heart, when deception and suspicion are alike unknown, while yet the flowers of trustfulness bloom side by side with budding hope and fancy--ere the germs of envy and selfishness have come to shadow this bright little Eden of life’s imaginings--how lovely thou art in thy freshness and purity! Little dreamed the guileless young gambolers at this moment that a savage eye was peering upon them from behind the eves of the meeting-house. An enemy was lurking near, unknown to those innocent hearts, who, ere the village clock should have pointed to the hour of nightly repose succeeding that day of glee, was destined to shed a gloom over the late happy region. The pretty May Queen, Grace Bartlett, tired at length of her seat in the tall chair under the pulpit and jumping down with a bound and a run, was soon out upon the green amidst the merry group we have described. Frank Winthrop, the other little loiterer, had fallen asleep in one of the high pews, with a large Psalm-book for his pillow, and consequently he took no heed of her departure. There he lay in the calm, beautiful sleep of his young time of life, a model fit for the painter’s or the sculptor’s hand. How beautiful that boyish dreamer looked!--the round, fair outline, the fresh bloom of the features--his dark hair falling aside from his forehead, leaving its surface visible, and bland and fair. Meantime, the shades of evening drew on, and the pennon of the hour began to bestar the heavens. A signal from the parents now brought the truant children to their homes--all but this reposing boy. It was the moment looked for by the lurking foe. Stealthily emerging from his retreat, he gazed around a moment to convince himself that his way was clear, and then advanced softly to the door of the meeting-house. From his late place of secretion he had caught a glimpse, through the window, of the sleeper, thus opportunely for his purpose, left alone in the building, and he deemed that his moment of revenge had come. An instant he stood at the threshold--then advanced with measured tread along the aisles. So light were his footsteps, that the very scattered garlands and stray flowers of the late pageant rebounded unharmed beneath his moccason tread. The space which divided him from the slumberer was soon past, and he stood before the child’s smiling and outstretched form. For a moment a compunctious feeling stole over the warrior. He held his breath as he gazed, and his heart swelled with love and pity. It was an evanescent feeling, however, for in another instant he had raised the boy in his arms, and bearing him gently away, he retraced his steps to the green sward. Another moment, and his retreating feet pressed an opening in the underwood bordering the forest, and in a moment more he was lost in the densely-wooded scenery. CHAPTER II.