Again they laughed at the child’s pertinacious fancy fora night-ramble. But it happened that a light cloud passedover the daughter’s spirit； she looked gravely into the fireand drew a breath that was almost a sigh. It forced its way，in spite of a little struggle to repress it. Then， starting andblushing， she looked quickly around the circle， as if theyhad caught a glimpse into her bosom. The stranger askedwhat she had been thinking of.
“Nothing，” answered she， with a downcast smile； “only Ifelt lonesome just then.”
“Oh， I have always had a gift of feeling what is inother people’s hearts，” said he， half seriously. “Shall I tellthe secrets of yours？ For I know what to think when ayoung girl shivers by a warm hearth and complains oflonesomeness at her mother’s side. Shall I put these feelingsinto words？”
“They would not be a girl’s feelings any longer if theycould be put into words，” replied the mountain-nymph，laughing， but avoiding his eye.
All this was said apart. Perhaps a germ of love wasspringing in their hearts so pure that it might blossomin Paradise， since it could not be matured on earth； forwomen worship such gentle dignity as his， and the proud，contemplative， yet kindly， soul is oftenest captivated bysimplicity like hers. But while they spoke softly， and hewas watching the happy sadness， the lightsome shadows，the shy yearnings， of a maiden’s nature， the wind throughthe Notch took a deeper and drearier sound. It seemed，as the fanciful stranger said， like the choral strain of thespirits of the blast who in old Indian times had theirdwelling among these mountains and made their heightsand recesses a sacred region. There was a wail along theroad as if a funeral were passing. To chase away the gloom，the family threw pine-branches on their fire till the dryleaves crackled and the flame arose， discovering once againa scene of peace and humble happiness. The light hoveredabout them fondly and caressed them all. There were thelittle faces of the children peeping from their bed apart，and here the father’s frame of strength， the mother’ssubdued and careful mien， the high-browed youth， thebudding girl and the good old grandam， still knitting inthe warmest place.
The aged woman looked up from her task， and withfingers ever busy was the next to speak.
“Old folks have their notions，” said she， “as well asyoung ones. You’ve been wishing and planning and lettingyour heads run on one thing and another till You’ve set mymind a-wandering too. Now， what should an old womanwish for， when she can go but a step or two before shecomes to her grave？ Children， it will haunt me night andday till I tell you.”
“What is it， mother？” cried the husband and wife atonce.