"Lucy! Lucy!" cried Saul, and he soon overtook me,--"Lucy, I sought you as the thirsting man seeks water on the desert; and I _have_ sought to bless you, almost as Hagar blessed the Angel,--almost as the devout soul blesses God, when it finds a spring that He has made to rise out of the sands. Having found you, I was content. I thought that I could live always, as other men do, in the tameness of Town and Law; but I could not, unless you refused to go with me into the Nature that my spirit demands as a part of its own life." "Saul, you know that you _can_ go without me,--else I should not wish to go. I go, not because I am a necessity to you, but a free-born soul, that wills to go where you go." The grave Professor (for I whisper it here to-night, with only the wind to hear, that Saul _is_ a Professor in a famed seat of learning not many leagues away from the Atlantic coast) looked down at me with a vague, puzzled air, for an instant, then said,-- "I see! It is so, Lucy. You have divined the secret. I am not to let you know that I cannot live without you,--and, if you can, you are to make me think that you only tolerate me." "What of it? Isn't it almost true? I sometimes think, that, if ever we are in heaven, effort to remain there will be necessary to its full joy. We are always crying for rest, when effort is the only pleasure worth possessing." "You are right, and you are wrong. Let us leave mental philosophy with mankind, who have to do with it. Just now, I am willing to confess that I need you, and you are to do as you will. Come! let us look into this thicket." And leading the way, Saul rode presently under a tall cotton wood-tree, and, lifting for me the low-hanging branches of a black-jack, I entered an amphitheatre whose walls were leaves of living green domed in blue, with a river-aisle winding through. I had not time to take in all the joy of the circle, before it was evidenced that Saul had premeditated the scene. A fire of twigs sent up a spicy perfume. A camp-kettle stood beside the fire, and a creature stood beside it. A yellow savage I should have said, but for my husband's welcome. Never in our home library did brother-professor ever receive warmer grasp of hand than I knew this Indian met. They used words, in speaking, that were unknown to me. Presently I perceived that an introduction was pending. That being over, the Indian, Meotona, pointed to a swinging-chair, built for me out of the wealth of grapevine. It was cushioned with the velvet of the buffalo-grass. "Tell me how to thank him," I said to Saul. Meotona immediately replied,--"Me no thank,--him," pointing to Saul.