"That’s right, pet," said Mrs. Hazen, lifting up the bright face for a hearty kiss. "And now wouldn’t you like to take him his dinner?" "Indeed I would," cried Edie, dancing around and clapping her hands. "And may I stay with him until he comes home?" "I suppose so—if he wants you," assented Mrs. Hazen. "But in that case you must come in and have your own dinner first." A half-hour later, with a well-filled basket on her arm, and her mother’s parting injunction not to loiter on the way in her ears, Edie set forth full of joy on her mission. "She’s a little thing to send so far," mused the mother, following the retreating figure with eyes full of tender concern. "But she does so love the woods, and seems to make her way through them like an Indian." With heart as light as any bird chirping by the wayside, Edie hastened through the gate, across the road, between the lower bars of the pasture gate, and then, climbing the hill behind which lay the back pasture, entered the bush, in which her pink calico sun-bonnet soon vanished from view. Mr. Hazen’s farm stood on the very edge of civilization, in the northern part of New Brunswick. The most of his acres he had cleared himself, and he never lost an opportunity of hewing his way further and further into the mighty forest, whose billows of birch, pine, and hemlock rolled away northward, eastward, and westward for uncounted leagues. This day he was working at a bunch of timber a little beyond the eastern edge of the clearing, called the "back pasture." As mid-day drew near he began to feel hungry, and more than once paused in his work to go to the edge of the clearing, to see if there were any signs of an approaching dinner. "I hope Esther hasn’t forgotten me to-day," he thought, after doing this for the third time to no result. "It’s not like her to do it." The great golden sun moved steadily on to the zenith, and then inclined westward, but still no messenger appeared bearing the needed refreshment. Mr. Hazen felt strongly tempted to shoulder his axe and go home. But the day was so favourable to his work that, after a good deal of grumbling at what he supposed to be his wife’s neglect, he decided not to quit it. So, tightening his belt, he grasped his axe anew and strove to forget his hunger in the ardour of his toil. He did not, however, work as late as common that day, for in addition to his hunger, there grew upon him a feeling of uneasiness, which at length became so disturbing that he could not endure it. Accordingly, fully an hour before his usual time, he shouldered his axe and strode off homeward, saying to himself,— "I hope nothing’s gone wrong; but I don’t know what gives me such an apprehensive feeling." When he approached the farmhouse, he caught sight of his wife coming up the road that led to the nearest neighbour, about half-a-mile away. Hurrying on to meet her, he asked in a tone not altogether free from irritation at his needless fears,—