He walked with rapid strides, yet his breast was a prey to contending feelings. On the one hand, he was exceedingly curious to know what it was that the boys had for him, and he was also anxious to gratify them; but then, on the other hand, he was disturbed about his baby, and full of fear lest some evil might befall him during his absence. His progress, which at first was rapid, soon slackened, and then grew slower, and finally stopped altogether. He turned irresolutely, and looked back. But all was still. This encouraged him to resume his journey. Again and again he turned and looked back, and each time he was reassured. At last he descended the hill, and his home could no longer be seen. Even then he stopped, and looked back several times, as though he expected that a cry from his deserted infant might meet his ears. But no cry came, and he went on. At length he came to the village, and finding himself thus far committed to his journey, he concluded that it would be better to make haste, so as to be back as soon as possible. With this resolve he set off at a run, and soon reached the wharf. Scarcely had he made his appearance when a wild cheer arose. At first the captain could see nothing but a crowd of boys, who gathered round him, shouting and cheering. Partly inquisitive and partly bewildered, he looked from one to the other with inquiring yet puzzled glances, and said not a word. But the boys did not keep him long in suspense. Thronging around him, they took his arms, and half led, half urged him onward to the river bank, where full before him floated the Antelope. Even then, perhaps, Captain Corbet might not have noticed the schooner, had it not been for the cries and gestures of the boys. The effect of this sudden and unexpected sight, as he realized its meaning, was overwhelming. He started, he stared, he rubbed his eyes, he looked at the boys, then at the Antelope, then at the boys again, and then once more at the Antelope. He could not speak a word. He stared in utter amazement. His belief in her complete and hopeless loss had been perfect; and now to see her floating before him was an overwhelming sight that deprived him of the power of speech. His emotion was so great that his aged form trembled visibly. He burst into tears; and then turning towards the boys without speaking a word, he went around among them, shaking hands with every one of them most earnestly. “Thar,” said he, at last, as he drew a long breath, “I don’t think I ever in all my born days saw a day like this here. An who did it? Did youns do it all--every bit?” “We did some of it,” said Bart; “but it was Captain Pratt that did the most of it. If it hadn’t been for him, it couldn’t have been done at all.” “Captain Pratt? Bless his benevolent sperrit; Take me to him. Whar is he? I want to thank him.” “O, he’s up in the village somewhere.”