Thus when it
became reported that the Indians had been making a raid upon a small
settlement on the borders, and it was likely their next incursion would
be directed against McArthur's clearing, the owners of small holdings
declared their intention to stand shoulder to shoulder, and fight, if
need be, for their more prosperous neighbour.
"I think it must have been a false report. Here have we been waiting,
gun in hand, for the last two months, and not a sign of a Redskin's
tomahawk have we seen," said Rosalind cheerfully, as she and her parents
rose from their evening meal.
"Thank God if it be so," returned her mother.
"We'll not slacken our vigilance, however," was McArthur's answer.
At that instant a rapping at the house door was heard, and McArthur
rose.
"It must be Frank Robertson. He'll probably want a shake-down, wife."
"He can have it if he wants it," was Mrs. McArthur's cordial answer.
"Many thanks, but he won't trespass on your hospitality," said the
new-comer, a tall, handsome young settler, entering as he spoke. "No,
McArthur, I cannot stay. I have come but for five minutes on my way back
to the village."
"You can at least sit down," said McArthur, pulling forward a chair.
"What is the latest news?"
"Nothing, beyond the report that the Indians appear to have shifted
themselves elsewhere."
"Well, that is news," said Rosalind, looking up with a smile.
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