Finding I could neither sleep nor lie still, I rose, intending to search all the woods about, and call to her, that if any accident had prevented sight of her she might at least hear me. But upon opening the door, and just stepping out, how agreeably was I surprised to meet her coming in, with something on her arm. "My dear Youwarkee," says I, "where have you been? What has befallen you to keep you out so long? The poor children have been at their wits' end to find you; and I, my dear, have been inconsolable, and was now, almost distracted, coming in search of you." Youwarkee looked very blank, to think what concern she had given me and the children. "My dearest Peter," says she, kissing me, "pray forgive me the only thing I have ever done to offend you, and the last cause you shall ever have, by my good will, to complain of me; but walk within doors, and I will give you a farther account of my absence. Don't you remember what delight I took the other day to hear you talk of your ship?"--"Yes," says I, "you did so; but what of that?"--"Nay, pray," says she, "forgive me, for I have been to see it."--"That's impossible," says I; and truly this was the first time I ever thought she went about to deceive me.--"I do assure you," says she, "I have; and a wonderful thing it is! But if you distrust me, and what I say, I have brought proof of it; step out with me to the verge of the wood, and satisfy yourself."--"But pray," says I, "who presented you with this upon your arm?"--"I vow," says she, "I had forgot this: yes, this will, I believe, confirm to you what I have said."--I turned it over and over; and looking wistfully upon her, says I, "This waistcoat, indeed, is the very fellow to one that lay in the captain's locker in the cabin"--"Say not the very fellow," says she, "but rather say the very same, for I'll assure you it is so; and had you been with me, we might have got so many things for ourselves and the children, we should never have wanted more, though we had lived these hundred years; but as it is, I have left something without the wood for you to bring up." When we had our talk out, she, hearing the children stir, took them up, and was going, as she always did, to get their breakfasts. "Hold," says I, "this journey must have fatigued you too much already; lay yourself to rest, and leave everything else to me."--"My dear," says she, "you seem to think this flight tiresome, but you are mistaken; I am more weary with walking to the lake and back again, than with all the rest. Oh," says she, "if you had but the graundee, flying would rest you, after the greatest labour; for the parts which are moved with exercise on the earth, are all at rest in flight; as, on the contrary, the parts used in flight are when on earthly travel. The whole trouble of flight is in mounting from the plain ground; but when once you are upon the graundee at a proper height, all the rest is play, a mere trifle; you need only think of your