"
"Nurse, it would have been a sad thing if the gun had shot your uncle."
"It would; but my father was one of the best shots in the district,
and could hit a white spot on the bark of a tree with a precision that
was perfectly wonderful. It was an old Indian from Buckhorn Lake who
taught him to shoot deer by torchlight and to trap beavers."
"Well, I am glad that horrid wolf was killed, for wolves eat sheep
and lambs; and I daresay they would devour my little squirrel if they
could get him. Nurse, please to tell me again the name of the lake
near which you were born."
"It is called Rice Lake, my lady. It is a fine piece of water, more
than twenty miles long, and from three to five miles broad. It has
pretty wooded islands, and several rivers or streams empty themselves
into it. The Otonabee River is a fine broad stream, which flows through
the forest a long way. Many years ago, there were no clearings on the
banks, and no houses, only Indian tents or wigwams; but now there are
a great many houses and farms."
"What are wigwams?"
"A sort of light tent, made with poles stuck into the ground in a circle,
fastened together at the top, and covered on the outside with skins
of wild animals, or with birch bark. The Indians light a fire of sticks
and logs on the ground, in the middle of the wigwam, and lie or sit
all round it; the smoke goes up to the top and escapes.
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