after a week in the woods. She had
evidently been out in the world and was home on a visit. It was a
different look she gave me from that of the natives. This is better
than fishing for trout," said he. "You drop in at the next house."

But the next house looked too unpromising.

"There is no milk there," said I, "unless they keep a goat."

"But could we not," said my facetious companion, "go it on that?"

A couple of miles beyond I stopped at a house that enjoyed the
distinction of being clapboarded, and had the good fortune to find both
the milk and the young lady. A mother and her daughter were again the
only occupants save a babe in the cradle, which the young woman quickly
took occasion to disclaim.

"It has not opened its dear eyes before since its mother left. Come to
aunty," and she put out her hands.

The daughter filled my pail and the mother replenished our stock of
bread. They asked me to sit and cool myself, and seemed glad of a
stranger to talk with. They had come from an adjoining county five
years before, and had carved their little clearing out of the solid
woods.

"The men folks," the mother said, "came on ahead and built the house
right among the big trees," pointing to the stumps near the door.

One no sooner sets out with his pack upon his back to tramp through the
land than all objects and persons by the way have a new and curious
interest to him. The tone of his entire being is not a little elevated,
and all his perceptions and susceptibilities quickened. I feel that
some such statement is necessary to justify the interest that I felt in
this backwoods maiden. A slightly pale face it was, strong and well
arched, with a tender, wistful expression not easy to forget.

I had surely seen that face many times before in towns and cities, and
in other lands, but I hardly expected to meet it here amid the stumps.
What were the agencies that had given it its fine lines and its
gracious intelligence amid these simple, primitive scenes? What did my
heroine read, or think? or what were her unfulfilled destinies? She
wore a sprig of prince's pine in her hair, which gave a touch
peculiarly welcome.

"Pretty lonely," she said, in answer to my inquiry; "only an occasional
fisherman in summer, and in winter--nobody at all."

And the little new schoolhouse in the woods farther on, with its
half-dozen scholars and the girlish face of the teacher seen through
the open door,--nothing less than the exhilar