Uttering one long piercing scream, the poor girl knelt to await her doom.  A prolonged roar of fury caused her to raise her head.  Bouncer, brave, noble Bouncer, and the Indian had fallen together in a deadly struggle!  Now was her time!  With new energy and hope, she sprang to her feet, and darted through the forest, rending the air with cries for help, and unconscious of whither she was flying.

“Rudolph!  Kitty!” she cried, frantically.  “God in heaven help us!  Oh! help us!”

III.

Where are the children?

It was nearly dinner-time in the Hedden cottage.  Farmer Hedden sat in the doorway, equipped in his hunting dress—­for he usually spent Saturday afternoons in the forest; and it was only at his wife’s solicitation that he had consented to wait and “take a bite of dinner” before starting, Every now and then he raised his head from the almanac, over which he was bending, to listen to the whirr of his wife’s spinning-wheel, and her merry song issuing from the cottage, or to cast an impatient glance in the direction of the streamlet.

Within, all was neatness and cheerfulness; the clean deal table was arranged with its row of yellow platters and shining pewter-mugs—­even the stools were standing round it, ready for the hungry household that usually assembled at noon, eager for dinner.

“Father’s” and “mother’s” places were at either end of the table; Rudolph’s and Kitty’s at one side (Kitty had a high chair made by “father” out of young oak branches); Bessie’s opposite; and, beside hers, the prettiest plate; and the brightest mug for Big Tom—­for, of course, he must be asked to stay.

Everything was ready.  Far back in the open fireplace the fagots were blazing and snapping.  Hanging above them, the great iron pot threw forth a circle of noisy steam around the loosely fitted lid, while the potatoes within were in a high state of commotion—­little ones tumbling pell-mell over big ones, and big ones rocking dolefully backward and forward in the boiling water as though they felt sure their end was approaching.

“Blow the horn again, John,” called out Mrs. Hedden, as she cut another slice from the big brown loaf that had rapidly been growing less under her shining knife.  “Ha! ha! they can’t help hearing that,” she laughed, as her husband blew a blast even louder than usual.

After waiting a moment, Mr. Hedden came in, throwing the almanac on a low wooden settee as he entered.

“No use waiting any longer, wifey—­let’s sit by.  I don’t see a sign of the youngsters; though it did seem to me I heard some of ’em screaming and laughing in the distance a bit ago.  ’Twon’t do, though,” he continued, shaking his head; “we must make the crazy little cubs mind the horn closer.  Play’s play, and all well enough in its way, but you must teach children regularity from the very outset, or they’ll never be good for much.”