plaudible pretext about his health. The wooden-leg, however, never appeared; and William, a second time, resolved on the nocturnal expedition to the cross-road.
At night, when he came back from the forest, Katharine ran out joyfully to meet him.—“Guess, William, only guess,” she cried, “who it is that is come. There is a visitor for you, a right dear visitor: but I will not say who, for you must guess.”
William had no mind for guessing, and still less for seeing visitors. On this day, the dearest in the world, would have seemed in his eyes a troublesome intruder. He shrunk gloomily from Katharine’s welcome, and thought of turning back upon some pretence; but, at that moment, the house-door opened, and the light of the moon discovered a venerable old man in a hunter’s dress, who stepped forwards and stretched out his arms to William.
“William!” exclaimed a well known voice, and William found himself in the arms of his uncle. A world of affecting remembrances, from the days of childhood, remembrances of
