All about were evidences of Dorothy’s daily visits to the rock. In a niche he found a book and the place mark was his last letter. About were scattered almost an arm load of half wilted flowers. She had been there that very morning and he wondered why she had not come in the afternoon. He was still thinking of her when the plantation bell gave three tolls, his call, and he hurried home. The family were around the table waiting for him. When he had taken the old place at the right of his mother, where he had sat since his high-chair days, his father as head of the family asked the blessing and then helped all bountifully. “Mother, have you seen Dorothy today? Is she well?” “Yes, she is well; you better go down after supper and see Captain Fairfax; she will likely be at home.” ———— Dorothy lost little time in washing the supper dishes and tidying up a bit. Then she placed the porch chairs to her satisfaction, blushing as she did so. For five minutes she waited in restless anticipation wondering what made John late; finally she feared he might not come. The dog gave a bark of warning. A second or two later she heard a step upon the road; and a tall man stood for a moment upon the stile. As he drew near her heart gave little jumps of joy at the sound of each footstep. She stood in the shadow until John reached the step; then they called, “Dorothy”—“John”—and each held out both hands in greeting. Captain Fairfax and his wife came out, as was the custom in those days, instead of retiring to the back porch or going upstairs as now; and all sat and talked; John of his college days and the news of Williamsburg and the coast, and they of the news of the Valley and the frontier. Conversation drifted to their childhood and the time of their captivity; which led John to speak of his intended visit to the Mingo country. “I shall go back with Mason and remain for several weeks. Father says I look pale and need the outdoor life. I would be glad to have you go, Captain.” “If it can be arranged I am sure I would enjoy the trip. It is more than five years since I was on the Ohio.” “Father if you are going, there is no reason why I might not go too, though Mr. Campbell has not asked me. I am a daughter of the tribe and have been told to come with Chief Cross-Bearer.” “Well Dorothy, when did I get to be Mr. Campbell? You know how much I wish you might go. There is no danger.” When he left for home is was tentatively arranged that Dorothy and her father were to go and the young people were very happy. Some days later, in the gray of early morning, Dorothy and her father met the others on the trail near the plantation; and John, without asking, added to his own pack all of the traps Dorothy carried except her rifle. All were dressed in Indian costume, not only for convenience but protection; as their only real danger was in being taken for unfriendly whites and ambushed before their identity should be discovered.