deliverance, then woke the leafless forest with a glad, "Halloo."

This was intended for the old hound, and she at once responded with a
quick succession of joyous barks.

The man had been a little uncertain of the direction home, as he had
followed the trail feverishly, but the dog's greeting at once set him
right. Shielding the baby in his arms, and picking out as good footing
as he could in the uncertain light, he made all haste back to his
faithful canine, whose whines and barks guided him from time to time.

"It's all right, Hecla, old girl, I've got him," he cried as soon as he
came within speaking distance of the dog. The father's joy was so
great that he had to impart it to some one.

He lost no time in untying the dog and with her as a guide they were
able to follow the homeward trail through the darkest places in safety.
He must make all possible haste, for he remembered the look of mute
agony in his wife's eyes, as she stood at the door watching his
departure.

"Home, home, Hecla!" he cried, each time they plunged into deeper gloom
than usual. "We must hurry."

But the good dog needed no urging. Out and in, unerringly, she led
him, until the open pasture lot was reached.

Then with a glad bark she bounded over the stone wall and started
across the fields at a pace that her master could not keep. He did not
call her back, for he felt sure that she could impart the glad news to
her mistress before his coming, and anything to relieve the suspense at
home was desirable.

While the two had been floundering through the deep woods upon their
seemingly hopeless quest, the grief-stricken mother had paced the
kitchen floor, wringing her hands and moaning. Occasionally, as the
moments dragged slowly by, she would go to the piazza and listen until
it seemed that her ear-drums would burst with the intensity of her
effort, but only the moaning of the wind, and the usual night sounds
came to her ears.

At last, in one of these anxious periods of listening, she thought she
detected the barking of old Hecla, but was not certain. Perhaps it was
only the wind playing pranks upon her overwrought nerves, or the
hooting of an owl.

She waited expectantly and a few seconds later, hearing the old hound's
glad bark as she bounded over the wall between the pasture and the
mowing, knew that John had sent her with a message for the mistress of
Clover-hill Farm. There was something in the dog's bark that put hope
in