For the next three days this was the fate of our friends. Part of the time it rained, when the whole party slept as much as was possible, and then _endeavoured_ to sleep _more_ than was possible, under the shelter afforded by the spreading branches of the trees. Part of the time was fair, with occasional gleams of sunshine, when the men turned out to eat and smoke and gamble round the fires; and the two friends sauntered down to a sheltered place on the shore, sunned themselves in a warm nook among the rocks, while they gazed ruefully at the foaming billows, told endless stories of what they had done in time past, and equally endless _prospective_ adventures that they earnestly hoped should befall them in time to come.
While they were thus engaged, Redfeather, the Indian who had cut the ropes so opportunely during the storm, walked down to the shore, and sitting down on a rock not far distant, fell apparently into a reverie.
“I like that fellow,” said Harry, pointing to the Indian.
“So do I. He’s a sharp, active man. Had it not been for him we should have had to swim for it.”
“Indeed, had it not been for him I should have had to sink for it,” said Harry, with a smile, “for I can’t swim.”
“Ah, true, I forgot that. I wonder what the red-skin, as the guide calls him, is thinking about,” added Charley in a musing tone.
“Of home, perhaps, ‘sweet home,’” said Harry, with a sigh. “Do you think much of home, Charley, now that you have left it?”
Charley did not reply for a few seconds. He seemed to muse over the question.
“Think of home? I think of little else when I am not talking with you, Harry. My dear mother is always in my thoughts, and my poor old father. Home? ay; and darling Kate, too, is at my elbow night and day, with the tears streaming from her eyes, and her ringlets scattered over my shoulder, as I saw her the day we parted, beckoning me back again, or reproaching me for having gone away—God bless her! Yes, I often, very often, think of home, Harry.”
Harry made no reply. His friend’s words had directed his thoughts to a very different and far-distant scene—to another Kate, and another father and mother, who lived in a glen far away over the waters of the broad Atlantic. He thought of them as they used to be when he was one of the number, a unit in the beloved circle, whose absence would have caused a blank there. He thought of the kind voice that used to read the Word of God, and the tender kiss of his mother as they parted for the night. He thought of the dreary day when he left them all behind, and sailed away, in the midst of strangers, across the wide ocean to a strange land. He thought of them now—_without_ him—accustomed to his absence, and forgetful, perhaps, at times that he had once been there. As he thought of all this a tear rolled down his cheek, and when Charley looked up in his face, that tear-drop told plainly that he too thought sometimes of home.