He sits enthroned with all his glory?" Such were the
reflections of Mayall, as he sat beneath a clustering vine that his
lovely companion had trained, in his absence, to form an arch over his
cottage door, and shelter him from the burning sun.

The flowers of May soon began to drop their leaves, the streams had
become confined within their banks, the red men from the Western lakes
and Canada were again upon the war-path, and it required all the skill
of a forest life to elude their pursuit. Mayall knew every sound of the
night; his eye and ear had long sought in the dark; not a beast that
walked the forest by night, or prowled around his cabin or camp-fire,
but he could name readily by the sound of his footsteps. Mayall had
remained most of the summer at his forest home, cultivating a small
field that surrounded it, and capturing such game as frequented his own
valley, and the streams that meandered through it abounded with fish of
the finest quality for his table.

Summer had quietly passed away, and the golden sun of September began to
change the bright green of summer to all the varied hues of autumn.
Mayall once more began to feel a desire to roam over the hills, which
had long been his favorite employment; he finally resolved on visiting
his more distant hunting-ground in quest of deer, which had become
scarce near his home. He accordingly rose with the sun and prepared for
a journey over the distant hills and valleys, which had only appeared to
him in his dreams since his capture by the three Indian warriors. He
took an eastern course, crossed the highlands between the Otego Creek
and Susquehanna Valley, crossed the Indian war-path that passed up the
Susquehanna, and thence up Cherry Valley Creek at right angles, and soon
began to climb the steep ascent of the Crumhorn mountain, in the
direction of a small lake situated on the top of the mountain. As he
began to ascend the mountain the sun had passed the meridian, and poured
its heated rays against the western slope of the mountain. Mayall,
coming to a noisy little rill that spun its silver thread down the
mountain side, to mingle with the water in the valley below, slaked his
thirst at the stream, and, walking up to a little mound near the stream,
scraped together some leaves that had fallen in wild profusion around,
to carpet the mountain-side with all their varied hues, and seated
himself for his noonday meal. After satisfying his hunger and again
quenching hi