the shining sun. He'd got jest that grit
in him. She'd been a-huntin' everywhere, they said,--all over Europe,
'n' Azhay, 'n' Africa, till she'd given up huntin'; an' he was right
close tu hum all the time. He was a first-rate feller, 'n' we was all
glad when his luck come ter him 't last. I wished I could ha' seen him
to 've asked him if he didn't b'leeve in luck now! Me 'n' him was
talkin' about luck that very mornin' while she was a-steppin' down the
landin' towards him's fast 's ever she could go! My eyes! how that woman
did come a runnin', an' a-callin', 'Guide! guide!' I sha'n't never
forgit it. I asked some o' the fellers how she looked when they went
off, an' they said her eyes was shinin' like stars; but there wasn't any
more of her face to be seen, for she was rolled up in a big red shawl,
It gits hoppin' cold here in September. I've always thought't was that
same red shawl he had in his cabin; but I dunno's 'twas."

"Wall, I bet they had a fust-rate time on that weddin' journey o'
theirn," said one of Ben's rougher cronies one day at the end of the
narrative; "'t ain't every feller gets the chance o' two honeymoons with
the same woman."

Old Ben looked at him attentively. "Youngster," said he, "'t ain't
strange, I suppose, young's you be, th't ye should look at it that way;
but ye're off, crony. Ye don't seem ter recolleck 'bout all them years
they'd lost out of their lives. I tell ye, it's kind o' harrowin' ter
me. Old's I am, and hain't never felt no call ter be married nuther,
it's kind o' harrowin' ter me yit ter think o' that woman's yell she
giv' when she seed Steve's face. If thar warn't jest a hull lifetime o'
misery in't, 'sides the joy o' findin' him, I ain't no jedge. I haven't
never felt no call ter marry, 's I sed; but if I had I wouldn't ha' been
caught cuttin' up no sech didos's that,--a-throwin' away years o' time
they might ha' hed together 'z well's not! Ther' ain't any too much o'
this life, anyhow; 't kinder looks ter you youngsters's ef 't 'd last
forever. I know how 'tis. I hain't forgot nothin', old's I am. But I
tell you, when ye're old's I am, 'n' look back on 't, ye'll be s'prised
ter see how short 'tis, an' ye'll reelize more what a fool a man is, or
a woman too,--an' I do s'pose they're the foolishest o' ther two,--ter
waste a minnit out on 't on querrils, or any other kind o' foolin'."

The Prince's Little Sweetheart.

She was very young. No man had ever made love to