n front of him, so that his only way of escaping, temporarily,
was by jumping over Grumps's head.

Grumps was everywhere all day. Nobody, almost, escaped trampling on
part of him. He tumbled over everything, into everything, and against
everything. He knocked himself, singed himself, and scalded himself,
and in fact forgot himself altogether; and when, late that night, Crusoe
went with Dick into his mother's cottage, and the door was shut, Grumps
stretched his ruffled, battered, ill-used, and dishevelled little body
down on the doorstep, thrust his nose against the opening below the
door, and lay in humble contentment all night, for he knew that Crusoe
was there.

Of course such an occasion could not pass without a shooting match.
Rifles were brought out after the feast was over, just before the sun
went down into its bed on the western prairies, and "the nail" was soon
surrounded by bullets, tipped by Joe Blunt and Jim Scraggs, and, of
course, driven home by Dick Varley, whose silver rifle had now become,
in its owner's hand, a never-failing weapon. Races, too, were started,
and here again Dick stood pre-eminent, and when night spread her dark
mantle over the scene, the two best fiddlers in the settlement were
placed on empty beer-casks, and some danced by the light of the monster
fires, while others listened to Joe Blunt as he recounted their
adventures on the prairies and among the Rocky Mountains.

There were sweethearts, and wives, and lovers at the feast, but we
question whether any heart there was so full of love, and admiration,
and gratitude as that of the Widow Varley as she watched her son Dick,
throughout that merry evening.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Years rolled by, and the Mustang Valley prospered. Missionaries went
there, and a little church was built, and to the blessings of a fertile
land were added the far greater blessings of Christian light and
knowledge. One sad blow fell on the Widow Varley's heart. Her only
brother, Daniel Hood, was murdered by the Indians. Deeply and long she
mourned, and it required all Dick's efforts and those of the pastor of
the settlement to comfort her. But from the first the widow's heart was
sustained by the loving hand that dealt the blow, and when time blunted
the keen edge of her feelings, her face became as sweet and mild, though
not so lightsome, as before.

Joe Blunt and Henri became leading men in the