I now began to think that in making me it was entirely forgotten to make my mate; that I was born odd, and should always remain so, and that nobody would have me.
"But all these reflections did not satisfy my mind, for I had no peace, day nor night, for several weeks.

My appetite failed me, and I grew daily worse and worse.

They all thought I was sick; and so I was.

And it was the worst kind of sickness, a sickness of the heart, and all the tender parts, produced by disappointed love." For some time David continued in a state of great dejection, a lovelorn swain of seventeen years.

Thus disconsolate, he loved to roam the forest alone, with his rifle as his only companion, brooding over his sorrows.