A Colonial Wooing
paddled more cautiously now, and when the boat was but a hundred yards distant as he judged, he placed a twisted bit of birch bark to his mouth and sent the eagle-owl's hollow cry down the valley of the creek,—Hoŏ hoŏ hoŏ, hōō hōō! and then urged the canoe ahead with rapid but silent strokes. Again he sounded the same wild cry, and now the boat was very near. He thought he could see the mast, and for the third time, though not so loudly, sounded the owl-cry signal. The boat was now reached, and John, with skilled hand, held the canoe astern with the paddle.
By standing he could dimly see the full sweep of the deck, and knew, if Ruth appeared, he could follow her movements. Would she never come? No one can count the seconds of an anxious minute. Was she asleep? Hark! he saw a crouching figure coming towards the canoe. It was she! Reaching the rudder-post, she whispered, "Cousin Robert."
"Not Robert, but John."
"John! Oh! why did thee come?"
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