ould if I dared," continued the widow. "The time may come when I--"

"But why not now," urged the youth, hastily. "I am old enough, surely,
to be trusted. During the four visits this man has paid to us, I have
observed a degree of familiarity on his part which no man has a right to
exhibit towards you; and which, did I not see that you permit it, no
man would _dare_ to show. Why do you allow him to call you 'Mary?' No
one else in the settlement does so."

"He is a very old friend," replied the widow, sadly. "I have known him
from childhood. We were playmates long ago."

"Humph, that's some sort of reason, no doubt; but you don't appear to
like him, and his presence always seems to give you pain. Why do you
suffer yourself to be annoyed by him? Only say the word, mother, and
I'll kick him out of the house, neck and crop--"

"Hush, boy; you are too violent."

"Too violent! Why, it would make a coward violent to see his mother
tormented as you are by this fellow, and not to be allowed to put a stop
to it. I suspect--"

"Henry," said the widow, again interrupting her exasperated son, "do you
think your mother would do what is wrong?"

"Mother," exclaimed the youth, seizing her hand, and kissing her brow
almost violently, "I would as soon think that the angels above would do
wrong; but I firmly believe that you are suffering wrong to be done _to
you_; and--just listen to the fellow! I do not believe he's howling for
more bacon at this moment!"

There could be no doubt whatever about the fact; for just then the deep
tones of Gascoyne's voice rang through the cottage, as he reiterated the
name of the widow, who hastened away, followed by her son. Henry
scarcely took the trouble to conceal the frown that darkened his brow as
he re-entered the apartment where his companions were seated.

"Why, Mary, your bacon surpasses anything I have tasted for the last
six months; let's have another rasher, like a good woman. That mountain
air sharpens the appetite amazingly; especially of men who are more
accustomed to mount the rigging of a ship than the hills on shore. What
say you, John Bumpus?"

John Bumpus could not at that moment say anything, in consequence of his
mouth being so full of the bacon referred to that there was no room for
a single word to pass his lips. In the height of his good-humor,
however, he did his best by signs to express his entire approval of the
widow's provender, and even _attempted_ to speak. In so