nd the
shrimp-catcher in their canoes come gliding up the glassy stream, riding
down the water-lilies, that rose again behind and shook the drops from
their crowns, like water-sprites. Here and there, farther out, she saw
the little cat-boats of the neighboring village crawling along the edge
of the lake, taking their timid morning cruises. And far away she saw
the titanic clouds; but on the horizon, no sail.

In the evening she would see mocking-birds coming out of the savanna and
flying into the live-oaks. A summer duck might dart from the cypresses,
speed across the wide green level, and become a swerving, vanishing
speck on the sky. The heron might come round the bayou's bend, and
suddenly take fright and fly back again. The rattling kingfisher might
come up the stream, and the blue crane sail silently through the purple
haze that hung between the swamp and the bayou. She would see the gulls,
gray and white, on the margin of the lake, the sun setting beyond its
western end, and the sky and water turning all beautiful tints; and
every now and then, low down along the cool, wrinkling waters, passed
across the round eye of the glass the broad, downward-curved wing of the
pelican. But when she ventured to lift the glass to the horizon, she
swept it from east to west in vain. No sail.

"Dawn't I tell you no use look? Peter dawn't comin' in day-time, nohow."

But on the fifth morning Mary had hardly made her appearance on the
veranda, and had not ventured near the spy-glass yet, when the old man
said:--

"She rain back in swamp las' night; can smell."

"How do you feel this morning?" asked Mary, facing around from her first
glance across the waters. He did not heed.

"See dat win'?" he asked, lifting one hand a little from the top of his
staff.

"Yes," responded Mary, eagerly; "why, it's--hasn't it--changed?"

"Yes, change' las' night 'fo' went to bed."

The old man's manner betrayed his contempt for one who could be
interested in such a change, and yet not know when it took place.

"Why, then," began Mary, and started as if to take down the glass.

"What you doin'?" demanded its owner. "Better let glass 'lone; fool' wid
him enough."

Mary flushed, and, with a smile of resentful apology, was about to
reply, when he continued:--

"What you want glass for? Dare Peter' schooner--right dare in bayou.
What want glass for? Can't see schooner hundred yard' off 'dout glass?"
And he turned away his poor wabbling he