rose to proclaim it. Between pipes of Virginia tobacco, and old sledge, and songs of love and daring, we had a memorable night. When we went to our room, near twelve o'clock, I told D'ri of our dear friends, who, all day, had been much in my thought.
"Wus the letter writ by her?" he inquired.
"Not a doubt of it."
"Then it's all right," said he. "A likely pair o' gals them air—no mistake."
"But I think they made me miss the bear," I answered.
"Ray," said D'ri, soberly, "when yer shutin' a bear, ef ye want 'im, don't never think o' nuthin' but the bear." Then, after a moment's pause, he added: "Won't never hev no luck killin' a bear ef ye don' quit dwellin' so on them air gals."
I thanked him, with a smile, and asked if he knew Eagle Island.
"Be'n all over it half a dozen times," said he. "’T ain' no more 'n twenty rod from the Yankee shore, thet air island ain't. We c'u'd paddle there in a day from our cove."
And that was the way we planned to go,—
