Chapter VII.
The Sale of the Shallop.
Winter was fast approaching, but while the dreamy days of the Indian summer had come and gone, there was still a pleasant warmth at noon-tide, and wherever the sunshine found entrance among the old trees along the creek's north shore, one had little thought, while wandering there, of the deep and dreary snows that would so soon cover every winsome feature of the valley. Making some flimsy excuse, the shallowness of which was still too deep for his partner to fathom, John Bishop laid down his tools a little before noon, and saying he might not be back quite as promptly as usual, passed out of the shop. Instead of going towards his home, he walked in the opposite direction, and as he passed a neighbor's cottage, whistled to the dog, that was only too glad to follow. There was much passing in John's mind, as his counte-
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