At this point in her narration, an exclamation from the Indian arrested attention.  All listened and heard but a short distance away: 

“Begorrah, Teddy, it’s yerself that’s entitled to a wee bit of rist, as yees have been on a mighty long tramp, and hasn’t diskivered anything but a country that is big enough to hide the Atlantic ocean in, wid Ireland on its bosom as a jewel.  The chances are small of yees iver gitting another glimpse of heaven—­that is, of Miss Cora’s face.  The darlint; if she’s gone to heaven, then Teddy McFadden don’t care how soon somebody else wears out his breeches—­that is, on the presumption that St. Peter will say, ‘Teddy, me lad, ye can inter an’ make yerself at home, to be sure!’”

The husband and wife glanced at each other significantly as the fellow rattled on.

“Wait a moment,” said Harvey, rising to his feet, and carefully making his way in the direction of the sound.

It was curious that the Irishman should have paused for his noonday rest in such close proximity to our friends; but, he had learned from a trader who had recently visited the Red River country, that there was a white woman, beyond all question, among the tribe in the north, and he was on his way to make them a second visit.

The missionary found his servant seated by a tree.  Teddy looked up as he heard a footstep.  It seemed as if his eyes would drop from their sockets.  His mouth opened wide, and he seemed, for the moment, confounded.  Then he recovered his presence of mind in a measure, and proceeded to scratch his head vigorously.  That, with him, ever was a sign of the clearing up of his ideas.

“How do you do, Teddy?” at length the missionary said, after having enjoyed the poor fellow’s confusion.

“Faith, but ye sent the cold shivers over me. Is it yerself, Mister Harvey, out in these woods, or is it yer ghost on the s’arch for Misthress Cora?  I sometimes thinks me own ghost is out on the s’arch without me body, an’ I shouldn’t be surprised to maat it some day.  But I’m mighty glad it’s yerself an’ not yer ghost, for, to till the thruth, I don’t jist like ghosts—­they makes a body feel so quare in the stomach.”

“Come with me; I have an Indian as company, and you may as well join us.”

The Hibernian followed, a few paces behind, continually expressing his astonishment at seeing his master so far away from home.  He did not look up until they were within a few paces of the camp-fire, when Richter stepped from before him.

“Save us! save us! but if there isn’t the ghowst of Miss Cora come to haunt me for not finding her afore!” exclaimed Teddy, retreating a step or two in genuine terror.  “Saint Patherick, Saint Pether, Saint Virgin Mary, protict me!  I didn’t mane to get dhrunk that day, ye know, nor to make a frind of—­”

“I am no ghost but my own self, Teddy, restored to my husband in safety.  Can you not welcome me?”