Lost in the Backwoods | Page 6

forgotten while pursuing the delightful occupation of
gathering the tempting fruit; and when they had refreshed themselves,
and filled the basket with leaves and fruit, they slaked their thirst at the
stream which wound its way among the bushes. Catharine neglected
not to reach down flowery bunches of the fragrant whitethorn, and the
high-bush cranberry, then radiant with nodding umbels of snowy
blossoms, or to wreathe the handle of the little basket with the graceful
trailing runners of the lovely twin-flowered plant, the Linnaea borealis,
which she always said reminded her of the twins Louise and Marie, her
little cousins. And now the day began to wear away, for they had
lingered long in the little clearing; they had wandered from the path by
which they entered it, and had neglected, in their eagerness to look for
the strawberries, to notice any particular mark by which they might
regain it. Just when they began to think of returning, Louis noticed a
beaten path, where there seemed recent prints of cattle hoofs on a soft

spongy soil beyond the creek.
"Come, Hector," said he gaily, "this is lucky; we are on the cattle-path;
no fear but it will lead us directly home, and that by a nearer track."
Hector was undecided about following it; he fancied it bent too much
towards the setting sun; but his cousin overruled his objection. "And is
not this our own creek?" he said. "I have often heard my father say it
had its rise somewhere about this old clearing."
Hector now thought Louis might be right, and they boldly followed the
path among the poplars, thorns, and bushes that clothed its banks,
surprised to see how open the ground became, and how swift and clear
the stream swept onward.
"Oh, this dear creek," cried the delighted Catharine, "how pretty it is! I
shall often follow its course after this; no doubt it has its source from
our own Cold Springs."
And so they cheerfully pursued their way, till the sun, sinking behind
the range of westerly hills, soon left them in gloom; but they anxiously
hurried forward when the stream wound its noisy way among steep
stony banks, clothed scantily with pines and a few scattered
silver-barked poplars. And now they became bewildered by two paths
leading in opposite directions; one upward among the rocky hills, the
other through the opening gorge of a deep ravine.
Here, overcome with fatigue, Catharine seated herself on a large block
of granite, near a great bushy pine that grew beside the path by the
ravine, unable to proceed; and Hector, with a grave and troubled
countenance, stood beside her, looking round with an air of great
perplexity. Louis, seating himself at Catharine's feet, surveyed the deep
gloomy valley before them, and sighed heavily. The conviction forcibly
struck him that they had mistaken the path altogether. The very aspect
of the country was different; the growth of the trees, the flow of the
stream, all indicated a change of soil and scene. Darkness was fast
drawing its impenetrable veil around them; a few stars were stealing
out, and gleaming down as if with pitying glance upon the young

wanderers, but they could not light up their pathway or point their
homeward track. The only sounds, save the lulling murmur of the
rippling stream below, were the plaintive note of the whip-poor-will,
from a gnarled oak that grew near them, and the harsh grating scream
of the night hawk, darting about in the higher regions of the air,
pursuing its noisy congeners, or swooping down with that peculiar
hollow rushing sound, as of a person blowing into some empty vessel,
when it seizes with wide-extended bill its insect prey.
Hector was the first to break the silence. "Cousin Louis, we were wrong
in following the course of the stream; I fear we shall never find our way
back tonight."
Louis made no reply; his sad and subdued air failed not to attract the
attention of his cousins.
"Why, Louis, how is this? you are not used to be cast down by
difficulties," said Hector, as he marked something like tears glistening
in the dark eyes of his cousin.
Louis's heart was full; he did not reply, but cast a troubled glance upon
the weary Catharine, who leaned heavily against the tree beneath which
she sat.
"It is not," resumed Hector, "that I mind passing a summer's night
under such a sky as this, and with such a dry grassy bed below me; but
I do not think it is good for Catharine to sleep on the bare ground in the
night dews,--and then they will be so anxious at home about our
absence."
Louis burst into tears, and sobbed out,--"And it is all my doing that she
came out with us; I