Catharine lifts the wooden latch,
and steps in--the embers are nearly burned out, to a handful of grey
ashes--old Wolfe is not there--all is silent--and Catharine sits down
to still the beating of her heart and await the coming up of her slower
companions, and gladdens her mind with the hope that her brother and Louis
will soon be home--her eye wanders over every old familiar object--all
things seem much as she had left them, only the maize is in the ear and
the top feather waves gracefully with the summer breeze--it promises an
abundant crop; but that harvest is not to be gathered by the hands of the
young planters--it was left to the birds of the air and the beasts of the
field--to those humble reapers who sow not, neither do they gather into
barns, for their Heavenly Father feedeth them. While the two girls busied
themselves in preparing a fine roast of venison old Jacob stalked away over
the hills to search for the boys, and it was not long before he returned
with Hector and Louis.
I must not tell tales, or I might say what tears of joy were mingled with
the rapturous greetings with which Louis embraced his beloved cousin; or I
might tell that the bright flush that warmed the dusky cheek of the young
Indian, and the light that danced in her soft black eyes, owed its origin
to the kiss that was pressed on her red lips by her white brother.
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