“Say not that, my husband; they can never forget us, and will watch a chance to come back. Archange will sit on thy knee again, and I will once more clasp my Marie to my bosom.” When bedtime came they knelt side by side, and in their devotions the wanderers were not forgotten. Time rolled on, and Caza and his wife became old people. Each year added some frailty, until, at a good old age, the eyes of the mother were closed without having seen what she longed for--the return of her children. The husband tarried a while longer, and when he was laid to rest the sad and strange trial of their lives grew fainter and fainter in the memories of those who succeeded them, until it became a tradition known to few--as a mystery that had never been solved. II.--THEIR FATE. Archange, holding Marie by the hand, on reaching the pasture, followed the fence to find where the calves had broken out, and then traced their footprints, which led to the edge of the swamp. Here she hesitated. “Marie, you stay here until I come back.” “No, no; I will go with you; I can jump the wet places, you know.” “Yes, and get tired before you go far. Wait; I’ll not be long in turning the calves back.” Marie, however, would not part from her sister, and followed her steps as she picked her way over the swamp; now walking a fallen tree and anon leaping from one mossy tussock to another. The calves were soon sighted, but the silly creatures, after the manner of their kind, half in play and half in fright, waited until the children drew near, when they tossed up their heels and ran. In vain Archange tried to head them. Cumbered by Marie, who cried when she attempted to leave her, she could not go fast enough, and when it became so dark that it was difficult to see the sportive animals, she awakened to the fact that she must desist. “Marie, we will go home and leave the calves until morning.” “But if we don’t get them they will have no supper.” “Neither will you; let us haste home or we will not see to get out of the swamp.”