"
CHAPTER IV.
"Aye from the sultry heat,
We to our cave retreat,
O'ercanopied by huge roots, intertwined,
Of wildest texture, blacken'd o'er with age,
Bound them their mantle green the climbers twine.
Beneath whose mantle--pale,
Fann'd by the breathing gale,
We shield us from the fervid mid-day rage,
Thither, while the murmuring throng
Of wild bees hum their drowsy song."--COLERIDGE.
"Louis, what are you cutting out of that bit of wood?" said Catharine, the
very next day after the first ideas of the shanty had been started.
"Hollowing out a canoe."
"Out of that piece of stick?" said Catharine, laughing. "How many
passengers is it to accommodate, my dear."
"Don't teaze, ma belle. I am only making a model. My canoe will be made out
of a big pine log, and large enough to hold three."
"Is it to be like the big sap-trough in the sugar-bush at home?" Louis
nodded assent.
"I long to go over to the island; I see lots of ducks popping in and out
of the little bays beneath the cedars, and there are plenty of partridges,
I am sure, and squirrels,--it is the very place for them.
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