And they went on, happy, hopeful, confident, and justly confident; recalling the past with its childish pleasures, planning for the future, pointing out to each other familiar places in the forest, and spots associated with some childish reminiscence—now it was the very tree where Magnus first took her to gather chestnuts; now the very dell where he set traps to catch snow-birds for her; now the thicket where the wild rose-bushes bore so full in spring; now the glade that was red with strawberries in May; and so, talking and laughing, hoping and believing, billing and cooing, our pair of turtledoves pursued their Westerly flight. CHAPTER XXVII. DEEP DELL—COUNTRY TAVERN. Here rustic statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round. _—Goldsmith._ It was far into the night when they reached Deep Dell, and put up at the large log tavern that fulfilled the manifold duties of country store, post office, smithy, meetinghouse, and hotel, and was consequently a place of great bustle, if not business. Here our emigrant pair, by special favor, were accommodated with the landlady’s own parlor, and promised a private supper. The tavern was full of people, for this was mail day, and the post-boy from Huttontown was expected every moment. Magnus went out to put his wagon under cover, and to feed and stable his mules. And Elsie sat to employ his absence in writing a few lines to her mother, which she inclosed and directed to Mr. Wilson, the young Methodist minister. She had scarcely concluded when supper, consisting of fine coffee and rich cream, buckwheat cakes, fresh butter, and venison steaks with currant jelly, was brought in and neatly arranged upon the table. Magnus came in, and Elsie, with a blush and a smile, took her seat at the head of the board. This was the first time she had “done the honors of the table,” and her half-womanly, half-childly heart was pleased at the novelty of her position. As for Magnus, he was as gravely comfortable as if he had been used to his vis-a-vis all his life. Very early the next morning the mules were fed and watered and put to the wagon, and a substantial breakfast prepared for our travelers. But when Magnus went to the bar to pay his bill, the barkeeper, with the slow nonchalance of a country postmaster, handed him a letter, which he said had been brought by the Huttontown post-boy late the night previous. Magnus took the letter. It was superscribed in the handwriting of Mr. Wilson. He turned it to break it open, and found, to his dismay, that the seal was black. He tore it open. It was short, even abrupt in its annunciation. “HUTTONTOWN, December 18, 18—. “DR. HARDCASTLE.