CHAPTER I.
THE FLYING SQUIRREL--ITS FOOD--STORY OF A WOLF--INDIAN VILLAGE--WILD RICE.
"Nurse, what is the name of that pretty creature you have in
your hand? What bright eyes it has! What a soft tail--just like a gray
feather! Is it a little beaver?" asked the Governor's little daughter,
as her nurse came into the room where her young charge, whom we shall
call Lady Mary, was playing with her doll.
Carefully sheltered against her breast, its velvet nose just peeping
from beneath her muslin neckerchief, the nurse held a small gray-furred
animal, of the most delicate form and colour.
"No, my lady," she replied, "this is not a young beaver; a beaver is
a much larger animal. A beaver's tail is not covered with fur; it is
scaly, broad, and flat; it looks something like black leather, not
very unlike that of my seal-skin slippers. The Indians eat beavers'
tails at their great feasts, and think they make an excellent dish."
"If they are black, and look like leather shoes, I am very sure I should
not like to eat them; so, if you please, Mrs. Frazer, do not let me
have any beavers' tails cooked for my dinner," said the little lady,
in a very decided tone.
"Indeed, my lady," replied her nurse, smiling, "it would not be an
easy thing to obtain, if you wished to taste one, for beavers are not
brought to our market.
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