"I don't see nuthin' of it. That war a mighty big raft he took down to Centre City; the biggest raft that ever floated on that river, I reckon. He mought not be home for two or three days yet, Miss Alice. Gorry! but won't he hev a heap of money when he sells that ar' raft!" "And he'll be sure to bring me something pretty--he always does." "He knows what's what," responded Ben, stealing a sidelong, admiring glance at the sweet, young face in the skiff. If a compliment was intended, it was not understood by the hearer. "Yes, father always knows _just_ what suits me best. Dear father! I hope he _will_ come home to-night. I've been out picking blackberries for supper--just look at my hands," and she held up two pretty, dimpled hands, as if to show how charming they were, instead of to betray the purple-tipped fingers. But Alice Wilde did not know they were pretty, in sober truth, for she had never been praised, flattered, nor placed in a situation where she could institute comparisons. "Well, Ben, good-by. I shall float down the river a few miles, and if I don't see him, I can row back alone." "You're mighty pert with the oars, for a gal. I never seed no woman 't could row a boat like you, Miss Alice." "Thank you," she said, with a bright smile, as she turned her little birchen skiff about and struck out into the river again. Ben watched that graceful form until it was out of sight, heaving a sigh, as he turned again to his work, which told how absorbed he had been. Drifting down the river, under the shadow of precipitous bluffs, while the sunshine flecked with gold the rolling prairie-land upon the opposite side, the young girl sang wild negro-melodies which she had learned of the two old colored people who formed her father's retinue of house-servants. Rich and clear, her voice floated through those beautiful solitudes, heard only by the envious birds in the trees which overtopped the bluffs. Presently she had listeners, of whom she was unaware. An abrupt bend in the river hid from her the little boat with its single sail, fluttering like a butterfly against the current. It held two persons--David Wilde, the owner and captain of the raft of which Ben had spoken, a rough, striking-looking man of middle age, attired in a pink calico shirt and brown linen jacket and trowsers, who sat at the tiller smoking his pipe; and a young man of four and twenty, extremely good-looking and fashionably-dressed. "What's that?" exclaimed the latter, as the sweet voice thrilled over the water. "That's herself, sure," replied the raftsman, listening; "she's comin' to meet me, I reckon. It's just like her." "And who's 'herself?'" queried the other, laughing. "My cub, sir. Won't yer take yer flute out of yer pocket and give her a tune, before she sees us? It'll set her to wonderin' what 'n earth it is."