Watching the barge pass out of sight beneath the overhanging trees, David turned to see a small dark object, leading two long verging lines of silvery ripples across the glittering current.  This cleft the water near the Shawnee Crossing, and might, not long before, have been the plumed head of a warrior wanting his canoe.  But since the warriors were all gone so strangely and suddenly, this brown speck now crossing the river must have been the antlered head of a deer swimming to the other side, thus giving the hunters warning that these green hills would soon be white with snow.  If so, there was no other sign of nearing winter.  The sombre forest stretching away from the opposite shore had not yet been brightened by a touch of frost.  The leaves on the near-by trees, the great oaks and elms and poplars standing around Cedar House, were thinning only through ripeness, and drifting very slowly down to the green and growing grass.  On the tall maples perfection alone had culled the foliage, so wreathing the bronze boughs with rarer garlands of fretted gold.

No dread of wintry storms had yet driven away any of the birds that Ruth fed every day on the sill of her chamber window.  They were all there as usual—­the whole feathered colony—­as if they wished to be polite, even though they were not hungry on that sunny morning.  The little ones, to be sure, pecked a crumb now and then with a languid indifference.  The blue jays—­as usual—­were brazen in their ingratitude for any dole of commonplace crumbs, while spicy seeds were still strewn by every scented breeze.  But shy and bold alike, they all flocked around Ruth’s window, and sat on the sill within reach of her hand, and cocked their pretty heads as if it were feast enough only to look at her.

She had already been downstairs to fetch the birds’ breakfast, and had gone into the garden where the sweetest and reddest roses of all the year were still blooming.  She held a big bunch of them in her hand as she stood at the open window and waved it at David in a morning greeting, when she saw him crossing the yard.  She came down the broad stairs as he entered the great room, and she was wearing a fresh white frock and her arms were full of the fragrant red roses.

The rest of the family were already in the room, and the table was laid for breakfast.  Ruth greeted each one with a smile, but she did not speak, and began to move quietly about the table, giving those dainty little finishing touches which no true woman ever leaves to a servant.  She put some of the roses in a vase, and rearranged this and that, moving lightly and softly about.  Her footsteps were as soundless as the fall of tender leaves, and her garments made no more rustle than the unfolding of a flower.  She threw one of the red roses at David, and wafted the judge a kiss.  Once or twice she turned to speak to William, but forthwith smilingly gave up all thought of it for the time being.