“What are you studying about?” interrogated Glenn.

“I can’t understand it,” replied Joe, shaking his head.

“Neither can the most renowned philosopher,” said Glenn; “but you can tell whether your musket has been discharged.”

“It hasn’t been fired,” said Joe.  “But what distresses me is, that there should be only a charge of powder in it, just as you stated, and when I drew out the shot you were fast asleep.  You must have heard me say I intended to do it.”

“Not that I remember,” said Glenn.

“Then there must be a wizard about, sure enough,” said Joe, and he crossed himself.

“Suppose we take our guns and walk out in the direction mentioned?” said Glenn; “I feel the want of exercise after my sleep, and have some curiosity to test the accuracy of my dream by comparing the things described with the real objects on the island.”

“Not for the world!” cried Joe, lifting both hands imploringly; “but I will gladly go anywhere else, just to see if the bushes are as beautiful as you thought they were, and if the deer can’t run on the snow-crust as well as the dogs.”

“Come on, then—­I care not which course we go,” said Glenn, taking up his gun, and leading the way out of the inclosure.

They pursued a westerly course until they reached nearly to the edge of the prairie, when they paused in the midst of a cluster of hazel bushes, to admire the beauty of the novel scene.  The description had been perfect.  Even Glenn surveyed the emblazenry of magic “frost work,” around him with some misgivings as to the fallacy of his vision.  Joe stared at his master with a curious and ludicrous expression.

“I am not dreaming now, Joe,” said he, with a smile.

“How do you know?” asked Joe.

“That’s well put,” said Glenn; “indeed, I am very sure that many of my lively and spirited friends in Philadelphia and New York, could they but see me, would swear that I have been dreaming every day for the last three months.  However, I have not now the same reverence for the sylvan gods I was so much inclined to worship in my last sleep; and, moreover, I am the first to see the deer this time.  Yonder it stands.  It is not a buck, though; capture it as soon as you please.”

“Where is it?” exclaimed Joe, his superstition vanishing as he anticipated some sport; and, gliding quickly to Glenn’s side, he beheld, under the branches of a low scrubby oak tree, the head and ears of a large doe.  It was intently watching our pedestrians, and stood motionless in the ambush, on which it vainly relied to obscure it from the eyes of an enemy.

“You must not fire,” said Glenn, placing his hand on the shoulder of Joe.  Joe lowered his musket reluctantly, and turning his eyes to his master, seemed inclined to relapse into the belief that all was not right and natural in their proceedings.

“Now go to it,” said Glenn, gently taking the gun from Joe.