paused before swinging himself over the rude fence. There rose in the evening air the sound of singing: it was a psalm-tune. The family were at worship. Reverently the soldier uncovered his head and listened. The psalm ended, he could hear the voice of supplication, though not the words. When Morton approached the house he saw a heavily-built man leave the door to meet him. “Gude e’en, freen; ye’re oot late. But I see ye’re are o’ the military and your wark caas ye at a’ hoors. Is there ony news o’ the Yankee army?” Morton explained he had not been on duty but had got belated in hunting and craved the boon of shelter until morning, for which he would pay. “Pay! say ye. A dog wearing the King’s colors wad be welcome to my best. You maun be new to this country to think the poorest settler in it wad grudge to share his bite with ony passerby. Come your ways; we are richt glad to see you.” Entering the shanty Morton was astounded at the contrast between the homelike tidiness of the interior and the rudeness of the exterior, everything being neatly arranged and of spotless cleanliness. “Truly,” he thought, “it is not abundance that makes comfort, but the taste and ingenuity to make the best of what we have.” The glow of the log-fire in the open chimney was supplemented by the faint light afforded by a candle made from deer-fat, which showed him a tall young woman, who came forward to shake hands without the slightest embarrassment, an elderly woman, evidently the mother, who kept her seat by the fire, explaining she “wasna very weel,” and two stout young men. “Sit in by the fire, Mr Morton; there is a snell touch in the evening air that makes it no unpleasant, and Maggie will get ye something to eat. An hae ye nae news frae the lines? Does it no beat a’ that thae Yankees, wha mak such pretensions to be the only folk i’ the warld wha understan what liberty is, should fail in practice? What hae we done that they shud come in tae disturb us? Hae we nae richt to live doucely and quietly under our appointed ruler, that they should come into our ain country to harry and maybe kill us? Dod, they are a bonny lot! In the name o’ freedom drawing the sword to help the oppressor of Europe and the slaughterer of thousands of God’s children by creation, if no by adoption.” “We have the comfort,” replied Morton, “that they have not got Canada yet.” “An never will,” replied the settler, “there’s no an Auld Countryman on the Chateaugay wha wad na sooner tint life an a’ than gie up his independence. My sons an mysel are enrolled in Captain Ogilvie’s company and mair Yankees than they count on will hansel it’s ground afore they win oor puir biggin.”