The little fellow's reflections were of a sombre cast. "There ain't no good times now as there used to be. I had a bear, and he was killed; Tony had one, and he was killed; and now baby's bear, that was the best most of the whole, is killed too. I had a tame coon, and they killed him; a cosset lamb, and he died; and the Indians have come, and carried off Tony who I loved better than the bear or coon or cosset lamb. The Indians keep coming, and killin' our folks; and Alice Proctor thinks they'll kill us all some time." Sammy's thoughts now seemed to take a sudden turn; for at once he jumped up, and ran at his utmost speed to the Cuthbert house. His mother, looking after him in amazement, said,-- "I don't know about this pottery business: the child don't seem one mite as he used to. I hope he won't lose his wits." Rushing up garret, he brought down part of a flax-wheel; that is, the bench, the wheel, and the posts on which the wheel was hung, the rest having been carried off by Cuthbert. Sammy's spirits rose with a bound: he thought, if he only had a wheel, he could manage the rest. Where should he get boards to make a bench? for boards were precious things in the settlement. He recollected that Mr. McDonald had in his house a meal-chest, and partitions made of boards, and some milk-shelves; and that some of them were used for making coffins to bury the family in, as there was not time to manufacture boards with the whip-saw. But he thought they might not all have been used; the house stood empty, and was rotting down. Away ran the excited lad for Archie, made a confidant of him, and wanted him to go to the McDonald house to see if there were not some boards there, and, if so, get them. "You don't ketch me there this time of day: it's haunted. It's all but sundown now. I'll go in the morning: 'twill be dark by the time we get there." "'Twon't be dark if we run. All I want is just to look in, and see what there is; and, if there is any, we can get them some other time." As usual, Sammy prevailed; and away they ran, reaching the place just after the sun had set. Directly before the door stood the hominy-block on which McDonald and his son were pounding corn when the savages came upon them, and an Indian arrow still sticking in the block. On the door-step was the blood-stain, where little Maggie was butchered. The boys recollected it well, for she was their playmate. They didn't like to venture in; for the bullet-proof shutters were closed just as they had been left when the family were killed, and it was dark inside. They had not forgotten that the floor (on that fearful morning) of the very room in which they expected to find the boards was red with the blood of Grace and Janet McDonald. They tried to look through the loop-holes, but could not see any thing distinctly within. "You go in, Sam." "I don't want to: go yourself." "It's more your place to go than 'tis for me, 'cause you want to be a potter."