deceptive
expanse. No squirrel track, no slim, sharp foot-mark of partridge,
traversed the immaculate level. One winter, after a light snowfall in
the night, as Reuben strayed into the low-ceilinged kitchen of the
Hansen farm-house, Mr. Hansen remarked in his quaint, dreamy drawl,--

"What for have you been walking on the Perdu, Reuben? This morning, on
the new snow, I saw foot-marks of a human running right across it. It
must have been you, Reuben. There's nobody else round here 'd do it!"

"No," said Reuben, "I haven't been nigh the Perdu these three days past.
And then I didn't try walking on it, any way."

"Well," continued Celia's father, "I suppose folks would call it queer!
Those foot-marks just began at one side of the Perdu, and ended right up
sharp at the other. There wasn't another sign of a foot, on the meadow
or in the grove!"

"Yes," assented Reuben, "it looks queer in a way. But then, it's easy
for the snow to drift over the other tracks; while the Perdu lies low
out of the wind."

The latter days of Reuben's stay beside the banks of the Perdu were
filled up by a few events like these, by the dreams which these evoked,
and above all by the growing realization of his love for Celia. At
length the boy and girl slipped unawares into mutual self-revelations;
and for a day or two life seemed so materially and tangibly joyous that
vision and dream eluded them. Then came the girl's naive account of how
her confidences had been received at home. She told of her mother's
objections, soon overruled by her father's obstinate plea that "Reuben
Waugh, when he got to be a man grown, would be good enough for any girl
alive."

Celia had dwelt with pride on her father's championship of their cause.
Her mother's opposition she had been familiar with for as long as she
could remember. But it was the mother's opposition that loomed large in
Reuben's eyes.

First it startled him with a vague sense of disquiet. Then it filled his
soul with humiliation as its full significance grew upon him. Then he
formed a sudden resolve; and neither the mother's relenting cordiality,
nor the father's practical persuasions, nor Celia's tears, could turn
him from his purpose. He said that he would go away, after the
time-honored fashion, and seek his fortune in the world. He vowed that
in three or four years, when they would be of a fit age to marry, he
would come back with a full purse and claim Celia on even terms. This
did not suit