I lighted one, as I went. I must have reached the point where
you left the old road, in ten minutes. I was never so strong, I seemed
to know that I would find you, and felt that it was for this I had
staid, and blamed myself for the selfish joy I felt, that I could
serve and perhaps save you.
"I examined the old road, and in one wet place, I found your track
going north, and a little further was the old path, that led to the
slashing. At the entrance to it, the leaves had been disturbed, as if
by footsteps; I saw many of them, and thought you had become lost, and
would follow the path; so I went on. When I reached the slashing, I
knew you would not enter that, but supposed you would skirt around
on the east and south side, as the path led southwesterly to it. Of
course I looked and searched the ground, and could occasionally see
where a footfall had disturbed the leaves.
"I concluded that sooner or later, you would realize that you were
lost; and then--for I knew you were strong and brave--would undertake
to strike off toward home, without reference to anything; and I knew,
of course, that you would then go exactly the wrong way, because
you were lost. After skirting about the slashing, I could find no
foot-marks in the leaves; and I struck out southerly, and in a little
thicket of young beeches and prickly ash, hanging to a thorn, I found
your hood. Oh, God! what joy and thankfulness were mine; and there in
the deep leaves, going westerly, was your trail.
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