"I do not think he sees or hears us," said Louis to himself, "but I think
I'll manage to bring him over soon"--and he set himself busily to work to
scrape up the loose chips and shavings, and soon began to strike fire with
his knife and flint.
"What are you about, Louis?" asked Hector. "Lighting a fire."
"It is warm enough without a fire, I am sure."
"I know that, but I want to attract the notice of yonder tiresome
fisherman."
"And perhaps bring a swarm of savages down upon us, who may be lurking in
the bushes of the island."
"Pooh, pooh! Hec.:--there are no savages. I am weary of this
place--anything is better than this horrible solitude." And Louis fanned
the flame into a rapid blaze, and heaped up the light dry branches till
it soared up among the bushes. Louis watched the effect of his fire, and
rubbed his hands gleefully as the bark canoe was pushed off from the
island, and a few vigorous strokes of the paddle sent it dancing over the
surface of the calm lake.
Louis waved his cap above his head with a cheer of welcome as the vessel
lightly glided into the little cove, near the spot where the boys were
chopping, and a stout-framed, weather-beaten man, in a blanket coat, also
faded and weather-beaten, with a red worsted sash and worn mocassins,
sprung upon one of the timbers of Louis's old raft, and gazed with a keen
eye upon the lads.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333