The season of flowers had again arrived,--the earth, renovated by the fire of the former year, bloomed with fresh beauty,--June, with its fragrant store of roses and lilies, was now far advanced,--the anniversary of that time when they had left their beloved parents’ roofs, to become sojourners in the lonely wilderness, had returned. Much they felt they had to be grateful for. Many privations, it is true, and much anxiety they had felt; but they had enjoyed blessings above all that they could have expected, and they might, like the Psalmist when recounting the escapes of the people of God, have said,--“Oh that men would therefore praise the Lord for his goodness, and the wonders that he doeth for the children of men.” And now they declared no greater evil could befal them than to lose one of their little party, for even Indiana had become as a dear and beloved sister; her gentleness, her gratitude and faithful trusting love, seemed each day to increase. Now, indeed, she was bound to them by a yet more sacred tie, for she knelt to the same God, and acknowledged, with fervent love, the mercies of her Redeemer. She had made great progress in learning their language, and had also taught her friends to speak and understand much of her own tongue; so that they were now no longer at a loss to converse with her on any subject. Thus was this Indian girl united to them in bonds of social and Christian love.
Hector, Louis, and Indiana had gone over the hills to follow the track of a deer which had paid a visit to the young corn, now sprouting and showing symptoms of shooting up to blossom. Catharine usually preferred staying at home, and preparing the meals against their return. She had gathered some fine ripe strawberries, which, with plenty of stewed rice, Indian meal cake, and maple sugar, was to make their dinner. She was weary and warm, for the day had been hot and sultry. Seating herself on the threshold of the door, she leaned her tack against the doorpost, and closed her eyes. Perhaps the poor child’s thoughts were wandering back to her far-off, never-to-be-forgotten home, or she might be thinking of the hunters and their game. Suddenly a vague, undefinable feeling of dread stole over her mind: she heard no steps, she felt no breath, she saw no form; but there was a strange consciousness that she was not alone--that some unseen being was near, some eye was upon her. I have heard of sleepers starting from sleep the most profound when the noiseless hand of the assassin has been raised to destroy them, as if the power of the human eye could be felt through the closed lid.