keen-sighted enough to read the character of

every individual beast, and has ears sensitive to
the full pathos of joy or sorrow in the song of

the birds that inhabit our woodlands."
"Whether he has any such second set of

senses as you speak of, I don't know; but there
can be no doubt that his familiarity, not to say

intimacy, with birds and beasts gives him a
great advantage as a naturalist. I suppose you

know that his little book has been translated
into French, and rewarded with the gold medal

of the Academy."
"Hush! What is that?" Augusta sprang

up, and held her hand to her ear.
"Some love-lorn mountain-cock playing yonder

in the pine copse," suggested Arnfinn,
amused at his cousin's eagerness.

"You silly boy! Don't you know the mountain-
cock never plays except at sunrise?"

"He would have a sorry time of it now, then,
when there IS no sunrise."

"And so he has; he does not play except in
early spring."

The noise, at first faint, now grew louder. It
began with a series of mellow, plaintive clucks

that followed thickly one upon another, like
smooth pearls of sound that rolled through the

throat in a continuous current; then came a few
sharp notes as of a large bird that snaps his

bill; then a long, half-melodious rumbling,
intermingled with cacklings and snaps, and at last,

a sort of diminuendo movement of the same
round, pearly clucks. There was a whizzing of

wing-beats in the air; two large birds swept
over their heads and struck down into the copse

whence the sound had issued.
"This is indeed a most singular thing," said

Augusta, under her breath, and with wide-eyed wonder.
"Let us go nearer, and see what it can be."

"I am sure I can go if you can," responded
Arnfinn, not any too eagerly. "Give me your

hand, and we can climb the better."
As they approached the pine copse, which

projected like a promontory from the line of
the denser forest, the noise ceased, and only the

plaintive whistling of a mountain-hen, calling
her scattered young together, and now and then

the shrillresponse of a snipe to the cry of its
lonely mate, fell upon the summer night, not as

an interruption, but as an outgrowth of the very
silence. Augusta stole with soundless tread

through the transparent gloom which lingered
under those huge black crowns, and Arnfinn

followed impatiently after. Suddenly she motioned
to him to stand still, and herself bent forward

in an attitude of surprise and eager observation.
On the ground, some fifty steps from

where she was stationed, she saw a man
stretched out full length, with a knapsack under

his head, and surrounded by a flock of downy,
half-grown birds, which responded with a low,

anxious piping to his alluring cluck, then scattered
with sudden alarm, only to return again

in the same curious, cautious fashion as before.
Now and then there was a great flapping of

wings in the trees overhead, and a heavy brown
and black speckled mountain-hen alighted close

to the man's head, stretched out her neck toward
him, cocked her head, called her scattered brood

together, and departed with slow and deliberate
wing-beats.

Again there was a frightened flutter over-
head, a shrillanxiouswhistle rose in the air,

and all was silence. Augusta had stepped on a
dry branch--it had broken under her weight--

hence the sudden confusion and flight. The
unknown man had sprung up, and his eye, after a

moment's search, had found the dark, beautiful
face peering forth behind the red fir-trunk.

He did not speak or salute her; he greeted her
with silent joy, as one greets a wondrous vision

which is too frail and bright for consciousness
to grasp, which is lost the very instant one is

conscious of seeing. But, while to the girl the
sight, as it were, hung trembling in the range

of mere physicalperception, while its suddenness
held it aloof from moral reflection, there

came a great shout from behind, and Arnfinn,
whom in her surprise she had quite forgotten,

came bounding forward, grasping the stranger
by the hand with much vigor, laughing heartily,

and pouring forth a confused stream of
delighted interjections, borrowed from all manner

of classical and unclassical tongues.
"Strand! Strand!" he cried, when the first

tumult of excitement had subsided; "you most
marvelous and incomprehensible Strand! From

what region of heaven or earth did you jump
down into our prosaic neighborhood? And

what in the world possessed you to choose our
barns as the centre of your operations, and

nearly put me to the necessity of having you
arrested for vagrancy? How I do regret that

Cousin Augusta's entreaties mollified my heart
toward you. Pardon me, I have not introduced

you. This is my cousin, Miss Oddson, and this
is my miraculous friend, the world-renowned

author, vagrant, and naturalist, Mr. Marcus Strand."
Strand stepped forward, made a deep but

somewhat awkward bow, and was dimly aware
that a small soft hand was extended to him,

and, in the next moment, was enclosed in his
own broad and voluminous palm. He grasped

it firmly, and, in one of those profound abstractions
into which he was apt to fall when under

the sway of a strong impression, pressed it with
increasing cordiality, while he endeavored to

find fitting answers to Arnfinn's multifarious
questions.

"To tell the truth, Vording," he said, in a
deep, full-ringing bass, "I didn't know that

these were your cousin's barns--I mean that
your uncle"--giving the unhappy hand an emphatic

shake--"inhabited these barns."
"No, thank heaven, we are not quite reduced

to that," cried Arnfinn, gayly; "we still boast a
parsonage, as you will presently discover, and a

very bright and cozy one, to boot. But, whatever
you do, have the goodness to release