92 HILLS AND LAKES. 



dog. At last, when I called the name of my girl, 

 Shack, as if he'd made up his mind, darted away, 

 and utterly refused to come back. His ways was 

 strange to me, and I was kind o' scared by his be- 

 havior. He coursed in a circle, growing wider and 

 wider, running at the top of his speed, with his head 

 down, as if in pursuit of something, till I lost sight 

 and hearing of him, and like my little girl, I was 

 alone in the forest. The dark night had come on, but 

 I struggled forward, stumbling at every foot fall in 

 the darkness, calling every few minutes, my daugh- 

 ter's name. The echoes of my voice died away into 

 stilness, or was answered only by the startled cry of 

 some night bird. 



" I sat down to rest, and concluded in my hope- 

 lessness to wait for the daylight, to pursue the search. 

 It was a sad, sad thing, Squire, to sit there in the 

 silent darkness, and know that my little girl too, was 

 alone in those dark wide woods, shivering with fear, 

 and calling upon her father to carry her home see- 

 ing, in her terror, great round eyes of wild beasts, 

 glaring upon her from every bush, and hearing their 

 angry growl in every forest sound. I heard the 

 solemn hooting of the owl. and his wild scream, and 



