Betsy soon had a number of warm stones wrapped in furs in the bed, while the boys applied themselves vigorously to rubbing their bodies. The child soon gave evidence of restored animation. Breathing became perceptible. The muscles contracted, and her eyes partly opened. Then came a convulsion which shook her whole frame. Water and froth ran from her mouth. That will do boys, said the old man. Let her lay quiet now. She will soon be herself again. Rolla had been an anxious spectator of the scene we have described. Standing with his fore-feet on the foot of the bed looking intently into Amy’s face, he gave three suppressed barks. The child is safe, exclaimed the old man. Just then Rolla gave a mournful whine. But, continued the old man, the mother will never see the sun set again. The dog, by some intuitive knowledge, sees life for the child, but death for the mother. Then came a moment of suspense. The house was as silent as the grave, and all present stood gazing on the marble forms before them. A flush came into Amy’s face. Her eyes open. Ma-ma—Rol—Rol! And again all was silent. She speaks, said Betsy, and her first thought is of her mother. And her second of her dog, said Tom. She now began to moan and talk, but not in a way that could be understood. At length her words were connected, but it was evident that she was delirious. Oh! Walt. Do come and save your little Amy—River—big raft—pa-pa—drowned—hold her Rolla, hold her! Thus she continued to rave for a few minutes, and then fell into a sweet, natural sleep. In about half an hour her eyes opened, and she raised up and gazed about her in astonishment. Where is mother? Where am I? Where is Rolla? Rolla heard her, and bounded on the bed. Amy threw her arms about his neck. Good Rolla! she exclaimed; Save mother—pull her out of the water—drag her on the raft! Drake put out his hand, as if in the act of pulling the dog away. No, no, boy, let the dog alone. That is nature’s own medicine. That is more soothing than a canoe-load of the white man’s pills. The girl requires quiet. Let the dog caress her. This was said by a new comer, in a sweet and sympathizing voice, by an old man by the name of Wilson, (Cahoonshee,) of whom I shall speak hereafter. In the meantime, all the arts known to the white man or Indian were resorted to, to revive the mother. They had, in a measure, restored circulation, but the breathing was accomplished with difficulty, and she showed no signs of consciousness. And thus the day passed in suspense. The sun had just hid itself behind the western hills, as Amy aroused, and raised herself up in the bed. Rolla gave three soft, pleasant barks, and leaped on the bed and off again, and ran out of the house, and in again, jumping onto, and barking at every one, seemingly to express his joy at Amy’s recovery. Where am I? she said, looking around the room. Among friends, replied Wilson. Where is mother? Here, child, but unable to speak.