In the Forest | Page 4

the great wood-owl, or the voice of the whip-poor-will, calling to his
fellow from the tamarack swamp, or, may be, the timid bleating of a
fawn that has lost its mother, or the howl of a wolf."
"Nurse, I should he so afraid; I am sure I should cry if I heard the
wicked wolves howling in the dark woods by night. Did you ever know
any one who was eaten by a wolf?"
"No, my lady; the Canadian wolf is a great coward. I have heard the
hunters say that they never attack any one unless there is a great flock
together and the man is alone and unarmed. My uncle used to go out a
great deal hunting, sometimes by torchlight, and sometimes on the lake,
in a canoe with the Indians; and he shot and trapped a great many
wolves and foxes and racoons. He has a great many heads of wild
animals nailed up on the stoup in front of his log-house."
"Please tell me what a stoup is, nurse?"
"A verandah, my lady, is the same thing, only the old Dutch settlers
gave it the name of a stoup, and the stoup is heavier and broader, and
not quite so nicely made as a verandah. One day my uncle was crossing
the lake on the ice; it was a cold winter afternoon, he was in a hurry to
take some food to his brothers, who were drawing pine-logs in the bush.
He had, besides a bag of meal and flour, a new axe on his shoulder. He
heard steps as of a dog trotting after him; he turned his head, and there
he saw, close at his heels, a big, hungry-looking gray wolf; he stopped

and faced about, and the big beast stopped and showed his white sharp
teeth. My uncle did not feel afraid, but looked steadily at the wolf, as
much as to say, 'Follow me if you dare,' and walked on. When my
uncle stopped, the wolf stopped; when he went on, the beast also went
on."
"I would have run away," said Lady Mary.
"If my uncle had let the wolf see that he was afraid of him, he would
have grown bolder, and have run after him and seized him. All animals
are afraid of brave men, but not of cowards. When the beast came too
near, my uncle faced him and showed the bright axe, and the wolf then
shrank back a few paces. When my uncle got near the shore, he heard a
long wild cry, as if from twenty wolves at once. It might have been the
echoes from the islands that increased the sound; but it was very
frightful and made his blood chill, for he knew that without his rifle he
should stand a poor chance against a large pack of hungry wolves. Just
then a gun went off; he heard the wolf give a terrible yell, he felt the
whizzing of a bullet pass him, and turning about, saw the wolf lying
dead on the ice. A loud shout from the cedars in front told him from
whom the shot came; it was my father, who had been on the look-out
on the lake shore, and he had fired at and hit the wolf when he saw that
he could do so without hurting his brother."
"Nurse, it would have been a sad thing if the gun had shot your uncle."
"It would; but my father was one of the best shots in the district, and
could hit a white spot on the bark of a tree with a precision that was
perfectly wonderful. It was an old Indian from Buckhorn Lake who
taught him to shoot deer by torchlight and to trap beavers."
"Well, I am glad that horrid wolf was killed, for wolves eat sheep and
lambs; and I daresay they would devour my little squirrel if they could
get him. Nurse, please to tell me again the name of the lake near which
you were born."
"It is called Rice Lake, my lady. It is a fine piece of water, more than
twenty miles long, and from three to five miles broad. It has pretty
wooded islands, and several rivers or streams empty themselves into it.
The Otonabee River is a fine broad stream, which flows through the
forest a long way. Many years ago, there were no clearings on the
banks, and no houses, only Indian tents or wigwams; but now there are
a great many houses and farms."

"What are wigwams?"
"A sort of light tent, made with poles stuck into the ground in a circle,
fastened together at the top, and covered on the outside with skins of
wild animals, or with birch bark. The Indians light a fire of