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 John laughed in a quiet way that was not lost upon Ruth. They were again their natural selves, and so happy beyond measure.

"Here are the Swan Island flood-gates," exclaimed John. "Hark!"

A long, low whistle was heard, as though a dreaming red-bird had announced the dawn, and John replied, again imitating the eagle-owl. The canoe was headed in shore, and scarcely had its bottom grated on the sandy shore than Ruth rose, but to fall, almost a-faint, in the arms of her cousin Robert.

No time was lost. The canoe was quickly anchored; and Robert, John, and Ruth, seated in the wagon, were on their way to Pearson's. The horse was urged to the limit of its strength, and before cock-crow Robert Pearson's anxious wife had seen Ruth safely at rest.