“Santa Cruz better,”—­rejoined the sententious Tuscarora.

“Santa Cruz is certainly stronger” answered the captain laughing, “and, in that sense, you may find it better.  You shall have a glass, as soon as we go to the house.  What news do you bring, that you come in so fast?”

“Glass won’t do.  Nick bring news worth jug.  Squaw give two jug for Nick’s news.  Is it barg’in?”

“I!” cried Mrs. Willoughby—­“what concern can I have with your news.  My daughters are both with me, and Heaven be praised! both are well.  What can I care for your news, Nick?”

“Got no pap-poose but gal?  T’ink you got boy—­officer—­great chief—­up here, down yonder—­over dere.”

“Robert!—­Major Willoughby!  What can you have to tell me of my son?”

“Tell all about him, for one jug.  Jug out yonder; Nick’s story out here.  One good as t’other.”

“You shall have all you ask, Nick.”—­These were not temperance days, when conscience took so firm a stand between the bottle and the lips.—­“You shall have all you ask, Nick, provided you can really give me good accounts of my noble boy.  Speak, then; what have you to say?”

“Say you see him in ten, five minute.  Sent Nick before to keep moder from too much cry.”

An exclamation from Maud followed; then the ardent girl was seen rushing down the lawn, her hat thrown aside; and her bright fair hair again flowing in ringlets on her shoulders.  She flew rather than ran, in the direction of the mill, where the figure of Robert Willoughby was seen rushing forward to meet her.  Suddenly the girl stopped, threw herself on a log, and hid her face.  In a few minutes she was locked in her brother’s arms.  Neither Mrs. Willoughby nor Beulah imitated this impetuous movement on the part of Maud; but the captain, chaplain, and even Jamie Allen, hastened down the road to meet and welcome the young major.  Ten minutes later, Bob Willoughby was folded to his mother’s heart; then came Beulah’s turn; after which, the news having flown through the household, the young man had to receive the greetings of Mari’, both the Smashes, the younger Pliny, and all the dogs.  A tumultuous quarter of an hour brought all round, again, to its proper place, and restored something like order to the Knoll.  Still an excitement prevailed the rest of the day, for the sudden arrival of a guest always produced a sensation in that retired settlement; much more likely, then, was the unexpected appearance of the only son and heir to create one.  As everybody bustled and was in motion, the whole family was in the parlour, and major Willoughby was receiving the grateful refreshment of a delicious cup of tea, before the sun set.  The chaplain would have retired out of delicacy, but to this the captain would not listen; he would have everything proceed as if the son were a customary guest, though it might have been seen by the manner in which his mother’s affectionate eye was fastened on his handsome face, as well as that in which his sister Beulah, in particular, hung about him, under the pretence of supplying his wants, that the young man was anything but an every-day inmate.