to my heart's content, rejoicing in the boisterous old English ballads,
which, like John Peele's view-hallo,

_"Might awaken the dead
Or the fox from his lair in the morning."_


Meanwhile, with the frantic energy of a Gladstone out of office, I plied
my ax, its echoing strokes making fit accompaniment to my strains, until
for many yards about me the ground was littered with white and yellow
chips; then, exhausted with my efforts, I would sit down to rest and eat
my simple midday fare, to admire myself in my deep-green and chocolate
working-dress, and, above everything, to think and dream of Yoletta.

* * * * *

In my walks to and from the forest I cast many a wistful look at a
solitary flat-topped hill, almost a mountain in height, which stood two
or three miles from the house, north of it, on the other side of the
river. From its summit I felt sure that a very extensive view of the
surrounding country might be had, and I often wished to pay this hill a
visit. One afternoon, while taking my lesson in reading, I mentioned
this desire to Yoletta.

"Come, then, let us go there now," said she, laying the tablets aside.

I joyfully agreed: I had never walked alone with her, nor, in fact, with
her at all, since that first day when she had placed her hand in mine;
and now we were so much nearer in heart to each other.