The northern lights are flashing,
On the rapids' restless flow;
And o'er the wild waves dashing,
Swift darts the light canoe.
The merry hunters come.
"What cheer? - what cheer?" -
"We've slain the deer!"
"Hurrah! - You're welcome home!"
The blithesome horn is sounding,
And the woodman's loud halloo;
And joyous steps are bounding
To meet the birch canoe.
"Hurrah! - The hunters come."
And the woods ring out
To their merry shout
As they drag the dun deer home!
The hearth is brightly burning,
The rustic board is spread;
To greet the sire returning
The children leave their bed.
With laugh and shout they come -
That merry band -
To grasp his hand,
And bid him welcome home!
CHAPTER XXI
THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN
There was a little man -
I'll sketch him if I can,
For he clung to mine and me
Like the old man of the sea;
And in spite of taunt and scoff
We could not pitch him off,
For the cross-grained, waspish elf
Cared for no one but himself.
Before I dismiss for ever the troubles and sorrows of 1836, I
would fain introduce to the notice of my readers some of the odd
characters with whom we became acquainted during that period. The
first that starts vividly to my recollection is the picture of a
short, stumpy, thickset man - a British sailor, too - who came to stay
one night under our roof, and took quiet possession of his quarters
for nine months, and whom we are obliged to tolerate from the simple
fact that we could not get rid of him.
During the fall, Moodie had met this individual (whom I will call
Mr. Malcolm) in the mail-coach, going up to Toronto. Amused with his
eccentric and blunt manners, and finding him a shrewd, clever fellow
in conversation, Moodie told him that if ever he came into his part
of the world he should be glad to renew their acquaintance. And so
they parted, with mutual good-will, as men often part who have
travelled a long journey in good fellowship together, without
thinking it probable they should ever meet again.
The sugar season had just commenced with the spring thaw; Jacob had
tapped a few trees in order to obtain sap to make molasses for the
children, when his plans were frustrated by the illness of my
husband, who was again attacked with the ague. Towards the close of
a wet, sloppy day, while Jacob was in the wood, chopping, and our
servant gone to my sister, who was ill, to help to wash, as I was
busy baking bread for tea, my attention was aroused by a violent
knocking at the door, and the furious barking of our dog, Hector. I
ran to open it, when I found Hector's teeth clenched in the trousers
of a little, dark, thickset man, who said in a gruff voice -
"Call off your dog.
