shaggy wolf ketched 'im.--O, _don't_ cry so, Miss Fabens!--as I was
goin' to say--I dremp a shaggy wolf ketched 'im, and craunched the
little feller down, as ye'd eat a tender quail. Miss Fabens, _don't_
cry now!--he was all out o' misery perty quick. I dremp he was dead
afore he was stript, or his little dimple hands was chanked to
mince-meat; don't cry _now_."

"You good-for-nothing torment, hold your lying tongue!" said Uncle
Walter, in a rage; "who wants to hear your dream? I'd call for a
polecat's dream as quick. Shut your lips. _You_ talk about crying!
Why, your very words tear open the woman's heart. I'm struck with what
Mother Fabens tells."

"It seemed as if I must be awake," resumed Mother Fabens, "it was all
so plain and natural. How I did feel when the creature sprung and
catched little Clinton in his paws!--Awful! But then, I've a little
more hope from the dream."

"So've I, Miss Fabens," responded Uncle Walter, in a tone of great
animation. "So've I. Come on, boys, let's look awhile longer. Come,
Wilson, come, Colwell and Teezle. Come, Uncle Mose, your eyes are keen
for a look as they were when you hunted Hessians in the Jarsies. But
Troffater may step out, we can very well spare him."

Three or four gave over, and went home. Troffater winked and crossed
his black and blue eyes, took in a quid, spit through his teeth, struck
up a whistle, and departed; and the Indians manifested less zeal than
yesterday; but a large company took up the march and searched a day
longer. As night returned once more with its first faint shadows,
while yet there was light on the thin carpet of newly-fallen leaves to
discern colors plainly, a cry of "here's blood!" rang out in a fearful
shriek on their ears, and they halted, and gathered at the spot to
which attention was directed. "It is blood!" said another; and "here's
more!" cried another. "See, it is sprinkled all around here!" "And
there! see there, it looks as if there had been a scuffle!" added
another.

A cold thrill of horror ran around from heart to heart, and it was well
for the Fabenses that they did not arrive, or hear the cry, until a
glance before the grieving company showed them the remains of a deer,
and reserved a faint hope for the morrow.

To-morrow came and went, with no tidings of poor Clinton. Another and
another day was spent by several, who still insisted that the boy must
be alive. Mother Fabens' dream made a strong impressi