"Can't help him, dominie--nebber can help him, when he take me sudden.
See, masser, dere come Ole Nick!"

There was Nick, sure enough. For the first time, in more than two
years, the Tuscarora was seen approaching the house, on the long,
loping trot that he affected when he wished to seem busy, or honestly
earning his money. He was advancing by the only road that was ever
travelled by the stranger as he approached the Hut; or, he came up the
valley. As the woman spoke, he had just made his appearance over the
rocks, in the direction of the mills. At that distance, quite half a
mile, he would not have been recognised, but for this gait, which was
too familiar to all at the Knoll, however, to be mistaken.

"That is Nick, sure enough!" exclaimed the captain. "The fellow comes
at the pace of a runner; or, as if he were the bearer of some important
news!"

"The tricks of Saucy Nick are too well known to deceive any here,"
observed Mrs. Willoughby, who, surrounded by her husband and children,
always felt so happy as to deprecate every appearance of danger.

"These savages will keep that pace for hours at a time," observed the
chaplain; "a circumstance that has induced some naturalists to fancy a
difference in the species, if not in the genus."

"Is he chub or tom-cod, Woods?" asked the captain, throwing back on the
other all he recollected of the previous discourse.

"Nay," observed Mrs. Willoughby, anxiously, "I _do_ think he may
have some intelligence! It is now more than a twelvemonth since we have