It was the end of October when the first winter storm came through, tearing the leaves from the alders and vine maples.
The cabin had just one room. Ma and Pa slept on the bed with little Archie and Polly. Arabella and Leon slept nested in quilts on the floor. Leon under the table, Arabella by the fire. Their feet met among the chair legs and they would kick at each other sometimes cheerfully sometimes angrily until they fell asleep.
All winter they worked at clearing a field for spring planting. The stumps would still be there, but a little corn, a little oats would help them through as they cleared more land. Already their first few spindly apple trees were stretching their roots tentatively in the strange new soil. Their dream was a great orchard of apples and prunes. Surely the climate was right.
It was late November when Arabella awoke and didn't know why. Something was different in the cabin. What was it? She lay still, listening. Suddenly she knew.
A stranger was breathing gently in the night, adding a new instrument to the symphony of snores and sighs that made up the nightly audio of the cabin. Arabella turned her head slowly and saw that someone was sleeping close to the fire. Not Pa, not Ma. The stranger slept on and Arabella too went back to sleep.
In the morning the sleeper was gone.
``I had a dream,'' said Arabella, ``I had a dream a person was sleeping in the cabin.''
``I've had that dream too,'' her mother said.
Next night her father saw the sleeper.
``No dream,'' he said, ``an Indian. He means no harm I think.''
All winter the visitor lifted the wooden latch and slipped into the cabin to curl up in the ashes of the dying fire. All winter he left before dawn.
When the spring came and the days were sometimes warm, the night visitor disappeared.
One early morning in late April Arabella slipped out the cabin door to pee. The door turned heavier than usual.
Half a dozen gutted rabbits hung on the wooden handle.