tree, and with a knife scraped off the scales. This was dirty work for a nice young lady, but it was necessary to the desired end. She pshawed and pshawed at it as the slimy scales adhered to her fingers, or flew into her face, but she persevered until all was done.

In the mean time the fire had been mended, and water poured into their largest pot. When it began to boil, Mary and Frank dropped in the crabs. Poor creatures! it was a warm reception they met with from their native element. Each one gave a kick at the unwelcome sensation, and then sunk into quiet repose, at the bottom of its iron sepulchre. They remained boiling until their shells were perfectly red, when they were taken out, and piled in a dish for supper.

CHAPTER XIV.

FRANK'S EXCUSES-CURING VENISON-MAROONING COOKERY-ROBERT'S VEGETABLE GARDEN-PLANS FOR RETURN-PREPARATION FOR THE SABBATH.

WHEN Mary and Frank arose next morning, they saw the small boughs of the oak hung with divided portions of venison. The boys had so placed them, after finishing, late at night, for the double purpose of allowing them to cool and of keeping them out of reach of the dogs. "Come, Frank, said Mary, "let us make up the fire, and get things ready for breakfast." The wood was close at hand, ready cut, and nothing more was needed for a fire than putting the pieces together, with several sticks of light wood underneath; a bright cracking blaze soon rose cheerfully before them.

"Buddy," she said, "can you not go down to the spring, and bring me some water, while I am preparing these other things?"

But Frank was lazy that morning, and out of humor, and the fire was so comfortable (for the air was cool) that he stood before it, warming his

hands, and puffing at the smoke that blew in his face. He replied, "No sister, I am afraid"—then he paused, trying hard to think of some excuse. "I am afraid that if I go the crabs will bite me."

"Crabs!" Mary exclaimed, "why how can they bite you, when they are all cooked?"

"I do not mean the crabs in the dish," said he, "but the crabs in the river."

"Well, if they are in the river," argued Mary, "how can they hurt you, if you keep on the

land?"

Frank found that his excuse was about to fail. But he was not disposed to surrender so easily. He therefore devised another. "I am afraid to go, for if the crabs do not bite me maybe the snakes will. Don't you remember what cousin Harold told us the other day about snakes."

Frank said this very seriously, and had not Mary been somewhat provoked at his unbrotherly refusal, she would have laughed at the ridiculous contrast between his looks and his language. She said, reproachfully, "I thought, Frank, you loved me better than to treat me so. I want the water to make coffee for you, and the rest of us, and yet you will not help me."

"I do not wish any of the coffee," he answered. "All that I want for breakfast is some of that nice fat deer, and some of these fish and crabs."

"Very well," she added, in a hurt but inde pendent tone, "I can help myself."

She took the bucket, and went to the spring. Frank looked ashamed, but continued silent. He drew up a billet of wood and sat upon it, pushing his feet towards the fire, and spreading out his hands, for the want of something else to do. By the time Mary returned from the spring, Robert and Harold came from the tent. They had retired late and weary the night before, and as a natural consequence had overslept their usual time for rising. "What is that we heard you and Frank talking about?" Robert asked of Mary.

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Inquire of Frank," she replied; “I prefer that he should tell you."

"Well, Frank, what was it?"

"Nothing," he answered, doggedly, "except that sister wanted me to go to the spring, and I told her I was afraid that the crabs and snakes would bite me."

"What did sister Mary want with the water?" "To make coffee, I suppose."

"And do you not love coffee?"

"Sometimes; but I do not wish ar y this morning, for sister never puts in sugar enough for me."

"Well, well, we shall see who wants coffee at breakfast. Sister Mary, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Cousin," said Harold, uniting quickly in the effort to shame Frank out of his strange caprice, "I wish you would let me too help you in some way. You are always so ready to do everything you can for us, that we are glad whenever we can do anything for you."

Mary needed nothing, except to have the kettle lifted to its place upon the fire. Frank was all this time warming his hands and feet, as if he was desperately cold. In reading the Scriptures, and repeating the Lord's Prayer, his voice could scarcely be heard; he knew that he had done wrong, and was beginning to repent. At breakfast, Mary asked him in a kind, forgiving tone, if he would not have some coffee; but true to his resolution he declined.

The first business of the day was to take care of their venison. Yet what should they do with it? They had no cool place in which to keep it fresh, nor salting tub nor barrel in which to corn or pickle what they could not consume in its green state. Harold's proposal was that they should cut the hams into thin slices, and jerk them in the smoke, as he had seen Torgah do; or else to dry them in the sun, which in the middle of the day was quite hot. Robert said he had heard or read of meat being saved fresh for several days by burying it under cool running water, and offered to try it at their spring Mary said she liked both