the message of heavenly love and forgiveness to these dwellers in
death shade.

The Dubois House, where Mr. Norton had found shelter for the night,
was situated on the northern bank of the river, about sixty miles west
from Chatham. It was a respectable looking, two story building, with
large barns adjacent. Standing on a graceful bend of the broad stream,
it commanded river views, several miles in extent, in two directions,
with a nearer prospect around, consisting of reaches of tall forest,
interspersed with occasional openings, made by the rude settlers.

Being the only dwelling in the neighborhood sufficiently commodious
for the purpose, its occupants, making a virtue of necessity, were in
the habit of entertaining occasional travellers who happened to visit
the region.

But, softly,--Mr. Norton has wakened. He was just beginning to dream
of home and its dear delights, when a door-latch was lifted, and a
young girl entering, began to make preparations for supper. She moved
quickly towards the fire, and with a pair of iron tongs, deftly raided
the ponderous cover of the Dutch oven, hanging over the blaze. The
wheaten rolls it contained were nearly baked, and emitted a fragrant
and appetizing odor.

She refitted the cover, and then opening a closet, took from it a
lacquered Chinese tea-caddy and a silver urn, and proceeded to arrange
the tea-table.

Mr. Norton, observing her attentively with his keen, gray eyes, asked,
"How long has your father lived in this place, my child?"