the right and now to the left, as the major retired in one direction
and Dick with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although
comfortable in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a
melancholy howl. The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one moment
she pricked up her ears at the sound, and then, lowering them, trotted
quietly after her new master, and followed him to his cottage on the
margin of the lake.



CHAPTER III.


_Speculative remarks with which the reader may or may not agree--An
old woman--Hopes and wishes commingled with hard facts--The dog
Crusoe's education begun_.

It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such a
face did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother's
cottage. Mrs. Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of
her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love
for her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of
Maryland and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement.
Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was
stamped with a species of beauty which _never_ fades--the beauty of a
loving look. Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may snare
the heart of man for a time, but the _loving look_ alone can forge
that adamantine chain that time, age, eternity shall never break.

Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyze this