A hunter had
shot a poor doe, which was very wrong, and contrary to the Indian hunting
law; for the native hunter will not, unless pressed by hunger, kill the
deer in the spring of the year, when the fawns are young. The Indian
wanted to find the little one after he had shot the dam, so he sounded a
decoy whistle, to imitate the call of the doe; and the harmless thing
answered it with a bleat, thinking no doubt it was its mother calling to
it. This betrayed its hiding-place, and it was taken unhurt by the hunter,
who took it home, and gave it to my little friend Ellen to feed and take
care of."
[Illustration: THE INDIAN HUNTER]
"Please, Mrs. Frazer, will you tell me what sort of trees hemlocks are?
Hemlocks in England are poisonous weeds."
"These are not weeds, but large forest trees--a species of pine. I will
show you some the next time we go out for a drive--they are very handsome
trees."
"And what are creeks, nurse?"
"Creeks are small streams, such as in Scotland would be termed 'burns,'
and in England 'rivulets'"
"Now, nurse, you may go on about the dear little fawn, I want you to tell
me all you know about it."
"Little Ellen took the poor timid thing, and laid it in an old Indian
basket near the hearth, and put some wool in it, and covered it with an
old cloak to keep it warm, and she tended it very carefully, letting it
suck her fingers dipped in warm milk, as she had seen the dairy maid do in
weaning young calves in a few days it began to grow strong and lively, and
would jump out of its basket, and run bleating after its foster mother if
it missed her from the room, it would wait at the door watching for her
return.
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