The weather was exquisite; and, with exhortations to prudence and caution from both me and their mother, the three lads started in the very highest spirits. Storm and Grumble, as usual, drew the cart, and were ridden by Fritz and Franz; while Hurry carried Jack swiftly across the bridge in advance of them; followed by Floss and Bruno, barking at his heels.
The sugar-mill occupied us for several days, and was made so much like our other mills that I need not now describe it.
On the evening of the first day, as we sat resting in the porch at Rockburg, we naturally talked of the absentees, wondering and guessing what they might be about.
Ernest looked rather mysterious, and hinted that he might have news of them next morning.
Just then a bird alighted on the dovecot, and entered. I could not see, in the failing light, whether it was one of our own pigeons or an intruder. Ernest started up, and said he would see that all was right.
In a few minutes he returned with a scrap of paper in his hand.
“News, father! The very latest news by pigeon-post, mother!”
“Well done, boys! what a capital idea!” said I, and taking the note I read:
“Dearest Parents and Ernest,—
“A brute of a hyæna has killed a ram and two lambs. The dogs seized it. Franz shot it. It is dead and skinned. The pemmican isn't worth much, but we are all right. Love to all.
“Fritz.”
“Woodlands, 15th instant.”
“A true hunter's letter!” laughed I; “but what exciting news. When does the next post come in, Ernest?”
“To-night, I hope,” said he, while his mother sighed, and doubted the value of such glimpses into the scenes of danger through
