CHAPTER VII.

HOME.

BETSY, Ralph's excellent mother, had

parted from him with the same inward apprehension and distress which she had always felt when her husband had gone with Jack Williams to the woods. Indeed, her sorrow was greater, for Ralph was the last treasure left to her, after her husband had been taken away. She had given him her motherly blessing-her warmest prayers ascended daily to heaven on his behalf, and she felt soothed when she thought of the great affection which Jack Williams had for her son; but in spite of this, the dangers of which she had often heard came back frequently to her mind. The year that Ralph was to be away seemed very long to her, and the months passed very slowly, while she longed for the next fair in St. Louis. She had great need of faith in God.

She looked after her field, and attended to the cattle. Her neighbours gave her all the help in their power, and in activity and prayer the lonely widow found consolation for her distress and solitude. The nearer the

fair-time came, the more her joy increased, and she hoped soon to have her good son home again. She would take care that he did not go away on such a dangerous errand in future, but should marry and settle down to the safe and peaceful life of a farmer. There was a great deal of land on the farm which had never been cleared, and was still covered with gigantic trees, besides which there was a large piece of "congress," or public land, adjoining it, which might be bought very cheap. If Ralph spent what he got for his beaver skins in purchasing that, he would have a large tract of ground in the neighbourhood of the growing city of St. Louis, which would be a valuable inheritance for his children.

With these hopes the mother cheered herself, long after Jack Williams had fallen a victim to the treachery of How-ku-tho and her son had been a prisoner among the Blackfeet.

At last the fair came, and, after lasting the usual time, passed away; but the two trappers did not return, and no tidings whatever were heard of them.

The heart of the poor widow was almost crushed beneath the cold iron hand of sorrow. All the terrors of which she had heard came

vividly before her eyes. Her imagination was filled with pictures of danger by day and night, and her tears flowed continually. There was no longer any doubt that her last earthly support had been taken away.

Betsy was a woman of the most steadfast faith, and her soul rose out of her sorrow to her God. The world had now become a wilderness to her, and she raised her thoughts to that place where she hoped once more to see her loved ones. She lived in expectation of heaven, but fulfilled all her earthly duties, waiting with patient resignation for the hour of her release, which she left entirely to His will, who doeth all things well. Her neighbours were surprised at her submission, and endeavoured to persuade her that the trappers would come back after all; but she shook her head, saying, "They are with the Lord, and why should I grudge Ralph to his father who loved him so much, and yet saw so little of him?"

Her

friends were silent, and had little more hope; and when the second fair came and passed away without tidings, all expectation of their return was given up for ever.

Two years had run their course. Nothing had occurred in the widow's quiet household, except that she had asked an old relative to come and live with her, that her solitude might not be so great, and that in time of sickness or death she might have some assistance at hand.

One evening, after a very busy day, which had been occupied in getting in the maize harvest, they had closed the house earlier than usual. Betsy had gone to bed, but Martha was still busy with some household work, when the old dog began to bark very strangely. He howled, and jumped up violently against the door, and yet his barking was different from

that which was caused by any wild beast from the neighbouring woods, or a stranger coming to beg a night's lodging in the farmhouse. It was just the way he used to bark and howl when Tom had returned home, or Ralph had come back after a short absence.

Betsy's heart began to beat violently when she heard the noise. As it continued a strange feeling came over her; she was so agitated that she could not stay in bed any longer, but got up and dressed herself again. Martha called out to her, "Whatever can be the matter with the dog? I have never heard him make such a noise before."

Betsy trembled in every limb, and could scarcely speak; but at last she said, "Open the door, Martha, and let him out."

The old woman did as she was told, but went in, and shaking her head, said, "The dog has rushed off as if he was mad-what! have you got up again, Betsy?" she said, astonished.

"Yes," said the widow, "I feel so excited that I can't stand. I don't know what's the matter with me. The dog used to howl just in that way when Tom or Ralph came back after being away a long time;" and she sank trembling into the arm-chair by the side of the fire. "Listen!" cried Martha; "the dog is coming back. How he barks! He's got somebody with him."

"Merciful God!" exclaimed Betsy, "what can it be? Take the light, Martha, and go to the door."

Martha grew pale.

Betsy," she said, while her teeth chattered and her knees knocked together, "don't be angry with me, but I'm frightened."

'Well, then, I'll come with you,” said the widow, rising with difficulty from her chair. Martha went with great terror to the door. Somebody was knocking at it, and the dog was frisking about in the greatest excitement.

Martha opened the door very slowly, and instantly slammed it to, with the cry, "Indians! Indians!"

The poor widow trembled and shook with fright; for at the time that these things occurred, the horrors of an attack from the red-skins were not entirely unknown, and the dreadful accounts of their cruelty, which were heard now and then, alarmed the people at lonely farmhouses.

Two people were seen at the door, who certainly wore the Indian dress, and one of them had a bow and a tomahawk; but although it was nearly dark they could see that the man was white, and the mother's eyes, though filled with tears, saw through them it was no other than the long-lost face of her dear Ralph, who stretched out his hands towards her, but couldn't utter a word, and with the cry, “My son—my Ralph!" fell helpless into his arms.

By the side of her son stood a fine-looking young Indian woman, with tears running down her dark cheeks, and so overcome by her feelings that she had to support herself against