of a river; but, protected by his good gaiters of buffalo-skin, he proceeded fearlessly, and was soon out of my sight.
I was recalled from the window by the voice of my wife, who was awake, and anxiously inquiring for her sons.
"They are gone," said I, "to gather the leaves of the karata for Ernest's burnt hand, and he wished to go too."
Her deep sleep had entirely chased from her memory all the events of the previous evening, and I was glad to allow Francis to repeat his little tale of the burn and his conductor, in order to gain time. She was astonished and uneasy to hear of Ernest's accident, and was afraid they would get wet in searching for the karata, little aware of the hours of anguish I had endured waiting and watching for those she believed had only just left home. At that moment, the dear and well-known voices were heard under the great window.
"Father, I am bringing back my brothers," cried Ernest.
"Yes papa, we are all alive, and as wet as fishes," added the sweet voice of Jack.
"But not without having had our troubles," said the manly voice of Fritz.
I rushed down the staircase to meet them and, embracing them, I led them, trembling with emotion, to the bed of their mother, who could not comprehend the transport of joy I expressed.
"Dear Elizabeth," said I, "here are our sons; God has given them to us a second time."
"Have we then been in any danger of losing them?" said she. "What is the meaning of this?"
They saw their mother was unconscious of their
