“I never knowed it afore, Mabel; but girls are of more account in this life than I could have believed.  Now, afore I knowed you, the new-born babe did not sleep more sweetly than I used; my head was no sooner on the root, or the stone, or mayhap on the skin, than all was lost to the senses, unless it might be to go over in the night the business of the day in a dream like; and there I lay till the moment came to be stirring, and the swallows were not more certain to be on the wing with the light, than I to be afoot at the moment I wished to be.  All this seemed a gift, and might be calculated on even in the midst of a Mingo camp; for I’ve been outlying in my time, in the very villages of the vagabonds.”

“And all this will return to you, Pathfinder, for one so upright and sincere will never waste his happiness on a mere fancy.  You will dream again of your hunts, of the deer you have slain, and of the beaver you have taken.”

“Ah’s me, Mabel, I wish never to dream again!  Before we met, I had a sort of pleasure in following up the hounds, in fancy, as it might be; and even in striking a trail of the Iroquois —­ nay, I’ve been in skrimmages and ambushments, in thought like, and found satisfaction in it, according to my gifts; but all those things have lost their charms since I’ve made acquaintance with you.  Now, I think no longer of anything rude in my dreams; but the very last night we stayed in the garrison I imagined I had a cabin in a grove of sugar maples, and at the root of every tree was a Mabel Dunham, while the birds among the branches sang ballads instead of the notes that natur’ gave, and even the deer stopped to listen.  I tried to shoot a fa’n, but Killdeer missed fire, and the creatur’ laughed in my face, as pleasantly as a young girl laughs in her merriment, and then it bounded away, looking back as if expecting me to follow.”

“No more of this, Pathfinder; we’ll talk no more of these things,” said Mabel, dashing the tears from her eyes:  for the simple, earnest manner in which this hardy woodsman betrayed the deep hold she had taken of his feelings nearly proved too much for her own generous heart.  “Now, let us look for my father; he cannot be distant, as I heard his gun quite near.”

“The Sergeant was wrong —­ yes, he was wrong, and it’s of no avail to attempt to make the dove consort with the wolf.”

“Here comes my dear father,” interrupted Mabel.  “Let us look cheerful and happy, Pathfinder, as such good friends ought to look, and keep each other’s secrets.”

A pause succeeded; the Sergeant’s foot was heard crushing the dried twigs hard by, and then his form appeared shoving aside the bushes of a copse just near.  As he issued into the open ground, the old soldier scrutinized his daughter and her companion, and speaking good-naturedly, he said, “Mabel, child, you are young and light of foot —­look for a bird that I’ve shot that fell just beyond the thicket of young hemlocks on the shore; and, as Jasper is showing signs of an intention of getting under way, you need not take the trouble to clamber up this hill again, but we will meet you on the beach in a few minutes.”