ed of
pleasure, pity, admiration, and ambition, but having the semblance
only of timidity in her rosy face and downcast eyes, made her yield
her shrinking form, for one moment, to his trembling and passionate
caress, and the next, she ran as swiftly as a deer to the house.

Swan's eyes followed her. With his feet, he dared not. His bounding
heart half-choked him with pleasant pain. All be had not said,--all he
had meant to say to Dorcas, of his well-laid plans, his good-luck,
his hopes,--all he had meant to entreat of her constancy, for in the
infrequent communications between the two countries there was no hope
of a correspondence,--all he had meant to say to her of his fervent
love, of his anguish at separation, of the joy of reunion, and that
his love would leave him only with his life,--if he could only have
told her! But then he never would or could have put it all into
words, if Dorcas had stayed with him under the pear-tree till the next
morning.

He thought of the Colonel's pride, and how it would come down, at the
sight of Swan Day returning to Walton with five thousand dollars in
his coat-pocket, and mounted, perhaps, on an elephant! If he had held
a foremost social position in Walton, even while selling tape and
mop-sticks, molasses and rum, at the country-store, what might not be
the impression on the public mind at seeing the glittering plumage of
this "bird let loose from Eastern skies, when hastening fondly home"?
There was much balm for wounded pride to be gathered in this Oriental
project.

Swan collected his energies and his clothes, finished his remaining
last words and duties, and took his seat with the mail-carrier, who
had the only public conveyance at that period from the town of Walton
to the town of Boston. His parents were dead; his immediate relatives
were scattered already in different States; and he left Walton with
his heart full of one image, that of Dorcas Fox.

CHAPTER III.

"They du say Swan Day's gun off for good!" said Cely Temple, as she
returned from the store, with a Dutch-oven in her hand, which she had
purchased,--"an' to th' East Injees!"

"I want to know!" rejoined Mrs. Fox.

"I know some'll be sorry!" continued Cely, while Dorcas diligently
stirred a five-pail kettle of apple-sauce, that hung stewing over the
low fire.

Mrs. Fox looked up quickly at her daughter, but Dorcas continued
quietly stirring, and without turning round.

"Mahala Dorr, I guess," said she.