le yet sweet emotion. Mark and Moor had joined in the burden of
the song, and when that was done took up another; but Sylvia only sat
and let her tears flow while they would, singing at heart, though her
eyes were full and her cheeks wet faster than the wind could kiss them
dry.

After frequent peerings and tackings here and there, Mark at last
discovered the haven he desired, and with much rattling of oars,
clanking of chains, and splashing of impetuous boots, a landing was
effected, and Sylvia found herself standing on a green bank with her
hammock in her arms and much wonderment in her mind whether the
nocturnal experiences in store for her would prove as agreeable as the
daylight ones had been. Mark and Moor unloaded the boat and prospected
for an eligible sleeping-place. Warwick, being an old campaigner, set
about building a fire, and the girl began her sylvan housekeeping. The
scene rapidly brightened into light and color as the blaze sprang up,
showing the little kettle slung gipsywise on forked sticks, and the
supper prettily set forth in a leafy table-service on a smooth, flat
stone. Soon four pairs of wet feet surrounded the fire; an agreeable
oblivion of _meum_ and _tuum_ concerning plates, knives, and cups did
away with etiquette, and every one was in a comfortable state of
weariness, which rendered the thought of bed so pleasant that they
deferred their enjoyment of the reality, as children keep the best bite
till the last.

"What are you thinking of here all by yourself?" asked Mark, coming to
lounge on his sister's plaid, which she had spread somewhat apart from
the others, and where she sat watching the group before her with a
dreamy aspect.

"I was watching your two friends. See what a fine study they make with
the red flicker of the fire on their faces and the background of dark
pines behind them."

They did make a fine study, for both were goodly men yet utterly unlike,
one being of the heroic type, the other of the poetic. Warwick was a
head taller than his tall friend, broad-shouldered, strong-limbed, and
bronzed by wind and weather. A massive head, covered with rings of ruddy
brown hair, gray eyes, that seemed to pierce through all disguises, an
eminent nose, and a beard like one of Mark's stout saints. Power,
intellect, and courage were stamped on face and figure, making him the
manliest man that Sylvia had ever seen. He leaned against the stone, yet
nothing could have been less reposeful tha