It was a cold, dreary night. The wind moaned and whistled through the leafless branches of the trees, sending the snow in fitful gusts through every nook and corner of the forest. On the banks of a small lake, that lay hemmed in on all sides by tall trees, which bowed to every gust of the winter's storm, was an encampment. A rude hut--built, however, after the most approved hunter fashion, with its back to the wind, and its front open to a cheerful fire--stood in a little grove of evergreens, ready to receive beneath its friendly shelter four boys, whom you could easily recognize as our old friends of the sailing and fishing frolics described in "THE YOUNG NATURALIST." We left them, after a …
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