amping out," or starting off before light a-fishing with David.

I was not at all surprised, therefore, that he should appear bright and
early the next morning, to make some arrangement for the day.

I saw him coming, from my window, and was pleased that I had lingered at
home rather beyond office-hours,--for Mary Ellen was shelling peas in
the back-doorway beneath, and I should have an opportunity of advancing
somewhat in my new chapter. It was a nice shady place. The door-steps
and the ground about them were still damp from the dew.

He came trippingly along, inquiring for David. Mary Ellen blushed some.
I saw that their acquaintance had commenced the night before. He chatted
a little with the old folks, but directed most of his talk to Mary
Ellen, that he might have an excuse for looking her full in the face,
and drinking in her beauty. I saw him seat himself on the flat stone. I
saw him glance admiringly at the pretty white hands, handling so
daintily the green pods. I saw him show her how to make a boat of one,
putting in sticks for the thwarts. And finally, I saw David come round
the house and stop short.

Warren sprang up.

"Waiting for you, David," said he. "Tide coming, stiff breeze. We can be
on Jake's Ledge in a twinkling."

And passing over a high hill, on my way to the Square, I saw the
sloop-boat, with flag flying, putting off towards Jake's Ledge.

For the next two months the Doctor's boy walked straight in the path
which my prophetic vision had marked out for him. Morning, noon, and
evening brought him paddling across "the Crick," or footing it round by
the shore-way.

Emily and I were troubled. We had once feared that our good brother and
friend would pass through life as a blind man wanders through a
flower-garden, lost to its chief beauty and sweetness. But his eyes had
been opened. And now was his life-path to lead him into a thorny
wilderness? was a worse darkness to settle down upon him?

I fancied there was a hopeless look in his face,--that he shrank into
himself more than ever. The Doctor's boy had fairer gifts than he to
offer, and no lack of well-chosen words. It was with the utmost
uneasiness that I caught, occasionally, some of these telling phrases. I
liked not his air of devotedness, his eye constantly following Mary
Ellen's movements. I liked not the flower-gatherings, the rambles among
the rocks, the rowing by moonlight. Emily's short sentence came often to
mind, "I fear."

F