I made no reply, but put on my sun-bonnet and took his arm, and in a little while we were crossing the river, he rowing, while I sat in the stern. It was a beautiful day. We arrived at the opposite shore, at a point where the perpendicular wall of the Palisades, is for a mile or more, broken by a huge and sloping hill, covered with giant forest trees. Together we took the serpentine path, which, winding toward all points of the compass, led to the top of the Palisades. The birds were singing, the broad forest leaves and hanging vines quivered in the sun, the air was balmy, and the day the very embodiment of the freshness and fragrance of June. As we wound up the road (whose brown graveled surface contrasted with the foliage), we saw the sunlight streaming in upon the deep shadows of the wood, and heard from afar the lulling music of a waterfall. Departing from the beaten road, we wandered among the forest trees, and talked together as gladly and as familiarly as in other days. There we wandered for hours, now in sunlight, now in shadow, now resting upon the brow of some moss-covered rock, and now stopping beside a spring of clear cold water, half hidden by thick green leaves. As noon drew near, we ascended to the top of the forest hill, and passing through a wilderness of tangled vines, came suddenly upon a rude farmhouse, one story high, built of logs, whose dark surface contrasted with the verdure of the garden and the foliage of the overshadowing tree. It was the same as in the year before. There was the well-pole rising above its roof and the well-bucket moist with clear cold water, and in the doorway stood the farmer's dame, who had often welcomed us to her quiet home. "Bless me! how handsome my children have grown!" she cried, "and how's the good Domine? Come in, come in; the folks are all away in the fields; come in and rest you, and have some pie and milk, and"--she paused for breath--"and some dinner." The good dame would take no denial, and we sat down to dinner with her--I can see the scene before me now--the carefully sanded floor, the old clock in the corner, the cupboard glistering with the burnished pewter, the neatly spread table, the broad hearth, covered with green boughs, and the open windows, with the sunbeams playing through the encircling vines. And then the good dame with her high cap, round, good-humored face, and spectacles resting on the bridge of her hooked nose. As we broke the home-made bread with her, we were as gay as larks. "Well, I do like to see young folks enjoy themselves," said the dame.--"You don't know how often I've thought of you since you were here last summer. I have said, and I will say it, that a handsomer brother and sister I never yet did see." "But you mistake," said Ernest, "We're not brother and sister."