BY ANNA E. TREAT.


"Whoa, Buck! Whoa, Bright!" called out Stephen Harris, pioneer, and the
glossy red oxen halted in the forest opening. "This shall be our dinner
camp to-day, boys," said he. "See what a fine spot."

The pair of stalwart lads, with rifles on their shoulders, who had been
walking all the forenoon beside the big covered wagon, thought it was,
truly, a fine spot and began to make camp for dinner, unyoking the oxen
and turning them out to graze, kindling a fire with dry twigs and moss
and fetching water from the clear brook that rippled by.

Meanwhile, children of all ages began to climb down from the wagon.
There were ten of them, fine healthy children; the youngest, Martha, was
a little yellow-haired girl of three, the pet and pride of them all.

The wagon, which had been their traveling house for a month was well
fitted up for the comfort. The seats were built along the sides and so
contrived as to hook back at night; then the bedding, tightly rolled up
by day, was spread out on the wagon bottom. Under the wagon swung the
large copper kettle, the most important of all things in the households
of those early times.

After dinner the oxen were yoked up, and in great spirits the pioneers
scrambled to their places in the wagon, and the oxen started on at a
good pace, and they had gone a mile or two before the fearful discovery
was made that little Martha was missing!

The patient oxen were turned about, and as fast as possible the