a thrill of
pleasure--no sooner did he behold her, though but for an instant, than
he felt that thrill revived with a sensation, which, in spite of
himself, he knew was expressed in his own countenance; and he hastened
to speak, in order as much as possible to conceal it.

"Will you have the goodness, madam, to inform me where I am?"

"Thar, thar, Ella, child!" exclaimed the matron, joyously; "I told ye
so--I know'd it--he's come to, for sartin--the Lord be praised!" Then
addressing herself to Reynolds, she continued: "Whar are you, stranger,
do you ax? Why you're in the cabin o' Ben Younker--as honest a man as
ever shot a painter--who's my husband, and father of Isaac Younker, what
brought ye here, according to the directions of Colonel Boone, arter you
war shot by the Injens, the varmints, three days ago; and uncle of Ella
Barnwell here, as I calls daughter, 'cause her parents is dead, poor
creaters, and she hadn't a home to go to, but come'd to live with us,
that are fetching her up in a a dutiful way;" and the good woman
concluded her lucid account of family matters with a sound that much
resembled a person taking breath after some laborious exertion.

"And is it possible," answered Reynolds, who hastened to reply, in order
to conceal a strong inclination he felt for laughing, "that I have lain
here three whole days?"

"Three days, and four nights, and part o' another day, jest as true as
buffaloes run in cane-brakes, and Injen varmints shoot white folks
whensomever they git a chance," replied Mrs. Younker, with great
volubility. "And Ella, the darling, has tended on ye like you war her
own nateral born brother; and Isaac, and Ben, and myself ha' tended on
ye too, while you war raving and running on at an orful rate, though
you've had the best bed, and best o' every thing we've got in the
house."

"For all of which I am at a loss for terms to express my gratitude,"
returned Reynolds, coloring slightly as he thought of the assiduous
attentions he had unconsciously received from Ella Barnwell, who already
began to be an object in his eyes of no little importance.

"Don't mention about gratitude," rejoined the kind hearted Mrs. Younker;
"don't talk about gratitude, for a lettle favor sech as every body's got
a right to, what comes into this country and gits shot by savages. We
havn't done no more for you than we'd a done for any body else in like
sarcumstances; and, la, sir, the pleasure o' knowing you're a goin