The sun rose the next morning in unusual glory.  Not a breath of air stirred the entranced foliage of the dark green trees in the valleys, and the fresh flowers around exhaled a sweet perfume that remained stationary over them.  The fawn stood perfectly still in the grassy yard, and seemed to contemplate the grandeur of the enchanting scene.  The atmosphere was as translucent as fancy paints the realms of the blest, and quite minute objects could be distinctly seen far over the river many miles eastward.  Nor were any sounds heard save the occasional chattering of the paroquet in the dense forest across the river, a mile distant, and yet they appeared to be in the immediate vicinity.  The hounds lay extended on the ground with their eyes open, more in a listless than a watchful attitude.  The kitten was couched on the threshold (the door having been left open to admit the pure air,) and looked thoughtfully at the rising sun.  The large blue chanticleer was balanced on one foot with an eye turned upwards as if scanning the heavens to guard against the sudden attack of the far-seeing eagle.  Nature seemed to be indulging in a last sweet morning slumber, if indeed not over-sleeping herself, while the sun rose stealthily up and smiled at all her charms exposed!

“Hillo! ain’t you all up yit?  Git up, Joe, and feed your hosses,” cried Sneak, approaching the gate on the outside, and thus most unceremoniously dispelling the charm that enwrapped the premises.

“Who’s there?” cried Joe, springing up and rubbing his eyes.

“It’s me—­dod, you know who I am.  Come, open the gate and let me in.”

“What’s the matter, Sneak?  Are the Indians after you?” said Joe, running out, but pausing at the gate for an answer before he drew back the bolt.

“No—­I thought-you had sense enough by this time to know no Indians ain’t going to come this time a-year.  Let me in!” added he, impatiently.

“What are you doing with them long sticks?” asked Joe, opening the gate and observing two hickory poles in Sneak’s hand.  “Are you going to try your luck fishing?”

“No, nor ducking nother,” replied he, sarcastically.

“Plague it, Sneak,” said Joe, deprecatingly, “never mind that affair; you were mistaken about my being frightened.  The next chance I get I’ll let you see that I’m not afraid of any thing.”

“Well, I want you to go with me on a spree this morning that’ll try you.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Joe, with some curiosity in his looks.

“I’m going a snaking,” said Sneak.

At this juncture the dialogue was arrested by the appearance of Glenn, whose brow was somewhat paler than usual, and wore an absent and thoughtful cast; yet his abstract meditations did not seem altogether of a painful nature.

“Joe,” said he, “I want you to exercise the horses more in the prairie.  They are getting too fat and lazy.  If they cannot be got on the boat when we leave here, we will have to send them by land to St. Louis.”