rock to rock, broken into spray and driven in every direction, except upward, would too truly represent their life hereafter. Raising her gaze to the south, she caught a glimpse, through a gash among the trees on the opposite bank where fire had levelled them, of a range of smooth moulded hills, which, blue and soft in the sweet spring sunshine, brought back to memory the dear old hills of her native land, and joy mingled with her sorrow. The afternoon wore away apace and still Mr Palmer did not return. Above the noise of the rapids Jeanie heard, now and then, the shouts of the lumbermen as they heaved the logs in forming their raft, and whom Mr Palmer had gone down to see. Having finished her household duties and spread the supper on the table, Mrs Palmer sat down beside Jeanie and, with kindly craft, by talking of commonplace matters, strove to divert her mind. By-and-by the appearance of a fine spaniel, the same that had swam to the rat, indicated the approach of Mr Palmer, who, when he came up to them, leading his eldest girl, a chattering child, seemed in no hurry to answer the questioning eyes of the two women. “Blessed if the dog don’t scent something,” said the worthy man, as he watched the animal creeping to a clump of underbrush to the right. “Bother the dog,” exclaimed Mrs Palmer, “what did the men tell you?” “Waal, they ain’t jest sure, you know, but they guess ’tis all right,” and as he drawled out the words slowly and reluctantly, Jeanie could see that he was far from thinking it was all right. “Oh, sir,” she said, “you are a father yourself and you are as dear to your child as she is to you. Tell me the worst, and be done wi’ it.” “Don’t take on, Jeanie; it may be all right yet. Your father helped to tote the logs to the foot of the rapids, and left them, well and strong, to walk home last night. I rather conjecture he lost his way, but he will be home by this time.” This was all Mr Palmer seemed disposed to tell, and, hoping for the best, she tried to share in her host’s affected confidence as to her father’s safety, and followed him in answer to his wife’s call “That supper was ready.” A capital cook, and having a larder to draw from replenished by the gun and rod of her husband, Mrs Palmer, in honor of her guest, had spread a table that contrasted painfully with the meagre fare to which Jeanie was accustomed, and made her think of the mess of boiled corn of which her mother would then be partaking. After supper, the canoe was launched, and bidding farewell to her hostess and her little girl on the river’s bank, Jeanie stepped in, when, propelled by the paddle of Mr Palmer, it began steadily to stem the current.