Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance

								


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ALICE WILDE:
THE
RAFTSMAN'S DAUGHTER.


A
FOREST ROMANCE.


BY MRS. METTA V. VICTOR.


NEW YORK:
IRWIN P. BEADLE AND COMPANY,
141 WILLIAM ST., CORNER OF FULTON.

  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1860, by
IRWIN P. BEADLE & CO.,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.

ALICE WILDE.

CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I. THE CABIN HOME.
CHAPTER II. PALLAS AND SATURN.
CHAPTER III. REJECTED ADDRESSES.
CHAPTER IV. BEN PERKINS.
CHAPTER V. AN APPALLING VISITOR.
CHAPTER VI. THE COLD HOUSE-WARMING.
CHAPTER VII. SUSPENSE.
CHAPTER VIII. AWAY FROM HOME.
CHAPTER IX. A ROLAND FOR AN OLIVER.
CHAPTER X. RECONCILIATION.
CHAPTER XI. A MEETING IN THE WOODS.
CHAPTER XII. FAMILY AFFAIRS.
CHAPTER XIII. THE TORNADO.
CHAPTER XIV. GATHERING TOGETHER.
CHAPTER XV. BEN AND ALICE.

CHAPTER I.
THE CABIN HOME.

"That ar' log bobs 'round like the old sea-sarpint," muttered Ben
Perkins to himself, leaning forward with his pole-hook and trying to
fish it, without getting himself too deep in the water. "Blast the
thing! I can't tackle it no how;" and he waded in deeper, climbed on
to a floating log, and endeavored again to catch the one which so
provokingly evaded him.
Ben was a "hand" employed in David Wilde's saw-mill, a few rods farther
up the creek, a young fellow not without claims to admiration as a
fine specimen of his kind and calling. His old felt-hat shadowed hair
as black as an Indian's, and made the swarthy hue of his face still
darker; his cheeks and lips were red, and his eyes blacker than his
hair. The striped wammus bound at the waist by a leather belt, and the
linen trowsers rolled up to the knees, were picturesque in their way
and not unbecoming the lithe, powerful figure.
Ben had bobbed for saw-logs a great many times in his life, and was
a person too quick and dextrous to meet with frequent accidents; but
upon this day, whether the sudden sight of a tiny skiff turning the
bend of the river just below and heading up the creek threw him off his
guard, or what it was, certain it is, that stretching forward after
that treacherous log, he lost his balance and fell into the water. He
did not care for the ducking; but he cared for the eyes which saw him
receive it; his ears tingled and his cheeks burned as he heard the
silvery laugh which greeted his misfortune. Climbing up on to a log
again, he stood dripping like a merman and blushing like a peony, as
the occupant of the boat rowed nearer.
"Keep out the way them logs, Miss Alice, or ye'll get upsot!" he cried,