There is no use in trying to hurry the natural course of events, in a narrative like this.  June passed away, and July, and August had come, and as yet the enigma which had completely puzzled Arrowhead Village and its visitors remained unsolved.  The white canoe still wandered over the lake, alone, ghostly, always avoiding the near approach of the boats which seemed to be coming in its direction.  Now and then a circumstance would happen which helped to keep inquiry alive.  Good horsemanship was not so common among the young men of the place and its neighborhood that Maurice’s accomplishment in that way could be overlooked.  If there was a wicked horse or a wild colt whose owner was afraid of him, he would be commended to Maurice’s attention.  Paolo would lead him to his master with all due precaution,—­for he had no idea of risking his neck on the back of any ill-conditioned beast,—­and Maurice would fasten on his long spurs, spring into the saddle, and very speedily teach the creature good behavior.  There soon got about a story that he was what the fresh-water fisherman called “one o’ them whisperers.”  It is a common legend enough, coming from the Old World, but known in American horse-talking circles, that some persons will whisper certain words in a horse’s ear which will tame him if he is as wild and furious as ever Cruiser was.  All this added to the mystery which surrounded the young man.  A single improbable or absurd story amounts to very little, but when half a dozen such stories are told about the same individual or the same event, they begin to produce the effect of credible evidence.  If the year had been 1692 and the place had been Salem Village, Maurice Kirkwood would have run the risk of being treated like the Reverend George Burroughs.

Miss Lurida Vincent’s curiosity had been intensely excited with reference to the young man of whom so many stories were told.  She had pretty nearly convinced herself that he was the author of the paper on Ocean, Lake, and River, which had been read at one of the meetings of the Pansophian Society.  She was very desirous of meeting him, if it were possible.  It seemed as if she might, as Secretary of the Society, request the cooperation of any of the visitors, without impropriety.  So, after much deliberation, she wrote a careful note, of which the following is an exact copy.  Her hand was bold, almost masculine, a curious contrast to that of Euthymia, which was delicately feminine.  Pansophian society.

Arrowhead village, August 3, 18-. 
Maurice Kirkwood, Esq.

Dear sir,—­You have received, I trust, a card of invitation to the meetings of our Society, but I think we have not yet had the pleasure of seeing you at any of them.  We have supposed that we might be indebted to you for a paper read at the last meeting, and listened to with much interest.  As it was anonymous, we do not wish to be inquisitive respecting its authorship; but we desire to say that any papers kindly sent us by the temporary residents of our village will be welcome, and if adapted to the wants of our Association will be read at one of its meetings or printed in its records, or perhaps both read and printed.  May we not hope for your presence at the meeting, which is to take place next Wednesday evening?  Respectfully yours,