ocked with his knuckles, but holding it fast by the
latch-handle, lest it should be too suddenly opened. Straightway a quick
step was heard approaching the door from within. The wooden bolt slid
back with a thump, the wooden latch went up with a click, but the door
remained shut.

"It's nobody but me, Miss Jemimy; nobody here but me. You's awake, is
you?"

"Yea, Burl, I'm awake," answered a gentle voice within; and again the
latch went up with a click.

"Not yit, Miss Jemimy, not yit. I said dare's nobody here but me; but
didn't 'zacly mean what I said. You's awake, now, is you--wide awake?"

"Yes, Burl, I am wide awake, and have been all night long. But why do
you ask? And why do you hold the door so fast?" And now there was a
tremor of alarm in the gentle voice.

"Den, put out de light, Miss Jemimy; O put out de light!" and the great
sob which shook the door told the rest.

In sweet pity we shall refrain from dwelling further upon the scene. But
as Burl stood out there in the night and witnessed the widow's anguish,
and heard the wail of her fatherless child, from that heart whence had
ascended to heaven the promise never to be broken there rose a terrible
oath that never from that day forward, while he had life in his heart
and strength in his arm, should an opportunity for vengeance slip his
hand. How faithfully that oath was kept full many a Red man's scalp,
which hung blackening from his cabin beams, but too plainly attested.

Chapter II.

HOW LITTLE BUSHIE FIGURED IN THE PARADISE.

"No, Bushie, my boy, you can't go to the corn-field to-day," said Mrs.
Reynolds to her son of nine years old, one fine May morning, about two
years after the sad event recorded in the foregoing chapter. The little
fellow had been teasing his mother for two or three hours to let him go
to the field where Burl was plowing corn, knowing full well, as every
only child does, the efficacy of importunity.

"But, mother, Burl is singing so big and glad out there, and I should so
love to be with him. And I should so love to watch the squirrels running
up and down the trees and along on top of the fence; and the little
ground-squirrels slipping from one hollow log to another; and the little
birds building their nests; and the big crows flopping their wings about
the limbs of the old dead trees. And then, too, Burl would be--"

"Let Burl go on with his singing," interrupted the mother; "and let the
squirrels go on with their