Under the circumstances, her concern—her alarm, indeed—was natural. She and Israel had been sweethearts for years,—real sure-enough sweethearts, as she expressed it to her grandfather,—and they were to be married in a short while; just as soon, in fact, as the necessary preliminaries of clothes-making and cake-baking could be disposed of. She thought nothing of her feat of climbing the mountain in the bitter cold and the overwhelming rain. She would have taken much larger risks than that; she would have faced any danger her mind could conceive of. And Israel appreciated it all; nay, he fairly gloated over it. He stood before the fire fairly hugging the fact to his bosom. His face glowed, and his whole attitude was one of exultation; and with it, shaping every gesture and movement, was a manifestation of fearlessness which was all the more impressive because it was unconscious. This had a tendency to fret Polly, whose alarm for Israel’s safety was genuine. “Oh, I do wisht you’d go on,” she cried; “them men’ll shorely ketch you ef you keep on a-stayin’ here a-winkin’ an’ a-gwine on makin’ monkey motions.” “Shoo!” exclaimed Israel. “Ef the house was surrounded by forty thousan’ of ’em, I’d git by ’em, an’, ef need be, take you wi’ me.” While they were talking the dogs began to bark. At the first sound Polly rose from her chair with her arms outstretched, but fell back pale and trembling. Israel had disappeared as if by magic, and Mrs. Spurlock was calmly lighting her pipe by filling it with hot embers. It was evidently a false alarm, for, after a while, Israel backed through the doorway and closed the door again with comical alacrity. “Sh-sh-sh!” he whispered, with a warning gesture, seeing that Polly was about to protest. “Don’t make no fuss. The dogs has been a-barkin’ at sperits an’ things. Jest keep right still.” He went noiselessly about the room, picking up first one thing and then another. Over one shoulder he flung a canteen, and over the other a hunting-horn. Into his coat-pocket he thrust an old-fashioned powder-flask. Meanwhile his mother was busy gathering together such articles as Israel might need. His rifle she placed by the door, and then she filled a large homespun satchel with a supply of victuals—a baked fowl, a piece of smoked beef, and a big piece of light bread. These preparations were swiftly and silently made. When everything seemed to be ready for his departure Israel presented the appearance of a peddler. “I’m goin’ up to the Rock,” he said, by way of explanation, “an’ light the fire. Maybe the boys’ll see it, an’ maybe they won’t. Leastways they’re mighty apt to smell the smoke.”