“Then come along,” replied Earth, “we shall see,” and a few moments after they were already on their march, bending their course North-east.
The following morning the air was mild and soft, and the sun shining out, sparkled in the dew drops. The hunters felt its cheering influence; their spirits became buoyant as the dewy grass which rebounded from beneath their footsteps, and they continued their journey amusing themselves with border stories. They had not ceased to feel for the maiden, nor were they at all unmindful of the errand upon which they were going, but, as it often happens, the mind, when long and painfully depressed, breaks through the thraldom which confines it, and assumes suddenly a degree of cheerfulness sometimes mistaken for levity, and which, when contrasted with its previous melancholy, seems an enigma in its character. I do not know that this idea is clearly expressed, nor do I know how to account for the fact, yet often have I seen persons suffering under intense grief, without any apparent cause become wild with joy.
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “we might just as well laugh as cry; 'twill do as much good.”
“That is very true, Earth, but at what shall we laugh?”
“Oh! I don't know; you spin us a yarn.”
“No! Earth, you are the man for yarns; give us one of your hunting stories.”
“A 'coon hunt?”
“Yes.”
“No, I won't give you a 'coon hunt. I'll give you a bear fight.”
“Well, give us a bear fight.”