“Well—­I like raspberries, and they must be ripe by this time, if the chickens havn’t picked them all before us.”

“Dod—­if the chickens have ett ’em can that make ’em green agin?” replied Sneak to Joe’s Irishism.

“You’d better learn how to read before you turn critic,” said Joe, taking up the baskets that had been brought out of the house.  He then led the way, quarrelling all the time with Sneak, while Glenn, placing Mary’s arm in his, and William imitating the example, followed at a distance behind.

When the party reached the raspberry thicket, they found truly that the fowls were there before them, though quite an abundance of the delicious berry still remained untouched.  A few moments sufficed to drive the feathered gatherers away, and then without delay they began to fill their baskets.

Many were the hearty peals of joyous laughter that rang from the innocent lovers while momentarily obscured by the green clustering bushes.  Ere long they were dispersed in various parts of the thicket, and Glenn and Mary being separated from the rest, our hero seized the opportunity to broach a tender subject.

“Mary,” said he, and then most unaccountably paused.

“Well,” said she turning her glorious dark blue eyes full upon him.

“I have something of moment to say to you, if you will listen attentively—­and I know not a more fitting time and place than this to tell it.  Here is a natural bower surrounded by sweet berries, and shielded from the sun by the fragrant myrtle.  Let us sit on this mossy rock.  Will you listen?” he continued, drawing her close to his side on the seat in the cool retreat.

“Have I ever refused to listen to you? do I not love to hear your voice?” said the confiding and happy girl.

“Bless you, Mary—­my whole heart is yours!” exclaimed our hero, seizing a rapturous kiss from the coral lips of the maiden.  Mary resisted not, nor replied; while tears, but not of grief, glistened on her dark lashes.

“You will not reject my love, Mary?  Why do you weep?”

“It is with joy—­my heart is so happy that tears gush out in spite of me!”

“Will you then be mine?” continued Glenn, winding his arm round her yielding waist.

“Forever!” she replied, and, bowing her head slightly, a shower of dark silken tresses obscured her blushing face, and covered our hero’s panting breast.  Thus they remained many moments in silence, for their feelings were too blissful for utterance.

“Are you always happy, Mary?” said Glenn, at length, taking her little white hand in his.

“No!” she replied, with a sigh.

“Why?”

“When you are away, I sometimes fear the Indians—­or a snake—­or—­or something may harm you,” said she, falteringly.

“I thank thee, Mary, for thinking of me when I am away.”

“I always think of thee!” said she.

“Always, Mary?”