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, gis 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 rny little girl, I was 

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

 1 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, way 

 alone in those dark wide woods, shiverino- with fear, 



' O / 



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 



