"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 that
consciousness told him was passing athwart it, 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 Dunhams 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 all will come right in the ind. Young girls are like
timorsome birds; they do not over-relish being hurried or spoken harshly
to nither. 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 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 oftener depend on impulses
and passion than on reason. Still, the worth