bounded away, might easily be mistaken for that of the light-footed animal.  A second thought impelled him to pursue the rapidly retreating game; and he sprang away in the direction of the sound, leaving his companion to occupy himself as he might.  The fugitive had the advantage of a considerable advance of him, and apparently a better knowledge of the localities of the place.  But the hunter was perfect in all his field exercises, and scarcely less fleet footed than a deer; and he gained rapidly on the object of his pursuit, which advanced a little distance parallel with the field-fence, and then, as if endowed with the utmost accomplishment of gymnastics, cleared the fence at a leap.  The hunter, embarrassed with his rifle and accoutrements, was driven to the slow and humiliating expedient of climbing it.  But an outline of the form of the fugitive, fleeting through the shades in the direction of the house, assured him that he had mistaken the species of the game.  His heart throbbed from a hundred sensations; and among them an apprehension of the consequences that would have resulted from discharging his rifle, when he had first shined those liquid blue eyes.  Seeing that the fleet game made straight in the direction of the house, he said to himself, “I will see the pet deer in its lair;” and he directed his steps to the same place.  Half a score of dogs opened their barking upon him, as he approached the house, and advertised the master that a stranger was approaching.  Having hushed the dogs, and learned the name of his visitant, he introduced him to his family, as the son of their neighbor, Boone.

Scarce had the first words of introduction been uttered, before the opposite door opened, and a boy apparently of seven, and a girl of sixteen, rushed in, panting for breath and seeming in affright.

“Sister went down to the river, and a painter chased her, and she is almost scared to death,” exclaimed the boy.

The ruddy, flaxen-haired girl stood full in view of her terrible pursuer, leaning upon his rifle, and surveying her with the most eager admiration.  “Rebecca, this is young Boone, son of our neighbor,” was their laconic introduction.  Both were young, beautiful, and at the period when the affections exercise their most energetic influence.  The circumstances of the introduction were favorable to the result, and the young hunter felt that the eyes of the deer had shined his bosom as fatally as his rifle shot had ever the innocent deer of the thickets.  She, too, when she saw the high, open, bold forehead; clear, keen, and yet gentle and affectionate eye—­the firm front, and the visible impress of decision and fearlessness of the hunter—­when she interpreted a look, which said as distinctly as looks could say it, “how terrible it would have been to have fired!” can hardly be supposed to have regarded him with indifference.  Nor can it be wondered at that she saw in him her beau ideal of excellence