Our garden was well dug and plentifully manured, the old woman bringing the manure, which had lain for several years at the barn door, down to the plot, in a large Indian basket placed upon a hand-sleigh.  We had soon every sort of vegetable sown, with plenty of melons and cucumbers, and all our beds promised a good return.  There were large flights of ducks upon the lake every night and morning; but though we had guns, we did not know how to use them.  However, I thought of a plan, which I flattered myself might prove successful; I got Sol to plant two stakes in the shallow water, near the rice beds, and to these I attached a slender rope made by braiding long strips of the inner bark of the basswood together; to these again I fastened, at regular intervals, about a quarter of a yard of whipcord, headed by a strong perch-hook.  These hooks I baited with fish offal, leaving them to float just under the water.  Early next morning, I saw a fine black duck fluttering upon the line.  The boy ran down with the paddles, but before he could reach the spot, the captive got away by carrying the hook and line with him.  At the next stake he found upon the hooks a large eel and a cat-fish.

I had never before seen one of those whiskered, toad-like natives of the Canadian waters (so common to the Bay of Quinte, where they grow to a great size), that I was really terrified at the sight of the hideous beast, and told Sol to throw it away.  In this I was very foolish, for they are esteemed good eating in many parts of Canada; but to me, the sight of the reptile-like thing is enough—­it is uglier, and far more disgusting-looking than a toad.

When the trees came into leaf, and the meadows were green and flushed with flowers, the poor children used to talk constantly to me of their father’s return; their innocent prattle made me very sad.  Every evening we walked into the wood, along the path that he must come whenever he did return home, to meet him, and though it was a vain hope, and the walk was taken just to amuse the little ones, I used to be silly enough to feel deeply disappointed when we returned alone.  Donald, who was a mere baby when his father left us, could just begin to put words together.  “Who is papa?” “When will he come?” “Will he come by the road?” “Will he come in a canoe?” The little creature’s curiosity to see this unknown father was really amusing; and oh! how I longed to present the little fellow, with his rosy cheeks and curling hair, to his father; he was so fair, so altogether charming in my eyes.  Emilia had called him Cedric the Saxon; and he well suited the name, with his frank, honest disposition, and large, loving blue eyes.

June had commenced; the weather was very warm, and Mr. T—–­ had sent for the loan of old Jenny to help him for a day with his potatoes.  I had just prepared dinner when the old woman came shrieking like a mad thing down the clearing, and waving her hands towards me.  I could not imagine what had happened.