He had taught little Fanchon, a small French
spaniel of his father's, to find out the trees where the bees hived, and
also the nests of the ground-bees, and she would bark at the foot of the
tree, or scratch with her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at
the squirrels or the woodchucks; but Fanchon was far away, and Wolfe was
old, and would learn no new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his
own observation and the axe to depend upon for procuring honey.
The boys had been unsuccessful for some days past in fishing; neither
perch nor sunfish, pink roach nor mud-pouts [Footnote: All these fish are
indigenous to the fresh waters of Canada.] were to be caught. However, they
found water-mussels by groping in the sand, and cray-fish among the
gravel at the edge of the water only; the last pinched their fingers very
spitefully. The mussels were not very palateable, for want of salt; but
hungry folks must not be dainty, and Louis declared them very good when
well roasted, covered up with hot embers. "The fish-hawks," said he, "set
us a good example, for they eat them, and so do the eagles and herons.
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