It was nearly dinner-time in the Hedden cottage. Farmer Hedden sat in the doorway, equipped in his hunting dress for he usually spent Saturday afternoons in the forest; and it was only at his wife’s solicitation that he had consented to wait and “take a bite of dinner” before starting, Every now and then he raised his head from the almanac, over which he was bending, to listen to the whirr of his wife’s spinning-wheel, and her merry song issuing from the cottage, or to cast an impatient glance in the direction of the streamlet.

Within, all was neatness and cheerfulness; the clean deal table was arranged with its row of yellow platters and shining pewter-mugs even the stools were standing round it, ready for the hungry household that usually assembled at noon, eager for dinner.

“Father’s” and “mother’s” places were at either end of the table; Rudolph’s and Kitty’s at one side (Kitty had a high chair made by “father” out of young oak branches); Bessie’s opposite; and, beside hers, the prettiest plate; and the brightest mug for Big Tom for, of course, he must be asked to stay.

Everything was ready. Far back in the open fireplace the fagots were blazing and snapping. Hanging above them, the great iron pot threw forth a circle of noisy steam around the loosely fitted lid, while the potatoes within were in a high state of commotion little ones tumbling pell-mell over big ones, and big ones rocking dolefully backward and forward in the boiling water as though they felt sure their end was approaching.

“Blow the horn again, John,” called out Mrs. Hedden, as she cut another slice from the big brown loaf that had rapidly been growing less under her shining knife. “Ha! ha! they can’t help hearing that,” she laughed, as her husband blew a blast even louder than usual.

After waiting a moment, Mr. Hedden came in, throwing the almanac on a low wooden settee as he entered.

“No use waiting any longer, wifey let’s sit by. I don’t see a sign of the youngsters; though it did seem to me I heard some of ’em screaming and laughing in the distance a bit ago. ’Twon’t do, though,” he continued, shaking his head; “we must make the crazy little cubs mind the horn closer. Play’s play, and all well enough in its way, but you must teach children regularity from the very outset, or they’ll never be good for much.”

“That’s true enough, John,” answered his wife, as she “dished” some of the steaming potatoes leaving a goodly number in the pot for the little folk “that’s true enough; but you know this is a day of extra frolic for the children. They’re having such fun, likely, they’ve no notion how the time is passing. As for the horn, who could expect mortal ears to hear that with Bessie and Big Tom laughing and singing, and Rudolph screaming with fun as I know he is; and little Kit, bless her! just frantic with delight; I think I can see them now, the merry madcaps!”

Ah! happy, unconscious mother, if you could have seen them if their cries of terror could but have reached your ears!

Finally, neighbor Hedden arose, shoving back his stool on the sanded floor.

“Well, well, wifey, you’re right enough, no doubt; but I tell you it isn’t best to be too easy with youngsters, though ours are the best going, if I do say it. A good trouncing all around, when they come in, wouldn’t be a bit too much for them for being so late;” and, half in fun, half in earnest, he shook his head rather fiercely at his wife, and stalked out of the cottage.

Presently she laughed outright to hear the loud, impatient tones issuing from the great tin horn. “That’ll fetch them, I reckon,” said neighbor Hedden, showing a smiling face at the window.

As another hour passed away, the songs grew fewer and fainter upon the mother’s lips at first from vexation, and, finally, from weariness and a vague feeling of anxiety.

“Bessie should know better,” she thought to herself, “than to stay so long. I wish I had not let Kitty go with them.”

The next moment she smiled to think how hungry the children would be when they returned, and half wished that it would not be “spoiling” them to make them a good sugar-cake for their supper.

Not until the shadows grew longer upon the edge of the forest, and threatening clouds grew thicker overhead, did her heart quail or her cheek grow white with sudden fear.

“Oh! what can keep them, I wonder! Why didn’t I ask John to go look for them?” she asked herself over and over again. But Mrs. Hedden was not one to sit weeping with folded hands while anything remained to be done.

It was not long before their nearest neighbor, who was still at work, enjoying the coolness of the afternoon, leaned upon his spade to wonder what on earth neighbor Hedden’s wife was up to now.

“Why, look there! Bob,” he called out to his son, “if she ain’t leaping over this way like a year-old colt!”

In the mean time, neighbor Hedden himself was having but sorry sport in the forest. He saw nothing worth even pointing his gun at, and felt altogether so ill at ease and so fidgety as he trudged along, stepping now upon the soft moss, and now upon fallen branches that crackled even under the stealthy tread of his hunting moccasins, that I doubt whether half the bears hidden in the depths of the forest were not in a livelier mood than he. Not that he had anything to make him feel especially ill-humored, unless it was the disobedience of his children in having failed to appear at dinner-time but it seemed to him that there was something going wrong in the world, some screw loose in his affairs that, unless he turned it tight in time, would cause his happiness and the prosperity of his home to fall in ruins about him. After awhile this feeling became so strong that he seated himself upon a stone to think.

“I haven’t been as neighborly as I might have been,” he reflected: “there’s many a turn been wanting by these new-comers, the Morrises, that I might have tended to, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own affairs. Come to think, almost the only kindness I’ve done for nearly a year past was in giving a bag of potatoes to that sick fellow, Po-no-kah, who seemed to me to be a good fellow, as Indians go. However, it ain’t much kindness to give to those murderous red-skins when there’s plenty of white men wanting help. Well, if I’m not agoin’ to shoot anything, I guess I’d better go home.”

With these last words, uttered half aloud, neighbor Hedden arose, and walked a few steps in the direction of his home. Presently he paused again, muttering to himself

“It’s blamed queer I haven’t heard the youngsters coming down with the scow; I certainly should have heard them if they’d passed anywhere near guess I’d best walk on a little way up stream.”

So saying, he turned, with a new anxiety upon his countenance, and moved with rapid strides toward the rivulet, that still ran rippling on, though the bright sparkles that lit its surface at noon had vanished. Indeed, by this time the sunshine was, fast vanishing, too, for heavy clouds were gathering overhead, while those in the west were gilded on their lower edge.