“I am sorry to hear it, Mr. Muir; I doubt not that time will remove all their distrust.”

“If time would only remove mine, pretty Mabel,” rejoined the Quartermaster in a wheedling tone, “I should feel no envy of the commander-in-chief.  I think if I were in a condition to retire, the Sergeant would just step into my shoes.”

“If my dear father is worthy to step into your shoes, Mr. Muir,” returned the girl, with malicious pleasure, “I’m sure that the qualification is mutual, and that you are every way worthy to step into his.”

“The deuce is in the child! you would not reduce me to the rank of a non-commissioned officer, Mabel?”

“No, indeed, sir; I was not thinking of the army at all as you spoke of retiring.  My thoughts were more egotistical, and I was thinking how much you reminded me of my dear father, by your experience, wisdom, and suitableness to take his place as the head of a family.”

“As its bridegroom, pretty Mabel, but not as its parent or natural chief.  I see how it is with you, loving your repartee, and brilliant with wit.  Well, I like spirit in a young woman, so it be not the spirit of a scold.  This Pathfinder is all extraordinair, Mabel, if truth may be said of the man.”

“Truth should be said of him or nothing.  Pathfinder is my friend —­ my very particular friend, Mr. Muir, and no evil can be said of him in my presence that I shall not deny.”

“I shall say nothing evil of him, I can assure you, Mabel; but, at the same time, I doubt if much good can be said in his favor.”

“He is at least expert with the rifle,” returned Mabel, smiling.  “That you cannot deny.”

“Let him have all the credit of his exploits in that way if you please; but he is as illiterate as a Mohawk.”

“He may not understand Latin, but his knowledge of Iroquois is greater than that of most men, and it is the more useful language of the two in this part of the world.”

“If Lundie himself were to call on me for an opinion which I admire more, your person or your wit, beautiful and caustic Mabel, I should be at a loss to answer.  My admiration is so nearly divided between them, that I often fancy this is the one that bears off the palm, and then the other!  Ah! the late Mrs. Muir was a paragon in that way also.”

“The latest Mrs. Muir, did you say, sir?” asked Mabel, looking up innocently at her companion.

“Hoot, hoot!  That is some of Pathfinder’s scandal.  Now I daresay that the fellow has been trying to persuade you, Mabel, that I have had more than one wife already.”

“In that case his time would have been thrown away, sir, as everybody knows that you have been so unfortunate as to have had four.”

“Only three, as sure as my name is David Muir.  The fourth is pure scandal —­ or rather, pretty Mabel, she is yet in petto, as they say at Rome; and that means, in matters of love, in the heart, my dear.”