Pathfinder and his companions retired, for the sports were about to proceed.  The ladies, however, were not so much engrossed with rifle-shooting as to neglect the calash.  It passed from hand to hand; the silk was felt, the fashion criticized, and the work examined, and divers opinions were privately ventured concerning the fitness of so handsome a thing passing into the possession of a non-commissioned officer’s child.

“Perhaps you will be disposed to sell that calash, Mabel, when it has been a short time in your possession?” inquired the captain’s lady.  “Wear it, I should think, you never can.”

“I may not wear it, madam,” returned our heroine modestly; “but I should not like to part with it either.”

“I daresay Sergeant Dunham keeps you above the necessity of selling your clothes, child; but, at the same time, it is money thrown away to keep an article of dress you can never wear.”

“I should be unwilling to part with the gift of a friend.”

“But the young man himself will think all the better of you for your prudence after the triumph of the day is forgotten.  It is a pretty and a becoming calash, and ought not to be thrown away.”

“I’ve no intention to throw it away, ma’am; and, if you please, would rather keep it.”

“As you will, child; girls of your age often overlook the real advantages.  Remember, however, if you do determine to dispose of the thing, that it is bespoke, and that I will not take it if you ever even put it on your own head.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mabel, in the meekest voice imaginable, though her eyes looked like diamonds, and her cheeks reddened to the tints of two roses, as she placed the forbidden garment over her well-turned shoulders, where she kept it a minute, as if to try its fitness, and then quietly removed it again.

The remainder of the sports offered nothing of interest.  The shooting was reasonably good; but the trials were all of a scale lower than those related, and the competitors were soon left to themselves.  The ladies and most of the officers withdrew, and the remainder of the females soon followed their example.  Mabel was returning along the low flat rocks that line the shore of the lake, dangling her pretty calash from a prettier finger, when Pathfinder met her.  He carried the rifle which he had used that day; but his manner had less of the frank ease of the hunter about it than usual, while his eye seemed roving and uneasy.  After a few unmeaning words concerning the noble sheet of water before them, he turned towards his companion with strong interest in his countenance, and said, —­

“Jasper earned that calash for you, Mabel, without much trial of his gifts.”

“It was fairly done, Pathfinder.”

“No doubt, no doubt.  The bullet passed neatly through the potato, and no man could have done more; though others might have done as much.”

“But no one did as much!” exclaimed Mabel, with an animation that she instantly regretted; for she saw by the pained look of the guide that he was mortified equally by the remark and by the feeling with which it was uttered.