He has "treed" the squirrel; but what of that? The nimble creature, having swooped up to a high limb, seats itself there, and looks down upon its impotent pursuer with a nonchalant defiance--at intervals more emphatically expressing the sentiment by a saucy jerk of its tail. But this false security proves the squirrel's ruin. Deceived by it, the silly animal makes no effort to conceal its body behind the branch; but, sitting upright in a fork, presents a fair mark to the rifle. The girl raises the piece to her shoulder, takes aim, and fires. The shot tells; and the tiny victim, hurled from its high perch--after making several somersaults in the air--falls right into the jaws of that hungry savage at the bottom of the tree. Wolf makes his breakfast upon the squirrel. This young Diana of the backwoods appears in no way astonished at the feat she has performed; nor yet Lilian. Doubtless, it is an everyday deed. "You must learn to shoot, Lil." "O sister, for what purpose? You know I have neither the taste for it, nor the skill that you have." "The skill you will acquire by practice. It worth knowing how, I can assure you. Besides it is an accomplishment one might stand in need of some day. Why, do you know, sister, in the times of the Indians, every girl understood how to handle a rifle--so father says. True, the fighting Indians are gone away from here; but what if you were to meet a great hear in the woods?" "Surely I should run away from him." "And surely I shouldn't, Lil. I have never met a bear, but I'd just like to try one." "Dear sister, you frighten me. Oh, do not think of such a thing! Indeed, Marian, I am never happy when you are away in the woods. I am always afraid of your meeting with some great wild beast, which may devour you. Tell me, why do you go? I am sure I cannot see what pleasure you can have in wandering through the woods alone." "Alone! Perhaps I am not _always alone_." These words are uttered in a low voice--not loud enough for Lilian to hear, though she observes the smile that accompanies them. "You see, sister Lil," continues Marian in a louder tone our tastes differ. You are young, and like better to read the story-books your mother left you, and look at the pictures in them. My mother left me no story-books, nor pictures. She had none; and did not care for them, I fancy. She was half-Indian, you know; and I suppose I am like her: for I too, prefer realities to pictures. I love to roam about the woods; and as for the danger--pooh, pooh--I have no fear of that. I fear neither bear nor panther, nor any other quadruped. Ha! I have more fear of a two-legged creature I know of; and I should be in greater danger of meeting with that dreaded biped by _staying at home_?