“I will find William,” he then said hastily.  “Let the doctor take you home.”

“But my horse is lost,” Ruth lifted her head from David’s shoulder and flashed a tearful, smiling glance at the doctor.  “How can you take me?”

“Leave it to me,” Paul Colbert said quickly, in the tone of a man used to meeting emergencies.  “Come with me.  I will find a way.”

It seemed to Ruth and David that he was one to find a way to whatever he wished.  They followed him like two children, to the spot where his horse was tied beside the pony.  He untied the bridle with the quickness of constant practice, and sprang into the saddle with the ease of the practiced horseman.  He threw the reins over the pommel, and then bending down, held out his arms.

“Now!” he cried.  “Give the young lady your hand for her foot!”

David hesitated, not understanding what he meant.  It was the custom for the women of the wilderness to ride behind the men; but it was plain that this was not the young doctor’s intention.  He sat far back in his large saddle, and when Ruth set her foot in the palm of David’s hand, and fluttered upward like a freed bird, he caught her and seated her before him.  A word to his horse and they were away.  He was holding Ruth close to his breast, and her white garments were blown about him, as they vanished in the black wilderness.

VII

A MORNING IN CEDAR HOUSE

It was almost morning when the boy and William Pressley reached home.  David did not go to bed, but set out at the first glimmer of dawn to do the judge’s bidding, calling the black men to go with him, since there was no great glory to be won by going alone in the daylight.  There was time for a little rest after coming back, and it was still very early when he arose from his bed and began to get ready for breakfast.

He looked from his cabin window at the river which always drew his waking gaze.  It was sparkling like a stream of liquid diamonds under the flood of sunlight pouring over the dazzled earth.  The fringing rushes rippled as gently as the water under the snowy breasts of many swans.  The trees along the shore were freshly green and newly alive with the color and chatter of the paroquets.  Looking and listening, he thought what a poetic notion it was that these vivid birds should carry the seed pearls of the mistletoe from one mighty oak to another, bearing the tiny treasures in the wax on their feet.

Far up the wide, shining river a great, heavy-laden barge was gliding swiftly down.  Its worn and clumsy sail seemed as white and graceful as the wings of the swans in the sun.  Its dull and tangled coils of cordelles caught an unwonted charm from the sunbeams.  Its merry crew was singing a song, which came gayly over the flashing water:—­

  “Hi-ho, the boatmen row,
  The Kentuck boys and the O-hi-o. 
  Dance, the boatmen, dance,
  Dance, the boatmen, dance;
  Dance all night till broad daylight,
  And go home with the gals in the mornin’.”