"Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have the old rifle when I was rich enough to get a new one. Take it _now_, lad. It's come to ye sooner than either o' us expected." "Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's hand warmly, "ye're true as heart of oak. It's good of 'ee; that's a fact." "Not a bit, boy; it costs me nothin' to give away an old gun that I've no use for, an's worth little, but it makes me right glad to have the chance to do it." Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk; but his prospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time, and it is a question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joy in handling the old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize. A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of. This was no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine property to follow him. Fan had no idea of changing masters without her consent being asked or her inclination being consulted. "You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," said the major. "No fear," answered the youth. "Dog natur's like human natur'!" Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably into the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prize rifle on his shoulder. Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, gazing now to the right and now to the left, as the major retired in one direction and Dick with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortable in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl. The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one moment she pricked up her ears at the sound, and then, lowering them, trotted quietly after her new master, and followed him to his cottage on the margin of the lake. CHAPTER III. _Speculative remarks with which the reader may or may not agree--An old woman--Hopes and wishes commingled with hard facts--The dog Crusoe's education begun_. It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such a face did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother's cottage. Mrs. Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love for her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of Maryland and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement. Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was stamped with a species of beauty which _never_ fades--the beauty of a loving look. Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may snare the heart of man for a time, but the _loving look_ alone can forge that adamantine chain that time, age, eternity shall never break.