"Take it with all our hearts," cried the two old men. They then shook hands cordially, Oliver looking on with a deep sigh of envy and regret. "He at all events has a family," he said. "Come nearer, my friend," cried Bright-eye; and when Oliver stood beside him, he added, "this is Oliver, my friend. Eight days ago we met in the savannah, and we have never parted since. He loves me and I love him; he is a brave man and a most excellent hunter; our friend, the redskin, calls him Bounding Panther." "He is welcome," said the old man; "all Frenchmen are our brothers; as long as he chooses to remain there is a hut to shelter him and a quarter of venison for his food." "Well spoken, father," said his son, shaking hands with the young Frenchman; "we are French here. Welcome." "Messieurs," replied Oliver, with a bow and a smile, "it is not with words we answer such words, but by acts." "We welcome you as a second son; come in." The horses were now taken away by a young Indian, and the whole party entered the house. The hut, which was built with logs, was whitewashed both in and out, and had four windows. Oliver entered a rather large hall, lit by two of the windows, with a plank flooring, and a roof supported by heavy beams; at one end was a large chimney, near the kitchen a table, some seats and chairs, two oaken dressers covered by utensils in brown earthenware, and a large old-fashioned clock composed the furniture. Two doors led, one into the kitchen, the other into the guests' room, which was pointed out to Oliver. There were three other rooms, one occupied by the two old men, one by Bright-eye, and one by his sister when at home. All were furnished alike; a bed, a little table, several boxes, two or three chairs; some hideously coloured prints from Epinal were fixed on the walls, also pipes of all sorts and sizes, a French long gun, a powder horn, lead pouch, game bag, hatchet, a knife with its deerskin belt, that was all. It was one floor, except a large loft above. Behind the house there was stabling for six horses, a yard with fowls, a rather large garden, well enclosed and full of choice vegetables. It was the old man who took care of the garden as child's play. When, having made some slight change in his toilette, Oliver returned to the hall dinner was on the table. "Have you had good hunting lately?" asked Bright-eye. "Not very good. Game gets scarce. Still I made three hundred and seventy dollars in a fortnight," he replied. "Pretty fair; and what was your game?" "The blue fox, near Hudson's Bay," continued the other; "I have been home three weeks. But you say nothing of your sister." "I am not in the habit of questioning you, father." "The boy is right," said the old man; "it is your place to speak." "I suppose," cried the hunter, "Angela is in the village." "No, my son, she is absent," continued the old man, "and I am sorry for it, as she was the joy of the house." "Where is she then, father?" asked Bright-eye.