of constant practice, and sprang into the saddle with the ease of the
practiced horseman. He threw the reins over the pommel, and then bending
down, held out his arms.

"Now!" he cried. "Give the young lady your hand for her foot!"

David hesitated, not understanding what he meant. It was the custom for
the women of the wilderness to ride behind the men; but it was plain
that this was not the young doctor's intention. He sat far back in his
large saddle, and when Ruth set her foot in the palm of David's hand,
and fluttered upward like a freed bird, he caught her and seated her
before him. A word to his horse and they were away. He was holding Ruth
close to his breast, and her white garments were blown about him, as
they vanished in the black wilderness.

VII

A MORNING IN CEDAR HOUSE

It was almost morning when the boy and William Pressley reached home.
David did not go to bed, but set out at the first glimmer of dawn to do
the judge's bidding, calling the black men to go with him, since there
was no great glory to be won by going alone in the daylight. There was
time for a little rest after coming back, and it was still very early
when he arose from his bed and began to get ready for breakfast.

He looked from his cabin window at the river which always drew his
waking gaze. It was sparkling like a stream of liquid diamonds under the
flood of sunlight pouring over the dazzled earth. The fringing rushes
rippled as gently as the water under the snowy breasts of many swans.
The trees along the shore were freshly green and newly alive with the
color and chatter of the paroquets. Looking and listening, he thought
what a poetic notion it was that these vivid birds should carry the seed
pearls of the mistletoe from one mighty oak to another, bearing the tiny
treasures in the wax on their feet.

Far up the wide, shining river a great, heavy-laden barge was gliding
swiftly down. Its worn and clumsy sail seemed as white and graceful as
the wings of the swans in the sun. Its dull and tangled coils of
cordelles caught an unwonted charm from the sunbeams. Its merry crew was
singing a song, which came gayly over the flashing water:--

"Hi-ho, the boatmen row,
The Kentuck boys and the O-hi-o.
Dance, the boatmen, dance,
Dance, the boatmen, dance;
Dance all night till broad daylight,
And go home with the gals in the mornin'."

Watching the barge pass out of sight beneath the overhanging trees,
David turn