The secret of the young man’s character was a high and abstracted ambition.  He could have borne to live an undistinguished life, but not to be forgotten in the grave.  Yearning desire had been transformed to hope; and hope, long cherished, had become like certainty, that, obscurely as he journeyed now, a glory was to beam on all his pathway—­though not, perhaps, while he was treading it.  But when posterity should gaze back into the gloom of what was now the present, they would trace the brightness of his footsteps, brightening as meaner glories faded, and confess that a gifted one had passed from his cradle to his tomb with none to recognize him.

‘As yet,’ cried the stranger—­his cheek glowing and his eye flashing with enthusiasm—­’as yet, I have done nothing.  Were I to vanish from the earth tomorrow, none would know so much of me as you:  that a nameless youth came up at nightfall from the valley of the Saco, and opened his heart to you in the evening, and passed through the Notch by sunrise, and was seen no more.  Not a soul would ask, ’Who was he?  Whither did the wanderer go?  But I cannot die till I have achieved my destiny.  Then, let Death come!  I shall have built my monument!’

There was a continual flow of natural emotion, gushing forth amid abstracted reverie, which enabled the family to understand this young man’s sentiments, though so foreign from their own.  With quick sensibility of the ludicrous, he blushed at the ardor into which he had been betrayed.

‘You laugh at me,’ said he, taking the eldest daughter’s hand, and laughing himself.  ’You think my ambition as nonsensical as if I were to freeze myself to death on the top of Mount Washington, only that people might spy at me from the country round about.  And, truly, that would be a noble pedestal for a man’s statue!’

‘It is better to sit here by this fire,’ answered the girl, blushing, ‘and be comfortable and contented, though nobody thinks about us.’

‘I suppose,’ Said her father, after a fit of musing, ’there is something natural in what the young man says; and if my mind had been turned that way, I might have felt just the same.  It is strange, wife, how his talk has set my head running on things that are pretty certain never to come to pass.’

‘Perhaps they may,’ observed the wife.  ’Is the man thinking what he will do when he is a widower?’

‘No, no!’ cried he, repelling the idea with reproachful kindness.  ’When I think of your death, Esther, I think of mine, too.  But I was wishing we had a good farm in Bartlett, or Bethlehem, or Littleton, or some other township round the White Mountains; but not where they could tumble on our heads.  I should want to stand well with my neighbors and be called Squire, and sent to General Court for a term or two; for a plain, honest man may do as much good there as a lawyer.  And when I should be grown quite an old man, and you an old woman, so as not to be long apart, I might die happy enough in my bed, and leave you all crying around me.  A slate gravestone would suit me as well as a marble one—­with just my name and age, and a verse of a hymn, and something to let people know that I lived an honest man and died a Christian.’