 18 It is to be all made of size and tears, it is to be all made of faith and service, it is to be all made of fantasy, all made of passion and all made of wishes, all adoration, duty and observance, all humbleness, all patience and impatience, all purity, all trial, all observance. It was near noon when the gale broke, and then its force abated as suddenly as its violence had arisen. In less than two hours after the wind fell, the surface of the lake, though still agitated, was no longer glittering with foam, and in double that time the entire sheet presented the ordinary scene of disturbed water that was unbroken by the violence of a tempest. Still the waves came rolling incessantly towards the shore, and the lines of breakers remained, though the spray-head ceased to fly. The combing of the swells was more moderate, and all that there was of violence proceeded from the impulsion of wind which had abated. As it was impossible to make head against the sea that was still up, with the light opposing air that blew from the eastward, all thoughts of getting under way that afternoon were abandoned. Jasper, who had now quietly resumed the command of the scud, busied himself, however, in heaving up the anchors which were lifted in succession. The cages that backed them were weighed, and everything was got in readiness for a prompt departure as soon as the state of the weather would allow. In the meantime they who had no concern with these duties sought such means of amusement as their peculiar circumstances allowed. As is common with those who were unused to the confinement of a vessel, Maple cast wistful eyes towards the shore, nor was it long before she expressed a wish that it were possible to land. The Pathfinder was near her at the time, and he assured her that nothing would be easier, as they had a barked canoe on deck, which was the best possible mode of convenience to go through a surf. After the usual doubts and misgivings the Sergeant was appealed to, his opinion proved to be favourable, and preparations to carry the women to effect were immediately made. The party which was to lend consisted of Sergeant Dunham, his daughter, and the Pathfinder. Accustomed to the canoe, Maple took her seat in the centre with great steadiness. Her father was placed in the boughs, while the guide assumed the office of conductor, by steering in the stern. There was little need of impelling the canoe by means of the paddle, for the rollers sent it forward at moments with a violence that set every effort to govern its movements at defiance. More than once, before the shore was reached, Maple repented of her temerity, but Pathfinder encouraged her and really manifested so much self-possession, coolness, and strength of arm himself that even a female might have hesitated about owning all her apprehensions. Our heroine was no-coward, and while she felt the novelty of her situation in landing through a surf, she also experienced a fair proportion of its wild delight. At moments, indeed, her heart was in her mouth, as the bubble of a boat floated on the very crest of a foaming breaker, appearing to skim the water like a swallow, and then she flushed and laughed, as left by the glancing element, the appeared to linger behind as if ashamed of having been outdone in the headlong race. A few minutes sufficed for this excitement, for though the distance between the cutter and the land considerably exceeded a quarter of a mile, the intermediate space was passed in a very few minutes. On landing, the sergeant kissed his daughter kindly, for he was so much of a soldier as always to feel more at home on terra firma than when afloat, and, taking his gun, he announced his intention to pass an hour in quest of game. Bathfinder will remain near you, girl, and no doubt he will tell you some of the traditions of this part of the world, or some of his own experiences with the mingos. The guide laughed, promised to have a care of Mabel, and in a few minutes the father had ascended to steep aclivity and disappeared in the forest. The others took another direction, which, after a few minutes of a sharp ascend also, brought them to a small naked point on the promontory, where the eye overlooked an extensive and very peculiar panorama. Here Mabel seated herself on a fragment of fallen rock to recover her breath and strength, while her companion, on whose sinews no personal exertion seemed to make any impression, stood at her side, leaning in his own and not ungraceful manner on his long rifle. Several minutes passed, and neither spoke, Mabel in particular being lost in admiration of the view. The position the two had obtained was sufficiently elevated to command a wide reach of the lake, which stretched away towards the northeast in a boundless sheet, glittering beneath the rays of an afternoon sun, and yet betraying the remains of that agitation which it had endured, while tossed by the late tempest. The land set bounds to its limits in a huge crescent, disappearing in distance towards the southeast and the north. Far as the eye could reach, nothing but forest was visible, not even a solitary sign of civilization, breaking in upon the uniform and grand magnificence of nature. The gale had driven the scud beyond the line of those forts, with which the French were then endeavouring to gird the English North American possessions, for, following the channels of communications between the Great Lakes, their posts were on the banks of the Niagara, while our adventurers had reached a point many leagues westward of that celebrated strait. The cutter rode at single anchor, without the breakers, resembling some well-imagined and accurately executed toy, intended rather for a glass case than for struggles with the elements which he had so lately gone through, while the canoe lay on a narrow beach, just out of reach of the waves that came booming upon the land, a speck upon the shingles. We are very far here from human habitations, exclaimed Mabel, when, after a long survey of the scene, its principal peculiarities forced themselves on her active and ever-brilliant imagination. This is indeed being on a frontier. Have they more sightly scenes than this, nearer the sea and around their large towns, demanded Pathfinder, with an interest he was apt to discover in such a subject? I will not say that. There is more to remind one of his fellow-beings there, than here. Less perhaps, to remind one of God. I, Mabel, that is what my own feelings say. I am but a poor hunter, I know, untaught and unlawed, but God is as near me, in this my home as he is near the king in his royal palace. Who can doubt it? returned Mabel, looking from the view up into the hard-featured but honest face of her companion, though not without surprise at the energy of his manner. One feels nearer to God in such a spot, I think, than when the mind is distracted by the objects of the towns. You say all I wish to say myself, Mabel, but in so much plainer speech that you make me ashamed of wishing to let others know what I feel on such matters. I have coasted this lake in search of skins before the war, and have been here already, not at this very spot, for we landed yonder, where you may see the blasted oak that stands above the cluster of hemlocks. How, Pathfinder, can you remember all these trifles so accurately? These are our streets and houses, our churches and palaces. Remember them indeed. I once made an appointment with a big serpent to meet at twelve o'clock at noon near the foot of a certain pine at the end of six months when neither of us was within three hundred miles of the spot. The tree stood and stand still, unless the judgment of Providence is lighted on that, too, in the midst of the forest fifty miles from any settlement but in a most extraordinary neighborhood for beaver. And did you meet at that very spot an hour? Does the sun rise and set? When I reached the tree I found the serpent leaning against its trunk with torn leggings and muddied moccasins. The Delaware had got into a swamp, and it worried him not a little to find his way out of it. But as the sun which comes over the eastern hills in the morning goes down behind the western at night, so was he true to time and place. No fear of Chingach Gok when there is either a friend or an enemy in the case. He is equally certain with each. And where is the Delaware now? Why is he not here with us today? He is scouting on the Mingo Trail, where I ought to have been, too, but for a great human infirmity. You seem above, beyond, superior to all infirmity, Pathfinder. I never yet met with a man who appeared to be so little liable to the weaknesses of nature. If you mean in the way of health and strength, Mabel, Providence has been kind to me, though I fancy the open air, long hunts, active scoutings, forest fare, and the sleep of a good conscience may always keep the doctors at a distance. But I'm human after all. Yes. I find I'm very human in some of my feelings. Mabel looks surprised, and it would be no more than delineating the character of her sex if we added that her sleep countenance expressed a good deal of curiosity, too, though her tongue was more discreet. There is something bewitching in this wild life of yours, Pathfinder. She exclaimed, a tinge of enthusiasm mantling her cheeks. I find I'm fast getting to be a frontier girl, and I'm coming to love all this grand silence of the woods. The town seemed tame to me, and as my father will probably pass the remainder of his days here, where he has already lived so long, I begin to feel that I should be happy to continue with him, and not to return to the seashore. The woods are never silent, Mabel, to such as understand their meaning. Days at a time have I traveled them alone, without feeling the want of company, and as for conversation, for such as can comprehend their language, there is no want of rational and instructive discourse. I believe you are happier when a lone Pathfinder than when mingling with your fellow creatures. I will not say that. I will not say exactly that. I have seen the time when I have thought that God was sufficient for me in the forest, and that I have craved no more than his bounty and his care. But other feelings have got uppermost, and I suppose nature will have its way. All other creatures mate, Mabel, and it was intended man should do so too. And have you never be thought you of seeking a wife, Pathfinder, to share your fortunes? Inquired the girl, with the directness and simplicity that the pure of heart and the undesigning are the most apt to manifest, and with that feeling of affection which is inbred in her sex. To me it seems you only want a home to return to from your wanderings to render your life completely happy. Where I am man, it would be my delight to roam through these forests at will, or to sail over this beautiful lake. I understand you, Mabel, and God bless you for thinking of the welfare of men as humble as we are. We have our pleasures, it is true, as well as our gifts. But we might be happier. Yes, I do think we might be happier. Happier? In what way, Pathfinder? In this pure air, with these cool and shaded forests to wander through, this lovely lake to gaze at and sail upon, with clear consciences and abundance for all their real wants, men ought to be nothing less than perfectly happy as their infirmities will allow. Every creature has its gifts, Mabel, and men have theirs. Answered the guide, looking stealthily at his beautiful companion, whose cheeks had flushed and eyes brightened under the ardour of feelings excited by the novelty of her striking situation. And all must obey them. Do you see under pigeon that is just alighting on the beach, here in a line with a fallen chestnut? Certainly. It is the only thing stirring with life in it besides ourselves that is to be seen in this vast solitude. Not so, Mabel, not so. Providence makes nothing that lives to live quite alone. Here is its mate just rising on the wing. It has been feeding near the other beach, but it will not long be separated from its companion. I understand you, Pathfinder. Returned Mabel, smiling sweetly, though as calmly as if the discourse was with her father. But a hunter may find a mate, even in this wild region. The Indian girls are affectionate and true, I know, for such was the wife of Arrowhead, to a husband who often her frowned than smiled. That would never do, Mabel, and good would never come of it. Kind must cling to kind, and country to country, if one would find happiness. If indeed I could meet with one like you, who would consent to be a hunter's wife, and it would not scorn my ignorance and rudeness, then indeed would all the toil of the past appear like the sporting of the young deer and all the future like sunshine. One like me, a girl of my years and indiscretion, would hardly make a fit companion for the boldest scout and sureest hunter on the lines. Ah, Mabel, I fear me that I have been improving a Redskins' gifts with a pale-face's nature. Such a character would ensure a wife in an Indian village. Surely, surely, Pathfinder, you would not think of choosing one so ignorant, so frivolous, so vain, and so inexperienced as I for your wife. Mabel would have added, and as young, but an instinctive feeling of delicacy repressed the words. And why not, Mabel, if you are ignorant of frontier usages, you know more than all of us of pleasant anecdotes and town customs. As for frivolous, I know not what it means, but if it signifies beauty, as me, I fear it is no fault in my eyes. Vain you are not, as is seen by the kind manner in which you listen to all my idle tales about scoutings and trails. And as for experience, that will come with years. Besides, Mabel, I fear men think little of these matters when they are about to take wives. I do. Pathfinder, your words, your looks. Surely all this is meant in trifling. You speak in pleasantry? To me it is always agreeable to be near you, Mabel, and I should sleep sounder of this blessed night than I have done for a week past. Could I think that you find such discourse as pleasant as I do? We shall not say that Mabel Dunham had not believed herself a favourite with the guide. This her quick feminine sagacity had early discovered, and perhaps she had occasionally thought there had mingled with his regard and friendship some of that manly tenderness which the rude or sex must be, course indeed, not to show on occasions to the gentler. But the idea that he seriously sought her for his wife had never before crossed the mind of the spirited and ingenuous girl. Now, however, a gleam of something like the truth broke in upon her imagination, less induced by the words of her companion, perhaps, than by his manner. Looking earnestly into the rugged, honest countenance of the scout, Mabel's own features became concerned and grave, and when she spoke again it was with the gentleness of manner that attracted him to her even more powerfully than the words themselves were calculated to repel. You and I should understand each other, Pathfinder, said she with an earnest sincerity, nor should there be any cloud between us. You are too upright and frank to meet with anything but sincerity and frankness in return. Surely, surely all this means nothing. Has no other connection with your feelings than such a friendship as one of your wisdom and character would naturally feel for a girl like me? I believe it's all natural, Mabel. Yes, I do. The sergeant tells me he had such feelings towards your own mother, and I think I've seen something like it in the young people I have from time to time guided through the wilderness. Yes, yes, I daresay it's all natural enough, and that makes it come so easy and is a great comfort to me. Pathfinder, your words make me uneasy. Speak plainer or change the subject forever. You do not. Cannot mean that. You cannot wish me to understand. Even the tongue of the spirited Mabel faltered, and she shrank with maiden shame from adding what she wished so earnestly to say. Rallying her courage, however, and determined to know all as soon and as plainly as possible after a moment's hesitation, she continued, I mean, Pathfinder, that you do not wish me to understand, that you seriously think of me as a wife? I do, Mabel. That's it. That's just it. And you have put the matter in a much better point of view than I with my forest gifts and frontier ways would ever be able to do. The sergeant and I have concluded on the matter, if it is agreeable to you, as he thinks is likely to be the case, though I doubt my own power to please one who deserves the best husband America can produce. Mabel's countenance changed from uneasiness to surprise, and then by a transition still quicker from surprise to pain. My father, she exclaimed, my dear father has thought of my becoming your wife, Pathfinder? Yes, he has, Mabel. He has indeed. He has even thought such a thing might be agreeable to you, and has almost encouraged me to fancy it might be true. But you yourself, you certainly can care nothing whether this singular expectation shall ever be realized or not. Anon! I mean, Pathfinder, that you have talked of this match more to oblige my father than anything else, that your feelings are no way concerned. Let my answer be what it may. The scout looked earnestly into the beautiful face of Mabel, which had flushed with the ardor and novelty of her sensations, and it was not possible to mistake the intense admiration that betrayed itself in every liniment of his ingenuous countenance. I have often thought myself happy, Mabel, when ranging the woods on a successful hunt, breathing the pure air of the hills, and filled with vigor and health. But I now know that it has all been idleness and vanity compared with the delight it would give me to know that you thought better of me than you think of most others. Better of you? I do indeed think better of you, Pathfinder, than of most others. I am not certain that I do not think better of you than of any other, for your truth, honesty, simplicity, justice, and courage are scarcely equal by any of earth. Ah, Mabel, these are sweet and encouraging words from you, and the sergeant after all was not so near wrong as I feared. Nay, Pathfinder, in the name of all that is sacred and just, do not let us misunderstand each other in a matter of so much importance, while I esteem, respect, nay, reverence you almost as much as I reverence my own dear father. It is impossible that I should ever become your wife, that I— The change in her companion's countenance was so sudden and so great, that the moment the effect of what she had uttered became visible in the face of the Pathfinder, Mabel arrested her own words, notwithstanding her strong desire to be explicit, the reluctance with which she could at any time cause pain being sufficient of itself to induce the pause. Neither spoke for some time. The shade of disappointment that crossed the rugged liniments of the hunter, amounting so nearly to anguish as to frighten his companion. While the sensation of choking became so strong in the Pathfinder, that he fairly griped his throat, like one who sought physical relief for physical suffering. The convulsive manner in which his fingers worked actually struck the alarmed grove with a feeling of awe. Nay, Pathfinder, Mabel eagerly added, the instant she could command her voice, I may have said more than I mean for all things of this nature are possible, and women, they say, are never sure of their own minds. What I wish you to understand is that it is not likely that you and I should ever think of each other as man and wife ought to think of each other. I do not, I shall never think in that way again, Mabel, gasped forth the Pathfinder, who appeared to utter his words like one just raised above the pressure of some suffocating substance. No, no, I shall never think of you or anyone else again in that way. Pathfinder, dear Pathfinder, understand me, do not attach more meaning to my words than I do myself. A match like that would be unwise, unnatural perhaps. Yes, unnatural, again nature, and so I told the sergeant, but he would have it otherwise. Pathfinder, oh, this is worse than I could have imagined. Take my hand, excellent Pathfinder, and let me see that you do not hate me. For God's sake, smile upon me again. Hate you, Mabel. Smile upon you. Ah, as me! Nay, give me your hand, your hearty, true and manly hand. Both, both, Pathfinder, for I shall not be easy until I feel certain that we are friends again and that all this has been a mistake. Mabel said the guide, looking wistfully into the face of the generous and impetuous girl, as she held his two hard and sun-burnt hands in her own pretty and delicate fingers, and laughing in his own silent and peculiar manner, while anguished gleamed over liniments which seemed incapable of deception, even while agitated with emotions so conflicting. Mabel, the sergeant was wrong. The pent-up feelings could endure no more, and the tears rolled down the cheeks of the scout like rain. His fingers again worked convulsively at his throat, and his breast heaved, as if it possessed a tenet of which it would be rid by any effort, however desperate. Pathfinder, Pathfinder! Mabel almost shrieked. Anything but this, anything but this! Speak to me, Pathfinder! Smile again, say one kind word, anything to prove you can forgive me. The sergeant was wrong! exclaimed the guide, laughing amid his agony, in a way to terrify his companion by the unnatural mixture of anguish and light-heartedness. I knew it! I knew it! And said it! Yes! The sergeant was wrong after all! We can be friends, though we cannot be men and wife! continued Mabel, almost as much disturbed as her companion, scarcely knowing what she said. We can always be friends, and always will. I thought the sergeant was mistaken! resumed the Pathfinder, when a great effort had enabled him to command himself. For I did not think my gifts were such as would please the fancy of a town-bred girl. It would have been better, Mabel, had he not over-persuaded me into a different notion, and it might have been better, too, had you not been so pleasant and confiding like. Yes, it would. If I thought any error of mine had raised false expectations in you, Pathfinder, however unintentionally on my part, I should never forgive myself, for, believe me, I would rather endure pain in my own feelings than you should suffer. That's just it, Mabel. That's just it. These speeches and opinions, spoken in so soft a voice, and in a way I'm so unused to in the woods, have done the mischief. But I now see plainly and begin to understand the difference between us better, and will strive to keep down thought, and to go abroad again as I used to do, looking for the game and the enemy. Ah, it's me, Mabel. I have indeed been on a false trail since we met. In a little while you will forget all this, and think of me as a friend, who owes you her life. This may be the way in the towns, but I doubt if it's natural to the woods. With us, when the eye sees a lovely sight, it is apt to keep it long in view, or when the mind takes in an upright and proper feeling, it is loathed the part with it. You will forget it all when you come seriously to recollect that I am altogether unsuited to be your wife. So I told the sergeant, but he would have it otherwise. I knew you was too young and beautiful for one of middle age, like myself, and who never was comely to look at, even in youth. And then your ways have not been my ways, nor would a hunter's cabin be a fitting place for one who was educated among chiefs, as it were. If I were younger and comlier, though, like Jasper O'Doose—never mind, Jasper O'Doose—interrupted Mabel impatiently. We can talk of something else. Jasper is a worthy lad, Mabel, I, and a comely. Returned the guileless guide, looking earnestly at the girl, as if he distrusted her judgment in speaking slightingly of his friend. Where I only half as comely as Jasper Western, my misgivings in this affair would not have been so great, and they might not have been so true. We will not talk of Jasper Western, repeated Mabel, the color-mounting to her temples. He may be good enough in a gale or on the lake, but he is not good enough to talk of here. I fear me, Mabel, he is better than the man who is likely to be your husband, though the sergeant says that can never take place. But the sergeant was wrong once, and he may be wrong twice. And who is likely to be my husband, Pathfinder? This is scarcely less strange than what has just passed between us. I know it is natural for like to seek like, and for them that have consorted much with officers' ladies, to wish to be officers' ladies themselves. But, Mabel, I may speak plainly to you, I know, and I hope my words will not give you pain, for now I understand what is to be disappointed in such feelings I wouldn't wish to cause even a mingo sorrow on this hand. But happiness is not always to be found in a marquee, any more than in a tent, and though the officers' quarters may look more tempting than the rest of the barracks, there is often great misery between husband and wife inside of their doors. I do not doubt it is in the least, Pathfinder, and did it rest with me to decide. I would sooner follow you to some cabin in the woods and share your fortune, though it might be better or worse, than go inside the door of any officer I know, with an intention of remaining there as its master's wife. Mabel, this is not what Lundy hopes, or Lundy thinks. And what care I for Lundy? He is major of the Fifty-Fifth, and may command his men to wheel and march about as he pleases, but he cannot compel me to wed the greatest or the meanest of his mess. Besides, what can you know of Lundy's wishes on such a subject? From Lundy's own mouth the sergeant had told him that he wished me for a son-in-law, and the major, being an old and a true friend, conversed with me on the subject. He put it to me plainly, whether it would not be more generous in me to let an officer succeed, than to strive to make you share a hunter's fortune. I owned the truth, I did, and that was, that I thought it might. But when he told me that the quartermaster would be his choice, I would not abide by the conditions. No, no, Mabel, I know Davy Muir well, and though he may make you a lady, he can never make you a happy woman, or himself a gentleman. My father has been very wrong if he has said or done ought to cause you sorrow, Pathfinder, and so great is my respect for you, so sincere my friendship, that were it not for one, I mean that no person need fear Lieutenant Muir's influence with me. I would rather remain as I am to my dying day than become a lady at the cost of being his wife. I do not think you would say that which you do not feel, Mabel, returned Pathfinder earnestly. Not at such a moment, on such a subject, and least of all to you. No, Lieutenant Muir may find wives where he can. My name shall never be on his catalogue. Thank you. Thank you for that, Mabel. For though there is no longer any hope for me, I could never be happy were you to take to the quartermaster. I feared the commission might count for something I did, and I know the man. It is not jealousy that makes me speak in this manner, but truth, for I know the man. Now, were you to fancy a deserving youth, one like Jasper Western, for instance? Why always mention Jasper O'Doose, Pathfinder? He can have no concern with our friendship. Let us talk of yourself, and of the manner in which you intend to pass the winter. Ask me. I am little worth at the best, Mabel, unless it may be on a trail or with the rifle, and less worth now that I have discovered the sergeant's mistake. There is no need, therefore, of talking of me. It has been very pleasant to me to be near you so long, and even to fancy that the sergeant was right. But that is all over now. I shall go down the lake with Jasper, and then there will be business to occupy us, and that will keep useless thoughts out of the mind. And you will forget this. Forget me. No, not forget me, either, Pathfinder, but you will resume your old pursuits, and cease to think a girl of sufficient importance to disturb your peace? I never noted a four, Mabel, but girls are a more account in this life than I could have believed. Now a four I knowed you. The newborn babe did not sleep more sweetly than I used. My head was no sooner on the root or the stone, or my hap on the skin than always lost to the senses. Unless it might be to go over in the night the business of the day in a dreamlike, 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 have 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. As 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 scrimmages and ambushments, in thought-like, and found satisfaction in it, according to my gifts, but all these things have lost their charms since I 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 nature gave, and even the deer stopped to listen. I tried to shoot a fawn, but killed their misfire, and the creature laughed at 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 will talk no more of these things, said Mabel, dashing the tears from her eyes, for the simple earnest manner in which this hearty 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 a 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 cop's 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. Mabel obeyed, bounding down the hill with the elastic step of youth and health, but notwithstanding the lightness of her steps the heart of the girl was heavy, and knew sooner was she hid from observation by the thicket than she threw herself on the root of a tree and wept as if her heart would break. The sergeant watched her until she disappeared, with the father's pride, and then turned to his companion with a smile as kind and as familiar as his habits would allow him to use towards any. She has her mother's lightness and activity, my friend, with some one of her father's force, said he. Her mother was not quite so handsome, I think myself, but the Dunham's were always thought comely, whether men or women. Well, Pathfinder, I take it for granted you've not overlooked the opportunity, but have spoken plainly to the girl. Women like frankness in matters of this sort. I believe Mabel and I understand each other at last, sergeant. Return the other, looking another way to avoid the soldier's face. So much the better. Some people fancy that a little doubt and uncertainty makes love all the livelier, but I am one of those who think the plainer the tongue speaks, the easier the mind will comprehend. Was Mabel surprised? I fear she was, sergeant. I fear she was taken quite by surprise. Yes, I do. Well, well, surprises and love are like an ambush in war, and quite as lawful, though it is not so easy to tell when a woman is surprised as to tell when it happens to an enemy. Mabel did not run away, my worthy friend, did she? No, sergeant. Mabel did not try to escape. That, I can say, with a clear conscience. I hope the girl was too willing, neither. Her mother was shy and coy for a month at least, but frankness, after all, is a recommendation in a man or woman. That it is. That it is. And judgment, too. You are not to look for too much judgment in a young creature of twenty, pathfinder, but it will come with experience. A mistake in you or me, for instance, might not be so easily overlooked, but in a girl of Mabel's years one is not to strain at a nat lest they swallow a camel. The reader will remember that Sergeant Dunham was not a Hebrew scholar. The muscles of the listener's face twitched as the sergeant was thus delivering his sentiments, though the former had now recovered a portion of that stoicism which formed so large a part of his character, and which he had probably imbibed from long association with the Indians. His eyes rose and fell, and once a gleam shot a thwart his hard features as if he were about to indulge in his peculiar laugh. But the joyous feeling, if it really existed, was as quickly lost in a look allied to anguish. It was this unusual mixture of wild and keen mental agony with native simple joyousness which had most struck Mabel, who, in the interview just related, had a dozen times been on the point of believing that her suitor's heart was only lightly touched, as images of happiness and humor gleamed over a mind that was almost infantile in its simplicity and nature. An impression, however, which was soon driven away by the discovery of emotions so painful and so deep that they seemed to harrow the very soul. You say true, sergeant, Pathfinder answered, a mistake in one like you is a more serious matter. You will find Mabel sincere and honest in the end. Give her but a little time. Haas me, sergeant! A man of your merits would make an impression on a rock. Give him time, Pathfinder. Sergeant Dunham, we are old fellow campaigners. That is, as campaigns are carried on here in the wilderness, and we have done so many kind acts to each other that we can afford to be candid. What has caused you to believe that a girl like Mabel could ever fancy one so rude as I am? What? Why? A variety of reasons, and good reasons too, my friend. These same acts of kindness, perhaps, and the campaigns you mention, moreover, you are my sworn and tried comrade. All this sounds well, so far as you and I are concerned, but they do not touch the case of your pretty daughter. She may think these very campaigns have destroyed the little comeliness I may once have had, and I am not quite certain that being an old friend of her father would lead any young maiden's mind into a particular affection for a suitor. Like loves like, I tell you, sergeant, and my gifts are not altogether the gifts of Mabel Dunham. These are some of your old modest qualms, Pathfinder, and will do you no credit with the girl. Women distrust men who distrust themselves, and take to men who distrust nothing. Modesty is a capital thing in a recruit, I grant you, or in a young subaltern who is just joined, for it prevents his railing at the non-commissioned officers before he knows what is to rail at. I'm not sure it is out of place in a commissary or a parson, but it's the devil in all when it gets possession of a real soldier or a lover. Have as little to do with it as possible if you would win a woman's heart. As for your doctrine that like loves like, it is as wrong as possible in matters of this sort. If like loved like, women would love one another and men also. No, no, like loves dislike. The sergeant was merely a scholar of the camp, and you have nothing to fear from Mabel on that score. Look at Lieutenant Muir. The man has had five wives already, they tell me, and there is no more modesty in him than there is in a cat anine-tails. Lieutenant Muir will never be the husband of Mabel Dunham, let him ruffle his feathers as much as he may. That is a sensible remark of yours, Pathfinder, for my mind is made up that you shall be my son-in-law. If I were an officer myself, Mr. Muir might have some chance, but time has placed one door between my child and myself, and I don't intend there shall be that of a marquis also. Sergeant, we must let Mabel follow her own fancy. She is young and light of heart, and God forbid that any wish of mine should lay the weight of a feather on a mine that is all gaiety now, or take one note of happiness from her laughter. Have you converse freely with the girl? The sergeant demanded quickly, and with some asperity of manner. Pathfinder was too honest to deny a truth plain as that which the answer required, and yet too honorable to betray Mabel, and expose her to the resentment of one whom he well knew to be stern in his anger. We have laid open our minds, he said, and though Mabel's is one that any man might love to look at, I find little there, Sergeant, to make me think any better of myself. The girl has not dared to refuse you, to refuse her father's best friend. Pathfinder turned his face away to conceal the look of anguish the consciousness told him was passing a thwarted, but he continued the discourse in his own quiet manly tones. Mabel is too kind to refuse anything, or to utter harsh words to a dog. I have not put the question in a way to be downright refused, Sergeant. And did you expect my daughter to jump into your arms before you asked her? She would not have been her mother's child had she done any such thing, nor do I think she would have been mine. The Dunham's like plain dealing as well as the King's Majesty, but they are no jumpers. Leave me to manage this matter for you, Pathfinder, and there shall be no unnecessary delay. I'll speak to Mabel myself this very evening, using your name as principal in the affair. I'd rather not. I'd rather not, Sergeant. Leave the matter to Mabel and me, and I think we will all come right in the end. Young girls are like timorous some birds. They do not over relish being hurried or spoken harshly to, neither. Leave the matter to Mabel and me. On one condition I will, my friend, and that is that you will promise me, on the honor of a scout, that you will put the matter plainly to Mabel the first suitable opportunity, and no mincing of words. I will ask her, Sergeant, on condition that you promise not to meddle in the affair. Yes, I will promise to ask Mabel whether she will marry me, even though she laugh in my face at my doing so, on that condition. Sergeant Dunham gave the desired promise very cheerfully, for he had completely wrought himself up into the belief that the man he had so much esteemed himself must be acceptable to his daughter. He had married a woman much younger than himself, and he saw no unfitness in the respective years of the intended couple. Mabel was educated so much above him, too, that he was not aware of the difference which actually existed between the parent and child in this respect. It followed that Sergeant Dunham was not altogether qualified to appreciate his daughter's tastes, or to form a very probable conjecture what would be the direction taken by those feelings which often are depend on impulses and passion than on reason. Still, the worthy soldier was not so wrong in his estimate of the Pathfinder's chances, as might at first appear. Knowing all the sterling qualities of the man, his truth, integrity of purpose, courage, self-devotion, disinterestedness, it was far from unreasonable to suppose that qualities like these would produce a deep impression on any female heart, and the father aired principally infancing that the daughter might know as it might be by intuition what he himself had acquired by years of intercourse and adventure. As Pathfinder and his military friend descended the hill to the shore of the lake, the discourse did not flag. The latter continued to persuade the former that his diffidence alone prevented complete success with Mabel, and that he had only to persevere in order to prevail. Pathfinder was much too modest by nature and had been too plainly, though so delicately, discouraged in the recent interview to believe all he heard. Still, the father used so many arguments which seemed plausible, and it was so grateful to fancy that the daughter might yet be his, that the reader is not to be surprised when he is told that this unsophisticated being did not view Mabel's recent conduct in precisely the light in which he may be inclined to view it himself. He did not credit all that the sergeant told him, it is true, but he began to think virgin coyness and ignorance of her own feelings might have induced Mabel to use the language she had. The quartermaster is no favorite, said Pathfinder, in answer to one of his companion's remarks. Mabel will never look on him as more than one who has had four or five wives already. Which is more than his share. A man may marry twice without offence to good morals and decency, I allow, but four times is an aggravation. I should think even marrying once what Master Cap calls a circumstance, put in Pathfinder laughing in his quiet way, for by this time his spirits had recovered some of their buoyancy. It is indeed, my friend, had a most solemn circumstance too. If it were not that Mabel is to be your wife, I would advise you to remain single. But here is the girl herself, and discretion is the word. As me, Sergeant, I fear you are mistaken.