England, in the earliest stages and wildest circumstances of the
country, adopted, whenever attainable, the legal mode of deciding their
differences. To be brief, the world did not go well with Reuben Bourne;
and, though not till many years after his marriage, he was finally a
ruined man, with but one remaining expedient against the evil fate that
had pursued him. He was to throw sunlight into some deep recess of the
forest, and seek subsistence from the virgin bosom of the wilderness.

The only child of Reuben and Dorcas was a son, now arrived at the age
of fifteen years, beautiful in youth, and giving promise of a glorious
manhood. He was peculiarly qualified for, and already began to excel
in, the wild accomplishments of frontier life. His foot was fleet, his
aim true, his apprehension quick, his heart glad and high; and all who
anticipated the return of Indian war spoke of Cyrus Bourne as a future
leader in the land. The boy was loved by his father with a deep and
silent strength, as if whatever was good and happy in his own nature
had been transferred to his child, carrying his affections with it.
Even Dorcas, though loving and beloved, was far less dear to him; for
Reuben's secret thoughts and insulated emotions had gradually made him
a selfish man, and he could no longer love deeply except where he saw
or imagined some reflection or likeness of his own mind. In Cyrus he
recognized what he had himself been in other days; and at intervals he
seemed to partake of the boy's spirit, and to be revived with a fresh
and happy life. Reuben was accompanied by his son in the expedition,
for the purpose of selecting a tract of land and felling and burning
the timber, which necessarily preceded the removal of the household
gods. Two months of autumn were thus occupied, after which Reuben
Bourne and his young hunter returned to spend their last winter in the
settlements.

. . . . . . . . . . .

It was early in the month of May that the little family snapped asunder
whatever tendrils of affections had clung to inanimate objects, and
bade farewell to the few who, in the blight of fortune, called
themselves their friends. The sadness of the parting moment had, to
each of the pilgrims, its peculiar alleviations. Reuben, a moody man,
and misanthropic because unhappy, strode onward with his usual stern
brow and downcast eye, feeling few regrets and disdaining to
acknowledge any. Dorcas, while sh