Alfred, Martin, and Henry went out almost daily on hunting excursions; indeed, as there were no crops in the barn, they had little else to do. Mr Campbell remained at home with his wife and nieces; occasionally, but not very often, Percival accompanied the hunters; of Malachi and John they saw but little; John returned about every ten days, but although he adhered to his promise, his anxiety to go back to Malachi was so very apparent, and he was so restless, that Mrs Campbell rather wished him to be away, than remain at home so much against his will. Thus passed away the time till the year closed in; confined as they were by the severity of the weather, and having little or nothing to do, the winter appeared longer and more tedious than it would have done if they had been settled longer, and had the crops to occupy their attention; for it is in the winter that the Canadian farmer gets through all his thrashing and other work connected with his farm, preparatory for the coming spring. This being their first winter, they had, of course, no crops gathered in, and were, therefore, in want of employment. Mrs Campbell and her nieces worked and read, and employed themselves in every way that they could, but constantly shut up within doors, they could not help feeling the monotony and _ennui_ of their situation. The young men found occupation and amusement in the chase; they brought in a variety of animals and skins, and the evenings were generally devoted to a narration of what occurred in the day during their hunting excursions, but even these histories of the chase were at last heard with indifference. It was the same theme, only with variations, over and over again, and there was no longer much excitement in listening. "I wonder when John will come back again," observed Emma to her sister, as they were sitting at work. "Why he only left two days ago, so we must not expect him for some time." "I know that. I wonder if Oscar would kill a wolf, I should like to take him out and try." "I thought you had had enough of wolves already, Emma," replied Mary. "Yes, well, that old Malachi will never bring us any more news about the Indians," continued Emma, yawning. "Why I do not think that any news about them is likely to be pleasant news, Emma, and therefore why should you wish it." "Why, my dear Mary, because I want some news; I want something to excite me, I feel so dull. It's nothing but stitch, stitch, all day, and I am tired of always doing the same thing. What a horrid thing a Canadian winter is, and not one-half over yet." "It is very dull and monotonous, my dear Emma, I admit, and if we had more variety of employment, we should find it more agreeable, but we ought to feel grateful that we have a good house over our heads, and more security than we anticipated." "Almost too much security, Mary; I begin to feel that I could welcome an Indian even in his war-paint, just by way of a little change."