Miss Woodley made no response. She smiled and seemed satisfied. The bantering tone in which her brother spoke, implied that there could not be much amiss. I too felt content at the prospect of having her for a fellow-passenger, on board a Mississippi steamboat.
I could not help remembering that it was in a similar situation I had first surrendered to her charms.
And after all, Walter went with us. There was no need for going that long gallop to Natchez.
Just as he was setting foot in the stirrup, the well-known "boom" of a steamboat was heard, awakening the echoes of the woods. It came from the up-river direction.
"Quick, Walt!" cried his brother. "Ride down to the landing, and signal her to stop. A white handkerchief will do it. Have you got one?"
"Here," said the fair "Corneel," gliding like a sylph toward the gate, and handing him her bit of embroidered "cambric." "I suppose this will do?"
"Ah!" thought I, giving way to a romantic fancy, "for the possession of such a trophy, the Spanish Armada might have come to an anchor."
Walter posted like a thunderbolt, while his brother and sister commenced packing their portmanteaus. I had none to pack, and remained standing in the porch, listening for the stopping of the approaching steamer.
I could soon tell that the signal had been successful. The "bark" of the boat, heard at short intervals, became changed to a hiss—a sure sign that the play of the engine was suspended.