17. XVII.
Poor Mary, not yet relieved from her surprise,
was still sufficiently aroused and excited to believe
there was something in it; and as she moved off
on her way home, how full of anticipation was her
thoughts — pleasant anticipation, in which her
heart took active interest, and warmed, at length,
into a strong and earnest hope. She scarcely
gave herself time to get home, and never did the
distance between Sweet Water Branch and the
cottage of her father appear so extravagantly
great. She reached it, however, at last; and there,
to her great joy, sat her lover, alongside the old
man, and giving him a glowing account, such as
he had received from the Yankee captain, of the
wonders to be met with in his coming voyage.
Old Jones listened patiently, puffing his pipe all
the while, and saying little, but now and then, by
way of commentary, uttering an ejaculatory grunt,
most commonly, of sneering disapproval.
“Better stay at home, a d — d sight, Ned Johnson,
and follow the plough.”
Ned Johnson, however, thought differently, and
it was not the farmer's grunts or growlings that
was now to change his mind. Fortunately for the
course of true love, there were other influences at
work, and the impatience of Mary Jones to try
them was evident, in the clumsiness which she exhibited
while passing the knife under the thin crust
of the corn hoe-cake that night for supper, and
laying the thick masses of fresh butter between
the smoking and savory-smelling sides, as she
turned them apart. The evening wore, at length,
and, according to an old familiar habit, the lovers
walked forth to the haunted and fairy-like branch
of Logoochie, or the Sweet Water. It was the
last night in which they were to be together, prior
to his departure in the Smashing Nancy. That
bouncing vessel and her dexterous captain were
to depart with early morning; and it was as little
as Ned Johnson could do, to spend that night
with his sweetheart. They were both melancholy
enough, depend upon it. She, poor girl, hoping
much, yet still fearing — for when was true love
without fear — she took his arm, hung fondly upon
it, and, without a word between them for a long
while, inclined him, as it were naturally, in the
required direction. Ned really loved her, and
was sorry enough when the thought came to him,
that this might be the last night of their association;
but he plucked up courage, with the momentary
weakness, and though he spoke kindly,
yet he spoke fearlessly, and with a sanguine temper,
upon the prospect of the sea-adventure before
him. Mary said little — her heart was too
full for speech, but she looked up now and then
into his eyes, and he saw, by the moonlight,
that her own glistened as with tears. He turned
away his glance as he saw it, for his heart smote
him with the reproach of her desertion.
