romantic, and so you cannot help thinking that it must be so,” observed John.
Ellen was eager at once to introduce me to her pets. Nimble and Toby knew me immediately, and climbed up my back without hesitation.
“Here,” said Ellen, “is a dear little bird.” It was a small heron of a very graceful shape. The plumage was variegated with bars and spots of several colours, as are the wings of certain moths. She called it, and it immediately came up to her with a peculiarly dainty, careful gait. An insect was crawling along the ground. It immediately afterwards pierced it with its slender beak, and gobbled it up. It was the ardea helias. John said he had seen the birds perched on the lower branches of trees in shady spots: their note is a soft, long-drawn whistle; they build their nests in trees, of clay, very beautifully constructed.