lost pond by henry abbott new york 1915 copyright 1915 by henry abbott lost pond "lost pond" was a tradition, a myth. it had never been seen by any living person. two dead men, it was alleged, had visited it on several occasions while they were yet living. wonderful tales were told about that pond for which many persons had hunted, but which no one of the present generation had ever been able to find. every guide in long lake township talked about lost pond and repeated the legends, which through the passing years had probably lost none of their original enticements. many of these guides had even got the stories at first hand from captain parker and mitchel sabattis. captain parker, a famous hunter and trapper, had died about ten years ago at the good old age of ninety-four years. mitchel sabattis, an indian, who had married a white woman and had brought up a family of husky half-breeds, was the first settler in the long lake country. he was a highly respected citizen, and a mountain and a united states post office had been named after him. sabattis lived to be a very old man. many believed him to be past a hundred years when he died, but the family bible was not available to prove the date of his birth. now, all of the natives knew that lost pond was somewhere on seward mountain, and they apparently believed that the best fishing place in the state was right in that pond. "by mighty! that pond was just alive with speckled trout--big ones. you could catch all you wanted there in a few minutes. the water fairly boiled with the jumping fish. now, if we could only find it," etc. to the layman it would seem, possibly a difficult, but certainly not an impossible task, to find that lost pond; and if it was such a remarkable fishing and hunting place as tradition painted it, why had not some one combed out that mountain and recovered the pond? seward mountain, seen from a distance of ten or fifteen miles, looked like a hogback ridge. a nearer view disclosed the fact that it included several peaks and ridges, and really covered a lot of ground. the highest peak was perhaps not more than twenty-five hundred feet above the lake. but if one could draw a straight line through its base eastward from raquette river to the foot of sawtooth mountain, the line would measure about twelve miles. if a similar line could be stretched northward from cold river to ampersand lake, it would be about eight miles. one cannot, however, always go through a mountain. it is usually necessary to go over or around it; and following up and down the ridges, through ravines and around swamps and other obstacles, the travel distances above named might be doubled, and then some. the mountain was covered with forest, and there was not a human habitation on it or within many miles of it in any direction. some lumbering had been done along cold river and several of its tributary creeks, but the higher portions were untouched and the heavy spruce and hemlock cover looked black from up the lake. giving proper consideration to these facts and knowing the long lake guides as well as i did, i could readily understand that it might be less strenuous to tell the marvelous stories about lost pond than it would be to go up in the seward country and search out the pond. then there was always the possibility that too much investigation might spoil a good story. ever since childhood i have possessed that very human characteristic of wanting that which is forbidden, longing for what is just out of reach; and when a thing is said to be impossible, i at once have an intense desire to undertake to do that thing. now, there was good trout fishing in many of the ponds and streams tributary to long lake which were comparatively easy to reach; but this lost pond which i had heard so much about was so "impossible to find" that i was possessed with an irresistible longing to find it, to see what it looked like, to fish in it. so i discussed the matter with bige, who, with some show of reluctance, agreed to assist. bige and i had made many camping excursions up in the cold river country; had followed its crooked course about fifteen miles upstream; had explored and fished a number of its tributary creeks on the santanoni side. cold river carries the drainage from santanoni mountain and foothills on its left bank and on its right receives the flow from the eastern and southern slopes of mount seward. one day in july, when bige and i were up on santanoni, from an opening through the trees above a ledge of rocks we looked cross the valley to seward, studied the contour of its basins, peaks and ridges, and agreed upon the spot where lost pond ought to be found. we also determined upon a route which we should take to reach it, and appointed the following tuesday as the time when we should make our start. monday night we packed our duffel so that we might make an early start in the morning. we took our small light-weight tent, blankets, aluminum cooking utensils, fishing rods, and food for three days. if we should get some fish the grub might be stretched across four days. we expected some strenuous tramping, so determined to "go light" and omitted many things we usually take on our trips; but when we "weighed in," bige's pack tipped the scales at fifty-two pounds and mine weighed thirty-seven. i am not selfish in such matters, so gave bige all the heavy things. with our two packs stowed amidships, bige in the bow with a pair of oars and i in the stern wielding a paddle, we got away in the morning just as the sun broke over east inlet mountain and gilded the summit of sugar loaf on the opposite side of the lake. the early birds greeted us with a chorus of song, seeming to wish us luck as we made good speed down the lake, passing owl's-head mountain on the left, sabattis on the right, and farther down blueberry, kempshall and buck mountains, while santanoni and seward loomed up in the distance. [illustration: starting for lost pond] it is about fourteen miles to the foot of the lake and five miles farther down the outlet, through "lost channel," to the place on calkins creek where we left our boat in the shade of some balsams. we now shouldered our packs and started on the strenuous and interesting part of our undertaking. following up calkins valley about six miles, we passed, at intervals of two or three miles, three abandoned lumber camps, the log buildings being in all stages of decay from long disuse, many of them with roofs caved in and overgrown with weeds and bushes. a few rods beyond the last log camp, while pushing my way through the high grass and bushes in a log-road, i almost stepped upon a spotted fawn which jumped up under my nose and turned to stare at me with his solemn-looking eyes which seemed much too large for his head. the little fellow was apparently about a month old, and was as frisky and awkward in his movements as a young puppy. he had no doubt been hidden there by his mother, who had warned him to lie low till she returned, to look out for enemies, and especially to beware of any animal that walks upon two legs. he was now uncertainly wavering between fear and curiosity, and with his head turned and his eyes fastened upon me, he stumbled clumsily away through the high grass directly into bige's outstretched arms. here was now a situation not down on our programme. we had captured a live deer. we were not intending to start a menagerie or to stock a zoological park. we were out in search of a pond that had been mislaid on a mountain. we could not very well carry the deer up the mountain while pursuing our explorations, and we had no idea that he could be made to walk in our company so far as we should have to go. moreover, neither bige nor i was properly equipped to feed an infant; so we put him back in his grassy bed, patted him on the head, advised him to stay there until his mother returned, and proceeded upon our journey. half a mile farther on we left the log-road, turned sharply to the right, and climbed up the steep slope of one of the foothills. passing the ridge, we now came into a section of the forest which had never been visited by the lumberman's axe. the tall spruces and hemlocks interspersed here and there with yellow birch and maples cast deep shadows, and the forest floor was as free from underbrush as if cleared by a landscape gardener. this was what poets and nature writers call the "primeval forest." also, traveling with a pack on one's back was much easier here than in the lumbered country. a spring of cold clear water with a rivulet flowing from it down the slope reminded us that it was lunch time, and that this was an ideal place to eat it. after lunch we took up our burdens and continued our journey eastward until about two o'clock, when we had crossed the fourth high ridge from calkins valley and dropped into a deep basin. this was the valley bige and i had located when we surveyed the country from over on santanoni. this was the place where lost pond ought to be; but there was no pond here, lost or otherwise. we sat down to talk it over. bige said "le's go home." but i outvoted him and we continued on, taking a northeasterly course, which we followed for what seemed about five miles. when we had passed through a valley between two high peaks we made a sort of ox-bow curve around the one to the right and there laid a straight course with our compass back in the direction from which we had come but a mile or more south of our outward route. during the afternoon we encountered about all the different kinds of forest travel that it is possible to find anywhere. there were steep rocky ledges which had to be climbed; cedar swamps which must be negotiated; several acres of burnt ground now covered with a dense growth of poplar and wild-cherry saplings; blackberry bushes as high as one's head--oceans of them; balsam groves with deep beds of moss for a carpet; "witch-hopple," which tangles one's feet and gives one a hard fall at unexpected moments; there were steep climbs up and steep slides down; and there were delightful stretches of "big woods," but always the charm of variety. we were too intent upon our quest and made too much noise in our travels to see much wild life; the animals always had ample notice of our approach and always had convenient hiding places. about six o'clock we came upon a noisy brook which was tumbling down out of the mountains through a steep valley. the bed of the stream was filled with boulders, and there were numerous short falls and rapids. we heard the noise of the brook long before it came into view, and bige promptly named it "roaring brook." there was something suggestive about this brook, and we sat down and discussed it while resting. it was a dry season; there had been no rain for two weeks. surface drainage could not account for all the water coming down that brook. it might come from one of the swamps we had passed through earlier in the day. it would have to be a very large spring or a lot of small ones to keep up the flow of that volume of water. it might be the outlet of a pond. we decided to follow upstream and settle the question of its source. about a half-mile up, we came upon a level stretch of quiet water, but there was a noise of splashing in the stream ahead. cautiously we crept forward and peering through a clump of alders saw an old black bear and one cub, wallowing in the shallow water. neither bige nor i had lost any bear, old or young, and we had no intention of attacking with our only weapon--a fishing rod--an old mother bear in the presence of her child; so without a conference, but with a common thought, we carefully backed up a few rods and hid behind a clump of bushes through the branches of which we watched the performance. we were reminded of an old sow and one pig wallowing in a mud hole. the old bear lay down in the water and rolled over in it while the cub climbed upon his mother and took headers off of her back. they were evidently taking their "weekly tub" and were enjoying it immensely. after some ten minutes of this moving-picture act, the old bear climbed out on the bank and shook herself; the cub followed, stood on his head and rolled and tumbled about on the grassy bank until his mother gave a commanding grunt and started off into the woods with the cub following at her heels. [illustration: the tent at the source of roaring brook.] about twenty rods farther upstream we arrived at the source of roaring brook. it was a beautiful sheet of glassy water set in a bowl in the hills, with the bowl tilted on one side until the water spilled over its lower edge into the brook. the pond was about two hundred yards in diameter. three deer were standing in the shallow water on the opposite edge. the water was clear and cold as ice. we both dropped our packs and shouted in chorus, "this is where we sleep!" it was getting late, so we hurried our preparations for making camp. i undertook to set up the tent while bige collected a quantity of dry moss for a bed. this he peeled off of a ledge of rocks on the hillside in great slabs that were three to four inches thick. over a double layer of moss he placed balsam boughs, sticking the butt end of each bough through the moss in a sloping position and making one course of boughs overlap another like shingles on a roof. the result was most satisfactory. bige is a wonder in making a camp bed. while hunting material for tent pegs and poles i noticed a curious rectangular-shaped hillock of green moss a short distance from the shore of the pond. kicking the mossy covering away, there was disclosed the rotted logs of what had many years ago been a camp about twelve feet square. a dozen yards away was a moss-covered log which seemed flattened on top and tapered at both ends. scraping away the moss and rolling over the log, i found a "dugout canoe." this had been hewn from a pine log about thirty inches in diameter and sixteen feet long. the canoe was in fair condition, but heavy and somewhat decayed at one end. having finished our tent and bed, we rolled the canoe down to the water's edge and undertook to put it in order for use. to insure its floating with two heavy men aboard, we cut and trimmed out two dry spruces about six inches in diameter and lashed them, one on either side of the canoe and against two smaller crosspieces placed above to keep the stringpieces near the gunwale. the crosspieces also served the purpose of seats. for many years i have carried in the bottom of the pack, when on camping trips, a coil of small rope or heavy twine and have often found it very useful. it fitted in perfectly on this occasion. the dusk of evening was now upon us, so we hurriedly pushed our pirogue-raft into the water and climbed aboard. bige poled our craft out toward the center of the pond while i strung up my rod and put a white miller on the end of the leader. we had heard splashing and saw ripples on the smooth surface of the water before leaving shore, indicating the presence of fish of some kind. at the first cast i hooked one, and after a short struggle bige brought him aboard with the landing net. then followed twenty minutes of the swiftest and most exciting bit of trout fishing that i have ever experienced. i could have hooked three or four at a time if i had put on that many flies, but one kept me busy. with every cast two or three trout would make a rush for the fly, and they would fight one another for possession of it. even after one fish was securely hooked and was struggling for his freedom others would appear and try to take the fly away from him. bige said "the trout climbed out, stood on their tails and reached for the fly long before it hit the water." it was now quite dark and we were losing more fish than we saved. it was impossible to see the landing net, and we often knocked them off the hook when trying to scoop them up. we had enough fish for supper, so we decided to leave some of them for morning, went ashore, built a fire, cooked our trout and bacon, and ate supper by the light of the fire. i have fished for trout for twenty years, more or less, and during that time caught a great many under varying conditions. it has been my fortune to catch much larger trout than any we saw in this pond, though none of these would weigh less than a pound each. but never before nor since have i met any more sporty fish than these. they were, moreover, the most beautifully marked of any trout of any variety i have ever seen. they lived in ice-water in midsummer. they were muscular and like chain lightning in action. with every cast i experienced all the excitement, all the thrills, and went through all the strategic maneuvers that a nature writer would describe in twelve hundred words. [illustration: lost pond] the pond had no visible inlet, but a considerable quantity of water was flowing out of it every minute. this must be replenished through some subterraneous passage, and the water doubtless filtered through an enormous field of ice that had been buried under millions of tons of rock and earth for countless ages--since the glacial period, when the mountain slid down from the arctic regions into its present position. bige and i discussed it at supper, and that is how we accounted for the peculiar conditions. we were also agreed that there could now be no doubt that this was the pond of sabattis-parker fame. the stories fitted well with the facts. some one surely had been here before and a long time ago, else how could the ruins of the camp and the moss-covered dugout be satisfactorily explained? that night bige and i went to bed with clear consciences. we were at peace with all the world. we had put in a long and strenuous day, had met and overcome many obstacles and difficulties, and had accomplished something worth while. we had recovered and put back on the map a pond which had been lost for more than thirty years. incidentally, we had had a lot of fun in doing it. a pair of hermit thrushes holding converse with each other across the valley and high over our heads sang us to sleep. we were awake in the morning before the sun and in our skiff out on the pond casting with great care our most alluring flies. we whipped every square inch of that pond. we spent two hours and a half on it, used every fly in the book, and never got a rise. we never even saw a trout big or little. we could have seen them had they been there. it was not more than three feet to the bottom in the deepest part, and we could see the bottom and everything, animate and inanimate, in the water. the shoals of trout we had seen and heard--some of which we had eaten--the night before, had disappeared utterly and completely. bige said "they have gone back into the ice-chest." the conviction finally forced itself through our dense intellectual domes that the trout in lost pond gave attention to business only at night. this was a night fish pond. we should have to wait until night for another bite. slowly and sadly we poled back to camp. the sight that met us on landing, to employ a stock literary expression, "would have made the stoutest heart quail." it would surely be stating it mildly to say that we were amazed. the pack-basket which contained our provisions we had left standing just inside the tent flap. it had been dragged out and was now lying on its side several feet from the tent, while remnants of its contents were scattered over the forest carpet in every direction. a bag of flour, intended for flapjacks, had been ripped open and the flour thoroughly mixed with leaves and dirt, ditto the sugar and coffee. butter was nicely spread over a ground area about six feet square, while a half-eaten loaf of bread was floating in the water. potatoes and onions had been chewed up and "the chawins" spat out on the ground. to add a touch of the artistic to the picture of destruction, the yolks of a dozen eggs gave a dab of yellow to the southeast corner. porcupine quills were sticking in the splints of the basket and were liberally sprinkled over the ground, while disturbance in the leaves marked the path where the slab of bacon had been dragged away. [illustration: the robbers] we followed the bacon trail several rods back into the woods to the foot of a small birch tree, where there remained some scraps of bacon rind. calmly sitting on a limb of this tree, about thirty feet up, we saw the two burglarious villains licking the bacon grease off of their paws and faces while emitting occasional grunts of pleasure and satisfaction. we threw sticks and stones at the porcupines and made several hits, knocking out some quills, but could not bring them down; so i climbed another tree to about their level and shot them--with a camera. their picture now adorns the rogues' gallery, where it is "held up to the scorn and contempt" of all campers, and especially as a warning to all "tenderfeet." returning to camp, we looked carefully over the wreckage for something fit to eat. we found "the makings" of one pot of coffee left in the torn bag, two unbroken eggs, and a pint bottle of maple syrup. bige filled the coffeepot, hung it on a spring pole which rested across a log with the rear end sticking in the ground, laid the two eggs on the log where the spring pole crossed it, and started a fire, while i went for an armful of dry firewood. returning, i clumsily stumbled over the ground end of the spring pole, upset the coffee in the fire and knocked the eggs off the log. for a moment i watched the contents of those two eggshells trickle down through the leaves and moss, then i looked up at bige. i am sure he had profanity in his heart; i saw it in his eye. what bige really said was "sufferin' bald-headed mike!" we sat on the log several minutes before any attempt at conversation was made; then bige said, "le's go home." the next remark logically was, "which way?" it would have been difficult and impracticable to return the way we had come. we knew that, generally speaking, home lay in a southwesterly direction from where we sat, but we were uncertain whether lost pond was on the northern or the southern side of the high points in the seward group of mountains. however, one of the first principles of woodcraft which i learned while still in the primary class is that "water always runs downhill," and that if one follows a brook down far enough it will surely lead to a larger stream, and it in turn will finally take one to a lake. it may be a long and circuitous route, but when one has lost his bearings in the forest, that is generally a safe rule to follow. also in a lumbered country, where water is the only means of transportation for logs, all log-roads run downhill and ultimately lead to river or lake. we felt reasonably certain, therefore, that if we followed down roaring brook and should cross a log-road at any point, it would be quite safe to leave the brook and continue down the log-road. moreover, at this place the brook was flowing south and its waters must ultimately reach long lake or its outlet. so we packed up and started downstream. it was not a cheerful procession, but our packs were lighter than when we came up the hills the day before. in due time and without incident worthy of mention, we reached cold river and later calkins creek, found our boat, and late in the afternoon were pushing slowly up the lake when we were met by a violent thunder shower. before we could reach an island, turn over our boat and crawl under it, we were soaked to the skin. half an hour later, when the storm had passed, we went around to the other side of the island where there was an unoccupied open camp. here we built a big fire and spent two hours drying our clothes. we ate our breakfast in the kitchen of deerland lodge at about nine o'clock that night. it was a good breakfast. end of lost pond http://www.archive.org/details/holidaytaleschr00murriala holiday tales. christmas in the adirondacks. by w. h. h. murray. [illustration: w. h. h. murray, the murray homestead guilford, conn.] copyrighted, 1897. all rights reserved. press of springfield printing and binding company, springfield, mass. contents. page i. how john norton the trapper kept his christmas, 11 ii. john norton's vagabond, 77 [illustration: the wild deer's home.] [illustration: the old trapper's home.] list of illustrations. the wild deer's home, _by j. gurner fisher_, _frontispiece no. 1_ the old trapper's home, _by w. l. everett knowles_, _frontispiece no. 2_ how john norton the trapper kept his christmas, (_heading_) 11 the old trapper's fireplace, _by w. l. everett knowles_, between pages 12-13 "on the other side of the mountain stood the dismal hut," _by j. gurner fisher_, " " 30-31 the old trapper's shot, _by j. gurner fisher_, " " 44-45 the mountain torrent, _by j. gurner fisher_, _frontispiece no. 3_ the vagabond's rock, _by w. l. everett knowles,_ _frontispiece no. 4_ john norton's vagabond, (_heading_) 76 "vagabonds included in this invite," _by w. l. everett knowles_, between pages 80-81 "and above the words was a star," _by w. l. everett knowles_, " " 82-83 the old trapper's paddle, _by w. l. everett knowles_, 85 the old trapper's rifle, _by w. l. everett knowles_, 88 an old time gun, _by w. l. everett knowles_, 89 christmas holly, _by w. l. everett knowles_, 93 "where be the ships?" _by w. l. everett knowles_, between pages 98-99 "and finally the words passed into the air," _by w. l. everett knowles_, 105 "ye cradle of ye olden time," _by w. l. everett knowles_, 108 the old trapper and his dogs, "friends come and go, but until death enters kennel or cabin the hunter and his hounds bide together." _by w. l. everett knowles_, between pages 112-113 how john norton the trapper kept his christmas. i. a cabin. a cabin in the woods. in the cabin a great fireplace piled high with logs, fiercely ablaze. on either side of the broad hearthstone a hound sat on his haunches, looking gravely, as only a hound in a meditative mood can, into the glowing fire. in the center of the cabin, whose every nook and corner was bright with the ruddy firelight, stood a wooden table, strongly built and solid. at the table sat john norton, poring over a book,--a book large of size, with wooden covers bound in leather, brown with age, and smooth as with the handling of many generations. the whitened head of the old man was bowed over the broad page, on which one hand rested, with the forefinger marking the sentence. a cabin in the woods filled with firelight, a table, a book, an old man studying the book. this was the scene on christmas eve. outside, the earth was white with snow, and in the blue sky above the snow was the white moon. "it says here," said the trapper, speaking to himself, "it says here, '_give to him that lacketh, and from him that hath not, withhold not thine hand._' it be a good sayin' fur sartin; and the world would be a good deal better off, as i conceit, ef the folks follered the sayin' a leetle more closely." and here the old man paused a moment, and, with his hand still resting on the page, and his forefinger still pointing at the sentence, seemed pondering what he had been reading. at last he broke the silence again, saying:-"yis, the world would be a good deal better off, ef the folks in it follered the sayin';" and then he added, "there's another spot in the book i'd orter look at to-night; it's a good ways furder on, but i guess i can find it. henry says the furder on you git in the book, the better it grows, and i conceit the boy may be right; for there be a good deal of murderin' and fightin' in the fore part of the book, that don't make pleasant readin', and what the lord wanted to put it in fur is a good deal more than a man without book-larnin' can understand. murderin' be murderin', whether it be in the bible or out of the bible; and puttin' it in the bible, and sayin' it was done by the lord's commandment, don't make it any better. and a good deal of the fightin' they did in the old time was sartinly without reason and ag'in jedgment, specially where they killed the womenfolks and the leetle uns." and while the old man had thus been communicating with himself, touching the character of the old testament, he had been turning the leaves until he had reached the opening chapters of the new, and had come to the description of the saviour's birth, and the angelic announcement of it on the earth. here he paused, and began to read. he read as an old man unaccustomed to letters must read,--slowly and with a show of labor, but with perfect contentment as to his progress, and a brightening face. [illustration: the old trapper's fireplace.] "this isn't a trail a man can hurry on onless he spends a good deal of his time on it, or is careless about notin' the signs, fur the words be weighty, and a man must stop at each word, and look around awhile, in order to git all the meanin' out of 'em--yis, a man orter travel this trail a leetle slow, ef he wants to see all there is to see on it." then the old man began to read:-"'_then there was with the angels a multitude of the heavenly host_,'--the exact number isn't sot down here," he muttered; "but i conceit there may have been three or four hunderd,--'_praisin' god and singin', glory to god in the highest, and on 'arth, peace to men of good will_.' that's right," said the trapper. "yis, peace to men of good will. that be the sort that desarve peace; the other kind orter stand their chances." and here the old man closed the book,--closed it slowly, and with the care we take of a treasured thing; closed it, fastened the clasps, and carried it to the great chest whence he had taken it, putting it away in its place. having done this, he returned to his seat, and, moving the chair in front of the fire, he looked first at one hound, and then at the other, and said, "pups, this be christmas eve, and i sartinly trust ye be grateful fur the comforts ye have." he said this deliberately, as if addressing human companions. the two hounds turned their heads toward their master, looked placidly into his face, and wagged their tails. "yis, yis, i understand ye," said the trapper. "ye both be comfortable, and, i dare say, that arter yer way ye both be grateful, fur, next to eatin', a dog loves the heat, and ye be nigh enough to the logs to be toastin'. yis, this be christmas eve," continued the old man, "and in the settlements the folks be gittin' ready their gifts. the young people be tyin' up the evergreens, and the leetle uns be onable to sleep because of their dreamin'. it's a pleasant pictur', and i sartinly wish i could see the merry-makin's, as henry has told me of them, sometime, but i trust it may be in his own house, and with his own children." with this pleasant remark, in respect to the one he loved so well, the old man lapsed into silence. but the peaceful contentment of his face, as the firelight revealed it, showed plainly that, though his lips moved not, his mind was still active with pleasant thoughts of the one whose name he had mentioned, and whom he so fondly loved. at last a more sober look came to his countenance,--a look of regret, of self-reproach, the look of a man who remembers something he should not have forgotten,--and he said:-"i ax the lord to pardin me, that in the midst of my plenty i have forgot them that may be in want. the shanty sartinly looked open enough the last time i fetched the trail past the clearin', and though with the help of the moss and the clay in the bank she might make it comfortable, yit, ef the vagabond that be her husband has forgot his own, and desarted them, as wild bill said he had, i doubt ef there be vict'als enough in the shanty to keep them from starvin'. yis, pups," said the old man, rising, "it'll be a good tramp through the snow, but we'll go in the mornin', and see ef the woman be in want. the boy himself said, when he stopped at the shanty last summer, afore he went out, that he didn't see how they was to git through the winter, and i reckon he left the woman some money, by the way she follered him toward the boat; and he told me to bear them in mind when the snow came, and see to it they didn't suffer. i might as well git the pack-basket out, and begin to put the things in't, fur it be a goodly distance, and an 'arly start will make the day pleasant to the woman and the leetle uns, ef vict'als be scant in the cupboard. yis, i'll git the pack-basket out, and look round a leetle, and see what i can find to take 'em. i don't conceit it'll make much of a show, fur what might be good fur a man won't be of sarvice to a woman; and as fur the leetle uns, i don't know ef i've got a single thing but vict'als that'll fit 'em. lord! ef i was near the settlements, i might swap a dozen skins fur jest what i wanted to give 'em; but i'll git the basket out, and look round and see what i've got." in a moment the great pack-basket had been placed in the middle of the floor, and the trapper was busy overhauling his stores to see what he could find that would make a fitting christmas gift for those he was to visit on the morrow. a canister of tea was first deposited on the table, and, after he had smelled of it, and placed a few grains of it on his tongue, like a connoisseur, he proceeded to pour more than half of its contents into a little bark box, and, having carefully tied the cover, he placed it in the basket. "the yarb be of the best," said the old man, putting his nose to the mouth of the canister, and taking a long sniff before he inserted the stopple--"the yarb be of the best, fur the smell of it goes into the nose strong as mustard. that be good fur the woman fur sartin, and will cheer her sperits when she be downhearted; fur a woman takes as naterally to tea as an otter to his slide, and i warrant it'll be an amazin' comfort to her, arter the day's work be over, more specially ef the work had been heavy, and gone sorter crosswise. yis, the yarb be good fur a woman when things go crosswise, and the box'll be a great help to her many and many a night, beyend doubt. the lord sartinly had women in mind when he made the yarb, and a kindly feelin' fur their infarmities, and, i dare say, they be grateful accordin' to their knowledge." a large cake of maple sugar followed the tea into the basket, and a small chest of honey accompanied it. "that's honest sweetenin'," remarked the trapper with decided emphasis; "and that is more'n ye can say of the sugar of the settlements, leastwise ef a man can jedge by the stuff they peddle at the clearin'. the bees be no cheats; and a man who taps his own trees, and biles the runnin' into sugar under his own eye, knows what kind of sweetenin' he's gittin'. the woman won't find any sand in her teeth when she takes a bite from that loaf, or stirs a leetle of the honey in the cup she's steepin'." some salt and pepper were next added to the packages already in the basket. a sack of flour and another of indian meal followed. a generous round of pork, and a bag of jerked venison, that would balance a twenty-pound weight, at least, went into the pack. on these, several large-sized salmon trout, that had been smoked by the trapper's best skill, were laid. these offerings evidently exhausted the old man's resources, for, after looking round a while, and searching the cupboard from bottom to top, he returned to the basket, and contemplated it with satisfaction, indeed, yet with a face slightly shaded with disappointment. "the vict'als be all right," he said, "fur there be enough to last 'em a month, and they needn't scrimp themselves either. but eatin' isn't all, and the leetle uns was nigh on to naked the last time i seed 'em; and the woman's dress, in spite of the patchin', looked as ef it would desart her, ef she didn't keep a close eye on't. lord! lord! what shall i do? fur there's room enough in the basket, and the woman and the leetle uns need garments; that is, it's more'n likely they do, and i haven't a garment in the cabin to take 'em." "hillo! hillo! john norton! john norton! hillo!" the voice came sharp and clear, cutting keenly through the frosty air and the cabin walls. "john norton!" "wild bill!" exclaimed the trapper. "i sartinly hope the vagabond hasn't been a-drinkin'. his voice sounds as ef he was sober; but the chances be ag'in the signs, fur, ef he isn't drunk, the marcy of the lord or the scarcity of liquor has kept him from it. i'll go to the door, and see what he wants. it's sartinly too cold to let a man stand in the holler long, whether he be sober or drunk;" with which remark the trapper stepped to the door, and flung it open. "what is it, wild bill? what is it?" he called. "be ye drunk, or be ye sober, that ye stand there shoutin' in the cold with a log cabin within a dozen rods of ye?" "sober, john norton, sober. sober as a moravian preacher at a funeral." "yer trappin' must have been mighty poor, then, wild bill, for the last month, or the dutchman at the clearin' has watered his liquor by a wrong measure for once. but ef ye be sober, why do ye stand there whoopin' like an indian, when the ambushment is onkivered and the bushes be alive with the knaves? why don't ye come into the cabin, like a sensible man, ef ye be sober? the signs be ag'in ye, wild bill; yis, the signs be ag'in ye." "come into the cabin!" retorted bill. "an' so i would mighty lively, ef i could; but the load is heavy, and your path is as slippery as the plank over the creek at the dutchman's, when i've two horns aboard." "load! what load have ye been draggin' through the woods?" exclaimed the trapper. "ye talk as ef my cabin was the dutchman's, and ye was balancin' on the plank at this minit." "come and see for yourself," answered wild bill, "and give me a lift. once in your cabin, and in front of your fire, i'll answer all the questions you may ask. but i'll answer no more until i'm inside the door." "ye be sartinly sober to-night," answered the trapper, laughing, as he started down the hill, "fur ye talk sense, and that's more'n a man can do when he talks through the nozzle of a bottle. "lord-a-massy!" exclaimed the old man as he stood over the sled, and saw the huge box that was on it. "lord-a-massy, bill! what a tug ye must have had! and how ye come to be sober with sech a load behind ye is beyend the reckinin' of a man who has knowed ye nigh on to twenty year. i never knowed ye disapp'int one arter this fashion afore." "it is strange, i confess," answered wild bill, appreciating the humor that lurked in the honesty of the old man's utterance. "it is strange, that's a fact, for it's christmas eve, and i ought to be roaring drunk at the dutchman's this very minit, according to custom; but i pledged him to get the box through jest as he wanted it done, and that i wouldn't touch a drop of liquor until i had done it. and here it is, according to promise, for here i am sober, and here is the box." "h'ist along, bill, h'ist along!" exclaimed the trapper, who suddenly became alive with interest, for he surmised whence the box had come. "h'ist along, bill, i say, and have done with yer talkin', and let's see what ye have got on yer sled. it's strange that a man of yer sense will stand jibberin' here in the snow with a roarin' fire within a dozen rods of ye." whatever retort wild bill may have contemplated, it was effectually prevented by the energy with which the trapper pushed the sled after him. indeed, it was all he could do to keep it off his heels, so earnestly did the old man propel it from behind; and so, with many a slip and scramble on the part of wild bill, and a continued muttering on the part of the trapper about the "nonsense of a man's jibberin' in the snow arter a twenty mile drag, with a good fire within a dozen rods of him," the sled was shot through the doorway into the cabin, and stood fully revealed in the bright blaze of the firelight. "take off yer coat and yer moccasins, wild bill," exclaimed the trapper, as he closed the door, "and git in front of the fire; pull out the coals, and set the tea pot a-steepin'. the yarb will take the chill out of ye better than the pizen of the dutchman. ye'll find a haunch of venison in the cupboard that i roasted to-day, and some johnnycake; i doubt ef either be cold. help yerself, help yerself, bill, while i take a peep at the box." no one can appreciate the intensity of the old man's feelings in reference to the mysterious box, unless he calls to mind the strictness with which he was wont to interpret and fulfill the duties of hospitality. to him the coming of a guest was a welcome event, and the service which the latter might require of the host both a sacred and a pleasant obligation. to serve a guest with his own hand, which he did with a natural courtesy peculiar to himself, was his delight. nor did it matter with him what the quality of the guest might be. the wandering trapper or the vagabond indian was served with as sincere attention as the richest visitor from the city. but now his feelings were so stirred by the sight of the box thus strangely brought to him, and by his surmise touching who the sender might be, that wild bill was left to help himself without the old man's attendance. it was evident that bill was equal to the occasion, and was not aware of the slightest neglect. at least, his actions were not, by the neglect of the trapper, rendered less decided, or the quality of his appetite affected, for the examination he made of the old man's cupboard, and the familiarity with which he handled the contents, made it evident that he was not in the least abashed, or uncertain how to proceed; for he attacked the provisions with the energy of a man who had fasted long, and who has at last not only come suddenly to an ample supply of food, but also feels that for a few moments, at least, he will be unobserved. the trapper turned toward the box, and approached it for a deliberate examination. "the boards be sawed," he said, "and they come from the mills of the settlement, for the smoothin'-plane has been over 'em." then he inspected the jointing, and noted how truly the edges were drawn. "the box has come a goodly distance," he said to himself, "fur there isn't a workman this side of the horicon that could j'int it in that fashion. there sartinly ought to be some letterin', or a leetle bit of writin', somewhere about the chest, tellin' who the box belonged to, and to whom it was sent." saying this, the old man unlashed the box from the sled, and rolled it over, so that the side might come uppermost. as no direction appeared on the smoothly planed surface, he rolled it half over again. a little white card neatly tacked to the board was now revealed. the trapper stooped, and on the card read,- john norton, to the care of wild bill. "yis, the 'j' be his'n," muttered the old man, as he spelled out the word j-o-h-n, "and the big 'n' be as plain as an otter-trail in the snow. the boy don't make his letters over plain, as i conceit, but the 'j' and the 'n' be his'n." and then he paused for a full minute, his head bowed over the box. "the boy don't forgit," he murmured, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "the boy don't forgit." and then he added, "no, he isn't one of the forgittin' kind. wild bill," said the trapper, as he turned toward that personage, whose attack on the venison haunch was as determined as ever, "wild bill, this box be from henry!" "i shouldn't wonder," answered that individual, speaking from a mass of edibles that filled his mouth. "and it be a christmas gift!" continued the old man. "it looks so," returned bill, as laconically as before. "and it be a mighty heavy box!" said the trapper. "you'd 'a' thought so, if you had dragged it over the mile-and-a-half carry. it was good sleddin' on the river, but the carry took the stuff out of me." "very like, very like," responded the trapper; "fur the gullies be deep on the carry, and it must have been slippery haulin'. didn't ye git a leetle 'arnest in yer feelin's, bill, afore ye got to the top of the last ridge?" "old man," answered bill, as he wheeled his chair toward the trapper, with a pint cup of tea in the one hand, and wiping his mustache with the coat sleeve of the other, "i got it to the top three times, or within a dozen feet from the top, and each time it got away from me and went to the bottom agin; for the roots was slippery, and i couldn't git a grip on the toe of my moccasins; but i held on to the rope, and i got to the bottom neck and neck with the sled every time." "ye did well, ye did well," responded the trapper, laughing; "for a loaded sled goes down hill mighty fast when the slide is a steep un, and a man who gits to the bottom as quick as the sled must have a good grip, and be considerably in 'arnest. but ye got her up finally by the same path, didn't ye?" "yes, i got her up," returned bill. "the fourth time i went for that ridge, i fetched her to the top, for i was madder than a hornet." "and what did ye do, bill?" continued the trapper. "what did ye do when ye got to the top?" "i jest tied that sled to a sapling so it wouldn't git away agin, and i got on to the top of that box, and i talked to that gulch a minit or two in a way that satisfied my feelings." "i shouldn't wonder," answered the trapper, laughing, "fur ye must have ben a good deal riled. but ye did well to git the box through, and ye got here in time, and ye've 'arnt yer wages; and now, ef ye'll tell me how much i am to pay ye, ye shall have yer money, and ye needn't scrimp yerself on the price, wild bill, for the drag has been a hard un; so tell me yer price, and i'll count ye out the money." "old man," answered bill, "i didn't bring that box through for money, and i won't take a--" perhaps wild bill was about to emphasize his refusal by some verbal addition to the simple statement, but, if it was his intention, he checked himself, and said, "a cent." "it's well said," answered the trapper; "yis, it's well said, and does jestice to yer feelin's, i don't doubt; but an extra pair of breeches one of these days wouldn't hurt ye, and the money won't come amiss." "i tell ye, old man," returned wild bill earnestly, "i won't take a cent. i'll allow there's several colors in my trousers, for i've patched in a dozen different pieces off and on, and i doubt, as ye hint, if the patching holds together much longer; but i've eaten at your table and slept in your cabin more than once, john norton, and whether i've come to it sober or drunk, your door was never shut in my face; and i don't forget either that the man who sent you that box fished me from the creek one day, when i had walked into it with two bottles of the dutchman's whisky in my pocket, and not one cent of your money or his will i take for bringing the box in to you." "have it yer own way, ef ye will," said the trapper; "but i won't forgit the deed ye have did, and the boy won't forgit it neither. come, let's clear away the vict'als, and we'll open the box. it's sartinly a big un, and i would like to see what he has put inside of it." the opening of the box was a spectacle such as gladdens the heart to see. at such moments the countenance of the trapper was as facile in the changefulness of its expression as that of a child. the passing feelings of his soul found an adequate mirror in his face, as the white clouds of a summer day find full reflection in the depth of a tranquil lake. he was not too old or too learned to be wise, for the wisdom of hearty happiness was his,--the wisdom of being glad, and gladly showing it. as for wild bill, the best of his nature was in the ascendant, and with the curiosity and pleasure of a child, and a happiness as sincere as if the box were his own, he assisted at the opening. "the man who made this box did the work in a workmanlike fashion," said the trapper, as he strove to insert the edge of his hatchet into the jointing of the cover, "fur he shet these boards together like the teeth of a bear trap when the bars be well 'iled. it's a pity the boy didn't send him along with the box, wild bill, fur it sartinly looks as ef we should have to kindle a fire on it, and burn a hole in through the kiver." at last, by dint of great exertion, and with the assistance of wild bill and the poker, the cover of the box was wrenched off, and the contents were partially revealed. "glory to god, wild bill!" exclaimed the trapper. "here be yer breeches!" and he held up a pair of pantaloons made of the stoutest scotch stuff. "yis, here be yer breeches, fur here on the waistband be pinned a bit of paper, and on it be written, 'fur wild bill.' and here be a vest to match; and here be a jacket; and here be two pairs of socks in the pocket of the jacket; and here be two woolen shirts, one packed away in each sleeve. and here!" shouted the old man, as he turned up the lapel of the coat, "wild bill, look here! here be a five-dollar note!" and the old man swung one of the socks over his head, and shouted, "hurrah for wild bill!" and the two hounds, catching the enthusiasm of their master, lifted their muzzles into the air, and bayed deep and long, till the cabin fairly shook with the joyful uproar of man and dogs. it is doubtful if any gift ever took the recipient more by surprise than this bestowed upon wild bill. it is true that, judged by the law of strict deserts, the poor fellow had not deserved much of the world, and certainly the world had not forgotten to be strictly just in his case, for it had not given him much. it is a question if he had ever received a gift before in all his life, certainly not one of any considerable value. his reception of this generous and thoughtful provision for his wants was characteristic both of his training and his nature. the old trapper, as he ended his cheering, flung the pantaloons, the vest, the jacket, the socks, the shirts, and the money into his lap. for a moment the poor fellow sat looking at the warm and costly garments that he held in his hands, silent in an astonishment too profound for speech, and then, recovering the use of his organs, he gasped forth:-"i swear!" and then broke down, and sobbed like a child. the trapper, kneeling beside the box, looked at the poor fellow with a face radiant with happiness, while his mouth was stretched with laughter, utterly unconscious that tears were brimming his own eyes. "old trapper," said wild bill, rising to his feet, and holding the garments forth in his hands, "this is the first present i ever received in my life. i have been kicked and cussed, sneered at and taunted, and i deserved it all. but no man ever gave me a lift, or showed he cared a cent whether i starved or froze, lived or died. you know, john norton, what a fool i've been, and what has ruined me, and that when sober i'm more of a man than many who hoot me. and here i swear, old man, that while a button is on this jacket, or two threads of these breeches hold together, i'll never touch a drop of liquor, sick or well, living or dying, so help me god! and there's my hand on it." "amen!" exclaimed the trapper, as he sprang to his feet, and clasped in his own strong palm the hand that the other had stretched out to him. "the lord in his marcy be nigh ye when tempted, bill, and keep ye true to yer pledge!" of all the pleasant sights that the angels of god, looking from their high homes, saw on earth that christmas eve, perhaps not one was dearer in their eyes than the spectacle here described,--the two sturdy men standing with their hands clasped in solemn pledge of the reformation of the one, and the helping sympathy of the other, above that christmas box in the cabin in the woods. it is not necessary to follow in detail the trapper's further examination of the box. the reader's imagination, assisted by many a happy reminiscence, will enable him to realize the scene. there was a small keg of powder, a large plug of lead, a little chest of tea, a bag of sugar, and also one of coffee. there were nails, matches, thread, buttons, a woolen under-jacket, a pair of mittens, and a cap of choicest fur, made of an otter's skin that henry himself had trapped a year before. all these and other packages were taken out one by one, carefully examined, and characteristically commented on by the trapper, and passed to wild bill, who in turn inspected and commented on them, and then laid them carefully on the table. beneath these packages was a thin board, constituting a sort of division between its upper and lower half. "there seems to be a sort of cellar to this box," said the trapper, as he sat looking at the division. "i shouldn't be surprised ef the boy himself was in here somewhere, so be ready, bill, fur anything, fur the lord only knows what's underneath this board." saying which, the old man thrust his hand under one end of the division, and pulled out a bundle loosely tied with a string, which became unfastened as the trapper lifted the roll from its place in the box, and, as he shook it open, and held its contents at arm's length up to the light, the startled eyes of wild bill, and the earnest gaze of the trapper, beheld a woman's dress! "heavens and 'arth, bill!" exclaimed the trapper, "what's this?" and then a flash of light crossed his face, in the illumination of which the look of wonder vanished, and, dropping upon his knees, he flung the dividing board out of the box, and his companion and himself saw at a glance what was underneath. children's shoes, and dresses of warmest stuffs; tippets and mittens; a full suit for a little boy, boots and all; a jackknife and whistle; two dolls dressed in brave finery, with flaxen hair and blue eyes; a little hatchet; a huge ball of yarn, and a hundred and one things needed in the household; and underneath all a bible; and under that a silver star on a blue field, and pinned to the silk a scrap of paper, on which was written,-"hang this over the picture of the lad." "ay, ay," said the trapper in a tremulous voice, as he looked at the silver star, "it shall be done as ye say, boy; but the lad has got beyend the clouds, and is walkin' a trail that is lighted from eend to eend by a light clearer and brighter than ever come from the shinin' of any star. i hope we may be found worthy to walk it with him, boy, when we, too, have come to the edge of the great clearin'." to the trapper it was perfectly evident for whom the contents of the box were intended; but the sender had left nothing in doubt, for, when the old man had lifted from the floor the board that he had flung out, he discovered some writing traced with heavy penciling on the wood, and which without much effort he spelled out to wild bill,-"give these on christmas day to the woman at the dismal hut, and a merry christmas to you all." "ay, ay," said the trapper, "it shall be did, barrin' accident, as ye say; and a merry christmas it'll make fur us all. lord-a-massy! what _will_ the poor woman say when she and her leetle uns git these warm garments on? there be no trouble about fillin' the basket now; no, i sartinly can't git half of the stuff in. wild bill, i guess ye'll have to do some more sleddin' to-morrow, fur these presents must go over the mountain in the mornin', ef we have to harness up the pups." and then he told his companion of the poor woman and the children, and his intended visit to them on the morrow. "i fear," he said, "that they be havin' a hard time of it, 'specially ef her husband has desarted her." "little good he would do her, if he was with her," answered wild bill, "for he's a lazy knave when he is sober, and a thief as well, as you and i know, john norton; for he's fingered our traps more than once, and swapped the skins for liquor at the dutchman's; but he's thieved once too many times, for the folks in the settlement has ketched him in the act, and they put him in the jail for six months, as i heard day before yesterday." "i'm glad on't; yis, i'm glad on't," answered the trapper; "and i hope they'll keep him there till they've larnt him how to work. i've had my eye on the knave for a good while, and the last time i seed him i told him ef he fingered any more of my traps, i'd larn him the commandments in a way he wouldn't forgit; and, as i had him in hand, and felt a leetle like talkin' that mornin', i gin him a piece of my mind, techin' his treatment of his wife and leetle uns, that he didn't relish, i fancy, fur he winced and squirmed like a fox in a trap. yis, i'm glad they've got the knave, and i hope they'll keep him till he's answered fur his misdoin'; but i'm sartinly afeered the poor woman be havin' a hard time of it." "i fear so, too," answered wild bill; "and if i can do anything to help you in your plans, jest say the word, and i'm your man to back or haul, jest as you want me." and so it was arranged that they should go over the mountain together on the morrow, and take the provisions and the gifts that were in the box to the poor woman. and, after talking awhile of the happiness their visit would give, the two men, happy in their thoughts, and with their hearts full of that peace which passeth the understanding of the selfish, laid themselves down to sleep; and over the two,--the one drawing to the close of an honorable and well-spent life, the other standing at the middle of a hitherto useless existence, but facing the future with a noble resolution,--over the two, as they slept, the angels of christmas kept their watch. ii. on the other side of the mountain stood the dismal hut; and the stars of that blessed eve had shone down upon the lonely clearing in which it stood, and the smooth white surface of the frozen and snow-covered lake which lay in front of it, as brightly as they had shone on the cabin of the trapper; but no friendly step had made its trail in the surrounding snow, and no blessed gift had been brought to its solitary door. [illustration: "on the other side of the mountain stood the dismal hut."] as the evening wore on, the great clearing round about it remained drearily void of sound or motion, and filled only with the white stillness of the frosty, snow-lighted night. once, indeed, a wolf stole from underneath the dark balsams into the white silence, and, running up a huge log that lay aslant a ledge of rocks, looked across and round the great opening in the woods, stood a moment, then gave a shivering sort of a yelp, and scuttled back under the shadow of the forest, as if its darkness was warmer than the frozen stillness of the open space. an owl, perched somewhere amid the pine-tops, snug and warm within the cover of its arctic plumage, engaged from time to time in solemn gossip with some neighbor that lived on the opposite shore of the lake. and once a raven, roosting on the dry bough of a lightning-blasted pine, dreamed that the white moonlight was the light of dawn, and began to stir his sable wings, and croak a harsh welcome; but awakened by his blunder, and ashamed of his mistake, he broke off in the very midst of his discordant call, and again settled gloomily down amid his black plumes to his interrupted repose, making by his sudden silence the surrounding silence more silent than before. it seemed as if the very angels, who, we are taught, fly abroad over all the earth that blessed night, carrying gifts to every household, had forgotten the cabin in the woods, and had left it to the cold hospitality of unsympathetic nature. within the lonely hut, which thus seemed forgotten of heaven itself, sat a woman huddling her young--two girls and a boy. the fireplace was of monstrous proportions, and the chimney yawned upward so widely that one looking up the sooty passage might see the stars shining overhead. a little fire burned feebly in the huge stone recess: scant warmth might such a fire yield, kindled in such a fireplace, to those around it. indeed, the little flame seemed conscious of its own inability, and burned with a wavering and mistrustful flicker, as if it were discouraged in view of the task set before it, and had more than half concluded to go out altogether. the cabin was of large size, and undivided into apartments. the little fire was only able to illuminate the central section, and more than half of the room was hidden in utter darkness. the woman's face, which the faint flame over which she was crouched revealed with painful clearness, showed pale and haggard. the induration of exposure and the tightening lines of hunger sharpened and marred a countenance which a happier fortune would have kept even comely. it had that old look about it which comes from wretchedness rather than age, and the weariness of its expression was pitiful to see. was it work or vain waiting for happier fortunes that made her look so tired? alas! the weariness of waiting for what we long for, and long for purely, but which never comes! is it the work or the longing--the long longing--that has put the silver in your head, friend, and scarred the smooth bloom of your cheeks, my lady, with those ugly lines? "mother, i'm hungry," said the little boy, looking up into the woman's face. "can't i have just a little more to eat?" "be still," answered the woman sharply, speaking in the tones of vexed inability. "i've given you almost the last morsel in the house." the boy said nothing more, but nestled up more closely to his mother's knee, and stuck one little stockingless foot out until the cold toes were half hidden in the ashes. o warmth! blessed warmth! how pleasant art thou to old and young alike! thou art the emblem of life, as thy absence is the evidence and sign of life's cold opposite. would that all the cold toes in the world could get to my grate to-night, and all the shivering ones be gathered to this fireside! ay, and that the children of poverty, that lack for bread, might get their hungry hands into that well-filled cupboard there, too! in a moment the woman said, "you children had better go to bed. you'll be warmer in the rags than in this miserable fireplace." the words were harshly spoken, as if the very presence of the children, cold and hungry as they were, was a vexation to her; and they moved off in obedience to her command. o cursed poverty! i know thee to be of satan, for i myself have eaten at thy scant table, and slept in thy cold bed. and never yet have i seen thee bring one smile to human lips, or dry one tear as it fell from a human eye. but i have seen thee sharpen the tongue for biting speech, and harden the tender heart. ay, i've seen thee make even the presence of love a burden, and cause the mother to wish that the puny babe nursing her scant breast had never been born. and so the children went to their unsightly bed, and silence reigned in the hut. "mother," said one of the girls, speaking out of the darkness,--"mother, isn't this christmas eve?" "yes," answered the woman sharply. "go to sleep." and again there was silence. happy is childhood, that amid whatever deprivation and misery it can so weary itself in the day that when night comes on it can lose in the forgetfulness of slumber its sorrows and wants! thus, while the children lost the sense of their unhappy surroundings, including the keen pangs of hunger, for a time, and under the tattered blankets that covered them saw, perhaps, visions of enchanting lands, and in their dreams feasted at those wonderful tables which hungry children see only in sleep, to the poor woman sitting at the failing fire there came no surcease of sorrow, and no vision threw even an evanescent brightness over the hard, cold facts of her surroundings. and the reality of her condition was dire enough, god knows. alone in the wilderness, miles from any human habitation, the trails covered deep with snow, her provisions exhausted, actual suffering already upon them, and starvation staring them squarely in the face,--no wonder that her soul sank within her; no wonder that her thoughts turned toward bitterness. "yes, it's christmas eve," she muttered, "and the rich will keep it gayly. god sends them presents enough; but you see if he remembers me! oh, they may talk about the angels of christmas eve flying abroad to-night, loaded with gifts, but they'll fly mighty high above this shanty, i reckon; no, they won't even drop a piece of meat as they soar past." and so she sat muttering and moaning over her woes, and they were heavy enough,--too heavy for her poor soul, unassisted, to lift,--while the flame on the hearth grew thinner and thinner, until it had no more warmth in it than the shadow of a ghost, and, like its resemblance, was about to flit and fade away. at last she said, in a softened tone, as if the remembrance of the christmas legend had softened her surly thoughts and sweetened the bitter mood:-"perhaps i'm wrong to take on so. perhaps it isn't god's fault that i and my children are deserted and starving. but why should the innocent be punished for the guilty, and why should the wicked have enough and to spare, while those who do no evil go half naked and starved?" alas, poor woman! that puzzle has puzzled many besides thee, and many lips besides thine have asked that question, querulously or entreatingly, many a time; but whether they asked it in vexation and rebellion of spirit, or humbly besought heaven to answer, to neither murmur nor prayer did heaven vouchsafe a response. is it because we are so small, or, being small, are so inquisitive, that the great oracle of the blue remains so dumb when we cry? at this point the poor little flame, as if unable to abide the cold much longer, flared fitfully, and uneasily shifted itself from brand to brand, threatening with many a flicker to go out; but the woman, with her elbows on her knees, and her face settled firmly between her hands, still sat with eyes that saw not the feeble flame at which they so steadily gazed. "i will do it, _i will do it!_" she suddenly exclaimed. "i will make one more effort. they shall not starve while i have strength to try. perhaps god will aid me. they say he always does at the last pinch, and he certainly sees that i am there now. i wonder if he's been waiting for me to get just where i am before he helped me. there is one more chance left, and i'll make the trial. i'll go down to the shore where i saw the big tracks in the snow. it's a long way, but i shall get there somehow. if god is going to be good to me, he won't let me freeze or faint on the way. yes, i'll creep into bed now, and try to get a little sleep, for i must be strong in the morning." and with these words the poor woman crept off to her bed, and burrowed down, more like an animal than a human being, beside her little ones, as they lay huddled close together and asleep, down in the rags. what angel was it that followed her to her miserable couch, and stirred kindly feelings in her bosom? some sweet one, surely; for she shortly lifted herself to a sitting posture, and, gently drawing down the old blanket with which the children, for warmth's sake, had wrapped their heads, looked as only a mother might at the three little faces lying side by side, and, bending tenderly over them, she placed a gentle kiss upon the forehead of each; then she nestled down again in her own place, and said, "perhaps god will help me." and with this sentence, half a prayer and half a doubt, born on the one hand from that sweet faith which never quite deserts a woman's bosom, and on the other from that bitter experience which had made her seem in her own eyes deserted of god, she fell asleep. she, too, dreamed; but her dreaming was only the prolongation of her waking thoughts; for long after her eyes closed she moved uneasily on her hard couch, and muttered, "perhaps god will. perhaps--" sad is it for us who are old enough to have tasted the bitterness of that cup which life sooner or later presents to all lips, and have borne the burden of its toil and fretting, that our vexations and disappointments pursue us even in our slumber, disturbing our sleep with reproachful visions and the sound of voices whose upbraiding robs us of our otherwise peaceful repose. perhaps somewhere in the years to come, after much wandering and weariness, guided of god, we may come to that fountain of which the ancients dreamed, and for which the noblest among them sought so long, and died seeking; plunging into which, we shall find our lost youth in its cool depths, and, rising refreshed and strengthened, shall go on our eternal journey re-clothed with the beauty, the innocence, and the happiness of our youth. the poor woman slept uneasily, and with much muttering to herself; but the rapid hours slid noiselessly down the icy grooves of night, and soon the cold morning put its white face against the frozen windows of the east, and peered shiveringly forth. who says the earth cannot look as cold and forbidding as the human countenance? the sky hung over the frozen world like a dome of gray steel, whose invisibly matched plates were riveted here and there by a few white, gleaming stars. the surface of the snow sparkled with crystals that flashed colorlessly cold. the air seemed armed, and full of sharp, eager points that pricked the skin painfully. the great tree-trunks cracked their sharp protests against the frosty entrances being made beneath their bark. the lake, from under the smothering ice, roared in dismay and pain, and sent the thunders of its wrath at its imprisonment around the resounding shores. a bitter morn, a bitter morn,--ah me! a bitter morn for the poor! the woman, wakened by the gray light, moved in the depths of the tattered blankets, sat upright, rubbed her eyes with her hands, looked about her as if to recall her scattered senses, and then, as thought returned, crept stealthily out of the hole in which she had lain, that she might not wake the children, who, coiled together, slumbered on, still closely clasped in the arms of blessed unconsciousness. "they had better sleep," she said to herself. "if i fail to bring them meat, i hope they will never wake!" ah! if the poor woman could only have foreseen the bitter disappointment, or that other something which the future was to bring her, would she have made that prayer? is it best for us, as some say, that we cannot see what is coming, but must weep on till the last tear is shed, uncheered by the sweet fortune so nigh, or laugh unchecked until the happy tones are mingled with, and smothered by, the rising moan? is it best, i wonder? she noiselessly gathered together what additions she could make to her garments, and then, taking down the rifle from its hangings, opened the door, and stepped forth into the outer cold. there was a look of brave determination in her eyes as she faced the chilly greeting the world gave her, and, with more of hopefulness than had before appeared upon her countenance, she struck bravely off along the lake shore, which at this point receded toward the mountain. for an hour she kept steadily on, with her eyes constantly on the alert for the least sign of the wished and prayed-for game. suddenly she stopped, and crouched down in the snow, peering straight ahead. well might she seek concealment, for there, standing on a point of land that jutted sharply out into the lake, not forty rods away, unscreened and plain to view, stood a buck of such goodly proportions as one even in years of hunting might not see. the woman's eyes fairly gleamed as she saw the noble animal standing thus in full sight; but who may tell the agony of fear and hope that filled her bosom! the buck stood lordly erect, facing the east, as if he would do homage to, or receive homage from, the rising sun, whose yellow beams fell full upon his uplifted front. the thought of her mind, the fear of her heart, were plain. the buck would soon move; when he moved, which way would he move? would he go from or come toward her? would she get him, or would she lose him? oh, the agony of that thought! "god of the starving," burst from her quivering lips, "let not my children die!" many prayers more ornate rose that day to him whose ears are open to all cries. but of all that prayed on that christmas morn, whether with few words or many, surely, no heart rose with the seeking words more earnestly than that of the poor woman kneeling as she prayed, rifle in hand, amid the snow. "god of the starving, let not my children die!" that was her prayer; and, as if in answer to her agonizing petition, the buck turned and began to advance directly toward her, browsing as he came. once he stopped, looked around, and snuffed the air suspiciously. had he scented her presence, and would he bound away? should she fire now? no; her judgment told her she could not trust the gun or her aim at such a range. he must come nigher,--come even to the big maple, and stand there, not ten rods away; then she felt sure she should get him. so she waited. oh, how the cold ate into her! how her teeth chattered as the chills ran their torturing courses through her thin, shivering frame! but still she clutched the cold barrel, and still she watched and waited, and still she prayed:-"god of the starving, let not my children die!" alas, poor woman! my own body shivers as i think of thine, and my pen falters to write what misery befell thee on that wretched morn. did the buck turn? did he, having come so tantalizingly near, retrace his steps? no. he continued to advance. had heaven heard her prayer? her soul answered it had; and with such feelings in it toward him to whom she had appealed as she had not felt in all her life before, she steadied herself for the shot. for even as she prayed, the deer came on,--came to the big maple, and lifted his muzzle to its highest reach to seize with his tongue a thin streamer of moss that lay against the smooth bark. there he stood, his blue-brown side full toward her, unconscious of her presence. noiselessly she cocked the piece. noiselessly she raised it to her face, and, with every nerve drawn to its tightest tension, sighted the noble game, and--_fired_. had the frosty air watered her eye? was it a tear of joy and gratitude that dimmed the clearness of its sight? or were the half-frozen fingers unable to steady the cold barrel at the instant of its explosion? we know not. we only know that in spite of prayer, in spite of noblest effort, she missed the game. for, as the rifle cracked, the buck gave a snort of fear, and with swift bounds flew up the mountain; while the poor woman, dropping the gun with a groan, fell fainting on the snow. iii. at the same moment the rifle sounded, two men, the trapper with his pack, and wild bill with his sled heavily loaded, were descending the western slope of the mountain, not a mile from the clearing in which stood the lonely cabin. the sound of the piece brought them to a halt as quickly as if the bullet had cut through the air in front of their faces. for several minutes both stood in the attitude of listening. "down into the snow with ye, pups!" exclaimed the trapper, in a hoarse whisper. "down into the snow with ye, i say! rover, ef ye lift yer muzzle agin, i'll warm yer back with the ramrod. by the lord, bill, the buck is comin' this way; ye can see his horns lift above the leetle balsams as he breaks through the thicket yender. ef he strikes the runway, he'll sartinly come within range;" and the old trapper slipped his arms from the pack, and, lowering it to the earth, sank on his knees beside it, where he waited as motionless as if the breath had departed his body. onward came the game. as the trapper had suggested, the buck, with mighty and far-reaching bounds, cleared the shrubby obstructions, and, entering the runway, tore up the familiar path with the violence of a tornado. onward he came, his head flung upward, his antlers laid well back, tongue lolling from his mouth, and his nostrils smoking with the hot breaths that burst in streaming columns from them. not until his swift career had brought him exactly in front of his position did the old man stir a muscle. but then, quick as the motion of the leaping game, his rifle jumped to his cheek, and even as the buck was at the central point of his leap, and suspended in the air, the piece cracked sharp and clear, and the deer, stricken to his death, fell with a crash to the ground. the quivering hounds rose to their feet, and bayed long and deep; wild bill swung his hat and yelled; and for a moment the woods rang with the wild cries of dogs and man. [illustration: the old trapper's shot.] "lord-a-massy, bill, what a mouth ye have when ye open it!" exclaimed the trapper, as he leisurely poured the powder into the still smoking barrel. "atween ye and the pups, it's enough to drive a man crazy. i should sartinly think ye had never seed a deer shot afore, by the way ye be actin'." "i've seen a good many, as you know, john norton; but i never saw one tumbled over by a single bullet when at the very top of his jump, as that one was. i surely thought you had waited too long, and i wouldn't have given a cent for your chances when you pulled. it was a wonderful shot, john norton, and i would take just such another tramp as i have had, to see you do it again, old man." "it wasn't bad," returned the trapper; "no, it sartinly wasn't bad, for he was goin' as ef the old harry was arter him. i shouldn't wonder ef he had felt the tech of lead down there in the holler, and the smart of his hurt kept him flyin'. let's go and look him over, and see ef we can't find the markin's of the bullit on him." in a moment the two stood above the dead deer. "it is as i thought," said the trapper, as he pointed with his ramrod to a stain of blood on one of the hams of the buck. "the bullit drove through his thigh here, but it didn't tech the bone, and was a sheer waste of lead, fur it only sot him goin' like an arrer. bill, i sartinly doubt," continued the old man, as he measured the noble animal with his eye, "i sartinly doubt ef i ever seed a bigger deer. there's seven prongs on his horns, and i'd bet a horn of powder agin a chargerful that he'd weigh three hunderd pounds as he lies. lord! what a christmas gift he'll be fur the woman! the skin will make a blanket fit fur a queen to sleep under, and the meat, jediciously cared fur, will last her all winter. we must manage to git it to the edge of the clearin', anyhow, or the wolves might make free with our venison, bill. yer sled is a strong un, and it'll bear the loadin', ef ye go keerful." the trapper and his companion set themselves to their task with the energy of men accustomed to surmount every obstacle, and in a short half-hour the sled, with its double loading, stopped at the door of the lonely cabin. "i don't understand this, wild bill," said the trapper. "here be a woman's tracks in the snow, and the door be left a leetle ajar, but there be no smoke in the chimney, and they sartinly ain't very noisy inside. i'll jest give a knock or two, and see ef they be stirrin';" and, suiting the action to the word, he knocked long and loud on the large door. but to his noisy summons there came no response, and without a moment of farther hesitation he shoved open the door, and entered. "god of marcy! wild bill," exclaimed the trapper, "look in here." a huge room dimly lighted, holes in the roof, here and there a heap of snow on the floor, an immense fireplace with no fire in it, and a group of scared, wild-looking children huddled together in the farther corner, like young and timid animals that had fled in affright from the nest where they had slept, at some fearful intrusion. that is what the trapper saw. "i"--whatever wild bill was about to say, his astonishment, and, we may add, his pity, were too profound for him to complete his ejaculation. "don't ye be afeerd, leetle uns," said the trapper, as he advanced into the center of the room to survey more fully the wretched place. "this be christmas morn, and me and wild bill and the pups have come over the mountain to wish ye all a merry christmas. but where be yer mother?" queried the old man, as he looked kindly at the startled group. "we don't know where she is," answered the older of the two girls; "we thought she was in bed with us, till you woke us. we don't know where she has gone." "i have it, i have it, wild bill!" exclaimed the trapper, whose eyes had been busy scanning the place while talking with the children. "the rifle be gone from the hangin's, and the tracks in the snow be hern. yis, yis, i see it all. she went out in hope of gittin' the leetle uns here somethin' to eat, and that was her rifle we heerd, and her bullit made that hole in the ham of the buck. what a disapp'intment to the poor creetur when she seed she hadn't hit him! her heart eena'most broke, i dare say. but the lord was in it--leastwise, he didn't go agin the proper shapin' of things arterwards. come, bill, let's stir round lively, and git the shanty in shape a leetle, and some vict'als on the table afore she comes. yis, git out your axe, and slash into that dead beech at the corner of the cabin, while i sorter clean up inside. a fire is the fust thing on sech a mornin' as this; so scurry round, bill, and bring in the wood as ef ye was a good deal in 'arnest, and do ye cut to the measure of the fireplace, and don't waste yer time in shortenin' it, fur the longer the fireplace, the longer the wood; that is, ef ye want to make it a heater." his companion obeyed with alacrity; and by the time the trapper had cleaned out the snow, and swept down the soot from the sides of the fireplace, and put things partially to rights, bill had stacked the dry logs into the huge opening, nearly to the upper jamb, and, with the help of some large sheets of birch bark, kindled them to a flame. "come here, leetle uns," said the trapper, as he turned his good-natured face toward the children,--"come here, and put yer leetle feet on the h'arthstun, fur it's warmin', and i conceit yer toes be about freezin'." it was not in the power of children to withstand the attraction of such an invitation, extended with such a hearty voice and such benevolence of feature. the children came promptly forward, and stood in a row on the great stone, and warmed their little shivering bodies by the abundant flames. "now, leetle folks," said the trapper, "jest git yerselves well warmed, then git on what clothes ye've got, and we'll have some breakfast,--yis, we'll have breakfast ready by the time yer mother gits back, fur i know where she be gone, and she'll be hungry and cold when she gits in. i don't conceit that this leetle chap here can help much, but ye girls be big enough to help a good deal. so, when ye be warm, do ye put away the bed to the furderest corner, and shove out the table in front of the fire, and put on the dishes, sech as ye have, and be smart about it, too, fur yer mother will sartinly be comin' soon, and we must be ahead of her with the cookin'." what a change the next half-hour made in the appearance of the cabin! the huge fire sent its heat to the farthest corner of the great room. the miserable bed had been removed out of sight, and the table, drawn up in front of the fire, was set with the needed dishes. on the hearthstone a large platter of venison steak, broiled by the trapper's skill, simmered in the heat. a mighty pile of cakes, brown to a turn, flanked one side, while a stack of potatoes baked in the ashes supported the other. the teapot sent forth its refreshing odor through the room. the children, with their faces washed and hair partially, at least, combed, ran about with bare feet on the warm floor, comfortable and happy. to them it was as a beautiful dream. the breakfast was ready, and the visitors sat waiting for the coming of her to whose assistance the angel of christmas eve had sent them. "sh!" whispered the trapper, whose quick ear had caught the sound of a dragging step in the snow. "she's comin'!" too weary and faint, too sick at heart and exhausted in body to observe the unaccustomed signs of human presence around her dwelling, the poor woman dragged herself to the door, and opened it. the gun she still held in her hand fell rattling to the floor, and, with eyes wildly opened, she gazed bewildered at the spectacle. the blazing fire, the set table, the food on the hearthstone, the smiling children, the two men! she passed her hands across her eyes as one waking from sleep. was she dreaming? was this cabin the miserable hut she had left at daybreak? was that the same fireplace in front of whose cold and cheerless recess she had crouched the night before? and were those two strangers there men, or were they angels? was what she saw real, or was it only a fevered vision born of her weakness? her senses actually reeled to and fro, and she trembled for a moment on the verge of unconsciousness. indeed, the shock was so overwhelming that in another instant she would have swooned and fallen to the floor had not the growing faintness been checked by the sound of a human voice. "a merry christmas to ye, my good woman," said the trapper. "a merry christmas to ye and yourn!" the woman started as the hearty tones fell on her ear, and, steadying herself by the door, she said, speaking as one partially dazed:-"are you john norton the trapper, or are you an ang--" "ye needn't sight agin," interrupted the old man. "yis, i'm old john norton himself, nothin' better and nothin' wuss; and the man in the chair here by my side is wild bill, and ye couldn't make an angel out of him, ef ye tried from now till next christmas. yis, my good woman, i'm john norton, and this is wild bill, and we've come over the mountain to wish ye a merry christmas, ye and yer leetle uns, and help ye keep the day; and, ye see, we've been stirrin' a leetle in yer absence, and breakfast be waitin'. wild bill and me will jest go out and cut a leetle more wood, while ye warm and wash yerself; and when ye be ready to eat, ye may call us, and we'll see which can git into the house fust." so saying the trapper, followed by his companion, passed out of the door, while the poor woman, without a word, moved toward the fire, and, casting one look at her children, at the table, at the food on the hearthstone, dropped on her knees by a chair, and buried her face in her hands. "i say," said wild bill to the trapper, as he crept softly away from the door, to which he had returned to shut it more closely, "i say, john norton, the woman is on her knees by a chair." "very likely, very likely," returned the old man reverently; and then he began to chop vigorously at a huge log, with his back toward his comrade. perhaps some of you who read this tale will come sometime, when weary and heart-sick, to something drearier than an empty house, some bleak, cold day, some lonely morn, and with a starving heart and benumbed soul,--ay, and empty-handed, too,--enter in only to find it swept and garnished, and what you most needed and longed for waiting for you. then will you, too, drop upon your knees, and cover your face with your hands, ashamed that you had murmured against the hardness of your lot, or forgotten the goodness of him who suffered you to be tried only that you might more fully appreciate the triumph. "my good woman," said the trapper, when the breakfast was eaten, "we've come, as we said, to spend the day with ye; and accordin' to custom--and a pleasant un it be fur sartin--we've brought ye some presents. a good many of them come from him who called on ye as he and me passed through the lake last fall. i dare say ye remember him, and he sartinly has remembered ye. fur last evenin', when i was makin' up a leetle pack to bring ye myself,--fur i conceited i had better come over and spend the day with ye,--wild bill came to my door with a box on his sled that the boy had sent in from his home in the city; and in the box he had put a great many presents fur him and me; and in the lower half of the box he had put a good many presents fur ye and yer leetle uns, and we've brought them all over with us. some of the things be fur eatin' and some of them be fur wearin'; and that there may be no misunderstandin', i would say that all the things that be in the pack-basket there, and all the things that be on the sled, too, belong to ye. and as i see the wood-pile isn't a very big un fur this time of the year, bill and me be goin' out to settle our breakfast a leetle with the axes. and while we be gone, i conceit ye had better rummage the things over, and them that be good fur eatin' ye had better put in the cupboard, and them that be good fur wearin' ye had better put on yerself and yer leetle uns; and then we'll all be ready to make a fair start. fur this be christmas day, and we be goin' to keep it as it orter be kept. ef we've had sorrers, we'll forgit 'em; and we'll laugh, and eat, and be merry. fur this be christmas, my good woman! children, this be christmas! wild bill, my boy, this be christmas; and, pups, this be christmas! and we'll all laugh, and eat, and be merry." the joyfulness of the old man was contagious. his happiness flowed over as waters flow over the rim of a fountain. wild bill laughed as he seized his axe, the woman rose from the table smiling, the girls giggled, the little boy stamped, and the hounds, catching the spirit of their merry master, swung their tails round, and bayed in canine gladness; and amid the joyful uproar the old trapper spun himself out of the door, and chased wild bill through the snow like a boy. the dinner was to be served at two o'clock; and what a dinner it was, and what preparations preceded! the snow had been shoveled from around the cabin, the holes in the roof roughly but effectually thatched. a good pile of wood was stacked in front of the doorway. the spring that bubbled from the bank had been cleared of ice, and a protection constructed over it. the huge buck had been dressed, and hung high above the reach of wolves. cedar and balsam branches had been placed in the corners and along the sides of the room. great sprays of the tasseled pine and the feathery tamarack were suspended from the ceiling. the table had been enlarged, and extra seats extemporized. the long-unused oven had been cleaned out, and under its vast dome the red flames flashed and rolled upward. what a change a few hours had brought to that lonely cabin and its wretched inmates! the woman, dressed in her new garments, her hair smoothly combed, her face lighted with smiles, looked positively comely. the girls, happy in their fine clothes and marvelous toys, danced round the room, wild with delight; while the little boy strutted about the floor in his new boots, proudly showing them to each person for the hundredth time. the hostess's attention was equally divided between the temperature of the oven and the adornment of the table. a snow-white sheet, one of a dozen she had found in the box, was drafted peremptorily into service, and did duty as a tablecloth. oh, the innocent and funny makeshifts of poverty, and the goodly distance it can make a little go! perhaps some of us, as we stand in our rich dining rooms, and gaze with pride at the silver, the gold, the cut glass, and the transparent china, can recall a little kitchen in a homely house far away, where our good mothers once set their tables for their guests, and what a brave show the few extra dishes made when they brought them out on the rare festive days. however it might strike you, fair reader, to the poor woman and her guests there was nothing incongruous in a sheet serving as a tablecloth. was it not white and clean and properly shaped, and would it not have been a tablecloth if it hadn't been a sheet? how very nice and particular some people can be over the trifling matter of a name! and this sheet had no right to be a sheet, since any one with half an eye could see at a glance that it was predestined from the first to be a tablecloth, for it sat as smoothly on the wooden surface as pious looks on a deacon's face, while the easy and nonchalant way it draped itself at the corners was perfectly jaunty. the edges of this square of white sheeting that had thus providentially found its true and predestined use were ornamented with the leaves of the wild myrtle, stitched on in the form of scallops. in the center, with a brave show of artistic skill, were the words, "merry christmas," prettily worked with the small brown cones of the pines. this, the joint product of wild bill's industry and the woman's taste, commanded the enthusiastic admiration of all; and even the little boy, from the height of a chair into which he had climbed, was profoundly affected by the show it made. the trapper had charge of the meat department, and it is safe to say that no delmonico could undertake to serve venison in greater variety than did he. to him it was a grand occasion, and--in a culinary sense--he rose grandly to meet it. what bosom is without its little vanities? and shall we laugh at the dear old man because he looked upon the opportunity before him with feeling other than pure benevolence,--even of complacency that what he was doing was being done as no one else could do it? there was venison roasted, and venison broiled, and venison fried; there was hashed venison, and venison spitted; there was a side-dish of venison sausage, strong with the odor of sage, and slightly dashed with wild thyme; and a huge kettle of soup, on whose rich creamy surface pieces of bread and here and there a slice of potato floated. "i tell ye, bill," said the trapper to his companion, as he stirred the soup with a long ladle, "this pot isn't act'ally runnin' over with taters, but ye can see a bit occasionally ef ye look sharp and keep the ladle goin' round pretty lively. no, the taters ain't over plenty," continued the old man, peering into the pot, and sinking his voice to a whisper, "but there wasn't but fifteen in the bag, and the woman took twelve of 'em fur her kittle, and ye can't make three taters look act'ally crowded in two gallons of soup, can ye, bill?" and the old man punched that personage in the ribs with the thumb of the hand that was free from service, while he kept the ladle going with the other. "lord!" exclaimed the trapper, speaking to bill, who, having taken a look into the old man's kettle, was digging his knuckles into his eyes to free them from the spray that was jetted into them from the fountains of mirth within that were now in full play,--"lord! ef there isn't another piece of tater gone all to pieces! bill, ef i make another circle with this ladle, there won't be a whole slice left, and ye'll swear there wasn't a tater in the soup." and the two men, with their faces within twenty inches, laughed and laughed like boys. how sweet it is to think that when the maker set up this strange instrument we call ourselves, and strung it for service, he selected of the heavy chords so few, and of the lighter ones so many! some muffled ones there are; some slow and solemn sounds swell sadly forth at intervals, but blessed be god that we are so easily tickled, and the world is so funny that within it, even when exiled from home and friends, we find, as the days come and go, the causes and occasions of hilarity! wild bill had been placed in charge of the liquids. what a satire there is in circumstances, and how those of to-day laugh at those of yesterday! yes, wild bill had charge of the liquids,--no mean charge, when the occasion is considered. nor was the position without its embarrassments, as few honorable positions are, for it brought him face to face with the problem of the day--dishes; for, between the two cooks of the occasion, every dish in the cabin had been brought into requisition, and poor bill was left in the predicament of having to make tea and coffee with no pots to make them in. but bill was not lacking in wit, if he was in pots, and he solved the conundrum how to make tea without a teapot in a manner that extorted the woman's laughter, and commanded the old trapper's admiration. in ransacking the lofts above the apartment, he had lighted on several large stone jugs, which, with the courage--shall we call it the audacity?--of genius, he had seized upon; and, having thoroughly rinsed them, and freed them from certain odors,--with which we are free to say bill was more or less familiar,--he brought them forward as substitutes for kettle and pot. indeed, they worked admirably, for in them the berry and the leaves might not only be properly steeped, but the flavor could be retained beyond what it might in many of our famous and high-sounding patented articles. but bill, while ingenious and courageous to the last degree, was lacking in education, especially in scientific directions. he had never been made acquainted with that great promoter of modern civilization--the expansive properties of steam. the corks he had whittled out for his bravely extemporized tea and coffee pots were of the closest fit; and, as they had been inserted with the energy of a man who, having conquered a serious difficulty, is determined to reap the full benefit of his triumph, there was at least no danger that the flavor of the concoctions would escape through any leakage at the muzzle. having thus prepared them for steeping, he placed the jugs in his corner of the fireplace, and pushed them well up through the ashes to the live coals. "wild bill," said the trapper, who wished to give his companion the needed warning in as delicate and easy a manner as possible, "wild bill, ye have sartinly got the right idee techin' the makin' of tea and coffee, fur the yarb should be steeped, and the berry, too,--leastwise, arter it's biled up once or twice,--and therefore it be only reasonable that the nozzles should be closed moderately tight; but a man wants considerable experience in the business, or he's likely to overdo it jest a leetle, and ef ye don't cut some slots in them wooden corks ye've driven into them nozzles, bill, there'll be a good deal of tea and coffee floatin' round in yer corner of the fireplace afore many minits, and i conceit there'll be a man about yer size lookin' fur a couple of corks and pieces of jugs out there in the clearin', too." "do you think so?" answered bill, incredulously. "don't you be scared, old man, but keep on stirring your soup and turning the meat, and i'll keep my eye on the bottles." "that's right, bill," returned the trapper; "ye keep yer eye right on 'em, specially on that un that's furderest in toward the butt of the beech log there; fur ef there's any vartue in signs, that jug be gittin' oneasy. yis," continued the old man, after a minute's pause, during which his eye hadn't left the jug, "yis, that jug will want more room afore many minits, ef i'm any jedge, and i conceit i had better give it the biggest part of the fireplace;" and the trapper hastily moved the soup and his half-dozen plates of cooked meats to the other end of the hearthstone, whither he retired himself, like one who, feeling that he is called upon to contend with unknown forces, wisely beats a retreat. he even put himself behind a stack of wood that lay piled up in his corner, like one who does not despise, in a sudden emergency, an artificial protection. "bill," called the trapper, "edge round a leetle,--edge round, and git in closer to the jamb. it's sheer foolishness standin' where ye be, fur the water will be wallopin' in a minit, and ef the corks be swelled in the nozzle, there'll be an explosion. git in toward the jamb, and watch the ambushment under kiver." "old man," answered bill, as he turned his back carelessly toward the fireplace, "i've got the bearin's of this trail, and know what i'm about. the jugs are as strong as iron kittles, and i ain't afraid of their bust--" bill never finished the sentence, for the explosion predicted by the trapper occurred. it was a tremendous one, and the huge fireplace was filled with flying brands, ashes, and clouds of steam. the trapper ducked his head, the woman screamed, and the hounds rushed howling to the farthest end of the room; while bill, with half a somersault, disappeared under the table. "hurrah!" shouted the trapper, lifting his head from behind the wood, and critically surveying the scene. "hurrah, bill!" he shouted, as he swung the ladle over his head. "come out from under the table, and man yer battery agin. yer old mortars was loaded to the muzzle, and ef ye had depressed the pieces a leetle, ye'd 'a' blowed the cabin to splinters; as it was, the chimney got the biggest part of the chargin', and ye'll find yer rammers on the other side of the mountain." it was, in truth, a scene of uproarious hilarity; for once the explosion was over, and the woman and children saw there was no danger, and apprehended the character of the performance, they joined unrestrainedly in the trapper's laughter, in which they were assisted by wild bill, as if he were not the victim of his own over-confidence. "i say, old trapper," he called from under the table, "did both guns go off? i was getting under cover when the battery opened, and didn't notice whether the firing was in sections or along the whole line. if there's a piece left, i think i will stay where i am; for i am in a good position to observe the range, and watch the effect of the shot. i say, hadn't you better get behind the wood-pile again?" "no, no," interrupted the trapper; "the whole battery went at the word, bill, and there isn't a gun or a gun-carriage left in the casement. ye've wasted a gill of the yarb, and a quarter of a pound of the berry; and ye must hurry up with another outfit of bottles, or we'll have nothin' but water to drink at the dinner." the dinner! that great event of the day, the crown and diadem to its royalty, and which became it so well, was ready promptly to the hour. the table, enlarged as it was to nearly double its original dimensions, could scarcely accommodate the abundance of the feast. ah, if some sweet power would only enlarge our hearts when, on festive days, we enlarge our tables, how many of the world's poor, that now go hungry while we feast, would then be fed! at one end of the table sat the trapper, wild bill at the other. the woman's chair was at the center of one of the sides, so that she sat facing the fire, whose generous flames might well symbolize the abundance which amid cold and hunger had so suddenly come to her. on her right hand the two girls sat; on her left, the boy. a goodly table, a goodly fire, and a goodly company,--what more could the angel of christmas ask to see? thus were they seated, ready to begin the repast; but the plates remained untouched, and the happy noises which had to that moment filled the cabin ceased; for the angel of silence, with noiseless step, had suddenly entered the room. there's a silence of grief, there's a silence of hatred, there's a silence of dread; of these, men may speak, and these they can describe. but the silence of our happiness, who can describe that? when the heart is full, when the long longing is suddenly met, when love gives to love abundantly, when the soul lacketh nothing and is content,--then language is useless, and the angel of silence becomes our only adequate interpreter. a humble table, surely, and humble folk around it; but not in the houses of the rich or the palaces of kings does gratitude find her only home, but in more lowly abodes and with lowly folk--ay, and often at the scant table, too,--she sitteth a perpetual guest. was it memory? did the trapper at that brief moment visit his absent friend? did wild bill recall his wayward past? were the thoughts of the woman busy with sweet scenes of earlier days? and did memory, by thus reminding them of the absent and the past, of the sweet things that had been and were, stir within their hearts thoughts of him from whom all gifts descend, and of his blessed son, in whose honor the day was named? o memory! thou tuneful bell that ringeth on forever, friend at our feasts, and friend, too, let us call thee, at our burial, what music can equal thine? for in thy mystic globe all tunes abide,--the birthday note for kings, the marriage peal, the funeral knell, the gleeful jingle of merry mirth, and those sweet chimes that float our thoughts, like fragrant ships upon a fragrant sea, toward heaven,--all are thine! ring on, thou tuneful bell; ring on, while these glad ears may drink thy melody; and when thy chimes are heard by me no more, ring loud and clear above my grave that peal which echoes to the heavens, and tells the world of immortality, that they who come to mourn may check their tears and say, "_why do we weep? he liveth still!_" "the lord be praised fur his goodness!" said the trapper, whose thoughts unconsciously broke into speech. "the lord be praised fur his goodness, and make us grateful fur his past marcies, and the plenty that be here!" and looking down upon the viands spread before him he added, "the lord be good to the boy, and make him as happy in his city home as be they who be wearin' and eatin' his gifts in the woods!" "amen!" said the woman softly, and a grateful tear fell on her plate. "a--hem!" said wild bill; and then looking down upon his warm suit, he lifted his voice, and, bringing it out in a clear, strong tone, said, "_amen! hit or miss!_" at many a table that day more formal grace was said, by priest and layman alike, and at many a table, by lips of old and young, response was given to the benediction; but we doubt if over all the earth a more honest grace was said or more honestly assented to than the lord heard from the cabin in the woods. the feast and the merrymaking now began. the old trapper was in his best mood, and fairly bubbled over with humor. the wit of wild bill was naturally keen, and it flashed at its best as he ate. the children stuffed and laughed as only children on such an elastic occasion can. and as for the poor woman, it was impossible for her, in the midst of such a scene, to be otherwise than happy, and she joined modestly in the conversation, and laughed heartily at the witty sallies. but why should we strive to put on paper the wise, the funny, and the pleasant things that were said, the exclamations, the laughter, the story, the joke, the verbal thrust and parry of such an occasion? these, springing from the center of the circumstance, and flashed into being at the instant, cannot be preserved for after-rehearsal. like the effervescence of champagne, they jet and are gone; their force passes away with the noise that accompanied its out-coming. is it not enough to record that the dinner was a success, that the trapper's meats were put upon the table in a manner worthy of his reputation, that the woman's efforts at pastry-making were generously applauded, and that wild bill's tea and coffee were pronounced by the hostess the best she had ever tasted? perhaps no meal was ever more enjoyed, as certainly none was ever more heartily eaten. the wonder and pride of the table was the pudding,--a creation of indian meal, flour, suet, and raisins, re-enforced and assisted by innumerable spicy elements supposed to be too mysterious to be grasped by the masculine mind. in the production of this wonderful centerpiece,--for it had been unanimously voted the place of honor,--the poor woman had summoned all the latent resources of her skill, and in reference to it her pride and fear contended, while the anxiety with which she rose to serve it was only too plainly depicted on her countenance. what if it should prove a failure? what if she had made a miscalculation as to the amount of suet required,--a point upon which she had been somewhat confused? what if the raisins were not sufficiently distributed? what if it wasn't done through, and should turn out pasty? great heavens! the last thought was of so overwhelming a character that no feminine courage could encounter it. who may describe the look with which she watched the trapper as he tasted it, or the expression of relief which brightened her anxious face when he pronounced warmly in its favor? "it's a wonderful bit of cookin'," he said, addressing himself to wild bill, "and i sartinly doubt ef there be anythin' in the settlements to-day that can equal it. there be jest enough of the suet, and there be a plum for every mouthful; and it be solid enough to stay in the mouth ontil ye've had time to chew it, and git a taste of the corn,--and i wouldn't give a cent for a puddin' ef it gits away from yer teeth fast. yis, it be a wonderful bit of cookin'," and, turning to the woman, he added, "ye may well be proud of it." what higher praise could be bestowed? and as it was re-echoed by all present, and plate after plate was passed for a second filling, the dinner came to an end with the greatest good feeling and hilarity. iv. "now fur the sled!" exclaimed the trapper, as he rose from the table. "it be a good many years since i've straddled one, but nothin' settles a dinner quicker, or suits the leetle folks better. i conceit the crust be thick enough to bear us up, and, ef it is, we can fetch a course from the upper edge of the clearin' fifty rods into the lake. come, childun, git on yer mittens and yer tippets, and h'ist along to the big pine, and ye shall have some fun ye won't forgit ontil yer heads be whiter than mine." it is needless to record that the children hailed with delight the proposition of the trapper, or that they were at the appointed spot long before the speaker and his companion reached it with the sled. "wild bill," said the trapper, as they stood on the crest of the slope down which they were to glide, "the crust be smooth as glass, and the hill be a steep un. i sartinly doubt ef mortal man ever rode faster than this sled'll be goin' by the time it gits to where the bank pitches into the lake; and ef ye should git a leetle careless in yer steerin', bill, and hit a stump, i conceit that nothin' but the help of the lord or the rottenness of the stump would save ye from etarnity." now, wild bill was blessed with a sanguine temperament. to him no obstacle seemed serious if bravely faced. indeed, his natural confidence in himself bordered on recklessness, to which the drinking habits of his life had, perhaps, contributed. when the trapper had finished speaking, bill ran his eye carelessly down the steep hillside, smooth and shiny as polished steel, and said, "oh, this isn't anything extry for a hill. i've steered a good many steeper ones, and in nights when the moon was at the half, and the sled overloaded at that. it don't make any difference how fast you go," he added, "if you only keep in the path, and don't hit anything." "that's it, that's it," replied the trapper. "but the trouble here be to keep in the path, fur, in the fust place, there isn't any path, and the stumps be pretty thick, and i doubt ef ye can line a trail from here to the bank by the lake without one or more sudden twists in it, and a twist in the trail, goin' as fast as we'll be goin', has got to be taken jediciously, or somethin' will happen. i say, bill, what p'int will ye steer fur?" wild bill, thus addressed, proceeded to give his opinion touching the proper direction of the flight they were to make. indeed, he had been closely examining the ground while the trapper was speaking, and therefore gave his opinion promptly and with confidence. "ye have chosen the course with jedgment," said the old man approvingly, after he had studied the line his companion pointed out critically for a moment. "yis, bill, ye have a nateral eye for the business, and i sartinly have more confidence in ye than i had a minit ago, when ye was talkin' about a steeper hill than this; fur this hill drops mighty sudden in the pitches, and the crust be smooth as ice, and the sled'll go like a streak when it gits started. but the course ye've p'inted out be a good un, fur there be only one bad turn in it, and good steerin' orter put a sled round that. i say," continued the old man, turning toward his companion, and pointing out the crook in the course at the bottom of the second dip, "can ye swing around that big stump there without upsettin', when ye come to it?" "swing around? of course i can," retorted wild bill, positively. "there's plenty room to the left, and--" "ay, ay; there be plenty of room, as ye say, ef ye don't take too much of it," interrupted the trapper. "but--" "i tell you," broke in the other, "i'll turn my back to no man in steering a sled; and i can put this sled, and you on it, around that stump a hundred times, and never lift a runner." "well, well," responded the trapper, "have it yer own way. i dare say ye be good at steerin', and i sartinly know i'm good at ridin'; and i can ride as fast as ye can steer, ef ye hit every stump in the clearin'. now, childun," continued the old man, turning to the little group, "we be goin' to try the course; and ef the crust holds up, and wild bill keeps clear of the stumps, and nothin' onusual happens, ye shall have all the slidin' ye want afore ye go in. come, bill, git yer sled p'inted right, and i'll be gittin' on, and we'll see ef ye can steer an old man round a stump as handily as ye say ye can." the directions of the trapper were promptly obeyed, and in an instant the sled was in the right position, and the trapper proceeded to seat himself with the carefulness of one who feels he is embarking on a somewhat uncertain venture, and has grave misgivings as to what will be the upshot of the undertaking. the sled was large and strongly built; and it added not a little to his comfort to feel that he could put entire confidence in the structure beneath them. "the sled'll hold," he said to himself, "ef the loadin' goes to the jedgment." the trapper was no sooner seated than wild bill threw himself upon the sled, with one leg under him and the other stretched at full length behind. this was a method of steering that had come into vogue since the trapper's boyhood, for in his day the steersman sat astride the sled, with his feet thrust forward, and steered by the pressure of either heel upon the snow. "hold on, bill!" exclaimed the trapper, whose eye this novel method of steering had not escaped. "hold on, and hold up a minit. heavens and 'arth! ye don't mean to steer this sled with one toe, do ye, and that, too, the length of a rifle-barrel astarn? wheel round, and spread yer legs out as ye orter, and steer this sled in an honest fashion, or there'll be trouble aboard afore ye git to the bottom." "sit round!" retorted bill. "how could i see to steer if i was sitting right back of you? for you're nigh a foot taller then i be, and your shoulders are as broad as the sled." "yer p'ints be well taken, fur sartin," replied the trapper; "fur it be no more than reasonable that the man that steers should see where he be goin', and i am as anxious as ye be that ye should. yis, i sartinly want ye to see where ye be goin' on this trip, anyhow, fur the crew be a fresh un, and the channel be a leetle crooked. but be ye sartin, bill, that ye can fetch round that stump there as it orter be did, with nothin' but yer toe out behind? it may be the best way, as ye say, but it don't look like honest steerin' to a man of my years." "i have used both ways," answered bill, "and i give you my word, old man, that this is the best one. you can get a big swing with your foot stretched out in this fashion, and the sled feels the least pressure of the toe. yes, it's all right. john norton, are you ready?" "yis, yis, as ready as i ever shall be," answered the trapper, in a voice in which doubt and resignation were equally mingled. "it may be as ye say," he continued; "but the rudder be too fur behind to suit me, and ef anything happens on this cruise, jest remember, wild bill, that my jedgment--" the sentence the trapper was uttering was abruptly cut short at this point; for bill had started the sled with a sudden push, and leaped to his seat behind the trapper as it glided downward and away. in an instant the sled was under full headway, for the dip was a sharp one, and the crust smooth as ice. scarce had it gone ten rods from the point where it started before it was in full flight, and was gliding downward with what would have been, to any but a man of the steadiest nerve, a frightful velocity. but the trapper was of too cool and courageous temperament to be disturbed even by actual danger. indeed, the swiftness of their downward career, as the sled with a buzz and a roar swept along over the resounding crust, stirred the old man's blood with a tingle of excitement; while the splendid manner with which wild bill was keeping it to the course settled upon filled him with admiration, and was fast making him a convert to the new method of steering. downward they flashed. the trapper's cap had been blown from his head; and as the old man sat bolt-upright on his sled, his feet bravely planted on the round, his face flushed, and his white hair streaming, he looked the very picture of hearty enjoyment. above his head the face of wild bill looked actually sharpened by the pressure of the air on either cheek as it clove through it; but his lips were bravely set, and his eyes were fastened without winking on the big stump ahead, toward which they were rushing. it was at this point that wild bill vindicated his ability as a steersman, and at the same time barely escaped shipwreck. at the proper moment he swept his foot to the left, and the sled, in obedience to the pressure, swooped in that direction. but in his anxiety to give the stump a wide berth, bill overdid the pressure that was needed a trifle; for in calculating the curve required he had failed to allow for the sidewise motion of the sled, and, instead of hitting one stump, it looked for an instant as if he would be precipitated among a dozen. "heave her starn up, wild bill! up with her starn, i say," yelled the trapper, "or there won't be a stump left in the clearin'." with a quickness and courage that would have done credit to any steersman,--for the speed at which they were going was terrific,--bill swept his foot to the right, leaning his body well over at the same instant. the trapper instinctively seconded his endeavors, and with hands that gripped either side of the sled he hung over that side which was upon the point of going into the air. for several rods the sled glided along on a single runner, and then, righting itself with a lurch, jumped the summit of the last dip, and raced away, like a swallow in full flight, toward the lake. now, at the edge of the clearing that bounded the shore was a bank of considerable size. shrubs and stunted bushes fringed the crest of it. these had been buried beneath the snow, and the crust had formed smoothly over them; and as it was upheld by no stronger support than such as the hidden shrubbery furnished, it was incapable of sustaining any considerable pressure. certainly no sled was ever moving faster than was wild bill's when it came to this point; and certainly no sled ever stopped quicker, for the treacherous crust dropped suddenly under it, and the sled was left with nothing but the hind part of one of the runners sticking up in sight. but though the sled was suddenly checked in its career, the trapper and wild bill continued their flight. the former slid from the sled without meeting any obstruction, and with the same velocity with which he had been moving. indeed, so little was his position changed, that one might almost fancy that no accident had happened, and that the old man was gliding forward to the end of the course with an adequate structure under him. but with the latter it was far different; for, as the sled stopped, he was projected sharply upward into the air, and, after turning several somersaults, he actually landed in front of the trapper, and glided along on the slippery surface ahead of him. and so the two men shot onward, one after the other, while the children cackled from the hill-top, and the woman swung her bonnet over her head, and laughed from her position in the doorway. "bill," called the trapper, when by dint of much effort they had managed to check their motion somewhat, "bill, ef the cruise be about over, i conceit we'd better anchor hereabouts. but i shipped fur the voyage, and ye be capt'in, and as ye've finally got the right way to steer, i feel pretty safe techin' the futur'." it was not until they had come to a full stop, and looked around them, that they realized the distance they had come; for they had in truth slid nearly across the bay. "i've boated a good many times on these waters, and under sarcumstances that called fur 'arnest motion, but i sartinly never went across this bay as fast as i've did it to-day. how do ye feel, bill, how do ye feel?" "a good deal shaken up," was the answer, "a good deal shaken up." "i conceit as much," answered the trapper, "i conceit as much, fur ye left the sled with mighty leetle deliberation; and when i saw yer legs comin' through the air, i sartinly doubted ef the ice would hold ye. but ye steered with jedgment; yis, ye steered with jedgment, bill; and i'd said it ef we'd gone to the bottom." the sun was already set when they returned to the cabin; for, selecting a safer course, they had given the children an hour's happy sliding. the woman had prepared some fresh tea and a lunch, which they ate with lessened appetites, but with humor that never flagged. when it was ended, the old trapper rose to depart, and with a dignity and tenderness peculiarly his own, thus spoke:-"my good woman," he said, "the moon will soon be up, and the time has come fur me to be goin'. i've had a happy day with ye and the leetle uns; and the trail over the mountain will seem shorter, as the pups and me go home, thinkin' on't. wild bill will stay a few days, and put things a leetle more to rights, and git up a wood-pile that will keep ye from choppin' fur a good while. it's his own thought, and ye can thank him accordin'ly." then, having kissed each of the children, and spoken a few words to wild bill, he took the woman's hand, and said:-"the sorrers of life be many, but the lord never forgits. i've lived until my head be whitenin', and i've noted that though he moves slowly, he fetches most things round about the time we need 'em; and the things that be late in comin', i conceit we shall git somewhere furder on. ye didn't kill the big buck this mornin', but the meat ye needed hangs at yer door, nevertheless." and shaking the woman heartily by the hand, he whistled to the hounds, and passed out of the door. the inmates of the cabin stood and watched him, until, having climbed the slope of the clearing, he disappeared in the shadows of the forest; and then they closed the door. but more than once wild bill noted that as the woman stood wiping her dishes, she wiped her eyes as well; and more than once he heard her say softly to herself, "god bless the dear old man!" ay, ay, poor woman, we join thee in thy prayer. god bless the dear old man! and not only him, but all who do the deeds he did. god bless them one and all! over the crusted snow the trapper held his course, until he came, with a happy heart, to his cabin. soon a fire was burning on his own hearthstone, and the hounds were in their accustomed place. he drew the table in front, where the fire's fine light fell on his work, and, taking some green vines and branches from the basket, began to twine a wreath. one he twined, and then he began another; and often, as he twined the fadeless branches in, he paused, and long and lovingly looked at the two pictures hanging on the wall; and when the wreaths were twined, he hung them on the frames, and, standing in front of the dumb reminders of his absent ones, he said, "_i miss them so!_" ah! friend, dear friend, when life's glad day with you and me is passed, when the sweet christmas chimes are rung for other ears than ours, when other hands set the green branches up, and other feet glide down the polished floor, may there be those still left behind to twine us wreaths, and say, "_we miss them so!_" and this is the way john norton the trapper kept his christmas. [illustration: the mountain torrent.] [illustration: the vagabond's rock.] john norton's vagabond. i. a cabin. a cabin in the woods. of it i have written before, and of it i write again. the same great fireplace piled high with logs fiercely ablaze. again on either side of the fireplace are the hounds gazing meditatively into the fire. the same big table, and on it the same great book, leather-bound and worn by the hands of many generations. and at the strong table, bending over the sacred book, with one huge finger marking a sentence, the same whitened head, the same man, large of limb and large of feature--john norton, the trapper. "yis, pups," said the trapper, speaking to his dogs as one speaks to companions in council, "yis, pups, it must go in, for here it be writ in the book--rover, ye needn't have that detarmined look in yer eye--for here it be writ in the book, i say, '_do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you._' "i know, old dog, that ye have seed me line the sights on the vagabonds, when ye and me have ketched 'em pilferin' the traps or tamperin' with the line, and i have trusted yer nose as often as my own eyes in trackin' the knaves when they'd got the start of us. and i will admit it, rover, that the lord gave ye a great gift in yer nose, so that ye be able to desarn the difference atween the scent of an honest trapper's moccasin and that of a vagabond. but that isn't to the p'int, rover. the p'int is, christmas be comin' and ye and me and sport, yender, have sot it down that we're to have a dinner, and the question in council to-night is, who shall we invite to our dinner? here we have been arguin' the matter three nights atween us, pups, and we didn't git a foot ahead, and the reason that we didn't git a foot ahead was, because ye and me, rover, naterally felt alike, for we have never consorted with vagabonds, and we couldn't bear the idee of invitin' 'em to this cabin and eatin' with 'em. so, ye and me agreed to-night we'd go to the book and go by the book, hit or miss. and the reason we should go to the book and by the book is, because, ef it wasn't for the book, there wouldn't be any christmas nor any christmas dinner to invite anyone to, and so we went to the book, and the book says--i will read ye the words, rover. and, sport, though ye be a younger dog, and naterally of less jedgment, yit ye have yer gifts, and i have seed ye straighten out a trail that rover and me couldn't ontangle. so do ye listen, both of ye, like honest dogs, while i read the words:-"'_give to him that lacketh and from him that hath not withhold not thine hand._' "there it be, rover,--we are to give to the man that lacks, vagabond or no vagabond. ef he lacks vict'als, we are to give him vict'als; ef he lacks garments, we are to give him garments; ef he lacks a christmas dinner, rover, we are to give him a christmas dinner. but how are we to give him a christmas dinner onless we give him an invite to it? for ye know yerself, rover, that no vagabond would ever come to a cabin where ye and me be onless we axed him to. "but there's another sentence here somewhere in the book that bears on the p'int we be considerin'. '_when thou makest a dinner_'--that be exactly our case, rover,--'_or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. but when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind: and thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just._' "furdermore, rover, there's another passage that the lad, when he was on the 'arth, used to say each night afore he went to sleep, whether in the cabin or on the boughs. sport, ye must remember it, for ye was his own dog. i am not sartin where it be writ in the book, but that doesn't matter, for we all know the words,--it be from the great prayer,--'_forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us_,' and the great prayer, as i conceit, is the only blazin' a man can trail by ef he hopes to fetch through to the great clearin' in peace. "now these vagabonds, rover,--i needn't name 'em to ye,--have trespassed agin us; ye and me know it, for we've ketched 'em in their devilment, and, what is more to the p'int, the lord knows it, too, for he's had his eye on 'em, and there's one up in the north country that wouldn't git an invite to this dinner, bible or no bible. but, barrin' this knave, who is beyend the range of our trails, there is not a single vagabond that has trespassed agin us that we mustn't forgive. for this be christmas time, pups, and christmas be a time for forgivin' and forgittin' all the evil that's been done agin us." and here the old man paused and looked at the dogs and then gazed long and earnestly into the fire. to his face as he gazed came the look of satisfaction and a most placid peace. it was evident that if there had been a struggle between his natural feelings and his determination to celebrate the great christmas festival in the true christmas spirit the latter had won, and that the christmas mood had at last entered into and possessed his soul. and after an interval he rose and carefully closing the great volume said:-"and now, pups, as we've settled it atween us, and we all stand agreed in the matter, i'll git the bark and the coal, and we'll see how the decision of the council looks when it be put in writin'." and in a moment the trapper was again seated at the table with a large piece of birch bark in front of him and a hound on either side. "i conceit, pups, that the letterin'," said the old man as he proceeded to sharpen the piece of charcoal he held in his hands, "should be of goodly size, for it may help some in readin', and i sartinly know it will help me in writin'." with this honest confession of his lack of practice in penmanship, he proceeded to write:-"_any man or animil that be in want of vict'als or garments is invited to come on christmas day--which be next week thursday--without furder axin', to john norton's cabin, on long lake, to eat christmas dinner. vagabonds included in this invite._" [illustration: "vagabonds included in this invite."] "i can't say," said the trapper, as he backed off a few paces and looked at the writing critically, "i can't say that the wordin' be exactly as the missioners would put it, and as for the spellin', i haven't any more confidence in it than a rifle that loads at the breech pin. the letterin' sartinly stands out well, for the coal is a good un, and i put as much weight on it as i thought it would bear, but there is sartinly a good deal of difference atween the ups and downs of the markin's, and the lines slope off to'ard the northwest as ef they had started out to blaze a trail through to st. regis. that third line looks as ef it would finally come together ef ye'd gin it time enough to git round the circle, but the bark had a curve in it there, and the coal followed the grain of the bark, and i am not to blame for that. rover, i more than half conceit by the look in yer eye that ye see the difference in the size of them letters yerself. but ef ye do ye be a wise dog to keep yer face steddy, for ef ye showed yer feelin's, old as ye be, i'd edicate ye with the help of a moccasin." and he looked at the old dog, whose face, as if he realized the peril of his position, bore an expression of supernatural gravity, with interrogative earnestness. "never mind the shape and size of the letters or the curve of the lines," he added; "the charcoal markin' stands out strong, and any hungry man with a leaky cabin for his home can sartinly study out the words, and that's the chief p'int, as i understand it." with this comforting reflection the trapper made his preparations to retire for the night. he placed the skins for the dogs in the accustomed spot, lifted another huge log into the monstrous fireplace, swept the great hearthstone, bolted the heavy door, and then stretched himself upon his bed. but before he slept he gazed long and earnestly at the writing on the bark, and murmured: "'vagabonds included in this invite.' yis, the book be right, christmas be a day for forgivin' and forgittin'. and even a vagabond, ef he needs vict'als or garments or a right sperit, shall be welcome to my cabin." and then he slept. in the vast and cheerless woods that night were some who were hungry and cold and wicked. what were christmas and its cheer to them? what were gifts and giving, or who would spread for them a full table at which as guests of honor they might eat and be merry? and above the woods was a star leading men toward a manger, and a multitude of angels and an eye that seeth forever the hungry and the cold and the wicked. on his bed slept the trapper, with the look of the christ on his face, and as he slept he murmured:-"yis, the book be right: '_let him who hath, give to them that hath not._'" and above the woods, above the wicked and the cold, above the sleeping trapper, and above the blessed words on the bark on his wall, above the spot where the christ had thus received a forest incarnation, a great multitude of the heavenly host broke forth and sang:-"_glory to god in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men._" [illustration: "and above the woods was a star."] ii. it was on the day before christmas, and the sun was at its meridian. it was a day of brilliance and prophecy, and the prophecy which the trapper read in the intense sky and vivid brightness of the sun's light told him of coming storm. "yis," muttered the old man, as he stood just outside the doorway of his cabin and carefully studied the signs of forest and sky, "yis, this is a weather breeder for sartin. i smell it in the air. the light is onnaterally bright and the woods onnaterally still. snow will be flyin' afore another sunrise, and the woods will roar like the great lakes in a gale. i am sorry that it's comin', for some will be kept from the dinner. it's sartinly strange that the orderin' of the lord is as it is, for a leetle more hurryin' and a leetle more stayin' on his part of the things that happen on the 'arth would make mortals a good deal happier, as i conceit." aye, aye, john norton; a little more hurrying and a little more staying of things that happen on the earth would make mortals much happier. the great ship that is to-day a wreck would be sailing the sea, and the faces that stare ghastly white from its depths would be rosy with life's happy health. the flowers on her tomb would be twined in the bride's glossy hair, and the tower that now stands half builded would go on to its finishing. the dry fountain would still be in play and the leafless tree would stand green in its beauty and bloom. who shall read us the riddle of the ordering in this world? who shall read the riddle, o man of whitened head, o woman whose life is but a memory, who shall read us the trapper's riddle, i say? "there comes wild bill," exclaimed the trapper joyfully, "and one plate will have its eater for sartin." and the old man laughed at the recollection of his companion's appetite. "lord-a-massy! that box on his sled is as big as the ark. i wonder ef he has got a drove of animils in it." had the trapper known the closeness of his guess as to the contents of the huge box he would have marveled at his guessing, for there certainly were animals in the box and of a sort that usually are noisy enough and sure, at the least provocation, to proclaim their name and nature. but every animal, whether wild or domesticated, has its habits, and many of the noisiest of mouths, when the mood is on them, can be as dumb as a sphinx, and as wild bill came shuffling up on his snowshoes, with a box of goodly size lashed to his sled, not a sound proceeded therefrom. it is needless to record that the greeting between the two men was most hearty. how delightful is the meeting of men of the woods! manly are they in life and manly in their greeting. "what have ye in the box, bill?" queried the trapper good-naturedly. "it's big enough to hold a church bell, and a good part of the steeple beside." "it's a christmas present for you, john norton," replied bill gleefully. "you don't think i would come to your cabin to-day and not bring a present, do you?" "gift or no gift, yer welcome would be the same," answered the trapper, "for yer heart and yer shootin' be both right, and ye will find the door of my cabin open at yer comin', whether ye come full handed or empty, sober or drunk, wild bill." "i haven't touched a drop for twelve months," responded the other. "the pledge i gave you above the christmas box in your cabin here last christmas eve i have kept, and shall keep to the end, john norton." "i expected it of ye, yis, i sartinly expected it of ye, bill, for ye came of good stock. yer granther fit in the revolution, and a man's word gits its value a good deal from his breedin', as i conceit," replied the trapper. "but what have ye in the box,--bird, beast, or fish, bill?" "the trail runs this way," answered bill. "i chopped a whole winter four year ago for a man who never paid me a cent for my work at the end of it. last week i concluded to go and collect the bill myself, but not a thing could i get out of the knave but what's in the box. so i told him i'd take them and call the account settled, for i had read the writing on the bark you had nailed up on indian carry, and i said: 'they will help out at the dinner.'" and bill proceeded to start one of the boards with his hatchet. the trapper, whose curiosity was now thoroughly excited, applied his eye to the opening, and as he did so there suddenly issued from the box the most unearthly noises, accompanied by such scratchings and clawings as could only have proceeded from animals of their nature under such extraordinary treatment as they had experienced. "heavens and 'arth!" exclaimed the trapper, "ye have pigs in that box, bill!" "that's what i put in it," replied bill, as he gave it another whack, "and that's what will come out of it if i can start the clinchings of these nails." and he bent himself with energy to his work. "hold up! hold up, bill!" cried the trapper. "this isn't a bit of business ye can do in a hurry ef ye expect to git any profit out of the transaction. i can see only one of the pigs, but the one i can see is not over-burdened with fat, and it's agin reason to expect that he will be long in gittin' out when he starts, or wait for ye to scratch him when he breaks cover." "don't you be afraid of them pigs getting away from me, old man," rejoined bill, as he pried away at the nails. "i don't expect that the one that starts will be as slow as a funeral when he makes his first jump, but he won't be the only pig i've caught by the leg when he was two feet above the earth." "go slow, i say, go slow!" cried the trapper, now thoroughly alarmed at the reckless precipitancy of his companion; "the pigs, as i can see, belong to a lively breed, and it is sheer foolishness to risk a whole winter's choppin'--" not another word of warning did the old trapper utter, for suddenly the nails yielded, the board flew upward, and out of the box shot a pig. it is in the interest of accurate statement and everlasting proof of wild bill's alertness to affirm and record that the flying pig had taken only two jumps before his owner was atop of him, and both disappeared over the bank in a whirlwind of flying snow. nor had the trapper been less dexterous, for no sooner had the sandy colored streak shot through the hole made by the hatchet of the man who had sledded him forty miles that he might present him to the trapper as a contribution to the christmas dinner, than the old man dropped himself on to the box, thereby effectually barring the exit of the other porcine sprinter. "get your gun, get your gun, old trapper!" yelled bill from the whirlwind of snow. "get your gun, i say, for this infernal pig is getting the best of me." "i can't do it, bill," cried the trapper; "i can't do it. i am doin' picket duty on the top of this box, with a big hole under me and another pig under the hole." at the same instant the pig and wild bill shot up the bank into full view. bill had lost his grip on the leg, but had made good his hold on an ear, and had the trapper been a betting man, it is doubtful if he would have placed money on either. had he done so, the odds would have been slightly in favor of the pig. "hold on to him, bill!" cried the trapper, laughing at the spectacle in front of him till the tears stood in his eyes. "hold on to him, i say. remember, ye have three months of choppin' in yer grip; the pig under me is gittin' lively, and the profits of the other three months be onsartin. o lord!" ejaculated the old man, partially sobered at the prospect, "here comes the pups and the devil himself will now be to pay!" the anxiety and alarming prediction of the trapper were in the next instant fully justified, for the two dogs, unaccustomed to the scent and cries of the animals, but thoroughly aroused at the noise and fury of the contest, came tearing down the slope through the snow at full speed. the pig saw them coming and headed for the southern angle of the cabin, with bill streaming along at his side. in an instant he reappeared at the northern corner, with bill still fastened to his ear and the hounds in full cry just one jump behind him. it is not an accurate statement to say that wild bill was running beside the pig, for his stride was so elongated that when one of his feet left the ground it was impossible to predict when or where it would strike the earth, or whether it would ever strike again. the two flying objects, as they came careering down the slope directly toward the trapper, who was heroically holding himself above the aperture in the box with the porcine volcano in full play under him, presented the dreadful appearance of biela's comet when, rent by some awful explosion, the one half was on the point of taking its eternal farewell of the other. "lift the muzzle of yer piece, wild bill!" yelled the trapper. "lift the muzzle, i say, and allow three feet for windage, or ye'll make me the bull's-eye for yer pig!" the advice, or rather, let us say, the expostulation of the trapper, was the best which, under the circumstances, could be given, but no directions, however correct, might prevent the dreadful catastrophe. the old man stuck heroically to his post, and the pig stuck with equal pertinacity to his course. he struck the box on which the trapper sat with the force of a stone from a catapult, and dogs, men, and pigs disappeared in the snow. when the trapper had wiped the snow from his eyes, the spectacle that he beheld was, to say the least, extraordinary. the head of one dog was in sight above the snow, and nigh the head he could make out the hind legs and tail of another. in an instant wild bill's cap came in sight, and from under it a series of sounds was coming as if he were talking earnestly to himself, while far down the trail leading to the river he caught the glimpse of two sandy-colored objects going at a speed to which matter can only attain when it has become permanently detached from this earth and superior to the laws of gravitation. for several minutes not a word was said. the catastrophe had been so overwhelming and the wreck of bill's hopes so complete that it made speech on his part impossible. the trapper, from a fine sense of feeling and regard for his companion, remained silent, and the dogs, uncertain as to what was expected of them, kept their places in the snow. at last the old man struggled to his feet and silently started toward the cabin. wild bill followed in equal silence, and the dogs as mutely brought up the rear. the depressed, not to say woe-begone, appearance of the singular procession certainly had in it, in the fullest measure, all the elements of humor. in this suggestive manner the column filed into the cabin. the dogs stole softly to their accustomed places, wild bill dropped into a chair, and the trapper addressed himself mechanically to some domestic concerns. at last the silence became oppressive. wild bill turned in his chair, and, facing the trapper, said:-"it's too devilish bad!" "ef ye was in council, ginerals or privits, ye'd carry every vote with ye on that statement, bill," said the trapper with deliberation. "do you think there is any chance, old man?" queried bill, earnestly. "not on the 'arth, bill," answered the trapper. "ye see," he continued, "the snow wasn't so deep on my side the trail and i had my eye on them pigs afore ye got yer head above the drift, and i noted the rate of their movin'. they was goin' mighty fast, bill, mighty fast. ye must take into account that they had the slope in their favor and sartin experiences behind. i've sighted on a good many things that was gifted in runnin' and flyin', and i never kept a bullit in the barrel when i wanted feather, fur, or meat, because of the swiftness of the motion, but ef i had ben standin' ten rods from that trail and loved the meat like a settler, i wouldn't have wasted powder or lead on them pigs, bill." and the two men, looking into each other's faces, laughed like boys. "where do you think they'll fetch up, john norton?" queried bill, at last. "they won't fetch up," replied the trapper, wiping his eyes, "leastwise not this year. henry has told me that it is twenty-four thousand miles around the 'arth, and it looked to me as ef them pigs had started out to sarcumnavigate it, and i conceit it'll be about a month afore they will come through this clearin' agin. i may be a little amiss in my calkerlatin', but a day more or less won't make any difference with you and me, nor with the pigs, either, bill. they may be a trifle leaner when they pass the cabin next time, but their gait will be jest the same, as i conceit." and after a moment, he asked, sympathetically:-"how far did ye sled them pigs, bill?" "forty mile," answered bill, dejectedly. "it's a goodly distance, considerin' the natur' of the animils," replied the trapper, "and ye must have been tempted to onload the sled more'n once, bill." "i would have unloaded it," responded the other, "i would have unloaded the cussed things more than once, but i had nothing else to bring you, and i thought they'd look mighty fine standing up on the table with an apple in each mouth and their tails curled up, as i've seen them at the barbecues." "so they would, so they would, bill; but ye never could have kept 'em on the table. no amount of cookin' would have ever taken the speed out of them pigs. ef ye had nailed 'em to the table they'd have taken the table and cabin with 'em. it's better as it is, bill; so cheer up and we'll git at the cookin'." * * * * * cooking is more than an art; it is a gift. genius, and genius alone, can prepare a feast fit for the feaster. woe be to the wretch who sees nothing in preparing food for the mouth of man save manual labor. such a knave should be basted on his own spit. an artist in eating can alone appreciate an artist in cooking. when food is well prepared it delights the eye, it intoxicates the nose, it pleases the tongue, it stimulates the appetite, and prolongs the healthy craving which it finally satisfies, even as the song of the mother charms the child which it gradually composes for slumber. the old trapper was a man of gifts and among his gifts was that of cooking. for sixty years he had been his own _chef_, with a continent for his larder, and to more than one gourmand of the great cities the tastiness and delicacy of his dishes had been a revelation--more than one epicure of the clubs had gone from his cabin not only with a full but a surprised stomach. it is easy to imagine the happiness that this host of the woods experienced in preparing the feast for the morrow. he entered upon his labors, whose culmination was to be the great event of the year, with the alacrity of one who had mentally discussed and decided every point in anticipation. there was no cause for haste, and hence there was no confusion. he could not foretell the number of his guests, but this did in no way disconcert him. he had already decided that no matter how many might come there should be enough. in wild bill he had an able and willing assistant, and all through the afternoon and well into the evening the two men pushed on the preparation for the great dinner. the large table, constructed of strong maple plank, was sanded and scoured until it shone almost snowy white. on it was placed a buck, roasted a la barbecue, the skin and head skillfully reconnected with the body and posed, muzzle lifted, antlers laid well back, head turned, ears alert, as he stood in the bush when the trapper's bullet cut him down. at one end of the table a bear's cub was in the act of climbing a small tree, while at the other end a wild goose hung in mid-air, suspended by a fine wire from the ceiling, with neck extended, wings spread, legs streaming backward, as he looked when he drove downward toward open water to his last feeding. the great cabin was a bower of beauty and fragrance. the pungent odor of gummy boughs and of bark, under which still lurked the amber-colored sweat of heated days and sweltering nights, pervaded it. on one side of the cabin hung a huge piece of white cotton cloth, on which the trapper, with a vast outlay of patience, had stitched small cones of the pine into the conventional phrase, "a merry christmas to ye all." "it must have taken you a good many evenings to have done that job," said wild bill, pointing with the ladle he held in his hand toward the illuminated bit of sheeting. "it did, bill, it did," replied the trapper, "and a solemn and a lively time i had of it, for i hadn't but six big needles in the cabin and i broke five on 'em the fust night, for the cones was gummy and hard, and it takes a good, stiff needle to go through one ef the man who is punchin' it through hasn't any thimble and the ball of his thumb is bleedin'. lord-a-massy, bill, rover knew the trouble i was havin' as well as i did, for arter i had broken the second needle and talked about it a moment, the old dog got oneasy and began to edge away, and by the time i had broken the fourth needle and got through washin' my thumb he had backed clean across the cabin and sat jammed up in the corner out there flatter than a shingle." "and what did he do when the fifth needle broke?" queried bill, as he thrust his ladle into the pot. "heavens and 'arth, bill, why do ye ax sech foolish questions? ye know it wasn't a minit arter that fifth needle broke, leavin' the bigger half stickin' under the nail of my forefinger, afore both of the pups was goin' out through the door there as ef the devil was arter 'em with a fryin' pan, and a chair a leetle behind him. but a man can't stand everything, ef he be a christian man and workin' away to git a christmas sign ready; can he, bill?" it is in harmony with the facts of the case for me to record that wild bill never answered the old trapper's very proper interrogation, but sat down on the floor and thrust his legs up in the air and yelled, and after the spasm left him he got up slowly, sat down in a chair, and looked at the trapper with wet eyes and mouth wide open. the old trapper evidently relished the mirthfulness of his companion, for his face was lighted with the amused expression of the humorist when he has told to an appreciative comrade an experience against himself. but in an instant his countenance dropped, and, looking at the huge kettle that stood half buried in the coals and warm ashes in front of the glowing logs and into which bill had been so determinedly thrusting his ladle only a moment before, he exclaimed:-"bill, i have lost all confidence in yer cookin' abilities. ye said that ye knew the natur' of corn meal and that ye could fill a puddin' bag jediciously, and though it isn't ten minits sence ye tied the string and the meal isn't half swollen yit, yer whole bag there is on the p'int of comin' out of the pot." at this alarming announcement wild bill jumped for the fireplace and in an instant he had placed the spade-shaped end of his ladle, whose handle was full three feet long, at the very center of the lid that was already lifted two inches from the rim of the kettle, and was putting a good deal of pressure upon it. confident in his ability to resist any further upward tendency, and to escape the threatened catastrophe, he coolly replied:-"it strikes me that you are a good deal excited over a little matter, old man. the meal has got through swelling--" "no, it hasn't, no, it hasn't," returned the trapper. "half the karnels haven't felt the warmin' of the hot water yit, and i can see that the old lid is liftin'." "no, it isn't lifting, either, john norton," returned wild bill determinedly; "and it won't lift unless the shaft of this ladle snaps." "the ladle be a good un," returned the trapper, now fully assured that no human power could avert the coming catastrophe, and keenly enjoying his companion's extremity and the humor of the situation. "the ladle be a good un, for i fashioned it from an old paddle of second growth ash, whose blade i had twisted in the rapids, and ye can put yer whole weight on it." "old man," cried bill, now thoroughly alarmed, "the lid is lifting." "sartinly, sartinly," returned the trapper. "it's lifted fully half an inch sence ye placed yer ladle to it, and it'll keep on liftin'. rover knows what is comin' as well as i do, for the old dog, as ye see, begins to edge away, and sport has started for the door already." "what shall i do, john norton? what shall i do? the lid is lifting again." "is yer ladle well placed, bill? have ye got it in the center of the lid?" returned the trapper. "dead in the center, old man," responded bill, confidently, "dead in the center." "put yer whole weight on it, then, and don't waste yer strength in talkin'. ye know yer own strength, and i know the strength of indian meal when hot water gits at it, and ef the ladle don't slip or the kettle-lid split it's about nip and tuck atween ye." "old man," yelled bill, as he put his whole weight on the ladle handle, "this lid has lifted again. get a stick and come here and help me." "no, no, bill," answered the trapper, "the puddin' is of yer own mixin' and ye must attend to the job yerself. i stuck to yer box with a hole underneath me and a pig under the hole till somethin' happened and ye must stick to yer puddin'." "but i can't hold it down, john norton," yelled poor bill. "the lid has lifted again and the whole darned thing is coming out of the pot." "i conceit as much, i conceit as much," answered the trapper. "there go the pups out of the door, bill, and when the dogs quit the cabin it's time for the master to foller." and the old man started for the door. * * * * * the catastrophe! who could describe it? bill's strength was adequate, but no human power could save the pudding. even as bill put his strength on to the ladle, the wooden cover of the kettle split with a sharp concussion in the middle, the kettle was upset, and poor bill, covered with ashes and pursued by a cloud of steam, shot out of the door and plunged into the snow. oh, laughter, sweet laughter, laugh on and laugh ever! in the smile of the babe thou comest from heaven. in the girl's rosy dimples, in the boy's noisy glee, in the humor of strong men, and the wit of sweet women, thou art seen as a joy and a comfort to us humans. when fortune deserts and friends fall away, he who keeps thee keeps solace and health, hope and heart, in his bosom. when the head groweth white and the eye getteth dim, and the soul goeth out through the slow closing gates of the senses, be thou then in us and of us, thou sweet angel of heaven, that the smile of the babe in its first happy sleep may come back to our faces as we lie at the gates in our last and--perhaps--most peaceful slumber! the laughter and the labor of the day were ended. the work of preparation for the dinner on the morrow had extended well into the evening, and at its conclusion the two men, satisfied with the result of the pleasant task and healthily weary, retired to their cots. it is needless to say that the thoughts of each were happy and their feelings peaceful, and to such slumber comes quickly. outside the world was white and still, with the stillness that precedes the coming of a winter storm. through the voiceless darkness a few feathery prophecies of coming snow were settling lazily downward. the great stones in the fireplace were still white with heat, and the cabin was filled with the warm afterglow of burned logs and massive brands that ever and anon broke apart and flamed anew. suddenly the trapper lifted himself on his couch, and, looking over toward his companion, said:-"bill, didn't ye hear the bells ring?" wild bill lifted himself to his elbow, and in sheer astonishment stared at the trapper, for he well knew there wasn't a bell within fifty miles. the old man noticed the astonishment of his companion and, realizing the incredibility of the supposition, said as if in explanation of the strangeness of his questioning:-"this be the night on which memory takes the home trail, bill, and the thoughts of the aged go backward." and, laying his head again on the pillow, he murmured: "i sartinly conceited i heerd the bells ringin'." and then he slept. aye, aye, old trapper; we of whitening heads know the truth of thy saying and thy dreaming. thou didst hear the bells ring. for often as we sleep on christmas eve the ringing of bells comes to us. marriage peal and funeral knell, chimes and tolling, clash of summons and measured stroke, dying noises from a dead past swelling and sinking, sinking and swelling, like falling and failing surf on a wreck-strewn beach. ah, me! where be the ships, the proud, white-sailed ships, the rich-laden ships, whose broken timbers and splintered spars lie now dank, weed-grown, sand-covered, on that sorrowful shore, on that mournfully resounding shore of our past? [illustration: "where be the ships?"] but other bells, thank god, sound for us all, old trapper, on christmas eve,--not the bells of the past, but the bells of the future. and they ring loud and clear, and they will ring forever, for they are swung by the angels of god. and they tell of a new life, a new chance, and a new opportunity for us all. * * * * * morning dawned. the day verified the trapper's prophecy, for it came with storm. the mountain back of the cabin roared as if aã«rial surf was breaking against it. the air was thick with snow that streamed, whirled, and eddied through it dry and light as feathers of down. "never mind the storm, bill," said the trapper cheerily, as he pushed the door open in the gray dawn and looked out into the maze of whirling, rushing snowflakes. "a few may be hindered, and one or two fetch through a leetle late, but there'll be an 'arnest movement of teeth when the hour for eatin' comes and the plates be well filled." dinner was called prompt to the hour, and again was the old man's prediction realized. the table lacked not guests, for nearly every chair was occupied. twenty men had breasted the storm that they might be at that dinner, and some had traversed a thirty mile trail that they might honor the old man and share his generous cheer. it was a remarkable and, perhaps we may say, a motley company that the trapper looked upon as he took his place, knife and fork in hand, at the head of the table, with a hound on either side of his great chair, to perform the duty of host and chief carver. "friends," said the trapper, standing erect in his place and looking cheerfully at the row of bearded and expectant faces on either hand in front of him, "friends, i axed ye to come and eat this christmas dinner with me because i love the companionship of the woods and hated, on this day of human feastin' and gladness, to eat my food alone. i also conceited that some of ye felt as i did, and that the day would be happier ef we spent it together. i knew, furdermore, that some of ye were not born in the woods, but were newcomers, driven here as a canoe to a beach in a gale, and that the day might be long and lonesome to ye ef ye had to stay in yer cabins from mornin' till night alone by yerselves. and i also conceited that here and there might be a man who had been onfortunit in his trappin' or his venturs in the settlements, and might act'ally be in need of food and garments, or it may be he had acted wickedly at times, and had lost confidence in his own goodness and the goodness of others, and i said i will make the tarms of the invitin' broad enough to include each and all, whoever and whatever he may be. "and now, friends," continued the old man, "i be glad to see ye at my table, and i hope ye have brought a good appetite with ye, for the vic'tals be plenty and no one need scrimp the size of his eatin'. let us all eat heartily and be merry, for this be christmas. ef we've had bad luck in the past we'll hope for better luck in the futur' and take heart. ef we've been heavy-hearted or sorrowful we will chirk up. ef any have wronged us we will forgive and forgit. for this be christmas, friends, and christmas be a day for forgivin' and forgittin.' and now, then," continued the old man, as he flourished his knife and grasped the huge fork preparatory to plunging it into the venison haunch in front of him, "with good appetites and a cheerful mind let us all fall to eatin'." iii. thus went the feasting. hunger had brought its appetite to the plentiful table, and the well cooked viands provoked its indulgence. if the past of any of the trapper's guests had been sorrowful, the unhappiness of it for the moment was forgotten. stories crisp as snow-crust and edged with aptness, happy memories and reminiscences of frolic and fun, sly hits and keen retorts, jokes and laughter, rollicked around the table and shook it with mirthful explosions. the merriment was at its height when a loud summons sounded upon the door. it was so imperious as well as so unexpected that every noise was instantly hushed, and every face at the table was turned in surprise to wait the entrance. "come in," cried the trapper, cheerily; "whoever ye be, ye be welcome ef ye be a leetle late." the response of him who so emphatically sought admission to the feast was as prompt as his summons had been determined. for, without an instant's delay or the least hesitancy of movement, the great door was pushed suddenly inward and a man stepped into the room. a sturdy fellow he was, swarth of skin and full whiskered. his hair was black and coarse and grown to his shoulders. his eyes were black as night, largely orbed under heavy brows, not lacking a certain wicked splendor. his face was strongly featured and stamped in every line and curve and prominence with the impress of unmistakable power. in his right hand he carried a rifle, and in his left a bundle, snugly packed and protected from the storm in wrappings of oiled cloth. the strong light, into the circle of which he had so suddenly stepped, blinded him for a moment, while to those who sat staring at him it brought out with vivid distinctiveness every feature of his strong and, save for a certain hardness of expression, handsome face. it was evident that the man, whoever he was and whatever he might be, was under the pressure of some impulse or conviction which had urged him on to the trapper's cabin and the trapper's presence. for, no sooner had he closed the door and shaken the snow, with which he was covered, from his garments, than, regardless of those who sat staring in startled interrogation at him, he strode to the head of the table where the old trapper sat, and, looking him straight in the face, said:-"do you know who i am, john norton?" "sartinly," answered the trapper, "ye be shanty jim, and ye have camped these three year and more at the outlet of bog lake." "do you know that i am a thief, and a sneak thief at that?" continued the newcomer, speaking with a fierce directness that was startling. "i've conceited ye was," answered the trapper, calmly. "do you know it, know it to a certainty?" and the words came out of his mouth like the thrust of a knife. "yis, i know that ye be a thief, shanty jim," replied the trapper, "know it to a sartinty." "do you know that i have stolen skins from you, old man, skins and traps both?" continued the other. "i laid in ambush for ye once at the falls of bog river, and i seed ye take an otter from a trap that i sot," replied the trapper. "why didn't you shoot me when i stood skin in hand?" queried the self-confessed thief. "i can't tell ye," answered the trapper, "fer my eye was at the sights and my finger on the trigger, and the feelin' of natur' was strong within me to crop one of yer ears then and there, shanty jim, but somethin', mayhap the sperit of the lord, staid my finger, and ye went with yer thievin' in yer hand to yer camp ontetched and onhindered." "do you know what brought me to this cabin and to your presence--the presence of the man whose skins and whose traps i have stolen--and made me confess to his face and before these men here that i am a thief and a scoundrel; do you know what brought me here, a miserable cuss that i am and have been for years, john norton?" and the man's speech was the speech of one who had been educated to use words rightly and was marked with intense, even dramatic, earnestness. "i can't conceit, onless the sperit of the lord." "the spirit of the lord had nothing to do with it," interrupted the other fiercely. "if there is any such influence at work in this world as the preachers tell of, why has it not prevented me from being a thief? why did it not prevent me from doing what i did and being what i was in my youth,--me, whose mother was an angel and whose father was a patriarch? no, it was nothing under god's heavens, old man, but your invitation scrawled with a coal on a bit of birch bark inviting anyone in these woods who needed victuals and clothes and a right spirit to come to your cabin on christmas day; and had you written nothing else i would not have cared a cuss for it or for you, but you did write something else, and it was this: 'vagabonds included in this invite.' "when i read that, old man, my breath left me and i stood and stared at the letters on that bark as a devil might gaze at a pardon signed with the seal manual of the almighty, for in my hand was a trap that bore the stamp 'j. n.' and the skin of an otter i had taken from the trap. and there i stood, a thief and a scoundrel, with your property in my hands and read your invitation to all the needy in the woods to come to your cabin on christmas day and that vagabonds were included." "that meant you, by thunder!" exclaimed wild bill. "yes, it did mean me," returned shanty jim, "and i knew it. standing there in the snow with the stolen skin and trap in my hand, i realized what i was and what john norton was and the difference between him and myself and most of the world. i went to the tree to which the bark that bore the blessed letters was nailed; i took it down from the tree; i placed it next my bosom and buttoned my coat above it and, thus resting upon my heart, i bore it to my shanty." "it was as good as a bible to you," said wild bill. "a bible!" rejoined the man with emphasis. "better than all bibles. better than churches and preachers, better than formal texts and utterances, for that bit of bark told me of a man here in the woods good enough and big enough to forgive and forget. all that night i sat and gazed at that piece of bark and the writing on it, and as i gazed my heart melted within me. for there it was ever before my eyes--'vagabonds included in this invite.' 'vagabonds included in this invite.' and finally the words passed into the air, and wherever i looked i saw, 'vagabonds included in this invite.'" "yis, them be the very words i writ," said the trapper, gravely. "and i saw more than the words written on the bark, john norton," resumed the man. "for looking at it i saw all my past life and the evil of it and what a scoundrel i had become; my eyes saw with a new sight, and i said, when the sun comes i will rise and go to the man who wrote those words and tell him what they did for me. and here i am, a vagabond who has accepted your invitation to spend christmas with you, and here in this pack are the skins and the traps i have stolen from you, and i ask your forgiveness and that you will take my hand in proof of it, that i may come to your table feeling that i am a man, and a vagabond no longer." "heart and hand be yours now and forever, shanty jim," cried the trapper, joyfully; and, rising from his chair, he met the outstretched hand of the repentant vagabond with his own hearty grasp. "and may the lord be with ye ever more." "amen!" it was wild bill, the once drunkard, who said the sweet word of prayer and assent, and he said it softly. and that murmur of amen and amen went round the great table like the murmur of prayer and of praise. and then it passed out and rose up from the cabin, and the air in its joy passed it on, and the stars took it up and thrilled it around their vast courses of glorified light, and through the high heavens it sang itself onward from order to order of angels until it reached him whom no man hath seen or may ever see, in all and over all, god! blessed forever! has nature knowledge? is she conscious of the evil and the good among men, and has she a heart that saddens at their sorrow and rejoices in their joy? perhaps. for, suddenly, even as the two men joined their hands, the fury of the storm checked itself, and a stillness--the stillness of a great calm--fell on the woods, and through the sudden, the unexpected, the blessed stillness, to the ears of one of the two men--yea, to him who had forgiven--there came the melody of bells swinging slowly and softly to and fro. oh, bells, invisible bells! bells of the soul, bells high in heaven, swing softly, swing low, swing sweet, and swing ever for us, one and all, when we at our tables sit feasting. swing for us living, swing for us dying, and may the cause of your swinging be our forgiving and forgetting. "john norton," said the man, "you have called me shanty jim, and that is well, for in the woods here that is my name, but in the city where i lived and whence i fled, fled because of my misdeeds, years ago, i have another name, a name of power and wealth and honor for more than two centuries. there i have a home, and in that home to-night sits my aged father and white-haired mother. i am going back to them clothed and in my right mind. think of it, old trapper, going back to my home, my boyhood's home, to my father and my mother. all day as i tramped on the trail toward your cabin, my mind has been filled with memories of the past, and the words of a sweet old song i used to sing when too young to feel the tenderness of it, have been ringing in my ears." "sing us the song, sing us the song!" cried wild bill, and every man at the table cried with him, "sing us the song!" "aye, aye," assented the trapper, "sing us the song, shanty jim; we be men of the woods at this table, and some of us have had losses and sorrers, and all of us have memories of happy days that be gone. stand here by my side and sing us the song that has been ringin' in yer ears all day. this is a table of feastin', and feastin' means more than eatin'. sing us the song that tells ye of the past, of yer boyhood's days and father and mother." oh, the secrets of the woods! how many have fled to them for concealment and refuge! in them piety has built its retreat, learning has sought retirement, broken pride a mask, and misfortune a haven. and in response to the trapper's invitation there had come to his cabin and were now grouped about his table more of ability, more of knowledge, more of struggle and failure, and more of reminiscence than might be found, perhaps, in the same number of guests at any other table on that christmas day in the world. never did singer sing sweeter or more touching song, or to more receptive company. "backward, turn backward, oh, time, in your flight, make me a child again just for to-night. mother, come back from the echoless shore, take me again to your heart, as of yore; kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, smooth the few silver threads out of my hair, over my slumbers your loving watch keep;- rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep. chorus:--"clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, with your light lashes just sweeping my face, never hereafter to wake or to weep;- rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep. "over my heart, in the days that are flown, no love like mother-love ever has shone; no other worship abides and endures, faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours; none like a mother can charm away pain from the sick soul and the world-weary brain. slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;- rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep. chorus.- "come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, fall on your shoulders again, as of old; let it drop over my forehead to-night, shading my faint eyes away from the light; for with its sunny-edged shadows once more, haply, will throng the sweet visions of yore; lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;- rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep." chorus.-never was the sweet and touching song sung under more suggestive circumstances, and never was it received into more receptive hearts. the voice of the repentant vagabond was of the finest quality, a pure, resonant tenor, and, through the splendid avenue of expression which the words and music of the song made for his emotions, he poured his soul forth without restraint. the effect of his effort was what would be expected when the character of the audience and the occasion is considered. many an eye was wet with tears, and the voices that took up the refrain here and there trembled with emotion. the old trapper, himself, was not unmoved, for, as the song closed, after a few moments of silence, he said:-"ye sang the song well, shanty jim, and many be the memories it has stirred in the breasts of us all. may yer home-comin' be as happy as was the boy's we read of in the scriptur', although i never could conceit why the mother was not there to go forth to meet him, and fall on his neck with the father, and ef i'd had the writin' of it i'd had the mother git to him a leetle fust, and hers the fust arms that was thrown round his neck, for that would be more nateral, as i conceit. and i sartinly trust, as do all of us here, that ye will find mother and father both waitin' and watchin' for ye when the curve of the trail brings ye in the sight of the cabin. and ye sartinly will take with ye the good wishes of us all. come, take the chair here by my side, and we will all talk as we eat; aye, and sing, too, for this be christmas, and christmas be the time for eatin' and singin', but, above all else, for forgivin' and forgittin'." at the word the happy feasters went on with the feasting. * * * * * long and merry was the meal. as the hours passed the eating ceased, and the feast of reason and the flow of soul began. memories of other days were recalled, confessions made, sorrow for misdoings felt and spoken, and, gradually growing, as grows the light of dawn, a fine atmosphere of hope, charity, and courage spread from heart to heart, until at last it filled with its genial and illuminating presence every bosom. in such a mood on the part of the host and guests alike the feast came to its close. his christmas dinner had been all that the old trapper had hoped, and his heart was filled with happiness. he rose from his chair, and, standing erect in his place, said:-"ye tell me that the time has come for ye to go, and i dare say ye be right, but i be sorry we must part, for in partin' we be never sure of a meetin', and, therefore, as i conceit, all the partin's on the 'arth be more or less sad, but all parted trails, it may be, will come together in the eend. but afore ye go i want to thank ye for comin', and i hope ye will all come agin, and whenever yer needs or yer feelin's incline ye this way. one thing i want to say to ye in goin', and i want ye to take it away with ye, for it may help some of ye to aid some onfortunit man and to feel as happy as i feel to-night. it is this"--and here the old man paused a moment and looked with the face of an angel at his guests as they stood gazing at him; then he impressively said:-"i've lived nigh on to eighty year, and my head be whitenin' with the comin' and goin' of the years i have lived, and the book has long been in my cabin. i have kept many a christmas alone and in company, both, but never afore have i knowed the raal meanin' of the day nor read the lesson of it aright. and this be the lesson that i have larned and the one i want ye all to take away with ye as ye go--that christmas is a day of feastin' and givin' and laughin', but, above everythin' else, it is the day for forgivin' and forgittin'. some of ye be young and may yer days be long on the 'arth, and some of yer heads be as white as mine and yer years be not many, but be that as it may, whether our christmas days be many or few, when the great day comes round let us remember in good or ill fortun', alone or with many, that christmas, above all else, is the day for forgivin' and forgittin'." * * * * * the guests were gone and the trapper seated himself in front of the fireplace, and called the two dogs to his side. it was a signal that they had heard many times and they responded with happy hearts. each rested his muzzle on the trapper's knee, and fixed his large hazel, love-lighted eyes wistfully on his master's face. the old man placed a large and age-wrinkled hand on either head, and murmured: "whether ye be in sorrer or joy, friends come and go, but, ontil death enters kennel or cabin, the hunter and his hounds bide together. the lad camps beyend sight and beyend hearin'. henry be on the other side of the world, to-night, and guests be gone. rover, yer muzzle be as gray as my head, and few be livin' of the many we have met on the trail." and the trapper lifted his eyes and looked around the large and empty room, and then added:-"it took me a good many years, yis, it sartinly took me a good many years, but, if i've larned the lesson of christmas a leetle late, i've larned it at last. but the cabin does look a leetle empty now that the guests be gone. no, the lad can never come back, and henry is on the other side of the world, and there is no good in longin'. but i do wish i could jest tech the boy's hand." [illustration: the old trapper and his dogs. "friends come and go, but until death enters kennel or cabin, the hunter and his hounds bide together."] * * * * * ah, friends, dear friends, as years go on and heads get gray--how fast the guests do go! touch hands, touch hands with those that stay. strong hands to weak, old hands to young, around the christmas board, touch hands. the false forget, the foe forgive, for every guest will go and every fire burn low and cabin empty stand. forget, forgive, for who may say that christmas day may ever come to host or guest again. touch hands. w. h. h.--adirondack--murray's complete works carefully revised and enlarged by the author published for the first time in uniform edition adirondack tales in all matters relating to his writings or his platform engagements, address the author personally address w. h. h. murray guilford, conn. care the murray homestead _copyrighted by the author. all rights reserved._ 1898 +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note. | | =================== | | | | the following illustrations, although shown in the list of | | illustrations, appear not to have been included in the final | | printed version of the book: | | | | how john norton the trapper kept his christmas, p. 11 | | john norton's vagabond, p. 76 | | the old trapper's paddle, p. 85 | | the old trapper's rifle, p. 88 | | an old time gun, p. 89 | | christmas holly, p. 93 | | "and finally the words passed into the air," p. 105 | | "ye cradle of ye olden time," p. 108 | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ ----------------------------------------------------------------------[illustration: having secured a good supply of bait, they started for the canoe] ----------------------------------------------------------------------the mountain boys series phil bradley's mountain boys or the birch bark lodge by silas k. boone the new york book company new york ----------------------------------------------------------------------copyright, 1915, by the new york book company ----------------------------------------------------------------------contents chapter page i bound for lake surprise 11 ii lub and the mother bobcat 21 iii a mystery, to start with 33 iv the figure in the moonlight 46 v the sudden awakening 59 vi getting rid of an intruder 72 vii on the border of the lake 84 viii the mountain boys in camp 97 ix the 'coon photographer 112 x finding a sunbeam 121 xi an encounter in the pine woods 134 xii when two played the game 143 xiii how "daddy" came back 156 xiv the puzzle of it all 169 xv after the storm 181 xvi peace after strife--conclusion 194 ----------------------------------------------------------------------phil bradley's mountain boys chapter i bound for lake surprise "phil, _please_ tell me we're nearly there!" "i'd like to, lub, for your sake; but the fact of the matter is we've got about another hour of climbing before us, as near as i can reckon." "oh! dear, that means sixty long minutes of this everlasting scrambling over logs, and crashing through tangled underbrush. why, i reckon i'll have the map of ireland in red streaks on my face before i'm done with it." at that the other three boys laughed. they were not at all unfeeling, and could appreciate the misery of their fat companion; but then lub had such a comical way of expressing himself, and made so many ludicrous faces, that they could never take him seriously. they were making their way through one of the loneliest parts of the great adirondack regions. there might not be a living soul within miles of them, unless possibly some guide were wandering in search of new fields. the regular fishermen and tourists never came this way for many reasons; and the only thing that had brought these four well-grown boys in the region of surprise lake was the fact that one of them, phil bradley, owned a large mountain estate of wild land that abutted on the western shore of the lake. all of the lads carried regular packs on their backs, secured with bands that passed across their foreheads, thus giving them additional advantages. in their hands they seemed to be gripping fishing rods in their cases, as well as some other things in the way of tackle boxes and bait pails. apparently phil and his chums were bent on having the time of their lives upon this outing. laden in this fashion, it was no easy task they had taken upon themselves to "tote" such burdens from the little jumping-off station up the side of the mountain, and then across the wooded plateau. there was no other way of getting to lake surprise, as yet, no wagon road at all; which accounted for its being visited only by an occasional fisherman or hunter. each year such places become fewer and fewer in the adirondacks; and in time to come doubtless a modern hotel would be erected where just then only primitive solitude reigned. of course lub (who at home in school rejoiced in the more aristocratic name of osmond fenwick) being heavily built, suffered more than any of his comrades in this long and arduous tramp. he puffed, and groaned, but stuck everlastingly at it, for lub was not the one to give in easily, no matter how he complained. besides these two there was raymond tyson, a tall, thin chap, who was so quick to see through nearly everything on the instant that his friends had long ago dubbed him "x-ray," and as such he was generally known. the last of the quartette was ethan allan. he claimed to be a lineal descendant of the famous revolutionary hero who captured ticonderoga from the british by an early morning surprise. ethan was very fond of boasting of his illustrious ancestor, and on that account found himself frequently "joshed" by his chums. it happened that ethan's folks were not as well off in this world's goods as those of his chums; and he was exceedingly sensitive about this fact. charity was his bugbear; and he would never listen to any of the others standing for his share of the expense, when they undertook an expedition like the present. ethan was a smart chap. he knew considerable about the woods, and all sorts of things that could be found there. and he had hit upon an ingenious method for laying up a nice little store of money whereby he could keep his savings bank well filled with ready cash, and thus proudly meet his share of expenses. in the winter he used to spend all his spare time out at a farm owned by an uncle, where he had traps, and managed to catch quite a few little fur-bearing denizens of the woods. then in the summer and fall he knew just where the choicest mushrooms could be picked day after day in the early morning. he also had several deposits of wild ginseng and golden seal marked down, and many pounds of the dried roots did he ship to a distant city to be sold. his success was enough to turn any boy's head, since he seemed to receive a price far above the top-notch quotations for such things. the head of the firm even took occasion to write, congratulating him on having sent a fox skin (really a dark red), which he claimed was as fine a _black_ fox as he had ever seen, and worth a large sum of money. on another occasion it was to say that the dried ginseng ethan had shipped was simply "magnificent," and that they took pleasure in remitting a price that they hoped would inspire him to renewed efforts. alas! how poor ethan's pride would have taken a sad tumble had he ever so much as guessed that this very accommodating fur and root dealer was in reality an uncle of phil bradley, and that the whole thing was only a nice little plot on the part of the other three boys to assist ethan without his knowing it. that proved how much they thought of their chum; but should he ever discover the humiliating truth there was likely to be some trouble, on account of that pride of ethan's. it happened that phil was an orphan, and had been left a very large property, the income from which he could never begin to spend in any sensible fashion. that accounted for his desire to assist ethan; and while he felt that it was too bad to play such a trick, there seemed to be no other way in which the end they sought might be attained. raymond's folks, too, were wealthy, and he had really been sent up into the clear atmosphere of the adirondacks to improve his health. although the doctors did not really say he was threatened with signs of lung trouble, they advised that the boy, who had grown so fast at the expense of his strength, should live out of doors all he could for a year or two. he would then be able to catch up in school duties with little trouble. the other three had by degrees come to look upon phil as their leader; and indeed, he had all the qualities that go to make a successful pilot. they delighted to call themselves the "mountain boys." really it had been ethan allan who originated that name, and no doubt at the time he had in mind those daring heroes of revolutionary days who made themselves such a terror to the british under the title of "green mountain boys." among other properties of which the bradley estate consisted there was a tract of several thousand acres of wild land bordering on this mysterious lake surprise. phil had heard a number of things about it that excited his curiosity. he had so far never set eyes on the place; when one of the other chums happened to suggest that it might make a splendid little outing, if they started to look in on the lonely estate. one thing led to another, with the result that here they were heading toward the lake, and following a dim trail which had been described by an old guide who could not accompany them on account of other pressing engagements. the boys were pretty good woodsmen, all but lub, and they had not doubted their ability to find the lake. "i think we're in luck about one thing," x-ray was saying, as he toiled along sturdily, and wishing that he had as much stamina as phil or ethan; for somehow his legs seemed a bit shaky after so long and difficult a tramp, with all that burden piled on his back. "as what?" asked ethan, giving phil a nudge, and thus calling attention to the fact that by degrees the puffing lub had actually gone ahead, fastening his eyes on the winding trail, and evidently feeling that he was becoming quite a woodsman. "why, about that cabin the old guide jerry kane told us was on the shore of the lake. it'll save us building one, you know, if it's in any kind of a decent condition," the tall boy went on to say. "yes, that's a fact," phil himself remarked; "i've been thinking so right along. i only hope we won't find some fishermen camped in it. kane said that once in a long while some guide took a party over to surprise; but that the tramp was so hard few gentlemen cared to try for it. there are lakes all around that offer just about as good fishing." "i should think there'd be some pretty fine hunting around up here," remarked ethan. "i've noticed quite a few signs of deer, and that was certainly the track of a big moose we saw. i'd like to run across one of that stripe. never saw a wild moose in all my life." "i wouldn't be surprised if some of us do meet one while we roam the woods around the little lake," phil told him. "if i'm that lucky i want to take a picture of the beast, to add to my collection." "and i reckon, now," suggested x-ray, "that nearly every night you'll be setting traps, not to catch wild animals, but to make them take their own pictures. that's the main reason why you've come up here, isn't it, phil?" "well, you know it's a sort of hobby of mine, and i've got all the apparatus for taking flashlight pictures along with me. i started in to the business just to kill time; but let me tell you it grows on a fellow like everything. i'm something of a hunter myself, but this shooting with a camera beats anything else all hollow. besides, you get your game, and yet don't injure it, which is the best of all." ethan laughed, and shook his head. "but your pelts don't bring you in the hard cash, phil, like mine do," he went on to say, with a touch of genuine pride in his voice. "s'pose now i'd just snapped off that black fox's picture instead of getting his paw in my steel newhouse trap--it might have been all very well, but i'd be several hundred dollars shy right now." x-ray tyson chuckled; but the other frowned and shook his head. it would never do to get ethan's suspicions aroused. he was terribly persistent, and once on the scent would never give up until he had unearthed their clever little plot. then good-by to peace among the mountain boys, for ethan would never be apt to forgive them the deception. "that's the main thing, after all, ethan," phil added. "one man's food is another man's poison. you enjoy your way of doing things, and i understand how that is, for i'm something of a hunter of small game myself; but i find more real delight in surprising a keen-nosed fox, or a night-roaming raccoon, and getting his photo than in blowing them over with a charge of shot." "think there could be any bear up around here, phil?" asked lub, over his shoulder. "i wouldn't be surprised, and if we run across tracks i'll add to my collection." "mebbe we ought to have fetched a gun along," suggested x-ray, who was not much of a hunter himself, though fond of any kind of game when it was cooked at a camp-fire. "well, that would have brought us into trouble with the game wardens," phil replied. at this point they were interrupted by a cry from lub, who was on his hands and knees in the midst of the scrub, where he had evidently caught his foot in a vine, and gone sprawling down on account of his clumsiness. high above the exclamation from the lips of their fat companion they could hear a fierce growling sound, and about ten feet beyond lub they saw the crouching body of a very large and angry bobcat, with blazing yellow eyes, and every hair on its back standing up on edge, as it got ready to spring. chapter ii lub, and the mother bobcat "keep still, everybody!" said phil, grasping the perilous situation instantly. "gee whiz! look at its eyes staring, will you?" gasped x-ray, appalled by the ferocious aspect of the crouching beast, which was squatted on a log just a few paces beyond poor kneeling and terrorized lub. "phil, oh! phil, tell me what i ought to do!" they heard the fat chum saying in rather a faint voice; all the while doubtless keeping his strained eyes glued on that dreadful apparition. "it's a mother wildcat, and she's got kits somewhere near by," phil was saying steadily. "that's what makes her so fierce in the daytime. lub, can you hear me plainly?" he did not elevate his voice in the least, not wishing to do anything out of the ordinary so as to excite the angry beast further, and cause it to jump. "yes, sure i can; go on and tell me, phil," whined the other, appealingly, and remaining on his hands and knees as though absolutely incapable of moving. "don't be alarmed," phil went on to say. "i've got my revolver in my hand, and if it comes to the worst i'll shoot. the other boys will yell like everything, too, and that might make her sheer off. but first try and back up, just as you are. careful now, and do it as easy as you can, lub." they saw the fat boy begin to cautiously extend one foot backwards. when there came a warning snarl he instantly stiffened out as though he had been turned into stone. "try it some more," phil told him, "go carefully, but never mind the growls. when she sees you're retreating she'll be satisfied, let's hope." so lub did as he was told, for his nature was rather docile. it could be seen that he was holding himself in readiness to flatten out on his stomach in case of hostile demonstrations on the part of the wildcat. no doubt he expected that he could in this way manage to protect his face from her claws; while the pack on his back would serve him in good stead there. phil, however, had rightly gauged the intention of the mother beast. she was only standing up for her whelps, and so long as they were not placed in peril she did not mean to attack that crowd of two-legged enemies. the further lub got away from the danger zone the more rapidly he began to move his plump legs. presently he felt ethan lay hold of his foot, at which he gave a gasping cry, under the impression that it must be the mate of the enraged bobcat which had attacked him from the rear. "it's all right, lub," ethan hastened to say, reassuringly, for he had not intended to frighten the other; "you're among friends now; and see there how the old cat slinks away, still growling and looking daggers at us with those yellow eyes of hers. wow! she would have given us a warm time of it, i'm telling you!" "did you get her photo, phil?" demanded x-ray; "because i heard the click, after you'd swung your little camera around." "yes, when i saw that she didn't mean to tackle us," replied the other, "i remembered that i ought to have something to show for lub's adventure. guess you'll be glad to have a print of your friend, lub; it'll be a nice thing to look at on a hot summer day; because you'll always have a chill chase up and down your spinal column, when you think what would have happened if you'd come to close quarters with that cat." "and talk about the map of ireland on your face," added ethan; "more'n likely you'd call it one of europe, with every river plainly marked." lub was mopping his face with his red bandanna. all the color had fled, leaving him as white as a ghost; but under the manipulation of his handkerchief that was being speedily rectified. "i think i'll drop back a bit, and let some of the rest of you fellows take the lead from now on," lub told them, contritely, "i ought to have known better than to try and show off when i'm such a greeny about following a trail." "you were doing all right," phil told him, "and making a good job of it up to that time. who'd ever expect that we'd run across a bobcat in the middle of the afternoon; and one that had kits at that? i'd have had just as bad a shock as you got, lub, if it was me in the lead. no need of feeling ashamed; the sight of that thing was enough to give any hunter a bad scare, especially if he had no gun along." this sort of consolation served to make poor lub better satisfied; though doubtless he would continue to feel unusually nervous for some little time. if a chipmunk stirred in the trash under a dead tree lub was apt to draw a long breath, and involuntarily shrink back behind one of his companions. "guess we'd better make a detour around that bunch of scrub, eh, phil?" remarked ethan, sagely. "well, it would be a wise thing to do," chuckled the other; "because just now we haven't lost any bobcat that we know about. the trail seems to be heading pretty straight right here; and chances are we'll have little trouble running across the same some little ways on." both he and ethan took a good survey of their surroundings, but evidently the wildcat was still hiding amidst that scrub, for they saw nothing of her again while making the half circuit. "now keep your eyes peeled for the trail again, ethan," advised phil, when they were well around on the other side of the danger spot. lub managed to push along until he could find himself in the midst of the bunch. he cast numerous side glances in the direction of that disputed ground, as though half anticipating seeing a whole army of ferocious bobcats come leaping forth, all with blazing yellow eyes and stubby tails. nothing of the kind happened, however, and presently ethan was heard calling: "here's your old trail, phil, as plain as print. and d'ye know, there's only one thing i'm sorry about, which is that you didn't think to snap off a picture with our chum on his hands and knees backing off, and the cat on the log." "well, i'm glad myself there wasn't any chance to keep that accidental tumble of mine as a perpetual joke," said lub, indignantly. "nothing to be ashamed about at all, lub," remarked x-ray; "and i reckon now if it had been ethan himself who stumbled when he caught his foot in a vine, and then found himself face to face with a mad cat he'd have been near paralyzed too." this seemed to mollify lub somewhat, though he hardly liked that reference to his having been paralyzed very much. they pushed on resolutely and the minutes passed. phil on hearing lub puffing and seeing that x-ray lagged a little, cheered both of them up by declaring that the time was now short. "it wouldn't surprise me a whit," he said, cheerily, "to get a glimpse of the lake any time now, through the trees. unless all my calculations are faulty we must be on my land right now." "that sounds good to me, phil," asserted x-ray, joyously, as he took a fresh spurt, and no longer limped as though he had a stone bruise on his heel. even lub grinned until his red face looked like a newly risen sun. "we'll all be mighty glad to get there, believe me!" he declared; "and think of the jolly time we'll have preparing our first supper in the woods. this big aluminum frying pan of phil's has kept digging me in the ribs right along, until i'm afraid there's a black and blue spot there; but i mean to take my revenge good and plenty when we fill it full of onions and potatoes and such fine things. take another squint ahead, phil, and see if you can't give us real good news." "well, just as sure as anything i see what looks like water!" called out phil, with an eager tremor in his voice. "whereabouts, phil? oh! i hope now, you're not joshing us?" lub demanded. "stop just where you are, everybody," the pilot of the expedition told them, "and watch where i'm pointing. if you follow my finger you can see if i've made a mistake or not. how about it, x-ray? you've got the best eyes of the crowd, i guess." "it's water, all right, phil," replied the other, glad that he could be accounted as best in something. "and that means lake surprise, doesn't it?" questioned ethan allan. "yes, because it's the only body of water for miles around here," phil continued. "that's one reason they let it alone so much. other lakes lie in bunches, and a canoe can be taken over a carry from one to another in the chain; but surprise is an awful lonely sheet of water." "and that's how it must have got its name," added ethan. "all the while nobody dreamed there was any such lake up here; and then all at once a wandering guide must have run headlong on the same, to his surprise." "wish we were there on the bank right now," grunted lub. "another mile, perhaps half of that, ought to take us to the water," he was assured by phil; "and you see we are coming in from the west, which is all right, too, because my land lies on the western shore; and that cabin must be somewhere just ahead of us." "hurrah!" shouted ethan, unable to keep from giving expression to his delight any longer. the others felt pretty much the same way, and joined in a series of joyous whoops. "now, everybody put his best foot forward, and we'll soon be there," urged phil; "the worst is behind us, you know." "that's a heap better than having it yet to come!" declared x-ray, feeling that with the goal in sight he should be able to hold out. they plodded along for some eight minutes or more, frequently catching glimpses of the lake beyond, and knowing that they were rapidly approaching its border. all at once x-ray gave a cry. "tell me, what is that i can see over there, phil; looks for all the world like a shack made of silver birches! see how the sun shines on its side, will you? is that your cabin, do you think, phil?" "just what it must be, x-ray," the other told him; "they've nailed birch bark all over the sides of the log hut, you see, just to make it look rustic." "then we'll have to call it birch bark lodge!" burst out lub, who had a little vein of the romantic in his disposition. "that sounds good to me!" declared ethan. "it goes, then, does it?" asked the delighted lub, beginning to believe he must be waking up, to have any suggestion of his so quickly and favorably seized upon. "sure thing," said x-ray tyson. "hurrah for birch bark lodge, the home in the wilderness of the mountain boys." "don't be too quick to settle that sort of thing," advised the more cautious phil. "for all we know there may be somebody ahead of us in the shack; and you know we couldn't well chase 'em out." "but see here, phil, if the cabin stands on your ground of course it's your property by right of law, no matter whoever built the shack in the start. he was only a squatter at the best," and lub looked wise when he laid down this principle in common law which is often so exceedingly difficult to practice in the backwoods, where right of possession is nine points of the law. "yes," phil told him, "but there's always a rule in the woods that governs cases like this, no matter who owns the land. first come, first served. if we find that shack occupied by some sportsmen and their guides, why, we'll have to chase along and put up one for ourselves somewhere else." "huh! i don't like to hear you say that," remarked lub, who would possibly have liked to enter into a discussion along the line of right of property, only none of the others cared to bother with such a question, particularly after what phil had said. they pushed on and approached the cabin. one and all were looking eagerly to discover any signs of occupancy, and greatly to their satisfaction no dog came barking toward them, nor was there even a smudge of smoke oozing out of the mud-and-slab chimney that had been built up alongside the back of the shack. "i guess it's all hunk," admitted ethan, with a sigh of relief, as they drew near the partly open door. "see that gray squirrel running along the roof, would you? he wouldn't be doing that same if folks were around." "oh! that depends on what kind of folks," remarked phil. "for my part i never yet would shoot little animals around camp. i like to see them frisking about too much to want to eat them up. but as you say, it looks as if we had the cabin to ourselves, after all, for which i'm glad." "tell me about that, will you?" muttered lub, also showing positive signs of satisfaction. all of them pushed into the cabin. "why, this is _just_ the thing!" cried ethan allan; "see the bunks along one side of the wall, boys,--two, three, four of them, if you please." "just one apiece for us, and i choose this because it looks more roomy, and better fitted for a fellow of my heft than any of the rest!" lub was heard to say. they immediately began to unfasten the straps that held their packs in place. "hey! what're you doing, starting a fire already, phil?" called out ethan, noticing that the other was bending over the hearth. for answer phil beckoned to the others to approach closer. "there's something queer happened," he told them, with a frown on his face; "just bend down here, ethan, and put your hand in these ashes, will you?" "why!" exclaimed ethan, immediately, "they're warm right now, would you believe it?" chapter iii a mystery, to start with while ethan, phil and x-ray tyson seemed to grasp the true significance of this astonishing discovery, lub as yet had not managed to get it through his head. he was a little dense about some things, although a clever enough scholar when at school. "the ashes warm, you say, ethan?" he burst out with. "now, that's a funny thing. what would make them hold heat that way, when there's not a sign of anybody around?" "there _has_ been somebody here, and only a short time ago, don't you see?" explained phil. "and like as not they heard us cheering when we glimpsed the lake, and cleared out in a big hurry," ethan went on to say. "cleared out?" echoed lub'. "well, why should they run from us, tell me? we don't look dangerous, as far as i can see. we wouldn't bother hurting anybody; and didn't phil say a while back that if we found some fishermen in his shack we'd just shy off, and build one for ourselves?" "yes, but these people didn't hear phil say that; we were half a mile and more away from here at the time," explained x-ray. "and they couldn't begin to tell just who was coming," added phil. "it might be!" exclaimed ethan, "that they took us for game wardens. mebbe now they've been shooting deer out of season, and got cold feet when they knew some people were coming in to the lake." phil nodded his head in the affirmative, when he saw that ethan was looking to find out just how that suggestion struck him. "i rather think you've struck the right nail on the head there, ethan," he told the other. "it seems the most reasonable explanation for their clearing out in such a big hurry." "they tried to put the fire out too, didn't they, phil?" it was x-ray tyson who asked this. those keen eyes of his had made another discovery, and he was even then pointing the same out to his chums. "yes, i had noticed that some one had certainly thrown water on the fire," said phil. "you can see where it washed the ashes off this charred piece of wood; and besides, it made little furrows in the ashes." "that's an old trick in the woods," remarked ethan, with a superior air; "fact is, no true woodsman would think of breaking camp without first making sure every spark of his fire was put out. lots of forest fires have come from carelessness in guides leaving red cinders behind them." "yes," phil added, "because often the wind rises, and whirls those same cinders to leeward, where they fall in a bunch of dry leaves, and begin to get their work in. but when people live in cabins they seldom bother wetting the ashes, unless they've got a mighty good reason for wanting to hide the facts." "and these people did," added ethan, conclusively. "let's look around some," suggested x-ray. two of the others thought this a good idea, for they immediately started a search of the interior of the cabin, their idea being to find some clue that might tell just who the late mysterious inmates were, and why they had fled so hurriedly. lub may have been just as curious as his mates; but he was very tired after the long and arduous walk, so that apparently he believed three could cover the field just as thoroughly as four. at any rate he showed no sign of meaning to quit his seat upon the rude stool he had found; but leaning forward, watched operations, at the same time rubbing his shins sympathetically. "what's this on the peg up here?" exclaimed x-ray, the very first thing. "looks like some sort of a hat to me," remarked ethan. "just what it is; but say, take notice of the size, will you? it's a _child's_ hat, as sure as you live! why, there must have been a child along with the lot!" "that's queer!" lub observed, not wanting to be wholly ignored. "game poachers they may have been," muttered ethan, "but if there was a little chap along, there must have been a family of 'em. see if you could pick up such a thing now as a hair-pin, or any other woman business." they went to scrutinizing the cracks of the floor more closely than ever. that suggestion on the part of ethan was worth trying out. of course the presence of any little article like a hair-pin would show that a woman had been there. "i don't hear anybody sing out!" remarked x-ray tyson, presently; "and on that account it looks like we hadn't discovered anything worth mentioning. what gets me is, however could they have cleaned the old shack out so quick, and never left anything worth mentioning behind 'em?" "from the time we sighted the cabin, back to when we first whooped, couldn't have been more'n eight minutes, i should think," lub gravely announced. "lots could be done in that time," asserted phil; "but all the same i am bothered to know why they'd be in such a rattling big hurry. it might be they knew about us being on the way longer than eight minutes." "who would have called 'em up on the phone, and mentioned the fact?" asked x-ray, meaning to be humorous. "well, one of the lot may have seen us miles back, and put for the cabin by some short-cut we don't know anything about," phil told him. "that could be, of course," admitted ethan, after considering the matter seriously. "mebbe we'll never know the truth, which would be too bad," lub continued; for a mystery was a source of constant anxiety to him; he was so frank and straightforward himself that double dealing seemed foreign to his nature. "well, as we didn't come all the way up here just to worry our heads over guessing hard problems, i guess we won't lose any sleep," ethan went on to say, in his easy-going way. "i'm wondering what made all these burns on the floor," phil told them; "and on this table, too. in these days people don't mold bullets like they used to years ago, when the pioneers were settling the wilderness; and yet that's what it looks like to me." "the place isn't as clean as it might be," ethan now remarked, "and the first thing we'll have to do in the morning will be to tidy up. i'll make a broom out of twigs, like i've seen poor emigrants do. it answers the purpose pretty well, too." he was prying around in one of the bunks while saying this, as though he had suspicions; which lub, who was anxiously watching him, hoped in his heart might turn out to be groundless. phil had turned to other things, and was proceeding to undo his pack. this caught lub's eye, and caused the worried expression on his face to give way to one of pleasure. he knew that such a move meant it was getting time for them to think of supper; and lub was always ready to do his part toward providing a meal; oh, yes, and in disposing of the same, too. "wow! you quit too soon!" suddenly yelped x-ray, who had continued prowling on hands and knees after phil and ethan had stopped searching the floor. "found something, have you?" asked the former, without looking up from his job of opening the contents of his pack. "is it worth a hair-pin, x-ray?" chirped ethan, who had been gathering a handful of timber in a corner where a lot of wood lay in a pile, ready for burning. "you could buy a thousand with it, i reckon!" was the astonishing declaration of the finder, which remark caused every one to immediately take notice. the boy with the sharp eyes was holding something up between thumb and forefinger. it shone in the last rays of the setting sun, as they came into the cabin through a small window in the western side. "why, what's this mean?" ejaculated ethan; "looks like you've gone and struck a silver mine, x-ray! that's a half dollar, ain't it? d'ye mean to say you found it on this same floor?" "just what i did, and deep down in a crack, where it must have slid, so nobody noticed it!" exclaimed the other, exultantly. "now, needn't all get busy looking, because i reckon it's the only coin there is. that's my reward for keeping everlastingly at it. you fellows are ready to give up too easy. say, did you ever see a brighter half dollar than that? looks like she just came from the mint, hey?" "perhaps it did!" said phil, solemnly. when he said that the others all focussed their eyes on phil's face. they knew he would not have spoken in such a strain unless he had some good reason for saying what he did. "explain what you mean, please, phil; that's a good fellow," urged lub. x-ray was not so dense, for he instantly exclaimed. "why, don't you see, phil reckons that this half-dollar may have been coined right here in this birch bark cabin!" "whew! counterfeit, is it?" gasped ethan, whose breath had almost been taken away with the momentous discovery. "then i guess i ain't going to bother getting down on my knees, and doing any hunting for bogus money." the finder apparently did not much fancy having his prize counted so meanly. he immediately proceeded to bite the coin, and then started to ringing it on the hard surface of the oak table that had all the scorched spots on it, mentioned by phil. "it _tastes_ good; and listen to the sweet ring, would you, fellows?" x-ray hastened to say. "if it's a punk fifty-center, then it's the greatest imitation ever was. i'd just like to have a cartload of the same; i think i'd call myself rich." "if there's any suspicion fixed on the coin," lub observed, ponderously, just as he had heard his father, the judge, deliver an opinion in court, "i'd rather be excused from carrying it around on _my_ person. the law, you know, does not look upon ignorance as innocence. better toss that thing as far away as you can in the morning, x-ray. i'd hate to think of you doing time for having it in your possession." "hanged if i do," muttered the other. "i'm all worked up now over it, and mean to get the opinion of mr. budge, the cashier of our bank. he can smell a counterfeit as soon as he sets eyes on one. he'll fix all that up, believe me." "but, phil," ethan remarked, just then, "what was that you were saying about all the scorched places on the table? if these people were not molding bullets they may have been using melted metal for another purpose, and one not quite so lawful, eh?" "it looks a little that way, i must say," phil admitted. "give us something to do prying around while we're up here," suggested x-ray; "seeing if we can run across their _cache_ where they've gone and hid away their molds, and other stuff." "oh! now you're only guessing," lub told him. "it may be they were game poachers after all, no matter if the coin is a bad one. i'm sorry this had to crop up the first thing, when we aimed to have such a jolly time of it here." "we'll have that, all right, whether or no," said phil; "and first of all let's get busy with our duffle. if we're going to live in this shack it's our duty to make it look like home to us. ethan, suppose you attend to the fire, and the rest of us will take care of the cooking." "that's the ticket!" lub ventured; "if i can do anything to help just let me sit here, and peel potatoes, or make the coffee. i'm pretty tired, you know; and besides it seems to me i get in everybody's way when i move around." "because you occupy so much room, lub," x-ray told him, cheerfully; "but it's all right, and we'll find some use for your hands. how about water; shall i take our collapsible pail and fetch some from the lake?" upon being told that some one must go, the spry lad darted out of the door, and reappeared a few minutes later with a brimming pail. "i want to tell you all that it's going to be a dandy night," he chortled as he set the pail carefully down so that lub, who was holding the aluminum coffee pot in his hands, could easily reach it; "moon's just coming up over across the lake, and about as full as could be." "well, some of the rest of us are hoping to be in the same condition before a great while," ethan ventured, as he stepped over to the door, and looked out, to immediately add: "i should say it is a glorious sight, with that yellow streak shining across the water, and the little wavelets dancing like silver. phil, this is the greatest place ever. if you hunted a whole year you couldn't beat it. and we ought to have the time of our lives while we're up at birch bark lodge." all of them were filled with delight. being only boys, and with no particular cares weighing heavily on their minds, they refused to see any cloud on the horizon. everything was as clear and lovely as the sky into which that full moon was climbing so sturdily. soon the delightful odors of supper began to pervade the atmosphere. that made it seem more than ever like a real camp. lub was doing his share of the work like a hero. they had found a place where he could sit at one side of the fire, and here he attended to the coffee, as well as looked after the big saucepan of potatoes and onions that had been placed on the red coals. lub's round face was about as fiery as the blaze that crackled and danced at the back of the hearth; and he often had to mop his streaming brow; but he stuck heroically at his task to the bitter end. then came his reward when they sat around, and every fellow had a heaping pannikin between his knees, or on the small table, flanked by a cup, also of light aluminum, filled with coffee. seeing that they were all helped phil knocked on the table, and held up his cup. "before we take our first bite, fellows," he went on to say, solemnly; "i think we ought to drink to the success of our camping trip up here in the adirondacks proper. coffee is the only proper liquid to drink that toast in, so up with your cups, every one. here's to the mountain boys, and may they enjoy every minute of their stay at birch bark cabin!" "drink it down!" cried x-ray tyson, noisily. with that they took the first swallow of the nectar that lub had brewed. never had its like been tasted at home, amidst prosaic surroundings; there was something in the atmosphere of the mountains that made ordinary things assume a different aspect; their hard tramp had aroused their appetites amazingly, and just then those four boys were ready to admit that this was the life worth while. for the next half-hour they sat there on such stools as they could find, and proceeded to "lick the platter clean;" inasmuch as there was not a particle left when they had finished supper. but even lub confessed that he had had quite enough. chapter iv the figure in the moonlight "you couldn't beat this much, i'd say, if you want to know my opinion," ethan was remarking, after they had finished the meal and were taking things easy. "of course we all feel pretty much the same way," admitted x-ray tyson; "but i'd be a whole lot better satisfied if i knew about that bright new half-dollar. is it a good one, or a bunker?" "chances are we'll hear no end to that squall all the time we're up here," ethan went on to say, with a pretended look of disgust on his thin yankee face. "whenever you do get a thing on your mind, x-ray, you sure beat all creation to keep yawping about it. forget that you ever picked up the fifty, and let's be thinking only of the royal good times we're meaning to have." "what can that sound be?" suddenly remarked lub, who had been listening more or less apprehensively for some little time now; "seems like some one might be sawing a hole through the wall. course, though, i don't believe that for a minute; but all the same it's a queer noise. there, don't you hear it?" there did come a distinct little "rat-tat-tat," several times repeated. no one who was not deaf could have helped hearing such a distinct sound; but lub could not see that any of his mates seemed bothered. "may be that old gray squirrel gnawing somewhere," suggested x-ray; "they've got long teeth like a rat, and can chew a hole through any sort of board." "now, i'd rather believe it was the wind," said ethan, who had a pretty good knowledge of woodcraft in all its branches, and was therefore well fitted to give an opinion. "why, how could the night wind make that sort of scratching sound?" asked lub, doubtless wondering whether the other were simply guying him because of his being a greenhorn. "oh! the broken end of a branch might be rubbing against the roof of the cabin," ethan told him. "i've known that to happen lots of times. there she hits up the tune again, you notice, lub." "yes," added phil, nodding his head approvingly, "and if you listen, every time that scratching sound comes you can hear the wind soughing through the tree-tops. that ought to prove it." still lub seemed hard to convince, seeing which ethan jumped up. "just stir your stumps, lub, and come outside with me," he said, positively. "i want to prove what i said, and you've got to be shown." lub saw there was no getting around it, and much as he disliked making a move when he was settled so comfortably, he managed to scramble to his feet. once out in the bright moonlight and practical ethan was quick to discover the source of the peculiar and often recurring noise. "you see, lub," he went on to say, "there's your saw at work right now. just as i told you it's a branch that's been worn off to a stub by this scraping. every time there's a fresh gust of wind it waves back and forth, and scraping against the roof makes that funny sound. now, i hope your mind's easy, lub, and that you'll sleep decent to-night." "i hope i will," replied lub, earnestly, at the same time remembering about the bunks, and what one of the others had said with regard to house-cleaning in the morning; "but say, it is a fine night, ain't it, ethan. listen to the frogs singing their chorus in some little bay of the lake." "yes," remarked ethan, quickly, "i was listening to their serenade. some busters in that lot, too, because you can hear 'em calling more-rum, more-rum' in the deepest bass. that always stands for the big bullfrogs. i ought to know, because i'm an experienced frog-raiser. cleared sixty-seven dollars from my little pond this very summer; but i've never seen frogs'-legs quoted _quite_ so high as that mr. brandon the restaurant man down in new york pays me. i guess he favors me a mite just because he happens to know some friends of phil's." lub knew all about it, but he never let even a chuckle escape from his lips. "well, in that letter you had from him which you showed me," he observed, "he said he'd never had such fine frogs'-legs before, and wanted to make sure to keep getting all you had to sell. a dollar a pound is a cracking high sum, sure it is, but then good things always bring fancy prices." that frog pond of ethan's went with his many other ways for making spending money. it required almost no time at all to run it. when he found an opportunity he caught frogs wherever he could find them, and put them into his preserve. then, on feeling that he had the right kind of goods for a gilt-edge market he would make a shipment of a box of "saddles" neatly arranged, so that they were attractive to the eye of the proprietor of the fashionable restaurant in far-off new york. phil had recommended ethan to try that place, and had even given him permission to use his name as a recommendation. ethan never knew that the same mail had carried a letter from phil to mr. brandon, who was an old friend of his, making arrangements to stand for the difference between the market price of frogs'-legs and the fancy sum he was to send ethan every time he shipped him a box. while lub was standing there, and apparently enjoying the sight of the moonlight dancing on the water of the lake near by, he was at the same time casting occasional apprehensive glances around him. the woods looked mysterious enough and gloomy too, for the moon had not risen far in the heavens, and the shadows were long and abundant. several times he fancied he saw something moving there on the border of the dense growth. finally he appealed to ethan, because he had considerable respect for the opinions of his chum, who had studied woods lore so long. "you don't think now, that any of that crowd we scared away from the cabin would come sneaking back to spy on us, or try to steal any of our things?" he asked, trying to appear as though such an idea was furthest from his own thoughts. "well, i hadn't bothered with such a thing as that, lub, but now that you mention the same i can't see why they should. we haven't got anything along worth stealing; and if they are afraid of the officers of the law, as counterfeiters, or game poachers, why, they'd want to get as far away as they could. so i wouldn't let that keep me from sleeping a wink." "oh! i don't mean to," lub hastened to exclaim, stoutly; but all the same as he followed ethan back through the cabin doorway the very last thing he did was to take a parting survey of the forest fringe, and shrug his fat shoulders. "seems like it was getting right noisy out there, ethan," remarked x-ray, when lub had carefully pushed the door shut, and both of those who had just entered found places again in the half circle before the red embers of the fire. the interior was only dimly lighted, because they only had a single lantern to do duty. but then it served them amply, because no one meant to try and read; and whenever a fresh lot of wood was thrown on the coals it flashed up brilliantly. that firelight was a part of the charm of the whole thing. they could have lamps, gas, or even electric light at home any time they wanted; but only under such conditions as these was it possible to enjoy the mystic firelight. "why, yes," ethan replied, "i guess the woods folks are waking up. you can hear crickets a fiddling away for dear life, and other sorts of insects besides. then there's a pair of screech owls calling to each other; a whip-poor-will whooping things up; and most of all the frogs have started in to get busy with their chorus. and say, i'm going to promise you a feast to-morrow night." "frogs'-legs, you mean, i take it, ethan." phil quickly exclaimed, looking pleased at the prospect. "yes, because there's some corkers out there; and leave it to me to get 'em. i'm an authority on frogs'-legs, you know. and when they fetch a dollar a pound every time, you c'n see that they ought to be reckoned a treat." "a dollar a pound, did you say?" demanded x-ray, as if he fancied he had not heard aright; whereat he had his shins kicked by lub, who happened to sit next to him, as a warning that he was treading on perilous ground. "why, yes, that's the price i always get!" declared ethan, loftily. "you see, it pays to do things up in style. my shipments look so attractive to mr. brandon that he says it is a pleasure to just open my box. of course all of you fellows like frogs'-legs?" phil and x-ray tyson immediately declared they believed they could never get enough of the dainty. "to tell you the honest truth," said lub, contritely, "i never tasted any that i know of. my folks don't seem to care for queer things." "queer things!" almost shouted ethan; "well, i like that now! why, don't you know that frogs'-legs are as delicate as squab. you'd think you had a spring chicken, only when you come to think, it has just a _little_ taste of fish about it." "oh! my, i don't know as i'd fancy that very much," complained lub. "huh! i know you better than to believe that, lub," he was told by the other; "and i'll just have to make sure to lay in a plenty, because i c'n see you passing in your platter seven times, to say: 'please see if there isn't just one more helping for me, won't you, ethan; they're the finest things i ever set my teeth in, and that's no lie!'" "well, wait and see, that's all," lub concluded. "i'm willing to be convinced. i mightn't care for a thing like that at home, with a white tablecloth, silver, and cut glass all around me; but then it's a different case when you're up in the woods, with your camp appetite along, and going just half crazy because supper is so slow cooking, with all those odors stealing to your nose. try it on me, ethan; i'd be willing to taste even dog just once, if i was hungry, and met up with a bunch of indians." "i'm not afraid of the verdict," announced the boy who raised frogs, and thought he had a right to know considerable about them, since he topped the market with the gilt-edge prices he received. so they talked, and joked, as the evening wore along. several times they caught lub in the act of yawning, and he was of course immediately poked in the ribs as they besought him to please not swallow the cabin while about it. "but i tell you i am sleepy; and no matter what the rest of you say i'm going to get my bunk made up. i want to be in apple-pie shape for to-morrow, for i expect it's going to be a red-letter day with us." each of them had carried a warm blanket in their pack, which was one reason for the bulk of these burdens. they had not been quite as heavy as they looked; doubtless the greatest load consisted of canned goods, and food of various kinds, which they would not have to pack out of the woods again. lub was somewhat fastidious about how he wanted his bed made up. three separate times did he pull it to pieces again, to start in afresh. "hey, stop bothering so much with that!" x-ray tyson called out, having been observing what the other was doing. "you certainly are the greatest old woman i ever ran across, lub." "and you'll never make a woodsman, as long as you're so finicky, either," ethan warned him. "'the happy-go-lucky kind is best in the end. they give their blanket a fling, and just crawl under. and they sleep the soundest too." "oh! well, i'll learn some day, perhaps," said lub, not at all disconcerted by all this raillery, for it fell from him as water does from a duck's back. "but i've got it fixed to suit me at last. this bunch of dead grass rolled in the pillow slip i fetched will make me a dandy pillow. i'm glad you gave me a hint to bring one along, phil." "old woodsmen use then? boots for a pillow," chuckled ethan, which remark caused the particular lub to shudder, and shake his head, as though he began to despair of ever reaching that point where he could claim to be a seasoned veteran. while the others were again indulging in some sort of discussion, lub, thinking he was unobserved, sauntered over to one of the little windows which the builder of the birch cabin had arranged so that he might have light, and yet shut out the cold air of winter. "oh, come here, won't you, phil; there's somebody walking along by the trees, and standing still to watch the cabin every once in a while!" when lub said this in a voice that trembled with excitement the other three boys of course hastened to scramble to their feet and reach his side. "whereabouts, lub?" demanded x-ray tyson, eagerly, as he pressed his nose against the glass, and occupied so much space in doing so that he prevented the others from having a chance to see fairly; so that phil and ethan deliberately drew him to one side. "there, over yonder where the moon shines between the little second-growth trees!" the discoverer went on to say, huskily, and pointing a trembling stubby finger as he spoke. "there, didn't you see then, boys?" "there certainly is something, and it moved!" admitted ethan. "oh! it's a man, i'm telling you!" hissed lub; "didn't i see him plain as the nose on your face, x-ray, and that's going some. he was moving along where the shadows die out. now he's past that place. it's a man, believe me; and he's meaning to sneak in here to-night, to rob us. there, see him moving again, will you?" "yes, i do believe it is a man, bending over at that," agreed phil. "he's moving off, seems like," observed x-ray, who had not altogether fancied lub's allusion to his nose, because it _was_ rather large. "mebbe he's seen us peeking out and thinks it's time he sheered off?" suggested ethan. "had we better collar him, phil?" asked x-ray, who was inclined to be very quick in his actions, and often without due thought making some move he was likely to regret later. "no, that would be silly," decided phil. "the only weapons we've got consist of one revolver, a couple of camp hatchets, and some hunting knives. how do we know what he might do, or how many of them there may be? let him look at the cabin, and then go away. i don't think we'll be bothered by anybody." "and i'm not going to lie awake thinking about it," said ethan. "if he comes in here, and finds anything worth while, we could surround him and make him go shares, you know." "there, he's moving off at last," said lub; "but i don't like all this mystery. who is he, and what does he want? we'd be happier if we moved on, and built a cabin somewhere else." "what!" exclaimed the belligerent x-ray, "clear out when phil owns the whole shebang, and has invited us up? well, i guess not!" chapter v the sudden awakening "thought you meant to go to bed, lub?" said ethan, some little time afterwards, as they were all sitting around again. "oh! somehow i seem to have gotten over my sleepy spell," admitted the other, frankly; "perhaps it was the excitement over seeing that prowler outside that did it. i'm as wide awake as a hawk right now." "well, it's just the other way with me," x-ray remarked, yawning almost as furiously as lub had been doing before; "i'm getting dopey, and mean to turn in pretty soon. if nothing else happens to bother, nobody's going to hear a word from me after i hit the hay." lub looked at him painfully, but he did not think it best to ask further questions lest he stir up a hornets' nest. there was something on lub's mind. phil understood this from various signs. he began to get an inkling as to what its nature might prove to be, when several times he saw the other lean forward and look long and earnestly up the chimney. "what d'ye expect to see up there, lub?" asked ethan, who had also it seemed been watching the other. "this isn't the time for old santa claus to come down with his pack of toys. his reindeer need snow for their sledge, you know." "will you let the fire go out when we turn in, phil?" asked lub, ignoring all such little annoyances as this. "why, i suppose so," he was told. "if it was cold weather it might be a different thing; but to-night is pretty warm, and we'll get little air in here, with the door closed. yes, the last wood has been thrown on the fire; and to tell the truth there's only a handful more in the house, which we'll save to start things with in the morning." "what did you ask that for, lub?" x-ray made this inquiry. he realized that the other must have something on his mind, or he would not have spoken as he did. and x-ray was curious to know what its character might turn out to be. "oh, nothing much; only it strikes me that's a whopping big chimney, that's all," replied the other, a little confused. "i see what you mean," said phil; "you're thinking that even if we do close the door as we intend, if a thief wanted to get in here he could creep down such a wide-throated chimney? well, i shouldn't be at all surprised if he could, providing he took the notion." "i hate to think of being sound asleep, and not know a single thing about it," pursued lub, "you know how i caught that darky stealing our chickens last winter? i set a trap for him, and gave him such a scare that he just crouched in a corner of the coop with all the hens cackling like mad, till father went out and got him by the scruff of the neck." "mebbe you'd like to set one of your fine traps here then, lub," suggested ethan. "i think i could do it, if the rest of you didn't object," lub pursued. "please yourself," said phil. "i'm off to bed right now," added x-ray tyson, "so you c'n have the whole blooming field to yourself. be sure you don't get nabbed in your own contraption, lub. now, you may smile at my saying that, but it wouldn't be the first time a bitter got bitten." both phil and ethan began to stretch, and exhibited other positive signs of being ready to turn in. it would appear that none of the rest of them gave much thought to the possibility of their having unwelcome visitors during the night. lub envied them their calm indifference; but he felt that he would not be doing his whole duty unless he carried out that idea of the trap. he saw phil saunter over to the door, which, with something of an effort he managed to get to close tight enough so that the bar could be dropped into place. that avenue seemed quite safe; and as the windows had each one a couple of stout bars fastened across them, it looked as though there could be no ingress unless the intruder were a mere child, or else made use of that wide-throated slab-and-hard-mud chimney. the other boys were more or less amused to see what the ingenious lub was doing, in order to further his plot. first of all he arranged the stools and other bulky objects that he could gather about the room in such fashion that they formed a species of rude barricade on either side of the hearth, where the red embers still held forth. "looks like a regular wild animal trap, all right!" ethan sang out, as though more or less surprised that lub should know as much as he did about such things. "that forces the intruder to step out in the middle; and i guess now that's where you're going to fix things to give him a warm reception, eh, lub?" "you wait and see," was all the other would say. they quickly understood what he had in mind. everything they had along in the shape of cooking utensils, that would be apt to make a jangling noise if thrown down, was utilized. the big frying pan crowned the pyramid, and lub was very particular just how he placed this, so that the least jar was apt to dislodge the aluminum skillet, which would be certain to arouse even the soundest sleeper when it rattled on the floor. "don't kick over our grub that we've got piled up close by you there, lub," warned x-ray, after chuckling to see how the other was making such elaborate arrangements; for he did not have the remotest idea they would amount to anything in the end. "that ought to finish your trap, lub, i should think," said phil, who was almost ready to climb into his bunk, having removed most of his clothing, and arranged his sleeping quarters in a jiffy; he too had a small pillow-slip filled with some of the hay, upon which he expected to rest his head comfortably. "why, yes, i don't seem to think of anything else we've got that would help to make a big noise," the other replied, soberly; "what with four cups, as many platters, the coffeepot, and the frying pan ought to make plenty of racket. but say, you should have seen the heap of tin-pans i piled up the time i caught that chicken thief." "if you had much more than this lot," ethan announced, "i don't wonder the poor critter was scared nearly stiff, and could only crouch there till your dad came and arrested him." "and on my part," said x-ray tyson, with another wide yawn, "i only hope there doesn't anything happen to start that pyramid tumbling, that's all. if i was dreaming of something lovely it'd sure be a shame to get waked up by such a row, and to find that it was all brought about by a pannikin slipping out of place." "no danger of that happening," lub told him; "i've tested it all, and you can depend on things holding." by slow degrees all of them managed to get settled down. even slow moving lub was finally snug in his bunk, though he had to shuffle around for some time while settling himself into the most comfortable position. ethan threatened all sorts of dire things unless he stopped moving about, because it happened that the sleeping place chosen by the fat camper was just above his. "i c'n hear it creakin' like anything," announced ethan; "and if you keep up that squirming business much longer, lub, i tell you she'll come down on me. think i'm hankering about being smashed flatter'n a pancake, do you? i don't see why you had to go and pick out one of the upper berths, just because you imagined it was a mite bigger'n any other. 'tain't fair, i tell you. go easy now, and quit that moving about. if you've got the itch say so, and we'll rub you down with something. stop it, right now!" perhaps being scolded in this fashion had some effect upon lub. at any rate he concluded that what couldn't be cured would have to be endured. so he did his level best to forget all about possible night visitors of all types, and tried to lose himself in sleep. phil had put out the lantern the last thing. he kept it close by his hand, with matches where he could produce a light in a hurry, in case one was required. the fire had burned low. now and then a little flame would spring up and make a faint buzzing sound. once or twice when this occurred phil saw lub raise his head and look earnestly toward the chimney; but he must have finally decided that it was an innocent noise, for with its second repetition he failed to move. "he's off," phil told himself, with a slight sigh of satisfaction, for from the way lub was acting he had begun to fear they were in for a bad night of it. lying there phil rested his head on his arm and looked out into the cabin. when the dying flame occasionally leaped up and burned fitfully for a dozen seconds or so he liked to watch it, and also glance around him as well as he was able. phil fairly loved everything that had to do with outdoor life. the dank odor of the woods filled him with a sense of delight that he could never find words to describe. he believed it must have come down to him from some long line of ancestors, this love for nature, and a desire to commune with her. fortune had been kind to him in giving him the means to enjoy such outings; and it added much to his satisfaction to have these fine fellows along with him. they were very dear to phil. not one of them would he have willingly missed if such a disaster could be avoided. then as he lay there waiting until the drowsiness overtook him again, he allowed his fugitive thoughts to once more wrestle with the mystery connected with the late occupants of that birch bark cabin. who could they be, and whither had they flown at the approach of himself and three chums? it was hardly any accident, for all the signs pointed to a flight that bordered on panic. whoever they were they must have some good and sufficient reason for fearing the advent of strangers. that could only mean they dreaded the strong arm of the law; that there was _some_ reason why they wished to keep from contact with all whom they did not know. well, phil concluded, there was no use of bothering about them. they had taken a hurried departure, and that was the end of it. he had reason to believe that a child had been there, and possibly a woman as well. while they had not found such tell-tale evidence as a hair-pin, still the little silver thimble which he himself had discovered on a shelf just before retiring, and which he had not mentioned to the others, because he hated to get lub wide-awake again, seemed to be pretty strong evidence that way. when he found himself yawning again phil decided it was time he closed his eyes, and allowed his senses to steal away. the fire had ceased flaring up, and was dying out rapidly, though the ashes would likely retain some of their heat until well on toward dawn. the last phil remembered was listening to the weird call of that persistent whip-poor-will, perched in some neighboring tree, and sending forth its shrill discordant cries. twice after that he awoke, and found all well. he could hear the steady breathing of his comrades near by; and lub, lying flat on his back perhaps, was making a grating noise not unlike a snore. the second time phil struck a match, one of the silent kind, and took a look at his watch, curious to know how the night was wearing away. he found it was two o'clock, and that the guess he had made was not far amiss. it took him some little time to get asleep again after that, but in the end he managed to accomplish it. daylight would be coming by four o'clock and as the novelty of the outing was still upon them, it was to be expected that the boys would want to be up with the birds--that is, all but lub, who loved sleeping better than plunging into the lake for an early morning swim. it was fated, however, that they were not to be allowed to slumber calmly on until the approach of the sun hurried the round moon out of sight below the western horizon. a most unearthly racket sounding awoke every one. if an earthquake had occurred it could hardly have created a greater noise. and the big frying pan proved that the supreme confidence which lub had placed in its ability to jangle had not been in the least overdone; for it certainly played a fandango as it pitched over on the hard floor of the cabin, and danced some sort of jig, with other things adding their little mite to swell the chorus. four fellows came tumbling out of their bunks as one. "phil, oh! phil, strike a light!" cried one. "where's my gun?" growled x-ray tyson, thinking that in this way he must give fresh alarm to the bold intruder, whoever he might prove to be. "phil, the thief has come down the chimney, just as i feared!" called lub, who in the darkness hardly knew which way to look. as he managed to get his bearings to some degree he was sure he could detect a man on his hands and knees crawling over the floor. at the same time he heard a whining sound, as well as what seemed to be scratching; and it struck terror to the heart of poor lub. he fancied that others were without, waiting for the first thief to open the door, in order that they too might rush in, and help make prisoners of the four mountain boys. just then lub to his great relief saw a tiny flame spring up close by. this he knew must be a match in the hand of phil bradley, who was meaning to light his lantern. to lub it seemed an age before the flame was communicated to the wick, and yet it could only have been a comparatively few seconds, no longer than phil would have taken under ordinary conditions. his hand did not tremble appreciably; and while in an undoubted hurry he went about his self appointed task with a deliberation that promised a successful result. then came the snap as the globe was pressed into place. the room was no longer in darkness. it was possible to see; and with his heart feeling as though it were trying to climb up in his throat lub fixed his eyes on the spot where he had discovered that moving, creeping object. what he saw thrilled him through and through, so that for the life of him lub could not move, or even utter a sound above a whisper. nor were the other boys much better off, to tell the truth, for they all stood there as though rooted firmly to the spot. chapter vi getting rid of an intruder "whoo! it's a bear!" yelped lub, who looked as though his eyes were trying to pop out of his head. "tell me, am i seeing things? is this a wild dream, or am i gazing on a real, live, woolly bear?" cried x-ray tyson. just then, as though suspecting that the clustered boys had evil designs on him, the small black bear actually growled, and showed its white teeth. "here, keep back, you!" exclaimed ethan; "we haven't lost any bear that we know about. where'd you come from anyhow, and what d'ye want here?" "ethan--don't you see, he came down the chimney!" gasped lub. "just what he must have done," added phil, who was gripping the only firearm they owned, and wondering what effect a peppering of its tiny missiles would have on the tough hide of a black bear. "i bet you he was nosing around up there, and smelled our grub," suggested x-ray, a sudden gleam of light dawning upon him. "and leaning too far over while he sniffed, he just _fell in_; that's what you mean, don't you?" demanded lub. "looks that way," assented the other; "but what under the sun are we going to do about it, i'd like to know? he don't mean to crawl up again like he came down. see how he acts; i bet you he got scorched, because there's still some red coals in the fireplace, you notice." the four boys were huddled in a bunch. it seemed like a case of "in union there is strength" with them just then. and the bear stood where he had been at the time of first discovery. he had his snout thrust out, and was "sniffing" at a great rate. perhaps it was the human odor that interested him, though lub got an idea in his head it may have been the food that was so close by. "phil, do you think he'll attack us?" lub asked. "i hardly think so," replied the other, steadily, after closely examining the appearance of the intruder; "that is, if we keep from making him more furious than he is now." "guess he's some surprised to find himself shut in with four husky boys?" suggested ethan. "and say, he looks kind of small to me," observed x-ray. "i was just going to tell you that," phil went on to say; "i believe it's only a two-thirds grown cub after all." "but even at that he's a dangerous customer, with those sharp claws, and his ugly white teeth," protested lub. "that's right," added ethan. "if we tackled him, chances are we'd be sorry for it, unless we had something to knock him on the head with. that makes me think of my bully little camp hatchet. watch me sneak it right now!" he started to move softly toward the spot where he had discovered the article in question. the bear began to growl more fiercely than ever. "careful, ethan," cautioned phil; "take it slow, and duck back just as soon as you've hitched on to the hatchet. stop and wait till he cools down. now, only one more step; then you can lean over and reach it." all of them fairly held their breath, for it was a toss-up as to whether the suspicious bear would conclude to attack ethan or not. the growls and sniffing continued, but the boy managed to get his fingers fastened upon the handle of his tool. "now, back up!" phil told him. step by step ethan pushed away from the dangerous locality. the bear did not attempt to follow, but resumed his former way of pushing out his snout, and sniffing. something evidently smelled mighty good to him, lub thought. "this is all very well," ventured x-ray tyson, who had also managed to arm himself with a billet of wood, "but somebody tell me what the end's going to be. do we have to camp outside in the cold, cold world; or will we invite mr. bear to skip? that's what i want to know. phil, how about it?" by now phil had realized that unless they did something to provoke the bear to extremes they did not need to fear an encounter with his sharp claws. a bright idea had struck him, which he hastened to bring to the notice of his chums. "if ever we go to tell this story, lots of fellows will give us the merry laugh, you understand, boys," he remarked; "and if you're all willing, i'd like to settle it so we'd have the best of proof that a bear _did_ come down our chimney in the night time." "phil, do you mean that you want to snap off a flashlight picture of the beast backed up against our fireplace?" demanded x-ray tyson, as quick as anything. "that's what i meant," he was immediately told. "see, here's the whole apparatus ready for business. all i'd want you to do would be to turn down the lantern when i gave the word." "i'll look after that part of it," agreed x-ray, instantly. "and i'll hold my hatchet, ready to whack him square between the eyes if he tries any football rush on us," ethan remarked, grimly. "what can i do to help?" demanded lub, weakly, yet evidently not relishing the idea of being utterly ignored in all these valorous preparations. "if you want to have a place in the lime light, lub," ventured x-ray, sarcastically, "s'pose then you just step up and engage the bear in a catch-as-catch-can wrestling match. it'll be a splendid chance to prove to every fellow at home how you had more nerve than any of the rest of us!" of course lub knew this was all spoken in satire. "you'll have to excuse me this time, x-ray; i wouldn't want to run a chance of spoiling phil's picture for anything. guess i'll crawl up in my bunk again, so as not to take up so much space. i'm afraid that if ethan gets to swinging that wood chopper around recklessly he might gouge me." meanwhile phil had arranged his little apparatus as he wanted, aiming directly at the bear. he knew that it was focussed just right for a short distance, because all that had been fixed previously, it being his intention to have small animals snap off their own pictures at about the same focussing point, by pulling at a baited trigger that was attached to the flashlight cartridge by a cord. "all ready, x-ray?" he asked, presently. "yep--let her go, phil!" as he spoke the holder of the lantern turned down the flame. immediately the interior of the cabin became almost pitch dark. the bear could be heard sniffing as before, and evidently regaining some of his courage, which must have received a rude jolt following that plunge down the chimney. suddenly there was a blinding flash. it was all over in a second, but the boys could hear the bear scrambling on the hearth. perhaps the coals burned his feet again, and forced him to abandon any idea of trying to escape by the same means he had employed in reaching the interior of the shack. "light up again!" ordered phil; "it's all over!" so x-ray again turned up the wick of the lantern. the bear was standing there, growling, and looking more belligerent than before. evidently he did not altogether like this sort of treatment. that dazzling flash had blinded him. it may have made him think of the lightning that went with a storm; and there was now no friendly hollow tree into which he could creep; only those strange, two-legged creatures whom instinct told him were enemies of his race. "looks almost ready to tackle us, don't he, phil?" chirped lub, from the security of the second-story bunk. ethan was swinging that shining hatchet wickedly back and forth. "he'd better not, if he knows what's good for him," he was saying, with determination written upon his set jaws and flashing eyes; "i'd just like to get one good belt at him square between those wicked little eyes of his. we'd have bear steak for breakfast, let me tell you." "but remember that the law is on bears yet, and if we killed him we might run up against a game warden and be arrested!" lub warned him; for lub was always well posted on all matter that pertained to the law, as became the son and heir of a well-known judge. "we don't want to fight except there's no other way," said phil; who wished to restrain both ethan and x-ray; for he knew they were apt to be impulsive, and it would not take much to precipitate a battle royal with the four-legged visitor. "but what's the answer, then?" demanded the latter chum, indignantly; "do we sit down and watch him gobble all our fine grub without lifting a hand to stop him? say, i'd be ashamed to tell the story afterwards; and him only a half-grown bear in the bargain." "he don't seem to like that smoke you made, phil?" remarked lub, who had an unusually fine place for observation, being elevated above the heads of his crouching chums. "couldn't you keep that going, and just force him to climb up the chimney again?" "my flashlight cartridges are too valuable to be wasted like that, lub," he was informed by the other boy. "then isn't there some way he could be made to retreat?" asked x-ray. "what if the whole four of us started to advance, shooing with our hands, and whooping things up, wouldn't he just understand that he _had_ to climb, whether he got his toes scorched again or not?" phil shook his head. "i've got another idea, and it's so simple i only wonder nobody thought of it before," he told them. "the rest of you stay here where you are." "i object, if you're meaning to tackle the varmint alone and single-handed, phil!" x-ray burst out with. "i'm not quite so simple as all that," phil flashed back at him; "you can see i'm heading the other way." "oh! i know what he means," burst out lub just then; "it's the door! phil's going to take down that bar we pushed in place, and open up. hurrah! that sounds good to me! phil knows how to do the trick. you trust him every time, and you'll never get left." of course it was all simple enough now, and if lub could see through it the other pair could also. to be sure, phil meant to swing wide the door, and thus invite the departure of their unwelcome guest. they saw him reach the front of the cabin. the bear was apparently suspicious of any sort of movement, and continued to growl threateningly. so long as he did not actually start to make an attack ethan believed he could afford to remain idle, and hold his ground. phil appeared to be having some little trouble about getting the bar loose. the door did not shut closely, and it had taken the combined strength of two of them to fasten it securely. "give it a hunch, and then slip the bar up, quick, phil!" called out lub; for as he had helped close it he knew best how the thing could be done. phil made a third attempt, and this time succeeded, for they saw him open the door, and then back away, still gripping the stout bar in his hands, as though he considered it worth having in an emergency. "there you are, mister; now please get a move on you!" called lub. the animal must have already sniffed the outer air, to judge from his actions. he may have also suspected some sort of cunning trap, for he did not immediately start on a rush toward the gap in the wall. "he guesses you're laying for him, phil," ethan remarked; "p'raps you'd better back up and join our squad here. there's another upper berth, if so be you think you'd like to join our brave chum lub." "huh! think you're smart, don't you?" muttered the one referred to; but evidently the slur cut to the quick, for what did lub do but bundle out of his bunk and actually take his place in line with the others, as though to show them that at least it was not _fear_ that had caused him to climb up out of the way. "i guess he's going to make the run for it!" exclaimed x-ray tyson. "everybody start to waving their arms when he comes, and keep him going. whoop! hurry up your stumps, old bear; this is a white man's cabin, and you're not wanted!" all at once the beast concluded it would be wise for him to accept of the one lone chance for escape. that open door, and the sweet smell of the outside air appealed irresistibly to his nature. "there he comes, boys!" snapped ethan; and with that they all began to make extravagant gestures, at the same time using threatening language that must have appalled the poor bear, could he have understood its meaning. snapping and growling he scuttled past the line of excited boys, headed for the open door. he presented such a ferocious aspect that none of them cared to do the slightest thing to bar his forward progress; indeed, just the contrary seemed to be the case. something must have influenced lub, for that worthy actually stepped forward out of line; and as the beast shuffled hastily past he let drive with his right foot, just for all the world as though he were trying for a drop kick on the gridiron, with three thousand breathless spectators watching to see if he would make the goal. then the bear, thus urged on by every possible means, went hastily through the open door, and was seen no more. the cabin was once again in their undisputed possession. "three cheers!" shouted x-ray tyson, who after the manner of boys in general, was so completely filled with enthusiasm that he could only think of one way in which to get rid of the surplus "steam," which was by shouting. the others joined in the noise, and if any one happened to be within a mile of that birch bark cabin just then, before the break of day, he must have been greatly mystified to understand what all the racket could be about. chapter vii on the border of the lake "did you all see me kick him out?" proudly demanded lub, who evidently believed that by this action he had established his reputation for bravery beyond all dispute. "sure, we did," declared ethan, "and he must have been some surprised bear when he felt your heft slam up against him. you'd better look out if ever you meet up with that chap again, lub; they say bears have got wonderful memories, and he'll never forgive such an insult." the door was fastened again, and the boys climbed into their blankets, for the night air coming in had given them something of a chill. "no need of trying to go to sleep again," announced phil; "because daylight'll be along in seven winks. fact is, i thought it looked that way in the east when i shut the door, though the moon shining like it does fools you some. but it's after four, and dawn comes early these summer days." leaving the lantern burning, they lay there and talked matters over. all of them had been so worked up, what with that sudden awakening, and the row that followed, that they would have found it difficult to have resumed their interrupted sleep even though several more hours must elapse before morning. lub felt that he had been fully vindicated. "you fellows thought it smart to laugh at me when i hinted we might have a thief come down the chimney, but see what happened!" he went on to say, desiring to rub it in a little. "well, of course none of us ever thought a yearling bear would drop on the roof from a limb of a tree, and smelling our grub down the chimney lean so far over that he'd pitch headlong in," ventured ethan, who had apparently figured it all out, and knew just about how the thing happened. "if a bear can do it, any sort of animal, or even a bad man might follow suit," suggested x-ray tyson, wickedly. lub took up the dare instantly. "just what i was thinking," he hastened to say; "and you mark me that when morning comes i'm going to climb up on the roof and look around. leave it to me to fix something across the vent of that old chimney, so even a 'coon couldn't squeeze through." "like as not you'll smother us with the smoke!" grumbled ethan. "not much i will," he was promptly assured; "i know enough for that. if i had a piece of heavy wire-mesh like's on the windows of our stable at home, it'd be the ticket; but as it is i'll have to use something else. i mean to sleep nights without thinking that all sorts of ferocious wild beasts are aiming to drop in on us without invitations." when they saw that the dawn had really come the boys began to move around. phil led the way to the border of the lake near by and they took an early morning duck. the water was pretty chilly, but then growing lads can stand almost anything. no doubt some of them may even on a dare have braved a skim of new ice on a pond in the early spring. after a bit, when they had finished their dressing, preparations for breakfast came next in order. things began to look decidedly comfortable about that time. they forgot all unpleasant things, and the rattle of tongues would have made any one believe in the story of the tower of babel. every one had his plans laid out, and numerous pet schemes to work. phil of course meant to roam around the neighborhood, and see what discoveries he could make in connection with the haunts of small animals, or places where they "used," to speak after the manner of a hunter or trapper. if he could find such a favorite spot it was his plan to set his trap on the succeeding night, with the intention, not of harming the creature, but getting him to touch off the flashlight, and thus take his own picture. lub's enthusiasm seemed to have petered out, in that he manifested no immediate intention of climbing to the roof of the cabin. the truth of the matter was, lub always showed a disposition to put things off; procrastination was one of his greatest faults, even as too much haste had always been x-ray tyson's besetting sin. there was the whole day before him; so what need of undue speed. taking things easy had become second nature with lub. besides, as a final argument, he had gorged himself with the fine breakfast, which of course he had helped to cook; and it would be too bad to risk indigestion while on this outing. so lub just lay around, and bothered some of the others by asking innumerable questions. still, he was always willing to assist if called upon, and for that he was forgiven his lazy habits. it was toward the middle of the morning when phil came back again, after roaming around. his manner gave them to understand that he had met with some success. "find any place to make your lay-out to-night, phil?" asked lub. "yes, one splendid spot where a 'coon seems to travel down to the water's edge, to fish, or something or other," phil replied. "you can see his tracks going and coming as plain as anything. i've marked a place where i can tie my camera, and fix the bait so he'll have to be in range when the flash comes. this afternoon i'm meaning to go further afoot, and see if i can run across bigger game." "you certainly look as if you enjoyed this sort of thing," ventured lub, a little enviously; for he often wished that he had it in him to love tramping, and all that pertained to woodland sports. "why, it seems to grow on you," admitted phil, with considerable animation. "in the start i didn't care a great deal about it, and sometimes called myself silly to want to spend so much time trying to circumvent little animals, and get a flashlight picture of them. it's hard work, too, because they're not only shy but cunning as well. what little i've managed to do along that line has made me keen on the subject. and right now i believe i'd rather shoot a moose with a camera than with my marlin rifle." ethan laughed a little, and shook his head. "i confess that i don't understand it, phil," he went on to say. "the real thrill must be lacking. you can only get it when you're bent on bagging your game. that's the thrill that comes down to us from our savage ancestors who had to live by hunting." "i'm able to judge of that, ethan, because i've tried both ways; and i give you my word i feel just as much pleasure when i'm trying to outwit a cunning fox as you do when you trap one. i get his picture, and you have his pelt, that's all the difference." "well," replied ethan with a grin, "when that same pelt brings you in more than a cool three hundred, it makes considerable difference in the end." lub began to make faces, and swallow very fast at hearing that, as though he had come near choking; but in fact it was to keep from chuckling, and thus arousing suspicion in the mind of the hoodwinked ethan. "i noticed you down on your hands and knees, ethan, over where we thought we saw that moving figure of a man last night," phil went on to say, changing the subject hastily, partly from the same reason that influenced lub to cough and gasp; "did you find out anything?" at that the other assumed a mysterious air. "well, first of all, we weren't mistaken, you want to know, boys," he remarked. "then it was a sure-enough man?" asked lub, beginning to be deeply interested. "that's what it was," ethan assured him. "i found his trail as easy as turning over my hand. even followed it some ways off, but lost the same among the rocks. when we saw him turn away he didn't come back again, but kept straight on." "he must have been watching us through one of the windows?" suggested lub. "if he was, he made up his mind we were too many for him to tackle, and that he had better clear out for good," ethan continued, as though he had been figuring it all out beforehand, and had his mind made up. "do you think he could have been the same party who was in our cabin before we came along, phil?" asked lub. "it looks that way," the other told him. "if this man had just been a stranger, up here to try the fishing, or something like that, he would have knocked on the door, and tried to make our acquaintance. as it was, he watched us, and then cleared out." "let's hope he won't think to come back again," lub pursued. "better hurry and get that strainer fixed on the top of our chimney, lub," advised ethan, a little maliciously; "first a bear, and the next thing to drop down on us might be a real man." "oh! leave that to me," the other assured him; "i haven't quite figured it out in my mind just how i'll fix it, but after lunch i'll get busy. and believe me, when the fenwick screen is applied, not even a 'possum or a squirrel can invade our cabin home. it'll be impervious to man or beast." "better get out a patent right away on the thing then, lub," he was advised by the scoffing ethan, "or some wise duck will be stealing the idea from you." "where's x-ray?" asked phil, suddenly noticing that the fourth member of the camping expedition was missing. ethan looked at lub, inquiringly. "you see i was so busy reading the signs of that trail i never once thought a thing about any one else. lub, you must have seen where he went, didn't you?" "last i saw of him he was down on the lake shore," replied the other. "he had his fishing rod along, and i understood him to say he meant to look for some grasshoppers or crickets or something for bait, because he felt trout hungry." "x-ray has a weakness for fish, you know," ethan declared. "he said he'd be the boss fisherman of the bunch while we were up here, and even dared me to take him up, the one to win who could show the greatest number, biggest variety, and the heaviest fish of all that were taken. i think i'll go him, if i can find time to bother." "and i'll encourage you both to the limit," chuckled lub; "because that means we're bound to have all the fine trout we can eat while we're here. may the best man win. i know how to cook 'em to beat the band, by rolling each trout in cracker crumbs, and then frying in hot grease from fat salt pork. makes my mouth fairly water just to mention it." "we won't forget that, lub," ethan told him; "and you can consider that you're hereby appointed the official fish frying man of the lot. for if there's anything i hate to cook it's fish. eating's another story, and i always try to do my duty there." "i thought i heard some one call out then," said lub, looking around him. "must have been a crow cawing, or a gray squirrel barking," suggested ethan. they listened for a dozen seconds, but heard nothing. "i reckon i was mistaken about it," admitted lub, finally; "only i wondered if x-ray could have tumbled into any sort of trouble. he's spry enough as a rule, and not built like me." "no danger of him not letting off a whoop if he ran up against anything like a rough deal," ethan ventured. "still, no harm done if we stepped down to the edge of the water, and took a little look around," suggested phil. "we've none of us paid any attention to the lake so far, only to take that early morning dip in the same. it seems to be about a quarter of a mile across to the further shore, and with lots of bays and nooks, as well as points of land jutting out like fingers. i'd think it was a splendid piece of water for trout; and i'm glad i own some land fronting on lake surprise." as they turned in the direction of the edge of the water lub's eyes were frequently cast upward toward the rude chimney that surmounted the back of the cabin wall. evidently he was endeavoring to figure out just how he might accomplish the task he had taken upon his shoulders, and arrange things, so that while the smoke had free access to the open air, all manner of intruders would be kept out. when lub did undertake anything, no matter how simple, he was apt to throw his whole heart and soul into the accomplishment of the same. to him it meant that his reputation was at stake; unless he made good his chums would have the laugh on him for a long time to come. ethan happened to be in the lead as they advanced. that may have accounted for the fact that it was him who brought them to a sudden standstill by throwing up a warning hand, and exclaiming sharply: "what's that i hear? sounds mighty like the drip of a paddle to me!" "and there's a line moving out from the shore!" added phil, pointing; "there's _something_ back of that point, and moving in the water. perhaps it may only be an old mother duck with her little brood. no, there it goes again. ethan, you're right about it; that's the dip of a paddle!" "whoever's got a canoe up here, they're heading this way, because you can see from the ripples," ethan continued, eagerly; for versed in many of the secrets of woodcraft the boy was quick to notice which way the successive ripples were moving. "watch now, because he's going to push out from behind that tongue of wooded land!" said phil, sharply. all of them stood there as if rooted to the spot. their eyes were glued on the point mentioned by phil, and back of which must be the canoe that was sending all those ripples forth, away from the land. "there it comes!" breathed lub, who was holding his breath, and consequently getting, frightfully red in the face. they could see the raised prow of what looked to be a genuine birch bark canoe poke in sight. in these modern days when even the indians up in maine manufacture up-to-date canvas canoes by the thousand, it is a rare event to run across one made of birch bark. the trees that are large enough for the purpose have about all been destroyed, so the indians claim, which accounts for the revolution in canoes. further and further moved the boat. now half of its length was seen, then two-thirds, and finally the stern had passed the end of the point. the three watchers could now see that it was being softly driven by a paddler who sat in the stern, and wielded a single blade. all of them stared, and lub, strange to say was the first to find utterance so as to voice his surprise. "why, phil, ethan, don't you see who it is?" he ejaculated; "who but our chum, x-ray tyson, sitting there as big as life, and heading straight toward us! where under the sun d'ye reckon he found that canoe; and whose can it be?" chapter viii the mountain boys in camp "whoopee! hello, x-ray, where'd you pick it up?" when ethan called this out the paddler waved at them, and laughed. "wait till i push her nose up on that fine sandy beach, and i'll tell you all about it, boys," he answered. two minutes later and the prow of the birch bark canoe glided softly up on the shore. laying his paddle down in the boat x-ray proceeded to pass along toward the bow, so that he could step out without getting his feet wet. meanwhile lub was looking the canoe over, noting that it seemed to be in very good condition, and not at all weather worn, as though it had been lying in the bushes for several winters and summers. "i ran across her," the finder started in to explain, "while i was pushing along through the scrub, meaning to get to a certain point. i'd picked up some hoppers and crickets, and wanted to give the trout a try, to see if they were hungry. whoever owned the boat had hid her away; and not so long ago, either, for there was a wet streak on her keel that no rain had made. she was lying bottom-up, of course." "have you been fishing in the canoe all this time?" asked phil, sniffing the air, and then stepping forward to look for himself; upon which x-ray bent over and lifted out a string of a dozen pretty fair-sized trout. "how's that for a starter, eh, ethan?" he demanded joyously. "think you can beat that for a beginning? right back of that point there's the boss bay; and say, you couldn't drop in a stone without hitting a trout, they're that thick. i stuck right in the same place all along; no need to move around." "you got a fine mess, though i believe i could eat that many myself," ventured lub, eyeing the string hungrily. "oh! we can get all we want," he was told; "it's only a question of finding the bait. they're just asking to be taken on. it's hit and come with them as soon as you drop your line in. the bait hardly sinks a foot before it's taken. i never saw anything like it in all my life. and fight, say, they bent my rod double lots of times. i lost more'n i saved." "but about the canoe," phil went on to say, "the chances are it must belong to whoever was in our cabin before we came." "that stands to reason, seems to me," ethan agreed. "well, he had the use of your shack, goodness knows how long, phil," said lub, with an imitation of his father's solemn manner when delivering an opinion from the bench; "and it's only fair you have the use of his boat. tit for tat, you know. one balances the other. besides, we are not supposed to know whose boat it is." "there's something else i wanted to tell you about," remarked x-ray. he was thrusting a hand inside his coat as he spoke; and when it came out again the others saw that it held something like a buff colored envelope, torn open. "now, i found this same when i was nosing around," he explained. "it was caught tight away under this seat in the bow, and must have been blown there by the wind." "looks like one of those telegraph envelopes," remarked lub. "which is exactly what it is," said x-ray tyson, as he offered the object in question to phil. "there's an enclosure inside; read it, and see what you can make of the same. it got me balled up a whole lot, i'm telling you." phil quickly had the enclosure out. it was a printed form, and had a message written upon it. "john newton: winchester, n. y. (hold until called for). "stay where you are. search grows warmer daily. too bad for both you can't compromise. "rutgers." phil read it all out slowly, and lub listened very seriously. "first," phil went on to say, "the man's name, or the one he goes by right now, is john newton. it may be assumed, and i 'reckon the chances are all that way. he seems to be in hiding, just as we thought. this is a friend who's warning him not to think of leaving his nest yet awhile. the question is, what terrible thing has he done, and who's hunting for him?" "if you asked me," ventured lub, composedly, "i'd say it was all as plain as print. this man must be a counterfeit money-maker. the secret service people are looking for him everywhere, because, like as not he's big game. and you can see how this rutgers, who is of course a chap of the same kind, is telling him how hot the hunt is getting to be." "it does look a little that way," admitted phil; "there's only one thing that bothers me." "go on and explain what you mean," urged ethan. "the last part of the message doesn't seem to go with that sort of an explanation," said phil. "as how? read it again, and let us see, phil," lub requested. "'too bad for both you can't compromise.' now, the government never allows itself to enter into any bargain where a rascal can get off. he may turn state's evidence against his pals, and in that way get lighter punishment; but there can be no such a thing as compromising a felony against the united states government!" "phil, you're right about that, and i know it!" declared lub, ponderously. "i'll keep this telegram, if you've no objection," phil continued; "and try to hit on some other sort of explanation later on. if we only had the key, this mystery would all be simple enough, i'm thinking." "well, what matters most to us is that we've got the canoe, and can find lots of uses for the same while we're up here at lake surprise," commented x-ray. it was decided a little later on, after the trout had been prepared, that as the fish looked so inviting, they might as well start right in by having a feast at noon. "well, anyway, it'll get us fixed for better things later on," sighed lub, as he contemplated the three that would fall to his portion, and noted how small a mess that was going to be. however, he did prove that he knew how to cook them splendidly. when handed around they were well browned, and as sweet as could be. every one complimented lub on his feat, and begged him to keep up the good work, which he readily agreed to do, never once appearing to realize that he was proving an "easy mark." during the meal he was joked more or less about not having made a start with his screen on top of the chimney, and this must have spurred him on to showing his chums that he had conceived a clever scheme looking to that end. first of all he managed to roll several logs against the lower part of the cabin. these upon being lifted in a pile formed a means for climbing up on to the roof. without some such assistance lub would have had no end of trouble in getting started on his self chosen job. the others paid little or no attention to what he was doing, since they had various plans for passing the afternoon away. in fact, while phil meant to take a wider detour of the neighborhood, to look for signs of game he could photograph, x-ray had badgered ethan into agreeing to accompany him out on the lake, to see which would catch the greater number of fish before evening came on. they were now industriously searching for grubs, crickets, grasshoppers, or even angle worms, so as to tempt the fat trout to take hold. it was while this was going on that a muffled cry came to their ears. "listen! wasn't that some one calling for help?" demanded ethan, scrambling to his feet, with a can that had held boston baked beans in his hand, into which he had been introducing crickets, and such things, it having only small holes punched in its sides, besides the larger one which he kept stopped with a handful of grass. "there it goes again," said x-ray, turning all around, as though so bewildered that he could not place the direction from which the call came. "look at phil, will you, how he's putting for the cabin!" ejaculated ethan. "do you think it can be a bear, or a panther, or anything like that; and is he meaning to shut himself in?" asked the other, his voice showing signs of trembling in spite of his well known bravery. "shucks! no, don't you see he's aiming to reach the back of the cabin, where lub's heaped up that stuff? he's meaning to climb on the roof! it must be lub's fallen part-way down the old chimney, and stuck there. hurry and let's get along to help pull him out!" with that they started on a mad run. as the shack was close at hand they managed to arrive at almost the same time phil clambered on the roof. for such nimble fellows the task of mounting to the roof was not a difficult one. when they reached there they found that phil was leaning over, and seemed to be giving directions. "is it lub; and has he fallen down inside?" asked x-ray, quickly, hardly knowing whether to burst out into a laugh, or look sorrowful. "yes, and it happens that he's stuck there in such a way he can't go down any further, and isn't able to climb up. you hold on to me, both of you, while i lean in and see if i can get hold of his hands." "tell us when to yo-heave-o, will you, phil?" "something'll have to come; only i hope we don't pull his arms off!" chuckled ethan, beginning to see the humor of the situation, now that it looked as though lub was not hurt in any way, only "discommoded," as he afterwards called it. so while phil leaned over, and thrust himself part-way down into the gaping aperture, his two comrades, seizing hold of his lower extremities, prepared to pull with might and main. "now, get busy!" they heard a half-muffled voice say, and at that x-ray and ethan began to tug. there was heard considerable groaning and puffing, but they were not to be denied. slowly but surely phil's body was coming upward, until finally the head of lub appeared above the top of the slab-and-hard-mud chimney. "i know it's a tough joke on me, boys," he said, humbly enough, after he had clambered on to the roof, and rubbed some of his scraped joints with more or less feeling; "but after all it was an accident." "how was that, lub?" asked x-ray, examining a number of stout stakes which apparently had been cut to certain lengths, and were intended to be fastened crossways in the chimney, being pounded into position with the hatchet. "why, i had one of those prison bars in position, and unfortunately leaned too hard on the same," lub explained. "the pesky thing betrayed your confidence, did it?" demanded ethan. "just about how it happened," the other continued, frankly. "i must have tried to save myself, more through intuition than because i had time to think about it. anyway i got doubled up somehow; and that's the reason i stuck in the flue. one thing i'm glad of, and that is you fellows were close by, and could hear me yelp. if you'd gone off i might have had to stay there all afternoon; and let me tell you it would have been no joke." "ready to give it up as a bad job, are you, lub?" questioned x-ray. "what, me quit for a little thing like that?" burst out the other; "i should hope i was a better stayer than that, boys. it only makes me clinch my teeth, and resolve to conquer or die." "well, please don't die in our chimney flue," begged ethan; "because you know we need it to keep our fire going, so we can cook three meals a day. i think you must have pounded that first bar down a little too far, that's all, lub. better luck next time!" they left him industriously at work. having found to his sorrow where his mistake was, lub would be more careful in the near future. and when he finished his task no 'coon or squirrel would find it possible to have access to the cabin by means of the chimney, unless they first gnawed through the parallel bars. shortly afterwards, having succeeded in procuring a good supply of bait, the two ambitious fishermen pushed off in the bark canoe. ethan held the paddle, for he was a master-hand at this sort of work, and could propel such a light running boat with the deftness of an adirondack guide, hardly a ripple being stirred, with the paddle never once taken from the water. then phil wandered off, after giving lub directions for summoning them back should any necessity arise, which of course they had no reason to believe would be the case. engrossed in his work of hunting high and low for signs of his quarry phil passed an hour or more. then he returned to camp, and found lub resting after his labors, having completed his task. from his manner it was easy to see that he felt quite well satisfied with what he had done. later on they heard loud calls, and saw the other boys coming in. x-ray was wielding the spruce blade now; and in the bow ethan held up two long strings of glistening and still squirming trout, as trophies to their united prowess with hook, rod and line. "it's beginning to get pretty warm work between us," said x-ray, as they stepped ashore. "i got nineteen this afternoon while ethan he reached twenty-six; so even with my twelve before that i'm only five ahead in the count. all trout, so variety isn't in the game yet. he hooked a sockdolager, but his line broke. yet i'm willing to admit he's got one there that goes ahead of any i've taken. get the scales and we'll measure up, ethan." lub rubbed his hands together when he learned how much in earnest the rivals were becoming. "i reckon now, phil," he said aside to the other, "we're just going to feast on these here trout all the time we're stopping at your hotel. encourage 'em to keep the game going. first we'll make out to think ethan is bound to win; and then we can switch off on to x-ray." "you're getting to be a regular schemer, lub," commented phil, though he took occasion later on to follow out the advice given, and thus increase the seeds of rivalry between the fishermen. they had a glorious mess of trout for supper, and even lub owned up that it was utterly impossible for him to stow away another one, so that several had to be wasted. none of them had yet shown any signs of becoming tired of the deliciously browned trout, and lub even declared that if they would get him up betimes in the morning he would fry another batch. "the night favors my plan, because you see how it's clouded up," phil was saying, as he prepared to go and set his trap. "that is, you mean you need darkness, because your camera has to be set ready to take the picture," lub remarked. "well," said phil, "that's the way photographers do when taking an interior, but i've got an arrangement attached to my camera that works different. when the animal pulls the string that is connected with the flash light apparatus he does something more. he exposes the plate for just a quarter of a minute." "a time exposure, you mean," remarked ethan. "if you've no objections, phil, i think i'd like to go along, and see how you set the thing." phil looked pleased. "only too glad to have you, ethan," he told the other. ethan had been the one who only lately had scorned the idea that any hunter could find so much delight in "shooting" game with a camera as in other days he had done with a gun. phil began to feel encouraged. he knew only too well, from his own personal experience, that once the seed had taken root it was bound to sprout and grow rapidly. ethan's genuine love of all out-doors, together with a nature that could not be called cruel, would make it fallow ground that the seed had fallen upon. results were sure to follow. so phil led the way to the place where he had discovered that one or more of a colony of 'coons had actually made a trail leading to the lake, going and coming so many times. he had half jokingly declared that they went down when fish hungry to look for an unwary trout. whether this could really be so or not phil of course was in no position to prove. "but they do eat fish," ethan remarked, as they walked along together; "i've seen a big buck 'coon snatch one out of the water. some people say they bob the end of their striped tail on the surface as they sit on a log, and in that way lure a fish close in. as i never saw such a thing you'll have to take the story with a grain of salt." he was really very much interested in the way phil set his trap, and asked a lot of questions, all of which the other obligingly answered. and after everything had been arranged the two chums who had such a mutual love for the great outdoors walked back to the birch bark lodge in company. chapter ix the 'coon photographer "lightning! why, we're going to have a storm!" exclaimed x-ray tyson. they were all beginning to feel somewhat tired, and lub must have had as many as six or seven little "cat-naps." the fire was burning cheerily and the interior of the cabin pretty close, despite the fact that the door had been left wide open. "well, let her rain," muttered lub. "we haven't anything to get wet, outside of our canoe, and it won't hurt that." phil had arisen to his feet. there was a peculiar smile on his face, ethan saw. he looked satisfied about something. "i hope you fellows can spare me the lantern for a little while," he said. "well, that's queer!" observed lub, in bewilderment. "what's doing, phil?" demanded x-ray tyson. "i think i'll go out and get my camera," the other returned. then ethan chuckled. "i thought that was what it must have been, phil," he observed, dryly. "oh! i see," lub went on to say; "afraid of the rain, of course. well, i suppose it would ruin the thing to get it wet." "too bad you've had all that work for nothing, phil," yawning as he said this x-ray tried to look sympathetic; but was really too sleepy to be anything but ridiculous. "oh! i don't know about that," phil told him, as he picked up the lantern; "i've got a hunch that the thing's been played to the end of the string." ethan chuckled some more. both lub and x-ray opened their eyes and began to realize that there was something more to this thing than they had grasped. "whatever can you mean by that?" asked lub; while the fourth boy, quicker to catch things, cried out: "oh! then that wasn't a flash of lightning after all, phil?" "after a kind, it was," phil went on to say. "in fact, i believe my trap has been sprung. mr. 'coon was early on the trail to-night. i'd better go and see. if the thing's happened, no need of leaving the camera out all night, and take chances of a shower. coming along with me, ethan?" "sure thing!" declared the other, who had only been waiting for an invitation, as phil very well knew from the eager look in his eyes. they soon arrived on the spot. "it's all right," observed phil, immediately. "trap's sprung, you mean?" asked his comrade. "yes, you can see where the bait has been carried away from the place where i fixed it," he was told, as phil pointed out where the cord ran. "i guess the flash gave the poor old 'coon the scare of his life," ethan went on to say, considerably amused. it was an object with phil to encourage this interest on the part of his chum. accordingly, after gathering up the camera and flashlight apparatus he had ethan closely examine the marks that were plainly seen about the place where the bait had attracted the attention of the little animal. as has been said before, ethan was a practical woodsman, and knew a great deal about all things connected with outdoor life. trailing had long been one of his particular hobbies; hence, he was able to tell just what must have happened there. "here's where the 'coon came along, just as he'd likely done on many another night when he felt fish hungry. and about here, phil, he began to get a whiff of that green corn you fetched with you to use as bait." "how do you make that out?" asked the other, partly for information, and also with the idea of keeping up ethan's interest, which he could easily see was growing right along. "why, the marks have a different look," ethan explained. "he stopped right here to sniff, and then went forward on the run, all caution thrown to the winds." "that took him up to the bait?" suggested phil. "yes, and you bet he didn't waste a single second laying hold of the same," ethan ventured, positively, just as though he might be watching the entire performance with his own eyes, instead of figuring it out. "like as not it's been a long time since this particular 'coon had a chance at an ear of juicy green corn," observed phil. "perhaps he never even saw one before, but his instinct told him what a good thing was when he ran across it." "as he began to pull at the cob, meaning to carry it off to his den, there came that dazzling white flash," ethan continued. "it petrified the 'coon for the instant," explained phil, "that happens in nearly every case. if you look close you'll find that the animal always has a startled expression. i rather think any of us would if a flash like that blinded us just when we'd started to pick up the biggest watermelon in the patch." "it frightened mr. 'coon away, of course," said ethan. "but he may sneak back here again before morning," laughed phil. "you can see where his teeth cut into the green corn, and the memory of that one taste will make him ready to take chances again." he dropped the half ear of corn on the ground as he spoke. "you mean that the poor old chap isn't going to be cheated out of his fine treat, eh, phil?" "he deserves something," was the reply, "because i reckon he's given me a cracking good picture. i want him to know i appreciate his pull at my latch string." this closed the incident, but on the way back ethan continued to ask numerous questions. these the other always answered to the best of his ability, for it was his desire to interest ethan more and more. and phil felt satisfied when, just before they arrived at the cabin ethan gave expression to an admission: "well, i'm ready to own up, phil, that if for any reason i couldn't have a gun, or use one because the law was on all game, i _might_ take some stock in hunting by flashlight, and with a camera." "and the knowledge you have, ethan, of wild animals' ways would make you a master hand at the game, if ever you bothered taking it up." "think so?" remarked the other, naturally pleased at this sort of appreciation on phil's part. "i'm sure of it," he was told. nothing more was said at the time. phil felt positive, however, that he could count on ethan's coã¶peration so long as they remained at birch bark lodge. it was not long before they all sought their bunks. the night passed without any alarm. lub had assured his comrades they need have no fear of any unwelcome guest dropping down the chimney again. he had insured against such an event happening; and apparently felt the utmost confidence in his own invention, for he seemed to drop asleep almost as soon as he settled down in his blanket. again in the morning they enjoyed their plunge in the lake, although lub had to be strongly urged before he consented to join them. when he mentioned trout he was gently but firmly told that it was folly to whip a willing horse. "don't let's have fish every meal," urged x-ray tyson, "or we'll all be sprouting gills and dorsal fins and scales. once a day after this ought to satisfy the trout hunger. now it seems to me that's a bully good fire for camp flapjacks." "just what it is," agreed ethan with enthusiasm. "that suits me all right," phil agreed, "and we all know the kind you can make, lub. if you want any help, call on me." "oh! it's only a pleasure to me, so long as i know my efforts are appreciated," said lub, just as they all knew he would. the flapjacks must have been good, for not a piece of one was left after the four boys had finished breakfast. and they even had the audacity to bait lub on top of it. "don't care how soon you repeat that mess, lub," observed phil. "never tasted their equal," confessed ethan. "and as for me," said the wicked x-ray, "i'll sure dream of the treat to-night, see if i don't." whereupon, of course, lub set about figuring out just how the little sack of self-raising flour would hold out, if he made flapjacks every single morning of their stay in camp. lub was a lovable camp mate, and so easily imposed upon. but then his chums were just as ready to do things for him in turn. later on in the morning, seeing that the rival fishermen had started out again to depopulate the lake, and lub was busy cleaning up around the cabin, phil took a notion to wander off. he meant to cover quite some little territory this time, his object being to see if he could catch a glimpse of a deer. of course he carried his camera along, because it was always possible that some good chance might arise where he could use it to advantage. phil believed in being ready. he was a hunter, and knew how exasperating it was to run across tempting game when one's gun had been left at home. half an hour later he found himself wandering through a section of woods that looked very promising. he fancied he caught a sound, and it was of such a peculiar nature that phil stopped still to listen. yes, it was not the "whiff" of a startled deer or moose, but struck the astonished boy more like the wailing cry of a distressed child. chapter x finding a sunbeam at first phil found it hard to believe he heard aright. "i've known cats to make sounds like a baby crying, when they were facing each other, and ready to scrap," he told himself. the more he listened the stronger grew his conviction. "even if it turns out to be a pair of spitting young bobcats," he concluded, "i'd like to snap 'em off. as to a child, what would one be doing away up here in this wilderness, unless--by george, now, that might be it." he had suddenly remembered how they found the little cap, yes, and a baby silver thimble in the cabin. it was no trouble at all to locate the source of the sounds. the sobs continued as he advanced. in a few minutes phil was gazing with considerable surprise upon a figure outstretched on the ground. he could see it was a little girl, possibly four years old. she had golden curls, and when she looked up suddenly at hearing his footsteps phil discovered that she was as pretty as a fairy. just then she looked a little forlorn, since her face was soiled from the dirt, and tears had made furrows down her cheeks. she scrambled to her feet, and seemed hardly to know whether to try and run away, or put her childish trust in this strange boy. now phil was always a favorite with younger children. they all loved him because he had such a pleasant face, engaging laugh, and seemed to know just how to appeal to a child's heart. few boys care to bother with little tots; they only appear as a nuisance in their eyes. phil, however, was different. "hello! here, little girl, what's all the trouble about?" he asked, cheerily; and somehow there must have been magic in his voice, for the look of fear left the child's face immediately. she recognized a friend in need. as a rule children, just the same as most dogs do, have an instinct that tells them who to trust. "i'se losted!" she said, simply, with a little sob in her voice. phil had now reached her side. she did not shrink from him as he bent down and put his hand gently on her curly head. something that she saw in his kind eyes, perhaps the vein of sympathy so pronounced in his tones, told her this strange boy could be safely trusted. "now, that's too bad," phil went on to say, just as if he himself had been "losted" and hence knew how it felt. "but who are you lost from?" "daddy," she said, simply, as though taking it for granted that every one must know who was implied by that term; because to her mind there was only one "daddy" on earth. phil believed he saw it all now. the man who had occupied the cabin, had this child with him. for some unknown reason he had taken alarm, perhaps because of their coming to the lonely lake, and made a hurried change of base. why he had prowled around on that first night it was of course impossible for the boy to say, unless he simply meant to satisfy himself with regard to their intentions. and now the little girl had managed to lose herself in the woods. no doubt the father would be searching everywhere for her. phil thought it all over, even while he was soothing the child and telling her he would see to it that she found "daddy" again. he could not leave her there in the open pine woods, that was sure, and since there could be no immediate way of learning the present abode of the mysterious man, the only thing left for phil to do was to take the little girl to camp with him. in due time no doubt the father was sure to turn up there to claim the child. they would try to convince him that it was none of their business what made him hide away from his fellows as he was doing. so phil made up his mind. he had by this time managed to distract the child's thoughts from her troubles. indeed, this was no difficult task for phil bradley. already she had laughed at something he had said. when phil heard what a sweet laugh that was he immediately told himself: "i warrant that there's a man chasing wild through the woods right now, trying to find this little sunbeam. i know i'd be, if i missed a merry laugh like that at my fireside." "my name is phil," he told her, "and won't you tell me yours?" "why, it's mazie," she quickly answered. "mazie what?" he continued. "no, just only mazie," the little girl told him positively. phil was baffled, for he had hoped to learn "daddy's" name. he did not attempt anything further along that line. "now, mazie," he went on to say, "you'll come with me, won't you? you must be hungry, and want some lunch. we'll find daddy pretty soon, you know, and you wouldn't want to stay out here in the woods all by yourself?" she looked alarmed at the mere suggestion of such a thing. it pleased the boy to notice how eagerly she seized his outstretched hand, to which she clung confidingly. "oh! no, 'cause i'm afraid. i saw a bear, a big bear once. daddy shooed it away from our house. and oh! it whiffed and whiffed just awful. please take me with you--phil." "just what i'll do, mazie. you see i have three friends, all boys who will be glad to see you. and when daddy comes he can take you back home." "home!" the child repeated the word after him. there was a bewildered look on her face. phil judged from this that some memory was awakening. "home--daddy--muzzer!" he heard her say almost in a whisper. "oh! you didn't tell me that your mother was up here, too; is she with daddy, mazie?" phil asked her, as they walked slowly along. she looked up. the wistful glow in her eyes gave the boy a strange feeling. "oh! no. muzzer gone far away. she never come to her little girl now," he heard her say; and somehow the thought that she meant her mother was dead kept phil from questioning her any further. the little thing had evidently already recovered from her recent grief. she trusted in phil, and believed that it would only be a matter of a short time before he would bring "daddy." in her eyes phil was a magician. nothing could be beyond his power to accomplish. that is what the faith of a child means. she prattled all the way along, and yet it was pretty much about the woods, the flowers she liked to pick, the noisy scolding squirrels, and how daddy had always watched over her so carefully since they came up here, ever and ever so long ago. not once did she refer to any former life. it seemed to be in the nature of a closed book with the child. phil was waiting to see how she acted when they came in sight of the cabin, for he felt sure she must recognize it. she pointed to several things, even telling him that the tree with the dead top was where "bushy-tail" lived and had a family, so daddy said, and daddy knew everything. all at once the child gave a cry. she had discovered the cabin. "oh! i live here!" she burst out, and disengaging her hand from that of her champion she flew to the open door and burst in, shrilly crying: "daddy! daddy!" imagine the astonishment of lub. he happened to be sitting tailor fashion on the floor sewing a button on that he had burst off, ethan told him when he gorged so much the evening before. hearing a flutter, and then that cry in a childish voice, lub turned to see what he thought at first must be a specter. the little girl was abashed to find only a stranger there. her sudden hopes being so suddenly dissolved brought the tears again into her eyes. but phil quickly managed to brighten her up. and lub was ready to do almost anything to please the little miss, even to trying to stand on his head had she demanded it. then along came the other fellows. of course both of them were as much astonished as lub had been, but at the same time showed that they were not sorry to have such a little sunbeam around. among themselves, of course, they talked it all over, and knew that mazie must be the child who had been the sole companion of the lonely occupant of the cabin. "too bad if it turns out he's a scoundrel, and a law breaker, with such a bully little girl belonging to him." x-ray tyson said this, looking as he spoke at the suspiciously new coin he had picked out of a crack in the floor, and which he fully believed had been molded right there in that isolated cabin. "don't count too much on that," remarked phil; "you can tell that she loves daddy above everything on earth. he can't be so _very_ wicked, i guess." as the day wore on all of them took turns in amusing the little girl. she proudly showed them a number of things that she had been in the habit of playing with when she "lived here." not once did she speak of a former life. everything seemed to be associated with "daddy." and as the other boys had been told by phil what he thought in connection with her mother being dead, of course they were careful not to mention the word, for fear it might cause her sudden grief. during the afternoon her merry laugh was heard frequently. childish troubles soon fade away. and surely a little girl could not wish for a better lot of "big brothers" than these four boys seemed to be. they anticipated her every wish, and after a while mazie even seemed to look upon them in the light of old and tried friends. phil had arranged it that while their little guest honored them with her company she was to have his bunk. he could make himself fairly comfortable on the floor, somehow. a bunch of hemlock browse would do for a mattress, and if the fire was kept up a blanket was hardly necessary. phil felt a little fearful that at night she might miss a familiar figure, and cry herself to sleep wanting "daddy." he was agreeably disappointed, however. mazie ate supper with her protectors, and cuddled down in the arms of lub, to whom she had taken a great fancy. perhaps it was because he had so much to do with the getting of meals, although it was hardly a fair thing to say that, because lub was kindness itself. there she was finally discovered fast asleep. lub insisted on them leaving her with her head on his shoulder for a long time. finally, ethan and phil having come back, after setting the flashlight arrangement in a new place, they managed to carry the sleeping child to the bunk provided, without arousing her. the night passed quietly. phil would not have been surprised had a heavy summons on the door brought them all to their feet, and upon opening up to find an almost distracted man anxiously inquiring as to whether they had seen anything of a lost child. nothing of the kind occurred. wherever "daddy" could be searching for the missing one as yet he failed to turn his attention to the cabin where until recently he had lived in retirement, a hermit, as x-ray tyson called him. another dawn came. breakfast was prepared in almost abject silence. the little girl was still sleeping. all of the boys had tiptoed up and taken a peep at her lying there, as though hardly able to believe it could be so. phil had washed her face and hands the first thing, and with her rosy cheeks and lips, with the masses of golden, natural curls she certainly looked, as lub expressed it, "pretty enough to eat." so breakfast was prepared almost in silence. when any of them found occasion to speak it was laughable to see how they got their heads together and whispered. just before lub had breakfast ready to serve, mazie called out to phil, and was soon ready to sit down at the table with two of her newfound friends, there not being room for all. x-ray, thinking to pick up some information, called the child's attention to the scorched places on the heavy board, apparently done with molten metal. "see what daddy did!" he went on to say; and immediately the others, guessing his game, waited to see the result. the little girl looked from x-ray down to the scarred surface of the table. she shook her head vigorously in the negative, and looked indignant. "daddy didn't!" she exclaimed, with a vigor that settled that question. "these marks were here when you came, were they, mazie?" asked phil. this time she nodded her little curly head in the affirmative. no more was said. x-ray took out his new fifty cent piece and looked hard at it--but if he half intended asking the child whether she had ever seen any like it he changed his mind. perhaps he did not fancy looking into those clear blue eyes, and coaxing the child to unconsciously betray her "daddy." after breakfast the boys started to do various things. ethan and x-ray tyson were more than ever bent upon fishing. they counted exactly even now, and the excitement was running high. "but after this," said ethan, who had the soul of a true sportsman, "we mean to put back all the ordinary trout that are uninjured. we're no fish hogs, you must know. we'll carry the little scales, and the foot rule along, so as to measure what we take." "that's a sensible arrangement," phil told them; "but then it's only what i would have expected of you, ethan." they were still gathering bait close by the cabin when there broke out a terrible din. "it must be lub!" exclaimed ethan. "yes, i saw him wandering off in that direction a bit ago," added x-ray. "what can have happened to him?" exclaimed phil, his mind running to panthers, ferocious bobcats, hungry bears, and even an excited father, wild with searching for his lost child. "there he comes now!" cried ethan. "how funny he acts," x-ray went on to say. indeed, lub was carrying on as though he had gone suddenly crazy, leaping up into the air, threshing with his arms, and prancing madly to and fro. all the while they could hear him letting out hoarse yells. chapter xi an encounter in the pine woods "help! chase 'em off, somebody! help a fellow, won't you? ouch! they're murdering me by inches. oh! my stars, what can i do?" "it's hornets!" shrieked x-ray, always as quick as a flash. "mebbe a swarm of yellow jackets!" suggested ethan. "i can see something whirling around over his head. gee! what if he runs here and gives us a dose? the cabin for mine." "hold on," called out phil, taking in the situation, and then raising his voice he shouted to the terrified lub: "throw off your hat as you run. there, that'll attract some. now your coat. never mind a sting or two, but do as i say." lub, accustomed in matters of this kind to letting some one else do his thinking for him, hastened to obey. immediately afterward he was heard calling piteously: "there's some after me yet, phil, and oh! how they do hit you! i'm beginning to swell up right now. how'll i get away from the swarm, phil? you tell me what to do, and quick!" "run for the lake and jump in!" called out phil. "duck under, and keep there as long as you can stand it." without thinking twice, and only too willing to blindly obey, lub galloped straight to the shore of the lake. he happened to strike a little bank, where the water was quite deep. "here i go!" they heard him shout, and then came a tremendous splash. "oh! my!" gasped x-ray, "that settles our fishing for this morning! he'll scare every trout in the lake with his threshing around!" ethan was bubbling over with laughter, and even phil had hard work to keep from giving a shout when upon reaching the shore they saw what was going on. lub stood in water up to his chin. he kept bobbing his head in an anxious effort to locate any determined insect that still hovered near by. occasionally he would duck entirely out of sight, and move along a dozen feet, as though in hopes of eluding the enemy in this way. taking pity on the poor fellow phil assured him the coast was clear, and that he was safe in coming out. such a woe begone figure he presented. it seemed like a shame to laugh, but the boys could not have helped it had their lives depended on keeping sober faces. besides looking like a drowned rat, poor lub found that his face was already swelling up. his jaws looked as they may have done when he had the mumps. one eye threatened to be lost altogether, on account of the puffiness all around it. his nose had received due attention, and even his hands had failed to come through the scorching fire unscathed. despite all this lub tried to grin, although the effort was, as x-ray said pretty much of a "ghastly failure." "i know i'm a sight to behold, fellows," whimpered lub. "i guess i deserve all i got, too, for being such a fool. but how was i to know that old hornets' nest almost lying on the ground under the bush was _loaded_!" "what did you take it for?" asked phil. "why," replied lub, "i supposed it was a regular giant puff-ball, one of the toad-stool kind that go off with a crack and a puff of smoke when you kick 'em." "then you actually kicked it?" cried phil. "just what i did--oh! murder!" gasped lub, feeling of his enlarged head in dismay. "and it went off, all right, i bet you?" asserted ethan, uproariously. "a million of 'em came hustling out and started to eating me up," lub went on to explain, plaintively. "i killed 'em in droves, but there was always a fresh lot. then i ran--you saw how i had to carry on. guess it wasn't any laughing matter to _me_! and it isn't right now. if i keep on swelling like i am i'll bust. talk to me about having the big head--bein' president of the united states wouldn't make my cranium swell any more. phil, ain't you going to do something for a chum that's had trouble?" "sure, i am," announced phil, readily. "ethan, find some mud, and let it be clay if you can. hurry and get it here. while you're doing it i'll take the sting out with ammonia. it's lucky i thought to fetch some along." lub only too willingly put himself wholly in the hands of his friends. the ammonia smarted at first, but by degrees the pain began to disappear, as the poison was neutralized by the remedy. "i have to be careful not to let a drop of it get in your eyes, because it would smart terribly," phil told the patient. "yes, i know even now how a dog feels when you squirt some of this stuff in his eyes with those little ammonia pistols," lub remarked. the process was continued until ethan arrived with the clay. this was fastened on the best way possible by the use of lub's big red bandanna handkerchief. phil had insisted on taking a snap shot of the victim of the hornets before he had his face bound up. he also got another view after this operation had been completed. "i'm doing this partly for your own good, lub," he explained. "perhaps it'll make you feel bad to see how pride always swells before a fall. but then it's going to be a valuable lesson to you." "and you'll never kick again before you're dead certain what kind of a puff-ball it is, because some happen to be inhabited," x-ray told him. as lub would very likely not be fit for anything during the rest of that day, phil took charge, while the rival fishermen were out in the canoe. all the while he enjoyed having the little girl around. she seemed like a real ray of sunshine. "whatever will we do without her, phil, if her father blows in here any time and carries her off?" lub said this in a muffled tone, for he was tied up good and fast, but he meant every word of it. "perhaps we might get him to let her stay with us," said phil, showing that he, too, had been thinking along those lines; "if one of you fellows agreed to give up your bunk to 'daddy' and sleep on the floor with me." "i'd do that, and more, for the sake of keeping her here," declared lub. the fishermen reported at noon. x-ray seemed in high spirits, and ethan correspondingly depressed. it was easy to see which way luck had gone that morning. "well, there's another day coming," said phil, hopefully. "yes, and i mean to start in and show him a few wrinkles from now on," ethan declared; at which the other laughed scoffingly as he remarked: "oh! so you've just been playing off all this time, have you? seemed to me you put in your best licks right along. i'll have to think up a few dodges myself, if that's the game." "everything square and above board, boys," warned phil. "as fair as can be, phil. neither of us would want to play a mean trick," said ethan, and his rival echoed his words. after lunch phil told them it was their turn to look after the camp while he took a stroll. "be careful about letting mazie stray off," was what he told them the last thing, ere starting away, camera in hand. he had managed to develop his two flashlight pictures, and so far as he could tell from the films they appeared to be clean-cut good ones. ethan after inspecting the negatives had expressed the opinion that they looked "fine." from various indications phil began to believe he had the other interested in the work, and that it would not be long before ethan might be counted as one of those who call it fascinating. phil was thinking of all this as he walked along. numerous other things came into his mind also. he even wondered whether some accident might not cause him to come upon mazie's father, and what "daddy" would prove to be. somehow the boy had come to believe the man could not be bad, or he would never have held the affection of that dear little heart; and he knew from many signs that mazie certainly fairly worshiped her father. altogether the trip up to lake surprise was turning out delightfully all around. there might be a few things associated with it that would not always be a happy memory with some of his chums. for instance, there was the episode of the hornets' nest which poor lub had kicked on the impulse of the moment, thinking it only a harmless "puff-ball." he would shiver every time some buzzing sound reminded him of his wild flight; but even then lub had learned a lesson he could never forget. phil kept his camera ready for instantaneous use. he knew that if by any great good luck he "jumped" a deer that had been lying down, and sleeping in the heat of the day, it would require considerable presence of mind and a quick action in order to snapshot the animal at close quarters. being somewhat of an experienced hunter, phil had been careful when starting out to head into the wind. this was done so that a deer would not discover his presence through any sense of smell, until he was close up. once given a fair chance, and he believed he was capable of handling the situation. as luck would have it his course took him through the very same neck of the woods where on the previous day he had found mazie, only now he had gone half a mile and more beyond that spot. all at once as phil carefully pushed through a screen of bushes he heard a scrambling sound. some animal jumped to its feet, and phil, as he took note of the dun color, the immense size, the mule-like ears, the square muzzle and the two-thirds grown horns knew that he was face to face with the king of the adirondack woods--a bull moose! chapter xii when two played the game the moose looked at phil, and phil stared at the moose. both of them seemed to be equally surprised at the unexpected meeting. apparently phil was the first to recover, for the sharp little "click" of his camera shutter acting, after he had quickly drawn a head on the bulky animal, told that he was true to his instinct as a nature photographer. it may be that even that little snapping sound angered the moose; or possibly he was just in a mood for trouble. the rutting season was well over by this time of year, and his horns had grown fairly stout, so that they could be trusted to do good service in battle. phil never knew. in fact he had no opportunity to make inquiries, or conduct any sort of an investigation. all he became aware of suddenly was that the bull moose had lowered his head, and started toward him at a full gallop. now phil may at times have been called a bold sort of a boy, but he also had a pretty well defined streak of caution in his make-up. those towering horns had an ugly look to him. he could easily imagine how inconvenient it would seem to feel them brought into personal contact with some part of his body, with all that muscular power of the big animal butting them on. there was only one thing left for phil to do, and that was to make himself scarce around that neighborhood as quickly as possible. although the boy had never in all his life witnessed such a thing as a genuine bull fight, he understood that the first thing to be done was to dodge. the moose was so close to him that he knew he had very little chance of outstripping those long legs in fair flight. with this partly formed plan in his head phil ducked to the left, and started to run. he could have no real motive in choosing this side, because there was no time to take even a quick observation, and form a plan of action. as it turned out luck favored him in making this hasty choice on the spur of the moment. had he turned to the right he would have been compelled to cover such an extensive strip of open ground that his fleet-footed enemy must have easily overtaken him. that would have forced phil to make another side movement, or else be caught up in those branching horns. he knew what this latter must mean, and that once he found himself knocked down and rendered helpless, he would be rolled along, prodded wickedly, and even jumped upon in the endeavor to disable him. on the left, though, there were trees close to him that offered some sort of refuge. phil, hearing the moose putting after him at full speed, hastened to swing his body around the first of the trunks he came to. it would offer a barrier against the attacks of the animal until he could get his wits about him, and figure out some plan. a minute later and the moose was chasing him around the tree in a merry way. all the games phil had ever played with his schoolmates in days gone by were not a circumstance to the one he found himself engaged in with that determined animal. the more he was disappointed at reaching his supposed enemy the greater became the fury of the moose. he stamped, and whistled, and butted his head against the tree; after which he would start on another fast trot around it, the performance consisting of perhaps a dozen or a score of circles. phil had the inner ring, and could of course move much faster around than the enemy. still, it was not long before he became heartily tired of that continual and useless work. it began to make him dizzy, too. he found himself wondering whether the moose meant to keep going in these spirals until he had exhausted the boy; and how long it was possible to keep this sort of thing up before he fell over. it was in vain that he shouted in the face of the animal; the sound of a human voice did not seem to have any effect, unless it was to make the beast show fresh animation, as though spurred on to renewed vigor. "however am i to get the better of the old fool?" phil asked himself between his puffs; for this happened after he had been chased another dozen times around the well-worn path. there was a breathing spell, as the moose halted for a brief time. phil did not cherish any hope or expectation that the beast meant to retire, and leave him to himself. in fact he began to believe the big animal was having the time of his life, and enjoying it immensely. "which is more than i can say i'm doing," phil grumbled; "this ring-around-the-rosy business is played out, and i've just got to find some way to stop it." taking advantage of the breathing spell he cast a hurried look back of him. of course he did not dream that such a thing as help could come; on the contrary his only expectation was that he might find some way by means of which he could extricate himself from his dilemma. "bully! if i can only make that clump of small trees i ought to manage it!" was what phil exclaimed. there was no time for more just then. mr. bull moose was ready for another frolic, having freshened up. so again they chased madly around that tree, the hoofs of the animal tearing up the ground until it looked as though he had made a regular race-track there. when finally the new inning came to a close phil was fairly panting for breath, and more dizzy than ever. "a few more turns like that would do me up!" he gasped; and then gritted his teeth with a determination to make the break he had figured on. fortunately the moose always seemed to come to a stand at about the same spot. this brought the little clump of trees exactly behind phil, which fact would give him a chance to get fairly started before the moose became aware of his intention. taking in a long breath the boy suddenly darted away. he instantly heard the moose rushing after him. the distance was short, and so phil managed to swing around his new shelter, with those ugly horns not more than five feet behind him. well, that was all the margin he needed for safety. the new barrier would cause him to cover much more ground with every revolution; but then it was not his purpose to keep this up any longer than was absolutely necessary. a great wave of relief swept over the boy when he managed to slip in between two of the small trees, and found that he was well protected on all sides from the enraged animal's horns. in vain did the moose attempt to insert his head between the trees. phil kicked at him, and continued his shouts. by now he was beginning to feel that the advantage was swinging over to his side. he had done nothing to incur this hostility on the part of the animal, and was surely entitled to the privilege of defending himself as best he could, even to the extent of inflicting injury on his four-footed enemy. perhaps at some time in the past a monster tree had been cut down on this spot, and these second-growth saplings had sprung up in a circle that was wide enough to afford a nimble boy shelter. the towering horns of the moose, more than anything else, rendered it difficult for him to reach phil. this second stage of the affair was a decided improvement on the first, phil assured himself. at the same time he was not satisfied. he failed to see the fun of being kept a prisoner, cooped up in that limited space for perhaps hours. it was no fault of his that the moose chanced to be in an ugly humor; and just then, if phil bradley had had any sort of firearm along he would have felt justified in dispatching that furious animal. game laws are good things, but even they must be broken when one's life is placed in jeopardy. besides his pocket knife phil had nothing on his person that could be called a weapon. for once he had even left his hunting knife at the cabin, and bitterly he repented of his unusual thoughtlessness. it would never happen again he told himself, when he realized how helpless he was. when the moose again started trying to get at him phil conceived a new hope. it was in the shape of an inspiration, and he watched eagerly in the expectation that such a thing might come to pass. what if the moose did find a way to crowd his head between two of the trees, by slanting it sideways; what if in his stupidity he was unable to extricate it again, and could only tug frantically backwards becoming excited and helpless? that would be turning the tables in great shape. phil had seen cows confined in stall yokes somewhat after that fashion. he also knew how green turtles are captured in large mesh nets down along the florida coast streams like indian river; for the stupid creature, having passed its flippers through the net, and being unable to continue the forward movement on account of the bulging shell, simply keeps trying to urge itself on, and never dreaming that it could back out by reversing its flippers. there was one particular place where phil thought the chances seemed fairly good that the horns of the moose might pass through, provided he turned his head the proper way. in order to try out his scheme he did all in his power to coax the animal to begin operations in that section. for a while it seemed as though the moose persistently avoided the larger opening. everywhere else he struggled the best he knew how to reach the prisoner of the saplings, even pawing viciously at him with his hoofs. "i must make a big bluff of meaning to slip out through that hole," phil told himself; "and when he gets around there perhaps he'll fall into the trap." this he immediately started to carry out. it worked like a charm, too, for he had barely time to dodge back into his asylum when his captor came up against the tree next the wider opening with a bang. after that phil easily led him into making a fresh effort to insert his horned head through that opening. eagerly the boy watched every move on the part of the determined animal. twice it looked as though success was about to crown the effort of the moose. "keep going!" phil told him, encouragingly, as he tapped the animal's nose with the toe of his shoe, just to keep his temper up, so he might not get weary of his task; "one good turn deserves another. the third time takes the cake. just manage to get your old horns through first, and then you can push that big head after, as easy as pie. that's the way. whoop! he's really done it!" of course the moose could not understand the explicit directions which phil was only too willingly handing him; but by some chance he did manage to get his obstructive horns through, and then follow with his head; though his shoulders would prevent him from going only so far. phil thought he had been neatly trapped, and his next move was of course to slip out of the circle by another exit. "wonder now if i dare skip out, and leave him there?" phil asked himself this as he saw that the moose had already taken the alarm over his condition, and was acting wildly, twisting his head in every direction, and straining to drag it out. "what if his horns gave way, or broke off? oh! that time he came within an ace of getting free! he may be smarter than a turtle, and remember how he pushed in. i'd be in a bad box if he did get free, and chased after me again lickety-split!" phil believed it was his best policy to stay there, and watch a while longer, just to see what the animal would do. if some time passed, and the moose did not seem able to extricate himself from his sad dilemma, then phil believed he could take his hurried departure; though he meant to snap off a picture of the animal first. "might as well do that same now, while i have the chance," he went on to say; and stepping well back to where he could get a fine view of the imprisoned moose, he again made use of his camera to advantage. hardly had he done so than he saw the animal twisting his head again in a way that threatened to bring about the catastrophe which phil dreaded. in fact the boy had only time to once more hurriedly gain the shelter of the clump of trees when he saw the moose withdraw his head from its yoke. "well, it looks like you might be a smart one," muttered phil, as he found himself once more fast in the trap, with the enraged animal striking at him with his hoofs, and making all sorts of queer noises that might be taken for threats. when this had gone on for nearly half an hour, and there was no sign of a cessation, phil started to exercise his wits again. first he began an investigation of his pockets to see if there might not be some means for bringing this ridiculous and uncomfortable situation to an end. "what's this?" he exclaimed, as he drew forth a small package and stared at it, as if unable on the spur of the moment to understand what it was or how it came to be there; then it flashed upon him, and he gave a wild shout of joy. "why, would you believe it, this must be the little paper of black pepper i had in my pack. lub was asking for some this morning, while cooking breakfast; and when he handed it back to me i must have dropped it in my pocket without thinking what i was doing, meaning to put it on the shelf when i stood up. hurrah! if ever a pinch of pepper was worth its weight in gold that time is now. it seems mighty cruel to do such a thing, but what else is left to me?" of course it was an easy thing to get close enough to the moose to scatter some of the pepper over his head. it did seem a cruel thing to do, and phil would never tell the story without a feeling of shame; but he considered that his life was at stake, and hence he was justified in going to such extreme measures. the actions of the bull moose immediately told that the siege was going to be called off without delay. he shook his head, snorted furiously, and then turning galloped away. phil saw him collide with a tree before he passed from view, and the sight caused him to utter an exclamation of pity. "but he'll pull through it in time," the boy was saying, as he came out of his place of refuge; "by to-morrow it'll be pretty nearly over. i wonder if he's learned a lesson, and will give two-legged strangers a wide berth after this. well, it was all his own fault. he had no need to get into such a tearing rage because i took his picture. but let me tell you i'm as tired as if i'd been running a ten mile race. every muscle in my body aches from the sudden jumps i had to give." phil felt that on the whole he had come out of the scrape with honors. and whenever he looked at that picture of the moose with his head fast among the saplings, it would be apt to remind him forcibly of the adventure. "no more tramping for me to-day," he continued, shaking his head; "i've had good and plenty of it. the rest can wait for another time. even if i didn't snap off another view all the time i was up here i'd feel it paid me to come; but i've got a few more cards up my sleeve to play. that flashlight business is going to pan out just great, i can see. now to head for home. i can imagine how the boys' eyes will stare when i tell them what i've been up against, and prove it with that picture." chapter xiii how "daddy" came back in order to see more of the country phil took a notion to change his course while heading for the home camp. this turned out to be another of those little things that occasionally happen by accident, but which afterwards seem to have been inspired. he had not been walking along more than ten or twelve minutes before he came to a sudden pause. "what under the sun could that have been," he asked himself, listening intently; "sounded as near like a regular groan as anything could be." ridiculous as it might seem, phil even thought of the suffering moose, and wondered whether the distressed animal could have taken shelter in that thick copse, to moan with pain. then again he heard the strange sound. "it must be some one's lying there, and in pain!" phil observed, though the idea gave him a thrill of apprehension. he stepped closer, and when for the third time the same type of noise welled out of the bushes he made bold to call: "who's there? do you need any help?" there was a rustling sound. then the bushes parted, and he saw a man's face peering at him. phil could not remember ever having seen that face before, and yet it struck him that he ought to be able to give a good guess who the other was going to turn out to be. he had mazie in his mind just then; her "daddy" was the only man known to be around that neighborhood. the other beckoned to him, and as phil approached he went on to say, in a voice that was half muffled, both with pain and anxiety: "oh! i'm glad that you've come, boy. my leg is broken, and i've got to the point where i can't seem to drag myself another yard. i'm hungry too, and crazy for a drink of water. but i was just making up my mind i might as well give up, and be done with it; because if she's dead there's no use of my living!" that settled one thing in phil's mind. the man was mazie's father. already the boy could see that he did not have the look of a villain. pain and want had made deep lines on his face, but somehow phil believed the other was all right. he could easily imagine what the father must have suffered both in body and mind, with his little daughter lost in that big wilderness, and a broken leg preventing him from searching for her, as he would have wanted to. evidently he must be relieved in his mind as speedily as possible. "do you mean mazie?" phil asked. the man stared hard at him. then, as hope struggled into his almost broken heart he burst out with: "why do you ask me that? how do you know her name? oh! boy, boy, tell me she is safe--that you or some of your friends have found my darling child!" at that phil nodded quickly in the affirmative, and the man fell backwards as though about to faint from sheer joy. but it was not so, for he struggled up once more to his former sitting posture, as phil bent over him. "safe, mazie safe after all! oh! it seems that i must be dreaming, it is too good to be true! tell me in plain words, i beg of you, boy!" "she is at the cabin with us, and perfectly well," phil went on to say, plainly. "i found her crying in the woods. are you her 'daddy'?" "yes, and i have been trying to crawl all the way to the cabin, dragging this wretched leg after me," the man told him; "it seemed as if it would kill me with the pain, but as long as i was able i kept it up, for something seemed to tell me my only hope was there. i meant to beg you to scour the woods, and call her name everywhere. oh! it is a wonder my hair hasn't turned white with what i have suffered, mostly in mind, for i could stand the rest without whimpering. mazie is safe! oh! i see now what a fearful wrong i have done. i vow to repair it as soon as i can travel." "will you let me take a look at your leg?" asked the boy. "only too gladly, if you think you can do me any good," he was instantly told. "my one longing now is to get to where the child is. to have her in my arms i would endure any torture there could be." "i happen to know a little about such things, and perhaps could do you some good," phil went on to tell him. "then there happens to be a little spring back a short distance for i had a drink there, and the water's icy cold. i'll fetch you some before i hurry to the cabin to get help." "you are kind, boy; what shall i call you?" asked the man; and evidently from his looks, speech, and manners he was a gentleman, phil realized. "my name is phil bradley," he said, as he bent down to see what he could do for the injured limb; "there are four of us up here for a little outing. i happen to own a patch of ground bordering on lake surprise, and that birch bark lodge is on it." the man muttered something to himself, and phil thought he caught the one word "fool." perhaps he was taking himself to task for acting so on impulse when first discovering the coming of the strangers, whom he must have believed were persons whom he had reason to distrust. all that could be left until later for discussion among himself and his three chums; phil felt that his present business was to succor the wounded man. he found that there was a compound fracture of the bones of the lower limb, not far from the ankle. the man must have caught his foot somehow, and pitched forward heavily. "once we get you to the cabin, sir, and i'm sure i can set the bones, and ease your pain greatly," he told the other, presently. "that satisfies me," the man remarked, closing his lips as though he felt that he could stand anything, now that mazie was safe. "please make all the haste you possibly can. minutes will seem like hours to me until i feel her dear little arms around my neck." "first i must get you a drink," phil told him; and without waiting to see or hear anything more he darted off, all his own weariness utterly forgotten in this one desire to render first aid to the wounded. he had no trouble doubling on his own trail, and thus finding the spring. since there was no other means for carrying water phil dipped his hat in, and was soon back alongside the injured man, who drank greedily of the cold fluid, and seemed greatly refreshed in consequence. "now i'll run in the direction of the cabin," phil observed, after he had in this fashion relieved the pressing needs of the other. "are you sure you can find me again?" asked the man, anxiously. "if you are in doubt call out, and i'll try to answer. i heard shouts a little while back, but my throat was too dry for me to make a sound above a groan." "you heard me having a little circus with an angry bull moose that had me backed up behind a tree," phil told him; "but never fear about my being able to come straight here. i'm woodsman enough for that, and take my bearings as i go. look for us to come inside of an hour, sir." with that he was off on a run. just as he had said with such assurance, he had his bearings, and knew just which way to go in order to reach home. before twenty minutes had elapsed phil burst upon those comrades who were clustered in front of the cabin, watching the little girl do some cunning dance steps which she could hardly have learned up there in that wilderness. judging from his excited condition that phil had met with an adventure of some sort, the boys began to ask numerous questions. "never mind what it's all about, fellows," he told them. "i want ethan and x-ray to come with me right away. lub, you look after the cabin, and mazie. ethan, fetch your camp hatchet; and we will need some ends of rope. hurry, both of you! i'll explain after we're on the run!" the blank expression on poor lub's face told better than words what he thought of being left out in the cold that way. still, he was so accustomed to doing what he was told that such a thing as rebellion never once entered his head. besides, he must have realized that some one had to stay with the child. and when it came to sprinting, as phil seemed to think was going to be necessary, lub was not built for quick action or long continued running. phil had hardly time to draw a dozen long breaths before the other boys announced that they were ready to accompany him. wonder was written in big letters all over their faces. the little phil had said must certainly have aroused their curiosity until it reached fever heat. "now, for goodness' sake open up, and tell what all this is about, please, phil!" begged x-ray tyson, as they ran along in company. it was no time to even mention anything concerning the stirring adventure with that stubborn and combative moose bull. later on he could relate the story, and perhaps show them the pictures he had taken, to prove his marvelous tale. "man up in the woods here a ways, with a broken leg!" he started to say. "whee! is that so?" exclaimed ethan. "mazie's 'daddy' for a cookey!" cried x-ray, always the first to alight on a solution to a puzzling question. "yes, that's who he is," phil went on, jerking out his words somewhat, because he was using up his wind in running. "he broke it while hunting for the child; and has been nigh crazy ever since. struck him he might get help from us. started to actually drag himself all the way there. petered out in the end. bad shape, too, but think i can pull him through all right!" "you want us to help get him home; is that it, phil?" demanded ethan. "yes, we've just got to do it. poor fellow needs lots of attention. he'd likely die if left much longer. i think gangrene would set in, and finish him. glad i fetched along my little medicine case, with bandages and such things. thought one of us might get into trouble, and need it. handy thing to have around in the woods." "it sure is," agreed x-ray tyson; "but how can we carry a man all the way to the cabin, phil? if he's that bad hurt it's going to be a hard job." "huh! see this hatchet?" demanded ethan, flourishing the article in question before the eyes of the other. "well, with that sharp edge it won't be a hard thing to tinker up some kind of stretcher. that's what phil had in mind when he told you to fetch some rope ends along." "just what i did," phil assured them; "but hold on now, and save your breath for running; you'll need it all. we'll get there in ten minutes more, i think." about that time had elapsed when phil sighted the spot where he had left the wounded man. he knew it from the land marks he had impressed on his mind. and both going and coming the boy had maintained a constant watch, so as to make sure that he continued in the direct line he had laid out. "there he is!" he suddenly exclaimed, as he saw a hand feebly waving from the covert of bushes. "oh! i'm glad you've gotten back again!" the wounded man told phil. "it has seemed ages since you left; but i watched the sun, and knew that the hour had not passed that you said it might take. these are your friends, are they?" "yes, ethan allan and raymond tyson. we mean to get busy, and make some sort of a litter that will do to carry you on. let's see, you begin and cut some poles, ethan." as the boy with the camp hatchet knew just what sort to select, he was soon busily engaged in chopping down small saplings. as these were trimmed of branches, and cut in proper lengths the other boys began to splice them together. after all it was not a hard task. although possibly none of them had ever built such a thing as a stretcher, they knew in a general way how it must be done in order to accommodate a wounded man. there were four handles by means of which it could be gripped and carried. these two main braces of course were extra strong, and made of hickory. then the others were shorter and not so thick, so that the body of the stretcher might bend somewhat. when the thing was completed the boys found some hemlock browse, with which they made as soft a bed as possible. "now, if you can stand for it to let us lift you, we'll soon be on our way," phil went on to say to the injured man. "i can stand anything but continued suspense," the other declared, bravely. they could see that he had to shut his teeth tightly together in order to keep back his groans while they were lifting him as gently as they could. but despite his white face the man tried to smile at phil when he saw the look of pity on the boy's face. "don't mind me--i'm all right--you're doing famously--i'll never, never forget it, either!" he said, between breaths. phil took one end, that nearer the patient's feet, while the other boys managed the second pair of handles between them. the stretcher had been made purposely narrow at the foot, so that one bearer could handle it. "if you get tired, sing out, phil, and we'll change all around," x-ray remarked. it was not hard work after all. the man happened to be of medium weight, and not unusually tall, so with only two short resting spells they carried their burden all the way to the shore of the lake. how eagerly he leaned over one side of the stretcher, and strove to catch a first glimpse of his child, over whose fate he had been almost losing his mind while lying there, wounded so grievously in the pine woods. lub heard them coming. he stared almost stupidly at first, hardly understanding what it was they were carrying. perhaps lub even thought it might be that pugnacious half-grown bear cub, which had attacked phil in the forest and suffered in consequence. he quickly understood differently, however. there was a flutter near him, a swift patter of childish feet flying over the ground, a gasping cry, and then little mazie was clasped in the eager arms of the man on the litter. regardless of the pain his exertions were causing him the father pressed his darling to his heart, while a look of supreme joy came upon his white face. then phil had to bend over and unwind the arms of mazie from the neck of "daddy," for he suddenly discovered that what with his emotions and the agony of his broken limb the man had fainted dead away. chapter xiv the puzzle of it all "what d'ye make out of it all, phil?" when ethan asked this question two days had elapsed since they brought the wounded man to the cabin. much had happened during this time. in the first place phil had proven himself a splendid amateur surgeon, for he had set the broken bones, and attended to securing splices so that they would be kept in proper position while the mending process continued. of course this was somewhat old-fashioned, because a doctor would have set the limb in a plaster cast; but phil's way promised to answer for all practical purposes. the man had improved remarkably. he was even cheerful, though at times phil had seen him shake his head, and could hear him sigh. this was always while he was watching mazie; and it did not require much to tell the boy that whatever was upon the man's troubled conscience concerned his child. "it's pretty hard to say, ethan," he told the other; "i can't make up my mind that's he's any sort of a scamp. his actions tell us that, you know." "and it's hard for me to believe that any man who loves a child as he does that one of his, can be a bad man," ethan declared, emphatically. "yet you saw how he turned red in the face when i handed him the telegram, and explained how we found it caught under the bow seat of his birch-bark canoe," continued phil, looking troubled. "what was it he mumbled at the time; i didn't quite get it?" ethan asked. "he admitted," the other explained, "that the message had come to him. he also said that was not his real name, but one assumed for a purpose, of which he was now heartily ashamed." "that sounds queer, don't you think, phil?" "why, no, i can't say that i do," ethan was told. "any of us might do something on the spur of the moment that we found reason to feel sorry for afterwards. only the other day i bitterly repented of insulting that noble old bull moose by daring to snap my camera at him point-blank, didn't i? he made it pretty warm for me, i tell you." "but this mysterious man must have done something dreadful, to have him say he was so repentant!" persisted ethan. "you're only jumping at conclusions," he was told, bluntly. "i heard him say at the time he was lying there in the pine woods and suffering, that he realized he had done somebody a great wrong, and that if he lived he meant to right it. now, according to my notion, that was a fine thing for him to say." "mebbe so," remarked ethan. "i've heard my father say that the best men are those who've been through the fire, done some wrong, and repented, so that they think they must spend the rest of their lives making good. and between us i kind of fancy mazie's daddy. he seems to be a pretty nice man." "mazie evidently thinks there isn't another like him in the whole world," phil told him; "look at her now as she sits there holding his hand. why, ethan, believe me, i can see what looks mighty like a tear running down his cheek. yes, there, he wiped it away, and shook his head. that man's made up his mind to some big sacrifice, you mark my words." "then it must be in connection with mazie," added ethan, quickly; "because the sun rises and sets with her, in his opinion." "i wonder now," began phil, with lines on his forehead, as though a sudden idea had flashed into his mind that he hardly knew how to handle. "what are you thinking about?" inquired ethan, who knew the signs. "but then there's no doubt he's her father, so that could hardly be," phil went on to say, as though crushing the suspicion that had arisen. "well, what about it, phil?" "oh! i just happened to wonder if he could have stolen the child from some one, and had now made up his mind that it was wicked, and she must be returned. but then, how could a father be tempted to steal his own child? i reckon that must have been a silly notion. let's forget it." "like as not we'll never know," ethan observed, a little provoked, it seemed, on account of not being able to solve the mystery that surrounded mazie and her "daddy;" for ethan above all things hated to give a puzzle up as beyond his power. "wait and see," the other advised him. "as it is now, he feels under some obligations to the lot of us, and may think we deserve to hear his story before we get him down to civilization again." "some obligation?" repeated ethan. "well, it's my honest opinion he owes you his life! if you hadn't found him when you did, he'd be dead right now. and then about that job of setting the bones in his leg, you did yourself proud there. it'd be a queer thing, and ungrateful in the bargain, if he said good-by, and never once opened up to explain things." "it isn't going to bother me a bit," phil told him. "now, is that a hint that i'm foolish to keep it on my mind?" asked ethan. "if the shoe fits, put it on," his chum told him. "but one thing sure, he'll never be able to walk on that leg by the time we expect to start home." "which i take it means we'll either have to carry him all the way down to the village on that stretcher, if it takes two days; or else one of us go after a team." "without any road up here," phil explained, "it would be a hard job to get horses to the lake. and then the going would be so tough he'd suffer terribly. so as near as i can see it looks as if we'd have to work that stretcher again." "huh! i like that!" grunted ethan, though he must have meant it in sarcasm, for his tone showed anything but enthusiasm. "we all congratulated ourselves on the way up here on the fact that we'd have it easy going out of the woods, because all that canned stuff and other grub would be devoured. and now by jinks! if we don't have to lug a _man_ out. whee!" "but there's no other way, ethan; and you'd be the last fellow to vote to leave him behind, if i know you," ventured phil. "sure, i would, and don't you mind how i grumble every little while, phil. my grandfather on my mother's side was a whaler, and i guess now i must have inherited his sailor way of growling. i try to cure myself of the habit, but she will break out once in a while. it's harmless, you know; it comes from the mouth but not from the heart." phil laughed softly. "i haven't chummed with you as long as this not to know you like a book, old fellow," he said, affectionately, as he laid a hand on the other's shoulder. "we've had some pretty good times, together with x-ray tyson and jolly old lub; and we hope to enjoy a lot more. wait till we get down there on currituck sound this fall, when the ducks are arriving in flocks. you know i've got the finest little shooting-box located there you ever heard tell of. and, say, perhaps we won't have the grandest time going." "i hope nothing will keep us from going along with you, that's all," said ethan, drawing a long breath; for gunning was his one particular hobby, and the prospect of a week or two on those famous ducking-grounds appealed irresistibly to his hunter's heart. "this has been the hottest day we've struck since we came up here," said x-ray tyson just then, as he came sauntering up, wiping his forehead with his big red bandanna. "yes, and unless i'm a poor weather prophet," added phil, taking a look aloft as he spoke, "we're just about due for a whacker of a storm. no leaving my camera out-of-doors this night, i tell you." "we'll all be glad of a decent roof over our heads, if she comes on to blow and rain great guns," ethan remarked. "how about the pictures you were printing a while ago, phil; turn out well?" asked the last comer. "see for yourself," he was told, as phil drew a little book out of his pocket, among the leaves of which he had a number of fresh prints. "well, that one of the moose poking his head between the little trees is a jim-dandy, let me tell you!" declared x-ray tyson. "every wrinkle of his hide shows as plain as it could. and say, here's one showing ethan and me carrying the litter, with mazie's daddy on the same. i didn't know you snapped that off." "you've had great luck so far in all your pictures, haven't you, phil?" ethan went on to say. "no complaints from me," he was told; "and i do feel i've been in great luck, as you say. i've got on the track of a fox, and pretty soon i hope to have his smart phiz along with the rest." "it'll be a prize collection yet, take that from me," x-ray announced. "the funny part of it," continued ethan, "is the fact that while you'll have all these pictures, most of the originals you've never seen. that comes of fixing it so they press the button, and do the flashlight act themselves." "saves a heap of trouble," commented x-ray, sensibly. "of course the main thing is," phil went on to say, "that you couldn't get that class of animated nature picture in any other way. i'd hate to stick it out all night, waiting for mr. 'possum or br'er rabbit to breeze along, so i could flash him. besides, the most wary of all, br'er fox, wouldn't come within a hundred feet of a human scent. they've got too keen noses for that. and yet i expect to show a fox picture soon." "i wish i had one of that dandy black fox i trapped last winter, and the pelt of which brought me over a cool three hundred," remarked ethan; and x-ray was heard to take a quick breath as though given a little shock; at the same time winking aside toward phil, who frowned, and shook his head threateningly. they did not share that enthusiasm with the proud trapper, over that particular foxskin; simply because they knew it was a very poor specimen of its kind, and by rights not worth one-tenth the amount of the check which ethan had received from the dealer in the distant city--phil's uncle, though ethan never dreamed of such a dreadful thing. "well, it strikes me you're a pretty clever weather man after all, phil, because i certainly heard far-away thunder right then," and x-ray as he said this pointed up at the heavens, which were heavily overcast with dark clouds. "let's get busy then, and see that everything is snug," phil suggested. "first of all we must get mazie and her daddy housed," ethan remarked. "by using the pair of rough crutches i made him, and with some help, he manages to get about after a fashion, though he'd be better keeping still some days yet. but he's such an active man it's hard to tie him down." "he told me," phil informed them, "he had that boat carried away up here on the back of a guide; and that another man brought his grub, blankets and outfit. you know we went and got all the duffle from the place he'd hidden it when he left here, a regular cave in the rocks; and everything looks like the party who bought the same had money to burn." "yes, he admitted that much to me," said phil. "he also said those marks were on the table when they came. one of the guides told him a story about some men who were up two years ago, and arrested by government agents. he thinks they may have been bogus money-makers. when i showed him the fifty-cent piece x-ray found he tried it every which way, and said it was probably counterfeit, though as clever an imitation as he had ever seen. but there's another grumble of thunder, boys, so let's get to work." with the four of them hustling, things were speedily arranged. after the lame man and mazie had been assisted under cover, the boys started to lay in plenty of fire-wood to last them a couple of days. there could be no telling how long the storm might linger--perhaps there would be only an hour of furious bombardment; and then again it was likely to rain heavily for days. adirondack storms have a pretty bad name, as all will agree who have ever experienced their vigor and fury. x-ray even climbed up on the roof, and proceeded to patch one corner that he imagined needed repairs. "i'm not like the backwoodsman who never seemed to get his leaky roof mended," x-ray announced, from his elevated position; "and when they came to ask him the reason he says, says he: 'when it rains i carnt mend it; and when the weather's dry, what's the use?' the time to do it is when you hear the thunder warning you there's something great coming." "it's getting closer all the while," commented phil, as a louder burst came to their ears. "and listen, what's that other sound we hear?" asked x-ray tyson, about ready to descend from his perch. "why, that's wind!" announced ethan. "whew! it must be a hurricane then, for i thought that was a freight train. i'm glad we haven't any big tree hanging over us that'd be in danger of falling. and i'm also pleased to know our lodge is so well protected by evergreens and birches. they'll serve as a wind-break." "there's the rain; and as the wind is pretty fierce, we'd better adjourn to the cabin," and phil led the way, with the others at his heels. hardly had they entered than there was a vivid flash without, followed by a crash that shook the humble cabin. then with a shriek the wind swooped down, the rain began to fall in sheets and the storm was on. they had seen ordinary storms many times, but one and all were decidedly of the opinion that this was something beyond the common. when x-ray called it a hurricane he was not far out of the way. every little while they could hear a crash somewhere near by that sounded like a big tree falling; and in fact they understood that this was what was taking place; all of which made them doubly glad they had so good a shelter. chapter xv after the storm "such a night i've passed; never slept a wink!" groaned lub, as he dangled his feet over the side of an upper bunk, and held a heavy head between his hands. "well, all i can say is that you made so much noise snoring i couldn't hear the wind blow at times; so explain that away if you can. jump down there, and stop shutting off what little light there is from me." that was x-ray tyson talking. as ethan had insisted on making himself a sleeping place on the floor alongside phil, x-ray had pre-empted his bunk, giving his own to the wounded man, while little mazie had the second upper one. it had indeed been a terrible night. with little cessation the storm had held forth. at times phil, lying awake because it was impossible to get the clamor out of his mind, wondered if there would be any decent-sized trees left in the north woods by the time things settled down quiet again. he and ethan were up and busily engaged getting some breakfast ready. it was as much as they could do to see, so dim was the light; and they did not dare use the lantern, because their supply of kerosene was limited. "how'd you like to have been caught out in that whooper, eh, lub?" asked ethan, as the other continued to yawn, and rub his reddened eyes, though still occupying his position there on the edge of his berth, x-ray having crawled out below. "please excuse me from answering that question," the other replied. "i never'd have survived it, i reckon. bad enough to be in a dinky little twelve by twelve cabin, let alone a hollow tree, or a make-shift under a shelving rock." "now, none of your making fun of birch bark lodge," warned x-ray; "it's been a hunky-dory refuge, all right, don't forget it. and say, not a drop leaked in on us through that bad part in the roof. shows what a little common-sense can do for things, don't it?" "all i can say," remarked phil, from over the fire, "is that i'm sorry for any one who might be unlucky enough as to get caught in that howler. if they missed being struck by lightning, they ran a big chance of getting crushed under a falling tree." "yes," added ethan, "and at the best they'd be soaked through and through. it's no fun to feel that way all night. you start to shivering, and then like as not your teeth rattle together like you've heard the minstrel end-man shake his bones when he sings. i've had a little experience, and i know what i'm talking about." the man in the lower bunk had been listening to all this conversation. phil noticed he seemed to have an additional line across his forehead. perhaps the storm had also kept him awake. possibly he had often thought of how uncomfortable it would be for any one he happened to know, who might have been caught in the open woods by the howling gale. they were eating breakfast some time later, when the man from his bunk, since he preferred to lie there while so many were around the small cabin, called out to phil. he had long since recognized the patent fact that the bradley boy was a leader of his set; and that the other three only too gladly looked up to phil, not on account of his being independent with regard to means, but because he had the attributes of leadership in his person. "do you think the storm has slackened for good, phil, or will it come back again for another siege? it seems to me the wind has changed, and is blowing much more evenly." "when i took that look out just a bit ago," phil told him, "i noticed several pretty good signs that seemed to tell we had got to the wind-up. it wouldn't surprise me, because these hard storms are not the ones that last for days. we could go out now, if we didn't mind getting wet from the dripping of the trees." the man had something on his mind, phil saw. during the night he must have been thinking deeply. perhaps conscience was gripping him more than ever, and the coming of that fearful storm had been the "last straw on the camel's back." "i hate to ask any further favors of you, phil," he finally said, with an effort, "but a great fear has taken hold of me during the night. with every fresh howl of the wind i seemed to hear a cry for help! it almost set me wild. if i had not been such a cripple i believe i must have dashed out of the cabin, and spent the remainder of the night wandering around, searching the woods." the rest of the boys stared at him. perhaps it may have occurred to one or more of them that mazie's father was losing his mind. but phil knew there was something back of it all. he had been trying to study the man, figure out what ailed him, and why he had been hiding himself and the child away up in this solitude. "were you expecting _some one_ to come up here looking for you, sir?" he asked, boldly, remembering what the contents of that telegraph message had been. "yes, that's what has been worrying me," admitted the man, acting as though he knew the time had come when he must explain away at least a part of the mystery that surrounded him, if he expected these friendly lads to assist him further. "an enemy, most likely?" continued phil, seeing the other hesitate. at that there was a heavy intaking of the breath, and then the man went on to say: "no, hardly that. i would not like to give it so harsh a term. say a friend from whom i have been estranged, and who i believed had wronged me; though of late my eyes have been opened to my own faults, and i have repented of many things done in the heat of temper." "and you believe then that this friend may have engaged a guide--that it is at least possible they were not far away from here when the storm broke. you fear they may have been caught and made to suffer; is that it, sir?" phil was handling the affair wonderfully well, his chums thought, as they listened to all that was being said. "that is what i have cause to fear," the other went on to say, quickly. "through the livelong night of tempest i have fancied i heard their cries for help, and oh! how they crucified me! it would be a terrible punishment on my head if some tragedy had taken place in the pine woods last night; and mazie--" his voice failed him in his emotion, and he did not finish his sentence. "do you want us to go out and see if there are any signs of strangers on the trail leading up here, the one we followed all the way from the village many miles off?" phil asked; and his manner was so reassuring that the wounded man immediately nodded his head in the affirmative. "it would be a fitting climax to all you and your fine chums have done for me and mine," he told them, with tears in his eyes. "shucks! that wouldn't be such a great job," lub hastened to say, before any one else could talk; "and i volunteer to be one of the party right now." "but you'd get all wet, lub, you know," expostulated ethan. "what of that?" came the indignant response; "am i made of salt, or sugar? haven't i been soaked before? if i could stand jumping into the lake with my clothes on, when the hornets tackled me, i ought to be able to take a little sprinkling, hadn't i?" "we'll all go, so as to spread out considerable," suggested x-ray tyson, who, truth to tell, was a little afraid of being left to look after things at the lodge. "i'm needed because i've got the sharpest eyes; ethan might have a chance to bring some of his woodcraft into play; phil is the one to run things; and lub, well, he spoke first, and ought to have a show." "knowing what we'll be up against," said phil, "we can arrange accordingly, so when we get back we'll have something dry to put on. before we start we'll get mr.--mr. newton out, and fixed before the fire, so he can feed it as often as he pleases." the man had flushed when phil purposely hesitated about calling the name that had been given in that message. "call me alwyn merriwell from now on," he hastily told them. "that is my real name. the time has passed for all deceit and assumed names. i have made up my mind to do what is right for--for the other party, no matter what pain and suffering it brings to me." a short time later the boys began to prepare to start out. phil saw that their injured guest was really working himself up into a fever over the anxiety he was enduring. his thoughts during the night had had a strong effect upon him. he may even have dreamed something dreadful had really happened, and it haunted him. acting on phil's advice the others dressed lightly. this would allow of leaving certain parts of their clothing behind, to be resumed on their return. "we will be moving all the time, and can keep warm enough, even while wet to the skin," he told them, as they started forth, after saying good-by to mazie, who was content to sit alongside her "daddy," holding his hand, and prattling constantly as was her pretty way. phil had managed to cover his little camera, so that he could take it along. "like as not we'll run across some effects of the hurricane that we'd like to remember," he explained, when x-ray looked questioningly at the camera. "there must be places where trees have been thrown down in all sorts of twisted shapes; and those sort of things always make the boss pictures, you know." they followed the trail. it was very faint in many places; but then ethan could be depended on to find it whenever a cry arose that it was lost. phil, too, had his bearings pretty well in hand, though as a rule he allowed ethan to swing things, for he saw that it was giving him no end of pleasure to thus exercise his knowledge of woodcraft. for a full hour they pushed on. the sun peeped out every little while, showing that phil had guessed rightly when he said the storm was a thing of the past. the leaves still dripped, though not so copiously as at first. lub even boasted that he seemed to be drying off faster than he got wet. that fact apparently occupied more of his attention than other matters. "how far ought we go, do you think, phil?" inquired x-ray tyson; "not that i'm getting tired at all; but i just asked for information." "another half-hour, and then we'll call it off," he was told. "by that time we'll have covered a number of miles. if this--er--friend of mr. merriwell's is anywhere around, and able to make us hear, we'll come on the party." "beats me to understand what it all means," grumbled lub. "and d'ye know, i've got a good suspicion that you've tumbled to the game, phil." "i've been told no more than the rest of you," the other replied; "and my guess may be wide of the mark; so just now i'm not going to say anything more. but you can see from the way he keeps looking at mazie she's got something to do with it all. when he talks about having to make a terrible sacrifice it means giving her up." "gee whiz! i never once thought of that!" burst out lub; "now i bet you the little tot's got a grandfather who's been left the child by her mother when she died. is that the answer, phil?" "i refuse to say, lub. ethan and i have been talking it over, and we've come to a certain conclusion; but wait a little, and we'll explain. we may find the person he seems to be expecting. perhaps he received a later message, and which warned him his presence up here was known." lub relapsed into silence. it could be seen, however, that he was pondering over matters, for that serious look on his usually placid face betrayed the fact. they continued to push forward, and kept up a constant watch for any sign that would indicate the presence of strangers. this might be the smoke of a fire, or the sound of an ax. "how would it do to let out a whoop every little while, phil?" suggested x-ray tyson; "for all we know they might have lost the trail in the storm, and be somewhere to one side. it'd be a mean thing if we passed 'em by without knowing it." "that isn't a bad idea," phil told him; "so start in right away with a yodel." this was all the other was waiting for, and he accordingly lifted up his voice in a loud shout. any camper hearing it would understand that the call was meant for a friendly one, and must hasten to reply. "there, wasn't that an answer; or do they have echoes as wonderful as that up here in the north woods?" demanded x-ray, excitedly. "it was a shout, all right," ethan told him, positively. "and came from over on our right," added phil, pleased at least that all their labor had not been for nothing. "let's mark the trail so we can be sure to find her again," ethan continued; always cautious about letting a good thing slip him. this being done by means of a certain tree that all of them felt sure they must easily recognize, even at some distance, the four mountain boys turned toward the spot where that faint "hallo" had come from. presently keen-eyed x-ray tyson told them he saw smoke. "that's right," admitted ethan, when he had followed the extended finger of the other chum; "and of course it means they've got a camp fire burning; though after all that rain it'd take a good woodsman to know where to find dry wood, except in the heart of some stump. let's hurry up and get there." he kept watching as he went on. it would grieve ethan sorely should he find at any time they were actually lost, and after he had taken so many precautions in the bargain. "i can see somebody moving around there," announced x-ray, soon afterwards; "and it's a man, too. seems to be a guide, if his looks count for anything." they kept heading straight toward the small cheerless camp in the drenched woods. all the while phil was expecting to hear his chums, saving possibly ethan, give utterance to low cries of surprise. "there's somebody lying down on the other side of the fire, boys," continued the one with the hawk eyes. "that smoke keeps shifting around so much i don't seem to be able to glimpse as well as--say, what d'ye think, fellows, i declare if it ain't a _woman_!" chapter xvi peace after strife--conclusion lub uttered a gurgle to indicate his consternation. ethan and phil exchanged knowing looks, as though to say it was coming out just as they had figured. the guide was a dark-faced native. he had evidently been having a hard time of it during that terrible storm, with possibly an hysterical woman on his hands, and no proper shelter. he waved his hand at the boys, and looked pleased to see them coming to their relief. as they entered the camp they saw that the woman was sitting up. she looked as though she could not have stood much more. in spite of all the adirondack guide may have done in trying to shield her from the torrents of rain, she had been wet through and through. even sitting close to the fire for a long time had not caused her to stop shivering. "we've come down here to see if we could help you any," phil said the first thing, when he and his chums reached the fire. "how'd ye know we was around these diggin's?" asked the guide, as though puzzled. "we've got a gentleman in camp with a badly broken leg, and he asked us to come," phil went on to say, narrowly watching the eager face of the woman, who he could see was by breeding a lady, and a very handsome one too no doubt, though just at that time she looked woe-begone, with her long hair hanging down her back to dry, and her khaki outing skirts bedraggled. "he's been worrying all the night, and nearly crazy because he was afraid some one would be caught in the storm, some one he expected was coming to find him." waves of color passed over her face as she heard how the gentleman had been so deeply concerned. "would you mind telling me his name?" she asked phil; and somehow the boy was reminded of mazie when he looked more closely at her. "he has been calling himself john newton all along," he remarked; "but just this morning he admitted that his real name was merriwell--alwyn merriwell." she drew a long breath. her eyes were as bright as stars as she hurriedly went on to ask another question; and both phil and ethan knew exactly what this would be before she had uttered a single word. "is there a little girl with--mr. merriwell? oh! please tell me instantly, for i am crazy to hear!" "yes, and her name is mazie!" phil immediately replied. "we found her lost in the woods, and took her to our camp. then later on we ran across him. he had broken his leg while searching for her, and tried to crawl miles, thinking to get help from us so as to find her. he came near dying, too." she dropped her head in her hands, and they could see that she was crying very hard. whether it was through sheer thankfulness because of what she had heard concerning the presence of the child, or from some other reason, phil could not quite understand. but he believed it was all going to turn out splendidly. presently she looked up, and smiled bravely through her tears. phil could see that a new happiness had come upon her; and he guessed the cause. "i am mazie's own mother," she said, to the astonishment of lub, who up to then had not been able to figure things out correctly; "there was a terrible misunderstanding between my husband and myself. the court gave me charge of our child. his love for mazie was an absorbing passion, even greater than my own. one day she disappeared, and we had reason to suspect that he had taken her away, so that she could be with him. ever since i have sought far and wide to find them, but until lately without avail." she stopped speaking, and seemed to be thinking for a minute; then went on, for of course none of the boys had ventured to say a single word: "of late i have learned through the death of a wicked person that i had wronged my husband dreadfully. i am only waiting to see him to ask his forgiveness; and unless he has lost all his love for me we may undo the wretched past, and start all over again, with mazie the bond between us." she had said quite enough for them to understand. phil was wondering whether they might not have to construct another litter in order to carry the lady all the way to the distant camp. "oh! have no fears for me," she hastened to tell him, when he started to speak of such a thing. "i feel as though i could walk from now to sunset, and not grow weary, knowing that mazie, and alwyn, are at the end of the trail. we cannot start too soon to satisfy my yearning heart. i could almost fly as though i had wings." and, indeed, there was no difficulty in her keeping up with them. the new hope of happiness, after all these dreary months of wretchedness, buoyed her heart up as possibly nothing else could have done. before noon had arrived they drew near the cabin under the hemlocks and birches. the sky had cleared, and the sun shone warmly. all nature looked bright again after the storm. "listen!" cried the lady, suddenly. it was the sweet childish voice of mazie they heard, singing one of her little songs, which the boys had never tired of hearing. imagine how it affected the mother, separated from her darling so long. she could not be longer restrained, but rushing ahead passed inside the cabin. the boys purposely loitered. when finally they ventured to enter it was to find the lady on her knees, with the arms of the child tightly clasped about her neck. she had one of the wounded man's hands in hers; and apparently the breach between them had been healed, for he was looking upon mother and child with a love light in his eyes. this influx of guests was getting serious, x-ray and lub had a regular argument as to which one should surrender his bunk to mazie's mother. she would not hear of any such thing, however, and insisted that there was plenty of room for both mazie and herself in the one bunk. and after she had recovered from her exposure mrs. merriwell insisted on making herself useful, both in the way of a nurse, and in helping with the cooking. as for mazie's "daddy," he no longer looked the unhappy man the boys had considered him; since he was not going to be called upon to make that terrible sacrifice which he had considered was his duty. this new arrangement left the boys more opportunity to prosecute their various pleasures. lub had begun to show a decided interest in certain things connected with woodcraft, so that ethan only too gladly accepted every chance to explain how to follow a trail, what certain signs stood for, what was the best way to make a fire in a storm, and dozens of other things equally as interesting. of course phil was more than ever engaged with his flashlight photography. he had secured a startling picture of the red fox whose tracks he had discovered; and this spurred him on to greater things. often ethan kept him company, and showed that he had really started to take a deep interest in this newer method of hunting without a gun. mr. merriwell steadily grew better. he hopped around by the aid of his crutches, and hoped to be able to walk some by the time the mountain boys thought of leaving the north woods for their home town, which was further south, though still in the uplands. josh maxfield, the guide, stayed with them. he made himself useful, and ethan managed to pick up quite a fund of information from the experienced native, who had been born and bred in the pine woods. many were the cheery evenings they all spent, in front of the cabin if it happened to be warm, or before the fire if the night air was chilly, as often turned out to be the case. josh had plenty of interesting stories to tell. mazie in particular was keenly interested in his accounts of how the black bear outwitted the honey bees that had made their hive in an old hollow tree; so that he usually secured a sweet treat as long as he could reach in with his paw, and tear the heavily laden combs out. all too soon did the days pass, until finally it was decided that they must be starting back over the old trail. every one would be sorry indeed to say farewell to birch bark lodge. the merriwells made phil promise to send them a set of all his pictures, and in particular the one that showed the dear old cabin. "it stands for our new life," said the gentleman, as he sat there one arm around his wife, and the other about mazie; "and every time we look at it our vows will be renewed. besides, all the happy things that have happened here must rush over our memories. yes, it will be our standard cure for the blues." although the lame man was getting around pretty well, phil knew he would never be able to stand such a long and arduous journey as the one they had ahead of them. accordingly they made over the stretcher, with the help of josh, and meant to carry it along. of course once they managed to reach the village, where there would be a road leading out of the wilderness, and possibly some sort of vehicle to hire, things would be much easier. "one thing sure," said phil, as they got ready to clear out one bright morning, "i've had glorious good luck in taking all the pictures i did. why, i've beaten my highest expectations three times over. the collection will fill a new album; and right in front i'll have stamped in letters of gold: 'memories of birch bark lodge.'" "yes, we'll never forget what a grand good time we've all had up here," affirmed lub, who seemed to feel the breaking away even more than any of his chums; "and often when i'm snuggled down between common every-day sheets at home i'll dream of my fine bunk, and the way my blanket kept me warm." "and what came down the chimney one night," added x-ray tyson; "not to mention what _tried_ to come down the next day. oh! we'll all enjoy remembering things. and i don't believe we could ever have such a magnificent time together again." "don't be too sure of that," phil told him. "i can see some other outings ahead that may even turn out to be jollier than this one, though it seems hard to think it now. let's give the old cabin a last salute, boys. three cheers and a tiger for birch bark lodge!" they were given with a will. even little mazie added her childish treble to the volume of sound that went up. so they pulled out, and left the old cabin tenantless. the gray squirrels could run over the roof with impunity now; br'er 'coon might wander along his trail down to the water's edge to do a little fishing, without having a sudden blinding flash startle him out of his seven senses; while br'er fox need not skulk in the dense covert for fear of meeting roving boys. but the bear that had fallen down the chimney, and the lordly moose had better make themselves scarce in that particular neighborhood; because ere many moons had waxed and waned josh intended coming back again to look them up; and the law would no longer protect the shy inmates of the north woods against the "sticks that spat out fire and stinging missiles" whenever they were pointed straight. the man with the broken leg soon gave out, and had to take to the stretcher. the sturdy woods guide carried one end and the boys took turns helping out, so they got along very well. mazie and her mother walked alongside, though from time to time the little sprite would insist on taking phil's hand; or it might be that of stout lub. she had made him promise he would send her his picture when he got home; and lub always grinned when x-ray tyson or ethan tried to joke him about his "new girl." they arrived at the mountain village, and a vehicle was obtained by means of which all of them could get out of the region, and in touch with civilization. when it came to saying good-by to the merriwells the boys found it very hard. the gentleman declared they would see them all again as soon as he found himself perfectly well; for he wanted to know their families; and doubtless meant to inform these good people as to the extent of the debt of gratitude he owed phil bradley and his mountain boys. that still more thrilling happenings were in store for the boys whose fortunes we have been following in the pages of this volume the reader will learn upon securing the next story of the series, now published under the title of "phil bradley at the wheel; or, the mountain boys' mad auto chase." the end ----------------------------------------------------------------------the mountain boys series 1. phil bradley's mountain boys 2. phil bradley at the wheel 3. phil bradley's shooting box 4. phil bradley's snow-shoe trail these books describe with interesting detail the experiences of a party of boys among the mountain pines. they teach the young reader how to protect himself against the elements, what to do and what to avoid, and above all to become self-reliant and manly. 12mo. cloth. 40 cents per volume; postpaid the new york book company 201 east 12th street--new york tom slade at temple camp by percy k. fitzhugh author of the tom slade books the roy blakeley books the pee-wee harris books published with the approval of the boy scouts of america whitman publishing co. racine, wisconsin ----------------------------------------------------------------------copyright, mcmxvii grosset & dunlap printed in the united states of america ----------------------------------------------------------------------table of contents i. roy's sacrifice 1 ii. indian scout sign 10 iii. pee-wee and mary temple 19 iv. tom and roy 25 v. first coup of the mascot 32 vi. the shelter 52 vii. the "good turn" 70 viii. bon voyage! 79 ix. the mystery 94 x. pee-wee's adventure 110 xi. tracks and trailing 124 xii. the long arm of the scout 136 xiii. temple camp 150 xiv. hero cabin 165 xv. coward 177 xvi. ostracized 188 xvii. the winning of the golden cross 197 ----------------------------------------------------------------------chapter i roy's sacrifice "rejected by a large majority--i mean, elected by a large majority." roy blakeley gathered up the ballots in his two hands, dropped them into the shoe box and pushed the box across the table to mr. ellsworth as if the matter were finally settled. "honorable roy blakeley," he added, "didn't even carry his own patrol." this humiliating confession, offered in roy's gayest manner, was true. the silver foxes had turned from their leader and, to a scout, voted for tom slade. it was hinted that roy himself was responsible for this, but he was a good politician and would not talk. there was also a dark rumor that a certain young lady was mixed up in the matter and it is a fact that only the night before roy and mary temple had been seen in earnest converse on the wide veranda at grantley square by pee-wee harris, who believed that a scout should be observant. be this as it may, tom had carried his own patrol, the elks, unanimously, and the silver foxes had voted for him like instructed delegates, while among the proud and dignified ravens there had been but one dissenting vote. someone had cast this for pee-wee harris, the silver fox mascot and the troop's chief exhibit. but, of course, it was only a joke. the idea of pee-wee going away as assistant camp manager was preposterous. why, you could hardly see him without a magnifying glass. "if this particular majority had been much larger," announced roy, "it wouldn't have been a majority at all; it would have been a unanimity." "a una _what_?" someone asked. "a unanimity--that's latin for home run. seems a pity that the only thing that prevented a clean sweep was a little three-foot pocket edition of a boy scout----" at this moment, pee-wee, by a miracle of dexterity, landed a ball of twine plunk in the middle of roy's face. "roy," laughed mr. ellsworth, "you're a good campaign manager." "he's a boss," shouted pee-wee, "that's what he is. a boss is a feller that has people elected and then makes them do what he says." "well, you were glad enough to vote for him with the rest, weren't you?" laughed the scoutmaster. and pee-wee had to confess that he was. but there was no doubt that roy had managed the whole thing, and if ever political boss saw his fondest wishes realized roy did now. "i think," said mr. ellsworth, "that it is up to tom to deliver his speech of acceptance." "sure it is," said westy martin (silver fox). "we want to know his policies. is he going to favor the elks or is he going to be neutral?" "is he for troop first or camp first?" asked doc. carson (raven and first-aid scout). "is roy blakeley going to come in for three or four helpings at mess because he ran the campaign?" asked connie bennett, of the new elks. "speech, speech!" called eddie ingram, of the silver foxes. tom looked uneasily at mr. ellsworth and on the scoutmaster's laughing nod of encouragement arose. he was not at his best in a thing of this kind; he had always envied roy his easy, bantering manner, but he was not the one to shirk a duty, so he stood up. he was about fifteen and of a heavy, ungraceful build. his hair was thick and rather scraggly, his face was of the square type, and his expression what people call stolid. he had freckles but not too many, and his mouth was large and his lips tight-set. his face wore a characteristic frown which was the last feeble trace of a lowering look which had once disfigured it. frowns are in the taboo list of the scouts, but somehow this one wasn't half bad; there was a kind of rugged strength in it. he wore khaki trousers and a brown flannel shirt which was unbuttoned in front, exposing an expanse of very brown chest. for tom slade's virtues you will have to plow through these pages if you have not already met him, but for his faults, they were printed all over him like cities on a map. he was stubborn, rather reticent, sometimes unreasonable, and carried with him that air of stolid self-confidence which is apt to be found in one who has surmounted obstacles and risen in spite of handicaps. it was often said in the troop that one never knew how to take tom. "i think pee-wee is right," he said, "and i guess roy managed this. i could see he was doing some private wig-wag work, and i think you've all been--what d'you call it--co-something or other----" "coerced!" suggested pee-wee. (cries of "no, you're crazy!") "but as long as i'm elected i'll take the job--and i'm very thankful. i won't deny i wanted it. roy won't get any favors." (cheers) "if i have any deciding to do i'll decide the way i think is right. that's all i've got to say--oh, yes, there's one thing more--one thing i made up my mind to in case i was lucky enough to get elected." (cries of "hear, hear!") "i'm not going to go by the railroad. i got an idea, like, that it doesn't took right for a scout to go to camp by train. so i'm going to hike it up to the camp. i'm going to start early enough so i can do it. when a scout steps off a train he looks like a summer boarder. i ask roy to go with me if he can start when i do. i don't want you fellows to think i was expecting to be chosen. i didn't let myself think about it. but sometimes you can't help thinking about a thing; and the other night i said to myself that if anything should happen i should get elected----" (a voice, "you didn't do a thing but walk away with it, tommy!") (cries of "shut up till he gets through!") "i wouldn't go to that camp in a train. i'm not going to set foot in it till i'm qualified for a first-class scout, and i'm going to do the rest of my stunts on the way. i want roy to go with me if he can. i thank you for electing me. i'll do my best in that job. if i knew how to say it, i'd thank you better. i guess i'm kind of rattled." the blunt little speech was very characteristic of tom and it was greeted with a storm of applause. he had a way of blurting out his plans and ideas without giving any previous hint of them, but this was something of a knockout blow. "oh, you hit it right!" shouted pee-wee. "gee, i do hate railroad trains--railroad trains and homework." "you don't mean you're going to hike it from here, tom, do you?" asked mr. ellsworth. "i had an idea i might canoe up as far as nyack," said tom, "and then follow the river up to catskill landing and hit in for leeds--but, of course," he added, "i didn't really expect to be elected." "oh, crinkums!" shouted pee-wee. "i'll go with you!" "well," said roy, when the laughter had subsided, "this is a new wrinkle and it sounds rather risky for a half-baked elk----" (hisses from the elks) "so far as i'm concerned, i think a hike of a hundred miles or so----" "you're crazy!" interrupted pee-wee. "you silver-plated fox----" "is too much," concluded roy. "in the first place, there would have to be a whole lot of discomfort." (hisses) "a fellow would be pretty sure to get his feet wet." (mr. ellsworth restrained pee-wee with difficulty.) "he would have to sleep out of doors in the damp night air----" (a voice, "slap him on the wrist!") "and he would be likely to get lost. scouts, it's no fun to be lost in the woods----" (cries of "yes, it is!") "we would be footsore and weary," continued roy. "you got that out of a book!" shouted pee-wee. "_footsore and weary_--that's the way folks talk in books!" "we might be caught in the rain," said roy, soberly. "we might have to pick our way along obscure trail or up steep mountains." "you ought to go and take a ride in a merry-go-round," cried pee-wee, sarcastically. "in short, it is fraught with peril," said roy. "you got _that_ out of a book, too," said pee-wee, disgustedly, "_fraught with peril_!" "i think it is too much of an undertaking," said roy, ignoring him. "we can get round-trip tickets." pee-wee almost fell off his chair. "but, of course," continued roy, soberly, "a scout is not supposed to think of himself--especially a silver fox. i am a silver fox--sterling--warranted. a scout is a brother to every other scout. he ought to be ready to make sacrifices." (mr. ellsworth began to chuckle.) "he ought not to stand by and see a fellow scout in danger. he ought not to stand and see a poor elk go headlong----" (hisses) "he ought to be ready with a good turn regardless of his own comfort and safety." (hoots and laughter) "i am ready with a good turn. i am ready to sac----" (jeers) "i am ready to sac----" (jeers) "i am----" (cries of "noble lad!") "i am ready to sac----" "well, go ahead and _sac_, why don't you?" shouted pee-wee in disgust. "you're a hyp----" "hip--hooray!" concluded several scouts. "you're a hyp--hyp--hypocrite!" pee-wee managed to ejaculate amid the tumult. "i am ready to sac----" "oh, go on, sac and be done with it!" "i am ready to sacrifice myself for tom slade," finished roy, magnanimously. "tom," he added, extending his hand across the table with a noble air of martyrdom, "tom, i will go with you!" the meeting broke up gaily, mr. ellsworth saying that he would certainly communicate roy's generous and self-sacrificing offer to national headquarters as a conspicuous instance of a memorable and epoch-making good turn. "he gets my goat!" said pee-wee to the scoutmaster. "i am very glad," said mr. ellsworth, soberly, "that our summer begins with a good turn. the silver foxes should be proud of their unselfish leader." then he turned to doc. carson and winked the other eye. he was a great jollier--mr. ellsworth. chapter ii [transcriber's note: an indian scout sign drawing was inserted here.] the old indian scout sign, which is the title of this chapter, means _there is nothing new along this trail and it brings you back to the same place._ if you are already acquainted with tom slade and his friends you will be safe in skipping this chapter but, otherwise, you would better read it for it will tell you a little of tom's past history and of the other scouts with whom you are to become acquainted in this volume. to know just how all this election business came about we must go back a year or so to a time when tom slade was just a hoodlum down in barrel alley and believed with all his heart that the best use a barrel stave could be put to was to throw it into the chinese laundry. he had heard of the boy scouts and he called them "regiment guys" and had a sophisticated contempt for them. then all of a sudden, along had come roy blakeley, who had shown him that he was just wasting good barrel staves; that you could make a first-class indian bow out of a barrel stave. roy had also told him that you can't smoke cigarettes if you expect to aim straight. that was an end of the barrel as a missile and that was an end of _turkish blend mixture_--or whatever you call it. there wasn't any talk or preaching--just a couple of good knockout blows. tom had held that of all the joys in the mischievous hoodlum program none was so complete as that of throwing chunks of coal through streetcar windows at the passengers inside. then along had come westy martin and shown him how you could mark patrol signs on rocks with chunks of coal--signs which should guide the watchful scout through the trackless wilderness. exit coal as a missile. in short, tom slade awoke to the realization not only that he was a hoodlum, but that he was out of date with his vulgar slang and bungling, unskilful tricks. tom and his father had lived in two rooms in one of john temple's tenements down in barrel alley and john temple and his wife and daughter lived in a couple of dozen rooms, a few lawns, porches, sun-parlors and things up in grantley square. and john temple stood a better chance of being struck by lightning than of collecting the rent from bill slade. john temple was very rich and very grouchy. he owned the bridgeboro national bank; he owned all the vacant lots with their hospitable "keep out" signs, and he had a controlling interest in pretty nearly everything else in town--except his own temper. poor, lazy bill slade and his misguided son might have gone on living in john temple's tenement rent free until it fell in a heap, for though mr. temple blustered he was not bad at heart; but on an evil day tom had thrown a rock at bridgeboro's distinguished citizen. it was a random, unscientific shot but, as luck would have it, it knocked john temple's new golf cap off into the rich mud of barrel alley. it did not hurt john temple, but it killed the goose that laid the golden eggs for the slades. mr. temple's dignity was more than hurt; it was black and blue. he would rather have been hit by a financial panic than by that sordid missile from barrel alley's most notorious hoodlum. inside of three days out went the slades from john temple's tenement, bag and baggage. there wasn't much baggage. a couple of broken chairs, a greasy dining-table which tom had used strategically in his defensive operations against his father's assaults, a dented beer-can and a few other dilapidated odds and ends constituted the household effects of the unfortunate father and son. bill slade, unable to cope with this unexpected disaster, disappeared on the day of the eviction and tom was sheltered by a kindly neighbor, mrs. o'connor. his fortunes were at the very lowest ebb and it seemed a fairly safe prophesy that he would presently land in the home for wayward boys, when one day he met roy blakeley and tried to hold him up for a nickel. far be it from me to defend the act, but it was about the best thing that tom ever did so far as his own interests were concerned. roy took him up to his own little camp solitaire on the beautiful lawn of the blakeley home, gave him a cup of coffee, some plum duff (silver fox brand, patent applied for), and passed him out some of the funniest slang (all brand new) that poor tom had ever heard. that was the beginning of tom's transformation into a scout. he fell for scouting with a vengeance. it opened up a new world to him. to be sure, this king of the hoodlums did not capitulate all at once--not he. he was still wary of all "rich guys" and "sissies"; but he used to go down and peek through a hole in the fence of temple's lot when they were practising their games. mr. ellsworth said nothing, only winked his eye at the boys, for he saw which way the wind was blowing. tom slade, king of the hoodlums, had the scout bug and didn't know it. then, when the time was ripe, mr. ellsworth called him down into the field one day for a try at archery. tom scrambled down from the fence and shuffled over to where the scouts waited with smiling, friendly faces; but just at that moment, who should come striding through the field but john temple--straight for the little group. what happened was not pleasant. john temple denounced them all as a gang of trespassers, ordered them out of his field and did not hesitate to express his opinion of tom in particular. mr. ellsworth then and there championed the poor fellow and prophesied that notwithstanding his past the scouts would make a man of him yet. after that tom slade came out flat-footed and hit the scout trail. he was never able to determine to whom he should be most grateful, roy blakeley or mr. ellsworth, but it was the beginning of a friendship between the two boys which became closer as time passed. there is no use retelling a tale that is told. tom had such a summer in camp as he had never dreamed of when he used to lie in bed till noontime in barrel alley, and all that you shall find in its proper place, but you must know something of how temple camp came into being and how it came by its name. john temple was a wonderful man--oh, he was smart. he could take care of your property for you; if you had a thousand dollars he would turn it into two thousand for you--like a sleight-of-hand performer. he could tell you what kind of stocks to buy and when to sell them. he knew where to buy real estate. he could tell you when wheat was going up or down--just as if there were a scout sign to go by. he had everything that heart could wish--and the rheumatism besides. but his dubious prophesy as to the future of tom slade, king of the hoodlums, came out all wrong. tom was instrumental in getting back a pin which had been stolen from mary temple, and when her father saw the boy after six months or so of scouting he couldn't have been more surprised--not even if the bridgeboro bank had failed. then poor old john temple (or rich old john temple) showed that he had one good scout trait. he could be a good loser. he saw that he was all wrong and that mr. ellsworth was right and he straightway built a pavilion for the scouts in the beautiful woods where all the surprising episodes of the summer which had opened his eyes had taken place. but you know as well as i do that a man like john temple would never be satisfied with building a little one-troop camping pavilion; not he. so what should he do but buy a tract of land up in the catskills close to a beautiful sheet of water which was called black lake; and here he put up a big open shack with a dozen or so log cabins about it and endowed the whole thing as a summer camp where troops from all over the country might come and find accommodations and recreation in the summer months. that was not all. temple camp was to be a school where scouting might be taught (oh, he was going to do the right thing, was old john temple!), and to that end he communicated with somebody who communicated with somebody else, who got in touch with somebody else who went to some ranch or other a hundred miles from nowhere in the woolly west and asked old jeb rushmore if he wouldn't come east and look after this big scout camp. how in the world john temple, in his big leather chair in the bridgeboro bank, had ever got wind of jeb rushmore no one was able to find out. john temple was a genius for picking out men and in this case he touched high-water mark. jeb rushmore was furnished with passes over all john temple's railroads straight through from somewhere or other in dakota to catskill landing, and a funny sight he must have been in his flannel shirt and slouch hat, sprawling his lanky limbs from the platforms of observation cars, drawling out his pithy observations about the civilization which he had never before seen. there are only two more things necessary to mention in this "side trail" chapter. tom's father bobbed up after the boy had become a scout. he was a mere shadow of his former self; drink and a wandering life had all but completed his ruin, and although tom and his companions gave him a home in their pleasant camp it was too late to help him much and he died among them, having seen (if it were any satisfaction for him to see) that scouting had made a splendid boy of his once neglected son. this brings us to the main trail again and explains why it was that roy blakeley had held mysterious conferences with mary temple, and suggested to all the three patrols that it would be a good idea to elect tom to go to temple camp to assist in its preparation and management. they had all known that one of their number was to be chosen for this post and roy had hit on tom as the one to go because he still lived with mrs. o'connor down in barrel alley and had not the same pleasant home surroundings as the other boys. a scout is thoughtful. chapter iii pee-wee and mary temple throughout the previous summer tom had been in roy's patrol, the silver foxes, but when the new elk patrol was formed with connie bennett, the bronson boys and others, he had been chosen its leader. "i think it's just glorious," said mary temple, when tom told her of his plan and of roy's noble sacrifice, "and i wish i was a boy." "oh, it's great to be a boy," enthused pee-wee. "gee, that's one thing i'm glad of anyway--that i'm a boy!" "half a boy is better than all girl," taunted roy. "_you're_ a model boy," added westy. "and mother and father and i are coming up in the touring car in august to visit the camp," said mary. "oh, i think it's perfectly lovely you and tom are going on ahead and that you're going to walk, and you'll have everything ready when the others get there. good-bye." tom and roy were on their way up to the blakeley place to set about preparing for the hike, for they meant to start as soon as they could get ready. pee-wee lingered upon the veranda at temple court swinging his legs from the rubble-stone coping--those same legs that had made the scout pace famous. "oh, crinkums," he said, "they'll have _some_ time! cracky, but i'd like to go. you don't believe all this about roy's making a _noble sacrifice_, do you?" he added, scornfully. mary laughed and said she didn't. "because that isn't a good turn," pee-wee argued, anxious that mary should not get a mistaken notion of this important phase of scouting. "a good turn is when you do something that helps somebody else. if you do it because you get a lot of fun out of it yourself, then it isn't a good turn at all. of course, roy knows that; he's only jollying when he calls it a good turn. you have to be careful with roy, he's a terrible jollier--and mr. ellsworth's pretty near as bad. oh, cracky, but i'd like to go with them--that's one sure thing. you think it's no fun being a girl and i'll admit _i_ wouldn't want to be one--i got to admit that; but it's pretty near as bad to be small. if you're small they jolly you. and if i asked them to let me go they'd only laugh. gee, i don't mind being jollied, but i _would_ like to go. that's one thing you ought to be thankful for--you're not small. of course, maybe girls can't do so many things as boys--i mean scouting-like--but--oh, crinkums," he broke off in an ecstasy of joyous reflection. "oh, crinkums, that'll be some trip, _believe me_." mary temple looked at the diminutive figure in khaki trousers which sat before her on the coping. it was one of the good things about pee-wee harris that he never dreamed how much people liked him. "i don't know about that," said mary. "i mean about a girl not being able to do things--scouting things. mightn't a girl do a good turn?" "oh, sure," pee-wee conceded. "but i suppose if it gave her very much pleasure it wouldn't be a good turn." "oh, yes, it might," admitted pee-wee, anxious to explain the science of good turns. "this is the way it is. if you do a good turn it's sure to make you feel good--that you did it--see? but if you do it just for your own pleasure, then it's not a good turn. but roy puts over a lot of nonsense about good turns. he does it just to make me mad--because i've made a sort of study of them--like." mary laughed in spite of herself. "he says it was a good thing when tom threw a barrel stave in the chinese laundry because it led to his being a scout. but that isn't logic. do you know what logic is?" mary thought she had a notion of what it was. "a thing that's bad can't be good, can it?" pee-wee persisted. "suppose you should hit me with a brick----" "i wouldn't think of doing such a thing!" "but suppose you did. and suppose the scouts came along and gave me first aid and after that i became a scout. could you say you did me a good turn by hitting me with a brick because that way i got to be a scout? roy--you got to be careful with him--you can't always tell when he's jollying." mary looked at him intently for a few seconds. "well, then," said she, "since you've made a study of good turns tell me this. if roy and tom were to ask you to go with them on their long hike, would that be a good turn?" "sure it would, because it would have a sacrifice in it, don't you see?" "how?" "because they'd do it just to please me--they wouldn't really want me." "well," she laughed, "roy's good at making sacrifices." "je-ru-salem!" said pee-wee, shaking his head almost incredulously at the idea of such good fortune; "that'll be some trip. but you know what they say, and it's true--i got to admit it's true--that two's a company, three's a crowd." "it wouldn't be three," laughed mary; "it would only be two and a half." she watched the sturdy figure as pee-wee trudged along the gravel walk and down the street. he seemed even smaller than he had seemed on the veranda. and it was borne in upon her how much jollying he stood for and how many good things he missed just because he _was_ little, and how cheerful and generous-hearted he was withal. the next morning roy received a letter which read: "dear roy--i want you and tom to ask walter harris to go with you. please don't tell him that i asked you. you said you were going to name one of the cabins or one of the boats for me because i took so much interest. i'd rather have you do this. you can call it a good turn if you want to--a real one. "mary temple." pee-wee harris also received an envelope with an enclosure similar to many which he had received of late. he suspected their source. this one read as follows: if you want to be a scout, you must watch what you're about, and never let a chance for mischief pass. you may win the golden cross if your ball you gayly toss through the middle of a neighbor's pane of glass. chapter iv tom and roy the letter from mary temple fell on camp solitaire like a thunderbolt. camp solitaire was the name which roy had given his own cosy little tent on the blakeley lawn, and here he and tom were packing duffel bags and sharpening belt axes ready for their long tramp when the note from grantley square was scaled to them by the postman as he made a short cut across the lawn. "what do you know about that?" said roy, clearly annoyed. "we can't take _him_; he's too small. who's going to take the responsibility? this is a team hike." "you don't suppose he put the idea in her head, do you?" tom asked. "oh, i don't know. you saw yourself how crazy he was about it." "pee-wee's all right," said tom. "sure he's all right. he's the best little camp mascot that ever happened. but how are we going to take him along on this hike? and what's he going to do when he gets there?" "he could help us on the troop cabin--getting it ready," tom suggested. roy threw the letter aside in disgust. "that's a girl all over," he said, as he sulkily packed his duffel bag. "she doesn't think of what it means--she just wants it done, that's all, so she sends her what-d'you-call-it--edict. pee-wee can't stand for a hundred and forty mile hike. we'd have to get a baby carriage!" he went on with his packing, thrusting things into the depths of his duffel bag half-heartedly and with but a fraction of his usual skill. "you know as well as i do about team hikes. how can we fix this up for three _now_? we've got everything ready and made all our plans; now it seems we've got to cart this kid along or be in dutch up at temple's. _he_ can't hike twenty miles a day. he's just got a bee in his dome that he'd like----" "it _would_ be a good turn," interrupted tom. "i was counting on a team hike myself. i wanted to be off on a trip alone with you a while. i'm disappointed too, but it _would_ be a good turn--it would be a peach of a one, so far as that's concerned." "no, it wouldn't," contradicted roy. "it would be a piece of blamed foolishness." "he'd furnish some fun--he always does." "he'd furnish a lot of trouble and responsibility! why can't he wait and come up with the rest? makes me sick!" roy added, as he hurled the aluminum coffee-pot out of a chair and sat down disgustedly. "_now_, you see, you dented that," said tom. "a lot _i_ care. gee, i'd like to call the whole thing off--that's what i'd like to do. i'd do it for two cents." "well, i've got two cents," said tom, "but i'm not going to offer it. _i_ say, let's make the best of it. i've seen you holding your sides laughing at pee-wee. you said yourself he was a five-reel photoplay all by himself." roy drew a long breath and said nothing. he was plainly in his very worst humor. he did not want pee-wee to go. he, too, wanted to be alone with tom. there were plenty of good turns to be done without bothering with this particular one. besides, it was not a good turn, he told himself. it would expose walter harris to perils---oh, roy was very generous and considerate of walter harris---"if it's a question of good turns," he said, "it would be a better turn to leave him home, where he'll be safe and happy. it's no good turn to him, dragging him up and down mountains till he's so dog-tired he falls all over himself--is it?" tom smiled a little, but said nothing. "oh, well, if that's the way you feel," said roy, pulling the cord of his duffel bag so tight that it snapped, "you and pee-wee had better go and i'll back out." "it ain't the way i feel," said tom, in his slow way. "i'd rather go alone with you. didn't i say so? i guess pee-wee thinks he's stronger than he is. _i_ think he'd better be at home too and i'd rather he'd stay home, though it's mostly just because i want to be alone with you. maybe it's selfish, but if it is i can't help it. i think sometimes a feller might do something selfish and make up for it some other way--maybe. but i don't think any feller's got a right to do something selfish and then call it a good turn. i don't believe a long hike would hurt pee-wee. he's the best scout-pacer in your patrol. but i want to go alone with you and i'd just as soon tell mary so. i suppose it would be selfish, but we'd just try to make up----" "oh, shut up, will you!" snapped roy. "you get on my nerves, dragging along with your theories and things. _i_ don't care who goes or if anybody goes. and you can go home and sleep for all i care." "all right," said tom, rising. "i'd rather do that than stay here and fight. i don't see any use talking about whether it's a good turn to pee-wee." (roy ostentatiously busied himself with his packing and pretended not to hear.) "i wasn't thinking about pee-wee so much anyway. it's mary temple that i was thinking of. it would be a good turn to her, you can't deny that. pee-wee harris has got nothing to do with it--it's between you and me and mary temple." "you going home?" roy asked, coldly. "yes." "well, you and pee-wee and mary temple can fix it up. i'm out of it." he took a pad and began to write, while tom lingered in the doorway of the tent, stolid, as he always was. "wait and mail this for me, will you," said roy. he wrote: "dear mary--since you butted in tom and i have decided that it would be best for pee-wee to go with _him_ and i'll stay here. anyway, that's what _i've_ decided. so you'll get your wish, all right, and i should worry. "roy." tom took the sealed envelope, but paused irresolutely in the doorway. it was the first time that he and roy had ever quarrelled. "what did you say to her?" he asked. "never mind what i said," roy snapped. "you'll get your wish." "i'd rather go alone with you," said tom, simply. "i told you that already. i'd rather see pee-wee stay home. i care more for you," he said, hesitating a little, "than for anyone else. but i vote to take pee-wee because mary wants--asks--us to. i wouldn't call it a good turn leaving him home, and you wouldn't either--only you're disappointed, same as i am. i wouldn't even call it much of a good turn taking him. we can never pay back mary temple. it would be like giving her a cent when we owed her a thousand. i got to do what i think is right--you--you made me a scout. i--i got to be thankful to you if i can see straight. it's--it's kind of--like a--like a trail--like," he blundered on. "there can be trails in your mind, kind of. once i chucked stones at pee-wee and swiped mary's ball. now i want to take him along--a little bit for his sake, but mostly for hers. and i want to go alone with you for my own sake, because--because," he hesitated, "because i want to be alone with you. but i got to hit the right trail--you taught me that----" "well, go ahead and hit it," said roy, "it's right outside the door." tom looked at him steadily for a few seconds as if he did not understand. you might have seen something out of the ordinary then in that stolid face. after a moment he turned and went down the hill and around the corner of the big bank building, passed ching woo's laundry, into which he had once thrown dirty barrel staves, picked his way through the mud of barrel alley and entered the door of the tenement where mrs. o'connor lived. he had not slept there for three nights. the sound of cats wailing and trucks rattling and babies crying was not much like the soughing of the wind in the elms up on the blakeley lawn. but if you have hit the right trail and have a good conscience you can sleep, and tom slept fairly well amid the din and uproar. chapter v first coup of the mascot anyway, he slept better than roy slept. all night long the leader of the silver foxes was haunted by that letter. the darkness, the breeze, the soothing music of crickets and locusts outside his little tent dissipated his anger, as the voices of nature are pretty sure to do, and made him see straight, to use tom's phrase. he thought of tom making his lonely way back to barrel alley and going to bed there amid the very scenes which he had been so anxious to have him forget. he fancied him sitting on the edge of his cot in mrs. o'connor's stuffy dining room, reading his scout manual. he was always reading his manual; he had it all marked up like a blazed trail. roy got small consolation now from the fact that he had procured tom's election. if tom had been angry at him, his conscience would be easier now; but tom seldom got mad. in imagination he followed that letter to the temple home. he saw it laid at mary's place at the dining table. he saw her come dancing in to breakfast and pick it up and wave it gaily. he saw john temple reading his paper at the head of the table and advising with mary, who was his partner in the temple camp enterprise. he knew it was for her sake quite as much as for the scouts that mr. temple had made this splendid gift, and he knew (for he had dined at grantley square) just how father and daughter conferred together. why, who was it but mary that told john temple there must be ten thousand wooden plates and goodness knows how many sanitary drinking cups? mary had it all marked in the catalogues. roy pictured her as she opened the letter and read it,--that rude, selfish note. he wondered what she would say. and he wondered what john temple would think. it would be such a surprise to her that poor little pee-wee was not wanted. in the morning roy arose feeling very wretched after an all but sleepless night. he did not know what he should do that day. he might go up to grantley square and apologize, but you cannot, by apology, undo what is done. while he was cooking his breakfast he thought of pee-wee--pee-wee who was always so gay and enthusiastic, who worshipped roy, and who "did not mind being jollied." he would be ashamed to face pee-wee even if that redoubtable scout pacer were sublimely innocent of what had taken place. at about noon he saw tom coming up the lawn. he looked a little shamefaced as tom came in and sat down without a word. "i--i was going to go down to see you," said roy. "i--i feel different now. i can see straight. i wish i hadn't----" "i've got a letter for you," said tom, disinterestedly. "i was told to deliver it." "you--were you at temple's?" "there isn't any answer," said tom, with his usual exasperating stolidness. roy hesitated a moment. then, as one will take a dose of medicine quickly to have it over, he grasped the envelope, tore it open, and read: "dear mary--since you butted in tom and i have decided it would be best for pee-wee to go with _him_ and i'll stay home. anyway, that's what _i've_ decided. so you'll get your wish, all right, and i should worry. "roy." he looked up into tom's almost expressionless countenance. "who--told--you to deliver it--tom?" "i told myself. you said you'd call the whole thing off for two cents. but you ought not to expect me to pay the two cents----" "didn't i put a stamp on it?" said roy, looking at the envelope. "if you want to put a stamp on it now," said tom, "i'll go and mail it for you--but i--i didn't feel i cared to trust you for two cents--over night." through glistening eyes roy looked straight at tom, but found no response in that dogged countenance. but he knew tom, and knew what to expect from him. "you old grouch," he shouted, running his hand through tom's already tousled and rebellious hair. "why don't you laugh? so you wouldn't trust me for two cents, you old elk skinflint, wouldn't you. well, then, the letter doesn't get mailed, that's all, for i happen to have only one stamp left and that's going to pee-wee harris. come on, get your wits to work now, and we'll send him the invitation in the form of a verse, what d'you say?" he gave tom such a push that even he couldn't help laughing as he staggered against the tent-pole. "i'm no good at writing verse," said he. "oh, but we'll jolly the life out of that kid when we get him away," said roy. it is a wise precept that where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. pee-wee harris never dreamed of the discussion that had taken place as to his going, and he accepted the invitation with a glad heart. on the momentous morning when the trio set forth upon their journey, mary temple, as glad as they, stood upon the steps at grantley square and waved them a last good-bye. "don't forget," she called, "we're coming up in the car in august to visit you and see the camp and that dreadful jeb or job or jib or whatever you call him, who smokes a corn-cob pipe--ugh!" the last they saw of her was a girlish shrug of disgust at that strange personage out of the west about whom (largely for her benefit) roy and others had circulated the most outlandish tales. jeb rushmore was already ensconced in the unfinished camp, and from the few letters which had come from him it was judged that his excursion east had not spoiled him. one of these missives had been addressed to _mister john temple_ and must have been a refreshing variation from the routine mail which awaited mr. temple each morning at the big granite bank. it read: "thar's a crittur come here to paint names o' animiles on the cabin doors. i told him friendly sich wuzn't wanted, likewise no numbers. he see it were best ter go. bein' you put up th' money i would say polite and likewise explain ez how the skins uv animiles is propper fur signs an' not numbers bein' ez cabins is not railroad cars." this is a fair sample of the letters which were received by mr. temple, by mr. ellsworth, and even at national scout headquarters, which jeb rushmore called "the main ranch." the idea of putting the skin of a silver fox, for instance, on the patrol's cabin instead of a painted caricature of that animal, took the boys by storm, and to them at least jeb rushmore became a very real character long before they ever met him. they felt that jeb rushmore had the right idea and they were thrilled at the tragic possibilities of that ominous sentence, "he see it were best to go." the whole troop was down at the boathouse to see the boys off. tom and roy wore old khaki trousers and faded shirts which had seen service in many a rough hike; their scarred duffel bags bore unmistakable signs of hard usage, but pee-wee was resplendent in his full regalia, with his monogram burned in a complicated design into the polished leather of his brand new duffel bag. his "trousseau," as the boys called it, was indeed as complete and accurate as was possible. even the scout smile, which is not the least part of the scout make-up, was carried to a conspicuous extreme; he smiled all over; he was one vast smile. "don't fall off any mountains, pee-wee." "be sure to take your smile off when you go to bed." "if you get tired, you can jump on a train." "pee-wee, you look as if you were posing for animal crackers." these were some of the flippant comments which were hurled at pee-wee as the three, in roy's canoe, glided from the float and up the river on the first stage of what was destined to be an adventurous journey. the river, along whose lower reaches bridgeboro was situated, had its source within a mile or two of the hudson in the vicinity of nyack. from the great city it was navigable by power craft as far as bridgeboro and even above at full tide, but a mile or two above the boys' home town it narrowed to a mere creek, winding its erratic way through a beautiful country where intertwined and overarching boughs formed dim tunnels through which the canoeist passed with no sound but the swishing of his own paddle. the boys had never before canoed to the river's source, though it was one of the things they had always been meaning to do. it was a happy thought of tom's to make it a part of their journey now and strike into the roads along the hudson in that way. "oh, crinkums, i'm crazy to see jeb rushmore, aren't you?" said pee-wee. "i never thought i'd have a chance to go like this, i sure didn't! i never thought you'd want me." "we couldn't do without you, kiddo," said roy, as he paddled. "we wouldn't have any luck--you're our lucky penny." "cracky, you could have knocked me down with a feather when i got that note. at first, i thought you must be jollying me--and even now it doesn't seem real." the boys laughed. "well, here you are, kiddo," said roy, "so you see it's real enough." "do you suppose we'll have any adventures?" "why, as the little boy said when he spilled the ink on the parlor carpet, 'that remains to be seen.' we won't side-step any, you can be sure of that." "there may be danger awaiting us," said pee-wee. "well, i only hope it'll wait till we get to it," roy laughed. "what do you say, kiddo, shall we hit it up for nyack to-night or camp along the river?" they decided to paddle leisurely, ending their canoe trip next day. about dusk they made their camp on a steep, wooded shore, and with the flame of their campfire reflected in the rippling water, roy cooked supper. pee-wee was supremely happy. it is doubtful if he had ever before been so happy. "there's one thing," said tom, as he held the bacon over the flame. "i'm going to do my first-class stunts before we get there." "and i'm going to do some tracking," said roy; "here you go, pee-wee, here's a bacon sandwich--look out for the juice. this is what daniel boone used to eat." he handed pee-wee a sizzling slice of bacon between two cakes of sweet chocolate! "mmmmmmm," said pee-wee, "that's scrumptious! gee, i never knew chocolate and bacon went so good together." "to-morrow for breakfast i'll give you a boiled egg stuffed with caraway seeds," said roy. "give him a dan beard omelet," said tom. "what's that?" asked pee-wee, his two hands and his mouth running with greasy chocolate. "salt codfish with whipped cream," answered roy. "think you'd like it?" pee-wee felt sure he would. "and there's one thing _i'm_ going to do," he said. "tom's going to finish his first-class stunts and you're going to do tracking. i'm going to----" "have another sandwich?" interrupted roy. "sure. and there's one thing i'm going to do. i'm going to test some good turns. gee, there isn't room enough to test 'em indoors." "good for you," said roy; "but you'd better trot down to the river now and wash your face. you look like the end man in a minstrel show. then come on back and we'll reel off some campfire yarns." they sat late into the night, until their fire burned low and roy realized, as he had never before realized, what good company pee-wee was. they slept as only those know how to sleep who go camping, and early in the morning continued their journey along the upper and tortuous reaches of the narrowing river. early in the spring there had been a serious flood which had done much damage even down in bridgeboro, and the three boys as they paddled carefully along were surprised at the havoc which had been wrought here on the upper river. small buildings along the shore lay toppled over, boats were here and there marooned high and dry many yards from the shore, and the river was almost impassable in places from the obstructions of uprooted trees and other debris. at about noon they reached a point where the stream petered out so that further navigation even by canoe was impossible; but they were already in the outskirts of west nyack. "the next number on the program," said roy, "is to administer first aid to the canoe in the form of a burlap bandage. pee-wee, you're appointed chairman of the grass committee--pick some grass and let's pad her up." if you have never administered "first aid" to a canoe and "padded it up" for shipment, let me tell you that the scout way of doing it is to bind burlap loosely around it and to stuff this with grass or hay so that the iron hook which is so gently wielded by the expressman may not damage the hull. having thus prepared it for its more prosaic return journey by train, they left the boat on the shore and following a beaten path came presently into the very heart of the thriving metropolis of west nyack. "i feel as if we were lewis and clarke, or somebody, arriving at an indian village," said pee-wee. at the express office roy arranged for the shipment of the canoe back to bridgeboro, and then they started along the road toward nyack. it was on this part of their journey that something happened which was destined materially to alter their program. they had come into the main street of the village and were heading for the road which led to the hudson when they came upon a little group of people looking amusedly up into an elm tree on the lawn of a stately residence. a little girl was standing beneath the tree in evident distress, occasionally wringing her hands as she looked fearfully up into the branches. whatever was happening there was no joke to her, however funny it might be to the other onlookers. "what's the matter?" tom asked. "bird up there," briefly answered the nearest bystander. "she'll never get it," said another. "oh, now he's going away," cried the little girl in despair. the contrast between her anxiety and the amusement of the others was marked. every time she called to the bird it flitted to another limb, and every time the bird flitted she wrung her hands and cried. an empty cage upon a lawn bench told the story. "what's the matter?" said pee-wee, going to the child and seeking his information first-hand. "oh, i'll never get him," she sobbed. "he'll fly away in a minute and i'll never see him again." pee-wee looked up into the branches and after some difficulty succeeded in locating a little bird somewhat smaller than a robin and as green as the foliage amid which it was so heedlessly disporting. "i see him," said pee-wee. "gee, don't you cry; we'll get him some way. we're scouts, we are, and we'll get him for you." his reassuring words did not seem to comfort the girl. "oh, there he goes!" she cried. "now he's going to fly away!" he did not fly away but merely flew to another limb and began to preen himself. for so small a bird he was attracting a great deal of notice in the world. following pee-wee's lead, others including tom and roy ventured upon the lawn, smiling and straining their eyes to follow the tantalizing movements of the little fugitive. "of course," said pee-wee to the girl, "it would be easy enough to shin up that tree--that would be a cinch--anybody could do that--i mean any _feller_--of course, a girl couldn't; but i'd only frighten him away." "you'll never get him," said one man. "what kind of a bird is it?" tom asked. "it's a dwarf parrot," the girl sobbed, "and i'll never get him--never!" "you don't want to get discouraged," said pee-wee. "gee, there's always some way." the spectators evidently did not agree with him. some of them remained about, smiling; others went away. the diminutive pee-wee seemed to amuse them quite as much as the diminutive parrot, but all were agreed (as they continually remarked to each other) that the bird was a "goner." "is he tame?" roy asked. "he was _getting_ tame," the girl sobbed, "and he was learning to say my name. my father would give a hundred dollars--oh," she broke off, "now he _is_ going away!" she began to cry pitifully. pee-wee stood a moment thoughtfully. "have you got a garden hose?" he presently asked. "yes, but you're not going to squirt water at him," said the girl, indignantly. "if you get the garden hose," said pee-wee, "i'll bring him down for you." "what are you going to do, kiddo?" roy asked. "you'll see," said pee-wee. the other boys looked at each other, puzzled. the girl looked half incredulously at pee-wee and something in his manner gave her a feeling of hope. most of the others laughed good-humoredly. they hauled the nozzle end of a garden hose from where it lay coiled near a faucet in the stone foundation. pee-wee took the nozzle and began to play the stream against the trunk of the tree, all the while looking up at the parrot. presently, the bird began to "sit up and take notice," as one might say. it was plainly interested. the bystanders began to "sit up and take notice" too, and they watched the bird intently as it cocked its head and listened. pee-wee sent the stream a little higher up the trunk and as he did so the bird became greatly excited. it began uttering, in the modulated form consonant with its size, the discordant squawk of the parrot. the little girl watched eagerly. "get the cage," ordered pee-wee. roy brought it and laid it at his feet. the stream played a little higher, and the bird chattered furiously and came lower. "remind you of home?" pee-wee asked, looking up and playing the water a little higher. the bystanders watched, in silence. the bird was now upon the lowest branch, chattering like mad and flapping its wings frantically. the little girl, in an ecstasy of fresh hope, called to it and danced up and down. but pee-wee, like a true artist, neither saw nor heard his audience. he was playing the bird with this line of water as an angler plays a fish. and never was moth lured by a flame more irresistibly than this little green fugitive was lured by the splashing of that stream. "oh, can you catch him? can you catch him?" pleaded the girl as she clutched pee-wee's arm. "let go a minute," said pee-wee. "now, all stand back, here goes!" he shot the stream suddenly down at the base of the tree, holding the nozzle close so that the plashing was loud and the spray diffused. and as an arrow goes to its mark the bird came swooping down plunk into the middle of the spray and puddle. still playing the stream with one hand, pee-wee reached carefully and with his other gently encircled the little drenched body. "quite an adventure, wasn't it, greenie?" he said. "where'd you think you were? in the tropics?---if you ever want to take hold of a bird," he added, turning to the girl, "hold it this way; make a ring out of your thumb and first finger, and let his stomach rest on the palm of your hand. be sure your hand isn't cold, though. here you are--that's right." the girl could hardly speak. she stood with her dwarf parrot in her hand, looking at the stream of water which was now shooting silently through the grass and at the puddle which it had made, and she felt that a miracle had been performed before her eyes. roy, hardly less pleased than she, stepped forward and turned off the water. "good work," said a gentleman. "i've seen many a bird brought down, but never in that fashion before." "_we_ don't use the other fashion," said tom, with a touch of pride as he put his hand on pee-wee's shoulder. "do we, kid?" "if it was a canary," said pee-wee, "i might possibly have whistled him down, but not near enough to catch him, i guess. but as soon as i knew that bird came from the tropics, i knew he'd fall for water, 'cause a tropical bird'll go where the sound of water is every time. i guess it's because they have so many showers down there, or something. then once i heard that it's best to turn on the faucet when you're teaching a parrot to talk. it's the sound of water. did you get any water on you?" he asked, suddenly turning to the child. there was no water on her clothing, but there was some in her eyes. "i--i--think you're wonderful," she said. "i think you are just wonderful!" "'twasn't me," said pee-wee, "it was the water. gee," he added confidentially, "i often said i hated water, and i do hate a rainy day. and if you get any water in a carburetor--_goo-od-night_! but i got to admit water's good for some things." "oh, i want you please to wait--just a few minutes--i want to go and speak to my father," the girl said, as the boys started to move away. they were the only ones left now. "please wait just a minute." "we're on our way to nyack," said roy, suspecting her intention, "and i'm afraid we've lost as much time as we dare. we've got to do a little shopping there and our weather prophet here thinks we're going to have a _real_ tropical shower before long." "but won't you let my father give you each--something? you've been so good and it's--oh--it's just _wonderful_!" "pee-wee, you're the doctor," said roy. "i got to do a good turn every day," said the "doctor," "because we're scouts and that's the rule. if we took anything for it, why, then it wouldn't be a good turn. it would spoil all the fun. we're going on a long hike, up the hudson to our camp. we don't want to go near railroad trains--and things like that. these fellows are taking me with them; that's a good turn, but if somebody paid 'em to do it, it wouldn't be a good turn, would it? i'm thankful to you and your parrot that you gave me the chance. now i don't have to think of a good turn again till tomorrow. besides i just happened to know about parrots and water so it's no credit to me." that was it--he just happened to know! it was one of the dozens of things that he "just happened to know." how he came by the knowledge was a mystery. but perhaps the best thing he knew was that a service is a service and that you knock it in the head as soon as you take payment for it. the girl watched them, as they jumped the hedge, laughing gaily at pee-wee's clumsiness and, waving their hats to her, took their belated way along the road. it was not the most popular way of bringing down a bird, but there was no blood on pee-wee's hands, and it was a pretty good stunt at that! chapter vi the shelter "pee-wee, you're a wonder," said roy. "you're the only original boy scout; how did you get next to that stunt? what do you think of him, tom?" "some wrinkle," said tom. "crinkums!" said pee-wee. "i'm mighty glad i got him. if it hadn't succeeded i'd have felt cheap, sure; but when you're dealing with a girl, you always want to act as if you're sure of yourself. do you know why?" "can't imagine," said roy. "break it to us gently." "because girls are never sure of themselves and they'll never take much stock in what you say unless you seem to be sure of yourself. that's one thing i've noticed. i've made a study of girls, kind of---and you're more apt to succeed if there's a girl watching you--did you ever notice that?" roy laughed. "it's so," urged pee-wee. "and there's another thing about girls, too; they're repulsive." "what?" said tom. "_what?_" said roy. "they say the first thing that comes into their heads." "_im_pulsive, you mean," laughed roy. "well, they're all right on good turns," said tom. "they don't have any good turns in the camp fire girls," said pee-wee. "a girl might do a good turn and you'd never know anything about it," said tom, significantly. "cracky," said pee-wee, "she was tickled to get that bird back." in a little while they were tramping along the main street of nyack, heading for the lordly hudson. it was almost twilight, the shops were shutting their doors, and as they came around the hill which brought them face to face with the river, the first crimson glow of sunset fell upon the rippling current. across the wide expanse, which seemed the wider for the little winding stream they had so lately followed, the hills were already turning from green to gray and tiny lights were visible upon the rugged heights. a great white steamer with its light already burning was plowing majestically upstream and the little open craft at the shore rocked in the diminishing ripples which it sent across the water, as though bowing in humble obeisance to it. "gee, it's lonely, isn't it!" said pee-wee. "not getting homesick, are you, kiddo?" "no, but it seems kind of lonesome. i'm glad there's three of us. oh, jiminy, look at those hills." the scene was indeed such as to make the mightiest man feel insignificant. the map showed a road which led to haverstraw, and this the boys decided to follow until they should find a convenient spot in which to bivouac for the night. it followed the hudson, sometimes running along the very brink with the mighty highlands rising above it and sometimes running between hills which shut the river from their view. "hark," said tom. "what did i tell you! thunder!" a low, distant rumble sounded, and as they paused in the gathering darkness, listening, a little fitful gust blew pee-wee's hat off. "we're going to get a good dose of it," said tom. "i've been smelling it for the last hour; look at those trees." the leaves were blowing this way and that. "we should worry," said roy. "didn't i tell you we might have to get our feet wet? this is a risky bus----" "shut up!" said pee-wee. they had walked not more than a quarter of a mile more when they came upon a stretch of road which was very muddy, with a piece of lowland bordering it. it was too dark to see clearly, but in the last remnant of daylight the boys could just distinguish a small, peculiar looking structure in the middle of this vast area. "that's a funny place to build a house," said roy. "maybe it's a fisherman's shack," tom suggested. whatever it was, it was a most isolated and lonesome habitation, standing in the centre of that desert flat, shut in by the precipitous hills. "it would be a good place for a hermit," said roy. "you don't suppose anyone lives there, do you?" "cracky, wouldn't you like to be a hermit! do you know what i'd like to have now----" "an umbrella," interrupted tom. the remark, notwithstanding that it shocked pee-wee's sense of fitness, inasmuch as they were scouting and "roughing it," was not inappropriate, for even as tom spoke the patter of great drops was heard. "maybe it's been raining here this afternoon," observed tom, "and that's what makes all this mud." "well, it's certainly raining here now," said roy. "me for that shack!" the rain suddenly came down in torrents and the boys turned up their collars and made a dash across the marshy land toward the shadowy structure. roy reached it first and, turning, called: "hey, fellows, it's a boat!" the others, drenched, but laughing, followed him, scrambling upon the deck and over the combing into the cockpit of a dilapidated cabin launch. "what do you know about that!" said roy. "strike a light and let's see where we're at. i feel like a wet dish rag." presently pee-wee's flashlight was poking its bright shaft this way and that as they looked curiously about them. they were in a neglected and disheveled, but very cosy, little cabin with sleeping lockers on either side and chintz curtains at the tiny portholes. a two-cylinder engine, so rusted that the wheel wouldn't turn over and otherwise in a dubious condition, was ineffectually covered by a piece of stiff and rotten oil cloth, the floor was cluttered with junk, industrious spiders had woven their webs all about and a frantic scurrying sound told of the hurried departure of some little animal which had evidently made its home in the forsaken hull. "oh, but this is great!" enthused pee-wee. "this is the kind of an adventure you read about; _now_ our adventures have really started." "it'll be more to the purpose if we can get our supper really started," said roy. "how do you suppose it got here?" pee-wee asked. "that's easy," said tom. "i didn't realize it before, but the tide must come up over the road sometimes and flood all this land here. that's what makes the road muddy. there must have been a good high tide some time or other, and it brought the boat right up over the road and here it is, marooned." "maybe it was the same flood that did all the damage down our way," roy said. "well, here goes; get the things out, pee-wee, and we'll have some eats. gee, it's nice in here." it _was_ nice. the rain pattered down on the low roof and beat against the little ports; the boat swayed a little in the heavier gusts of wind and all the delightful accompaniments of a life on the ocean wave were present--except the peril. "you get out the cooking things," said roy, "while i take a squint around and see if i can find something to kindle a fire in." he did not have to go far. sliding open the little hatch, he emerged into the cockpit, where the wind and rain smote him mercilessly. the storm had grown into a tempest and roy wondered how it would be out on the wide river on such a night. in the cockpit was nothing but the shredded remnant of a sun awning and a couple of camp chairs, but a few feet from the boat something on the mushy ground cast a faint glimmer, and on going to it he found it to be a battered five-gallon gasoline can, which he brought back in triumph. by this time tom and pee-wee had the camp lamp burning and the supper things laid out. it was a very cosy scene. "see if there's a stillson wrench in that locker," said roy. among the rusted tools was a "stillson," and with this roy disconnected the exhaust pipe from the engine. he next partly "jabbed" and partly cut a hole in the gasoline can of about the circumference of the pipe. a larger hole in the side of the can sufficed for a door and he squeezed the end of the exhaust pipe into the hole he had made for it, and presto! there was a very serviceable makeshift stove with the exhaust system of the engine converted into a draught and chimney. "the new patent silver fox cooking stove," said roy. "a scout is resourceful. this beats trying to kindle a fire outside, a night like this. chuck that piece of wood over here." there was an old battery box knocking about and this roy whittled into shavings, while the others with their belt axes completed the ruin of the awning stanchions by chopping them into pieces a few inches long. "guess they weren't good for much," observed tom. "oh," said pee-wee, "i'd just like to live in this boat." it was no wonder he felt so. with the fire burning brightly in the old can and sending its smoke out through the boat's exhaust, the smell of the bacon cooking, the sight of their outer garments drying in the cheery warmth, while the wind howled outside and the rain beat down upon the low roof the situation was not half bad and an occasional lurch of the old hull gave a peculiar charm to their odd refuge. "could you dally with a rice cake, kiddo?" asked roy, as he deftly stirred up some rice and batter. "sling me that egg powder, tom, and give me something to stir with--not that, you gump, that's the fever thermometer!" "here's a fountain pen," said pee-wee; "will that do?" "this screw-driver will be better," said roy. "here, kiddo, make yourself useful and keep turning that in the pan. you're a specialist on good turns." pee-wee stirred, while tom attended to the fire, and roy to the cooking. and i might mention on the side that if you should happen to be marooned in a disused boat on a blustering night, and are ingenious enough (as roy was) to contrive the cooking facilities, you cannot do better than flop a few rice cakes, watching carefully that they don't burn. you can flop them with a shoe horn if you've nothing better at hand. they spread their balloon silk tent in the cockpit, holding fast to the corners until enough water had fallen into it to fill the coffee-pot, and they had three such cups of coffee as you never fancied in your fondest dreams. for dessert they had "silver fox slump," an invention of roy's made with chocolate, honey and, i think, horse-radish. it has to be stirred thoroughly. pee-wee declared that it was such a _table d'hote_ dinner as he had never before tasted. he was always partial to the scout style of cooking and he added, "you know how they have music at _table d'hote_ dinners. well, this music's got it beat, that's one sure thing. gee, i'll hate to leave the boat, i sure will." the boisterous music gave very little prospect of ceasing, and after the three had talked for an hour or so, they settled down for the night, two on the lockers and one on the floor, with the wind still moaning and the rain coming down in torrents. when they awoke in the morning the wind had died down somewhat, but it still blew fitfully out of the east and the rain had settled down into a steady drizzle. tom ventured out into the cockpit and looked about him. the hills across the river were gray in the mist and the wide expanse of water was steel color. he could see now that there was another road close under the precipitous cliffs and that the one which divided this lowland from the river was almost awash. through the mist and drizzle along this higher road came a man. he left the road and started to pick his way across the flat, hailing as he came. the three boys awaited him in the cockpit. "don't nobody leave that boat!" he called, "or i'll shoot." "dearie me," said roy. "he seems to be peeved. what are we up against, anyway?" "don't shoot, mister," called tom. "you couldn't drag us out of here with a team of horses." "tell him we are boy scouts and fear naught," whispered pee-wee. "tell him we scorn his--er--what d'you call it?" "hey, mister," called roy. "we are boy scouts and fear naught, and we scorn your what-d'you-call it." "haouw?" called the man. "what's that he's got on?" said tom, "a merit badge?" "it's a cop's badge," whispered pee-wee. "oh, crinkums, we're pinched." the man approached, dripping and breathing heavily, and placed his hands on the combing. "anybody here 'sides you youngsters?" he demanded, at the same time peering inside the cabin. "a few spiders," said tom. "whatcher doin' here, anyway?" "we're waiting for the storm to hold up," said roy; "we beat it from that road when----" "we sought refuge," pee-wee prompted him. "any port in a storm, you know," roy smiled. "are we pinched?" the man did not vouchsafe an immediate answer to this vital query. instead he poked his head in, peered about and then said, "don' know's ye are, not fur's i'm concerned. i'd like to hev ye answer me one question honest, though." "you'll have to answer one for us first," called roy, who had disappeared within the little cabin. "do you take two lumps of sugar in your coffee?" the man now condescended to smile, as roy brought out a steaming cup and handed it to him. "wall, ye've got all the comforts uv home, ain't ye?" "give him a rice cake," whispered pee-wee in roy's ear. "he's all right." "won't you come in?" said roy. "i don't know whose boat this is, but you're welcome. i guess we didn't do any damage. we chopped up a couple of broken stanchions, that's all." "i guess we'll let ye off without more'n ten year uv hard labor," said the man, sipping his coffee. "but i'll give ye a tip. get away from here as soon's ye can,--hear? old man stanton owns this boat an' he's a bear. he'd run ye in fer trespass and choppin' up them stanchions quick as a gun. ye come oft'n that outer road, ye say? strangers here?" "i can see now that road is flooded," said tom. "guess it isn't used, is it?" "this is all river land," said the man. "in extra high tides this here land is flooded an' the only ones usin' that thar road is the fishes. this rain keeps up another couple of days an' we get a full moon on top o' that the old hulk'll float, by gol! ye didn't see no men around here last night now, did ye?" "not a soul," said roy. "'cause there was a prisoner escaped up yonder last night an' when i see the smoke comin' out o' yer flue contraption here i thought like enough he hit this shelter." "up yonder?" tom queried. "you're strangers, hey?" the man repeated. "we're on a hike," said tom. "we're on our way to haverstraw and----" "thence," prompted pee-wee. "_thence_ to catskill landing, and _thence_ to leeds and _thence_ to black lake," mocked roy. "well, thar's a big prison up yonder," said the man. "oh, sing sing?" roy asked. "i never thought of that." "feller scaled the wall last night an' made off in a boat." the boys were silent. they had not realized how close they were to ossining, and the thought of the great prison whose name they had often heard mentioned sobered them a little; the mere suggestion of one of its inmates scaling its frowning wall on such a night and setting forth in an open boat, perhaps lurking near their very shelter, cast a shadow over them. "are you--are you _sure_ you didn't see a--a crouching shadow when you went out and got that gasoline can last night?" pee-wee stammered. "i'm sorry," said roy, "but i didn't see one crouching shadow." "his boat might have upset in the storm," tom suggested. "the wind even shook this boat; it must have been pretty rough out on the river." "like enough," said the man. "des'pret characters'll take des'pret chances." "what did he do?" pee-wee asked, his imagination thoroughly aroused. "dunno," said the man. "burglary, like enough. well now, you youngsters have had yer shelter'n the wust o' the storm's over. it's goin' ter keep right on steady like this till after full moon, an' the ole shebang'll be floppin' roun' the marsh like enough on full moon tide. my advice to you is to git along. not that you done no damage or what _i'd_ call damage--but it won't do no good fer yer to run amuck o' ole man stanton. 'cause he's a reg'lar grizzly, as the feller says." the boys were silent a moment. perhaps the thought of that desperate convict stealing forth amid the wind and rain still gripped them; but it began to dawn upon them also that they had been trespassing and that they had taken great liberties with this ramshackle boat. that the owner could object to their use of it seemed preposterous. that he could take advantage of the technical "damage" done was quite unsupposable. but no one knows better than a boy how many "grouchy" men there are in the world, and these very boys had once been ordered out of john temple's lot with threat and menace. "does _everybody_ call him 'old man' stanton?" pee-wee asked. "because if they do that's pretty bad. whenever somebody is known as 'old man' it sounds pretty bad for him. they used to say 'old man temple'--he's a man we know that owns a lot of railroads and things; of course, he's reformed now--he's a magnet----" "magnate," corrected roy. "but they _used_ to call him 'old man temple'--everybody did. and it's a sure sign--you can always tell," pee-wee concluded. "wall, they call _me_ 'ole man flint,'" said the visitor, "so i guess----" "oh, of course," said pee-wee, hastily, "i don't say it's always so, and besides you're a--a----" "sheriff," mr. flint volunteered. "so you got to be kind of strict--and--and grouchy--like." the sheriff handed his empty cup to roy and smiled good-naturedly. "where does old man stanton live?" asked tom, who had been silent while the others were talking. "'long the nyack road, but he has his office in nyack--he's a lawyer," said the visitor, as he drew his rubber hat down over his ears. "can we get back to nyack by that other road?" "whatcher goin' to do?" "we'll have to go and see old man stanton," tom said, "then if we don't get pinched we'll start north." mr. flint looked at him in astonishment. "i wouldn't say we've done any damage," said tom in his stolid way, "and i believe in that about any port in a storm. but if he's the kind of a man who would think different, then we've got to go and tell him, that's all. we can pay him for the stanchions we chopped up." "wall, you're a crazy youngster, that's all, but if yer sot on huntin' fer trouble, yer got only yerself to blame. ye'll go before a justice uv the peace, the whole three uv year, and be fined ten dollars apiece, likely as not, an' i don't believe ye've got twenty-five dollars between the lot uv yer." "right you are," said roy. "we are poor but honest, and we spurn--don't we, pee-wee?" "sure we do," agreed pee-wee. "poverty is no disgrace," said roy dramatically. the man, though not overburdened with a sense of humor, could not help smiling at roy and he went away laughing, but scarcely crediting their purpose to venture into the den of "old man stanton." "they're a queer lot," he said to himself. within a few minutes the boys had gathered up their belongings, repacked their duffel bags and were picking their way across the marsh toward the drier road. "we're likely to land in jail," said pee-wee, mildly protesting. "it isn't a question of whether we land in jail or not," said tom, stolidly; "it's just a question of what we ought to do." "_we_ should worry," said roy. chapter vii the "good turn" it was a draggled and exceedingly dubious-looking trio that made their way up the main street of nyack. they had no difficulty in finding the office of "old man stanton," which bore a conspicuous sign: wilmouth stanton counsellor at law "he'd--he'd have to get out a warrant for us first, wouldn't he?" pee-wee asked, apprehensively. "that'll be easy," said roy. "if all goes well, i don't see why we shouldn't be in sing sing by three o'clock." "we're big fools to do this," said pee-wee. "a scout is supposed to be--cautious." but he followed the others up the stairs and stepped bravely in when tom opened the door. they found themselves in the lion's den with the lion in close proximity glaring upon them. he sat at a desk opening mail and looked frowningly at them over his spectacles. he was thin and wiry, his gray hair was rumpled in a way which suggested perpetual perplexity or annoyance, and his general aspect could not be said to be either conciliatory or inviting. "well, sir," he said, crisply. "are you mr. stanton?" tom asked. "we are scouts," he added, as the gentleman nodded perfunctorily, "and we came from bridgeboro. we're on our way to camp. last night we got caught in the rain and we ran----" "took refuge," whispered pee-wee. "for that old boat on the marsh. this morning we heard it was yours, so we came to tell you that we camped in it last night. we made a fire in a can, but i don't think we did any harm, except we chopped up a couple of old stanchions. we thought they were no good, but, of course, we shouldn't have taken them without leave." mr. stanton stared at him with an ominous frown. "built a fire in a can?" said he. "do you mean in the boat?" "we used the exhaust for a draught," said roy. "oh--and what brings you here?" "to tell you," said tom, doggedly. "a man came and told us you owned the boat. he said you might have us arrested, so we came to let you know about what we did." "we didn't come because we wanted to be arrested," put in pee-wee. "i see," said mr. stanton, with the faintest suggestion of a smile. "isn't it something new," he added, "running into the jaws of death? boys generally run the other way and don't go hunting for trouble." "well, i'll tell you how it is," said pee-wee, making the conversation his own, somewhat to roy's amusement. "of course, a scout has got to be cautious--but he's got to be fearless too. i was kind of scared when i heard you were a lawyer----" mr. stanton's grim visage relaxed into an unwilling, but unmistakable, smile. "and another thing i heard scared me, but----" tom, seeing where pee-wee was drifting, tried to stop him, but roy, knowing that pee-wee always managed to land on top, and seeing the smile on mr. stanton's forbidding countenance, encouraged him to go on, and presently the mascot of the silver foxes was holding the floor. "a scout has to deduce--that's one of the things we learn, and if you heard somebody called 'old man something-or-other,' why, you'd deduce something from it, wouldn't you? and you'd be kind of scared-like. but even if you deduce that a man is going to be mad and gruff, kind of, even still you got to remember that you're a scout and if you damaged his property you got to go and tell him, anyway. you got to go and tell him even if you go to jail. don't you see? maybe you don't know much about the scouts----" "no," said mr. stanton, "i'm afraid i don't. but i'm glad to know that i am honored by a nickname--even so dubious a one. do you think you were correct in your deductions?" he added. "well, i don't know," began pee-wee. "i can see--well, anyway there's another good thing about a scout--he's got to admit it if he's wrong." mr. stanton laughed outright. it was a rusty sort of laugh, for he did not laugh often--but he laughed. "the only things i know about boy scouts," said he, "i have learned in the last twenty-four hours. you tell me that they can convert an exhaust pipe into a stove flue, and i have learned they can bring a bird down out of a tree without so much as a bullet or a stone (i have to believe what my little daughter tells me), and that they take the road where they think trouble awaits them on account of a principle--that they walk up to the cannon's mouth, as it were--i am a very busy man and no doubt a very hard and disagreeable one, but i can afford to know a little more about these scouts, i believe." "i'll tell you all about them," said pee-wee, sociably. "jiminys, i never dreamed you were that girl's father." mr. stanton swung around in his chair and looked at him sharply. "who are you boys?" "we came from bridgeboro in new jersey," spoke up roy, "and we're going up the river roads as far as catskill landing. then we're going to hit inland for our summer camp." mr. stanton was silent for a few moments, looking keenly at them while they stood in some suspense. "well," he said, soberly, "i see but one way out of the difficulty. the stanchions you destroyed were a part of the boat. the boat is of no use to me without them. i suggest, therefore, that you take the boat along with you. it belonged to my son and it has been where it now lies ever since the storm in which his life was lost. i have not seen the inside of it since--i do not want to see the inside of it," he added brusquely, moving a paperweight about on his desk. "it is only three years old," he went on after a moment's uncomfortable pause, "and like some people it is not as bad as it looks." the boys winced a little at this thrust. mr. stanton was silent for a few moments and pee-wee was tempted to ask him something about his son, but did not quite dare to venture. "i think the boat can very easily be removed to the river with a little of the ingenuity which you scouts seem to have, and you may continue your journey in her, if you care to. you may consider it a--a present from my daughter, whom you made so happy yesterday." for a moment the boys hardly realized the meaning of his words. then tom spoke. "we have a rule, mr. stanton, that a scout cannot accept anything for a service. if he does, it spoils it all. it's great, your offering us the boat and it seems silly not to take it, but----" "very well," said mr. stanton, proceeding to open his letters, "if you prefer to go to jail for destroying my stanchions, very well. remember you are dealing with a lawyer." roy fancied he was chuckling a little inwardly. "that's right," said pee-wee in tom's ear. "there's no use trying to get the best of a lawyer--a scout ought to be--to be modest; we better take it, tom." "there's a difference between payment for a service and a token of gratitude," said mr. stanton, looking at tom. "but we will waive all that. i cannot allow the boy scouts to be laying down the law for me. by your own confession you have destroyed my stanchions and as a citizen it is my duty to take action. but if i were to give you a paper dated yesterday, assigning the boat to you, then it would appear that you had simply trespassed and burglariously entered your own property and destroyed your own stanchions and i would not have a leg to stand upon. my advice to you as a lawyer is to accept such a transfer of title and avoid trouble." he began ostentatiously to read one of his letters. "he's right, tom," whispered pee-wee, "it's what you call a teckinality. gee, we better take the boat. there's no use trying to beat a lawyer. he's got the right on his side." "i don't know," said tom, doubtfully. he, too, fancied that mr. stanton was laughing inwardly, but he was not good at repartee and the lawyer was too much for him. it was roy who took the situation in hand. "it seems ungrateful, mr. stanton, even to talk about whether we'll take such a peach of a gift. tom here is always thinking about the law--our law--and pee-wee--we call this kid pee-wee--he's our specialist on doing good turns. they're both cranks in different ways. i know there's a difference, as you say, between just a present and a reward. and it seems silly to say thank you for such a present, just as if it was a penknife or something like that. but we do thank you and we'll take the boat. i just happened to think of a good name for it while you were talking. it was the good turn pee-wee did yesterday--about the bird, i mean--that made you offer it to us and your giving it to us is a good turn besides, so i guess we'll call it the 'good turn.'" "you might call it the 'teckinality,'" suggested mr. stanton with a glance at pee-wee. "all right," he added, "i'll send one of my men down later in the day to see about getting her in the water. i've an idea a block and falls will do the trick. but you'd better caulk her up with lampwick and give her a coat of paint in the meantime." he went to the door with them and as they turned at the foot of the stairs and called back another "thank you," roy noticed something in his face which had not been there before. "i bet he's thinking of his son," said he. "wonder how he died," said tom. chapter viii bon voyage! "now, you see," said pee-wee, "how a good turn can evolute." "can what?" said tom. "evolute." "it could neverlute with me," observed roy. "gee, but we've fallen in soft! you could have knocked me down with a toothpick. i wonder what our sleuth friend, the sheriff, will say." the sheriff said very little; he was too astonished to say much. so were most of the people of the town. when they heard that "old man stanton" had given harry stanton's boat to some strange boys from out of town, they said that the loss of his son must have affected his mind. the boys of the neighborhood, incredulous, went out on the marsh the next day when the rain held up, and stood about watching the three strangers at work and marvelling at "old man stanton's" extraordinary generosity. "aw, he handed 'em a lemon!" commented the wiseacre. "that boat'll never run--it won't even float!" but harry stanton's cruising launch was no lemon. it proved to be staunch and solid. there wasn't a rotten plank in her. her sorry appearance was merely the superficial shabbiness which comes from disuse and this the boys had neither the time nor the money to remedy; but the hull and the engine were good. to the latter roy devoted himself, for he knew something of gas engines by reason of the two automobiles at his own house. they made a list of the things they needed, took another hike into nyack and came back laden with material and provisions. roy poured a half-gallon or so of kerosene into each of the two cylinders and left it over night. the next morning when he drained it off the wheel turned over easily enough. a set of eight dry cells, some new wiring, a couple of new plugs, a little session with a pitted coil, a little more gas, a little less air, a little more gas, and finally the welcome first explosion, so dear to the heart of the motor-boatist, rewarded roy's efforts of half a day. "stop it! stop it!" shrieked pee-wee from outside. "i hung the paint can on the propeller! i'm getting a green shower bath!" he poked his head over the combing, his face, arms and clothing bespattered with copper paint. "never mind, kiddo," laughed roy, "it's all in the game. she runs like a dream. step a little closer, ladies and gentlemen, and view the leopard boy. pee-wee, you're a sight! for goodness' sakes, get some sandpaper!" the two days of working on the _good turn_ were two days of fun. it was not necessary to caulk her lower seams for the dampness of the marsh had kept them tight, and the seams above were easy. they did not bother about following the water-line and painting her free-board white; a coat of copper paint over the whole hull sufficed. they painted the sheathing of the cockpit a common-sense brown, "neat but not gaudy," as roy said. the deck received a coat of an unknown color which their friend, the sheriff, brought them saying he had used it on his chicken-coop. the engine they did in aluminum paint, the fly-wheel in a gaudy red, and then they mixed what was left of all the paints. "i bet we get a kind of blackish white," said pee-wee. "i bet it's green," said tom. but it turned out to be a weak silvery gray and with this they painted the cabin, or rather half the cabin, for their paint gave out. they sat until long after midnight in the little cabin after their first day's work, but were up and at it again bright and early in the morning, for mr. stanton's men were coming with the block and falls at high tide in the evening to haul the _good turn_ back into her watery home. pee-wee spent a good part of the day throwing out superfluous junk and tidying up the little cabin, while tom and roy repaired the rubbing-rail where it had broken loose and attended to other slight repairs on the outside. the dying sunlight was beginning to flicker on the river and the three were finishing their supper in the cabin when tom, looking through the porthole, called, "oh, here comes the truck and an automobile just in front of it!" sure enough, there on the road was the truck with its great coil of hempen rope and its big pulleys, accompanied by two men in overalls. pee-wee could not repress his exuberance as the trio clambered up on the cabin roof and waved to the little cavalcade. "in an hour more she'll be in the water," he shouted, "and we'll----" "we'll anchor till daylight," concluded roy. in another moment a young girl, laden with bundles, had left the automobile and was picking her way across the marsh. it proved to be the owner of the fugitive bird. "i've brought you all the things that belong to the boat," she said, "and i'm going to stay and see it launched. my father was coming too but he had a meeting or something or other. isn't it perfectly glorious how you chopped up the stanchions----" "great," said roy. "it shows the good that comes out of breaking the law. if we hadn't chopped up the stanchions----" "oh, crinkums, look at this!" interrupted pee-wee. he was handling the colored bow lamp. "and here's the compass, and here's the whistle, and here's the fog-bell," said the girl, unloading her burden with a sigh of relief. "and here's the flag for the stern and here--look--i made this all by myself and sat up till eleven o'clock to do it--see!" she unfolded a cheese-cloth pennant with the name _good turn_ sewed upon it. "you have to fly this at the bow in memory of your getting my bird for me," she said. "we'll fly it at the bow in memory of what you and your father have done for _us_," said tom. "and here's some fruit, and here's some salmon, and here's some pickled something or other--i got them all out of the pantry and they weigh a ton!" there was no time for talking if the boat was to be got to the river before dark, and the boys fell to with the men while the girl looked about the cabin with exclamations of surprise. "isn't it perfectly lovely," she called to tom, who was outside encircling the hull with a double line of heavy rope, under the men's direction. "i never saw anything so cute and wasn't it a fine idea giving it to you!" "bully," said tom. "it was just going to ruin here," she said, "and it was a shame." it was a busy scene that followed and the boys had a glimpse of the wonderful power of the block and falls. to an enormous tree on the roadside a gigantic three-wheel pulley was fastened by means of a metal band around the lower part of the trunk. several other pulleys between this and the boat multiplied the hauling power to such a degree that one person pulling on the loose end which was left after the rope had been passed back and forth many times through the several pulleys, could actually move the boat. the hull was completely encircled, the rope running along the sides and around the stern with another rope below near the keel so that the least amount of strain would be put upon her. they hitched the horses to the rope's end and as the beasts plunged through the yielding marsh the boat came reeling and lurching toward the road. here they laid planks and rollers and jacked her across. this was not so much a matter of brute strength as of skill. the two men with the aid of the stanton chauffeur were able, with props of the right length, to keep the _good turn_ on an even keel, while the boys removed and replaced the rollers. it was interesting to see how the bulky hull could be moved several hundred feet, guided and urged across a road and retarded upon the down grade to the river by two or three men who knew just how to do it. cautiously the rollers were retarded with obstructing sticks, as the men, balancing the hull upright, let her slowly down the slope into the water. pee-wee stood upon the road holding the rope's end and a thrill went through him when he felt the rocking and bobbing of the boat as it regained its wonted home, and at last floated freely in the water. "hang on to that, youngster," called one of the men. "she's where she can do as she likes now." as the _good turn_, free at last from prosaic rollers and plank tracks, rolled easily in the swell, pulling gently upon the rope which the excited pee-wee held, it seemed that she must be as pleased as her new owners were, at finding herself once more in her natural home. how graceful and beautiful she looked now, in the dying light! there is nothing so clumsy looking as a boat on shore. to one who has seen a craft "laid up," it is hardly recognizable when launched. "well, there ye are," said one of the men, "an' 'tain't dark yet neither. you can move 'er by pullin' one finger now, hey? she looks mighty nat'ral, don't she, bill? remember when we trucked her up from the freight station and dumped her in three year ago? she was the _nymph_ then. gol, how happy that kid was--you remember, bill? i'll tell _you_ kids now what i told him then--told him right in front of his father; i says, 'harry, you remember she's human and treat her as such,' that's what i says ter him. _you_ remember, bill." roy noticed that the girl had strolled away and was standing in the gathering darkness a few yards distant, gazing at the boat. the clumsy looking hull, in which the boys had taken refuge, seemed trim and graceful now, and roy was reminded of the fairy story of the ugly duckling, who was really a swan, but whose wondrous beauty was unappreciated until it found itself among its own kindred. "yes, sir, that's wot i told him, 'cause i've lived on the river here all my life, ain't i, bill, an' i know. yer don't give an automobile no name, an' yer don't give an airyplane no name, an' yer don't give a motorcycle nor a bicycle no name, but yer give a boat a name 'cause she's human. she'll be cranky and stubborn an' then she'll be soft and amiable as pie--that's 'cause she's human. an' that's why a man'll let a old boat stan' an' rot ruther'n sell it. 'cause it's human and it kinder gets him. you treat her as such, you boys." "how did harry stanton die?" tom asked. the man, with a significant motion of his finger toward the lone figure of the girl, drew nearer and the boys gathered about him. "the old gent didn' tell ye, hey?" "not a word." "hmmm--well, harry was summat older'n you boys, he was gettin' to be a reg'lar young man. trouble with him was he didn' know what he wanted. first off, he must have a horse, 'n' then he must have a boat, so th' old man, he got him this boat. he's crusty, but he's all to the good, th' old man is." "you bet your life he is," said pee-wee. "well, harry an' benty willis--you remember benty, bill--him an' benty willis was out in the _nymph_--that's this here very boat. they had 'er anchored up a ways here, right off cerry's hill, an' they was out in the skiff floppin' 'round--some said fishin'." "they was bobbin' fer eels, that's wot they was doin'," said the other man. "well, wotever they was doin' it was night 'n' thar was a storm. an' that's every bloomin' thing me or you or anybody else'll ever know about it. the next day croby risbeck up here was out fer his nets an' he come on the skiff swamped, over there off'n that point. an' near it was benty willis." "drowned?" asked roy. "drownded. he must o' tried to keep afloat by clingin' t' the skiff, but she was down to her gunnel an' wouldn' keep a cat afloat. he might o' kep' his head out o' water a spell clingin' to it. all i know is he was drownded when he was found. wotever become o' that skiff, bill?" "and what about mr. stanton's son?" roy asked. "well, they got his hat an' his coat that he must a' thrown off an' that's all. th' old man 'ud never look at the launch again. he had her brought over'n' tied up right about here, an' there she stood till the floods carried her up over this here road and sot her down in the marsh." "did the skiff belong with her?" roy asked. "sure enough; always taggin' on behind." "how did they think it happened?" asked tom. "wall, fer one thing, it was a rough night an' they may uv jest got swamped. but agin, it's a fact that harry knew how to swim; he was a reg'lar water-rat. now, what i think is this. th' only thing 't 'd prevent that lad gettin' ashore'd be his gettin' killed--not drowned, but _killed_." "you don't mean murdered?" tom asked. "well, if they was swamped by the big night boat, an' he got mixed up with the paddle wheel, i don't know if ye'd call it murder, but it'd be killin', sure enough. leastways, they never got him, an' it's my belief he was chopped up. take a tip from me, you boys, an' look out fer the night boat, 'cause the night boat ain't a-goin' t' look out fer you." the girl, strolling back, put an end to their talk, but it was clear that she, too, must have been thinking of that fatal night, for her eyes were red and she seemed less vivacious. "you must be careful," said she, "there are a good many accidents on the river. my father told me to tell you you'd better not do much traveling at night. i want to see you on board, and then i must go home," she added. she held out her hand and roy, who was in this instance best suited to speak for the three, grasped it. "there's no use trying to thank you and your father," he said. "if you'd given us some little thing we could thank you, but it seems silly to say just the same thing when we have a thing like this given to us, and yet it seems worse for us to go away without saying anything. i guess you know what i mean." "you must promise to be careful--can you all swim?" "we are scouts," laughed roy. "and that means you can do anything, i suppose." "no, not that," roy answered, "but we do want to tell you how much we thank you--you and your father." "especially you," put in pee-wee. she smiled, a pretty wistful smile, and her eyes glistened. "you did more for me," she said, "you got my bird back. i care more for that bird than i could ever care for any boat. my brother brought it to me from costa rica." she stepped back to the auto. the chauffeur was already in his place, and the two men were coiling up their ropes and piling the heavy planks and rollers on board the truck. the freshly painted boat was growing dim in the gathering darkness and the lordly hills across the river were paling into gray again. as the little group paused, a deep, melodious whistle re-echoed from the towering heights and the great night boat came into view, her lights aloft, plowing up midstream. the _good turn_ bobbed humbly like a good subject as the mighty white giant passed. the girl watched the big steamer wistfully and for a moment no one spoke. "was your brother--fond of traveling?" roy ventured. "yes, he was crazy for it," she answered, "and you can't bring _him_ back as you brought my bird back--you _can't_ do everything after all." it was tom slade who spoke now. "we couldn't do any more than try," said he. he spoke in that dull, heavy manner, and it annoyed roy, for it seemed as if he were making fun of the girl's bereavement. perhaps it seemed the same to her, for she turned the subject at once. "i'm going to sit here until you are in the boat," she said. they pulled the _good turn_ as near the shore as they could bring her without grounding for the tide was running out, and pee-wee held her with the rope while the others went aboard over a plank laid from the shore to the deck. then pee-wee followed, hurrying, for there was nothing to hold her now. they clambered up on the cabin, roy waving the naval flag, and pee-wee the name pennant, while tom cast the anchor, for already the _good turn_ was drifting. "good-bye!" they cried. "good-bye!" she called back, waving her handkerchief as the auto started, "and good luck to you!" "we'll try to do a good turn some day to make up," shouted pee-wee. chapter ix the mystery "what i don't understand," said tom, in his dull way, "is how if that fellow was drowned or killed that night, he managed to get back to this boat again--that's what gets me." "what?" said roy. "what are you talking about?" chimed in pee-wee. they were sitting in the little cabin of the _good turn_ eating rice cakes, about an hour after the launching. the boat rocked gently at its moorings, the stars glittered in the wide expanse of water, the tiny lights in the neighboring village kept them cheery company as they chatted there in the lonesome night with the hills frowning down upon them. it was very quiet and this, no less than the joyous sense of possession of this cosy home, kept them up, notwithstanding their strenuous two days of labor. "just what i said," said tom. "see that board you fixed the oil stove on? i believe that was part of that skiff. you can see the letters n-y-m-p-h even under the paint. that strip was in the boat all the time. how did it get here? that's what _i'd_ like to know." roy laid down his "flopper" and examined the board carefully, the excited pee-wee joining him. it was evidently the upper strip of the side planking from a rowboat and at one end, under the diluted paint which they had here used, could be dimly traced the former name of the launch. "what-do-you-know-about-that?" ejaculated roy. "it's a regular mystery," said pee-wee; "that's one thing i like, a mystery." "if that's a part of this boat's skiff," said tom, "then it proves two things. it proves that the boat was damaged--no fellow could pull a plank from it like that; and it proves that that fellow came back to the launch. it proves that he was injured, too. that man said he could swim. then why should he bring this board back with him unless it was to help him keep afloat?" "he wouldn't need to drag it aboard," said roy. "now you spoil it all," put in pee-wee. "i don't know anything about that," said tom, "but that board didn't drift back and climb in by itself. it must have been here all the time. i suppose the other fellow--the one they found drowned--_might_ have got it here, some way," he added. "not likely," said roy. "if he'd managed to get back to the launch with the board, he wouldn't have jumped overboard again just to get drowned. he'd have managed to stay aboard." there was silence for a few minutes while roy drummed on the plank with his fingers and pee-wee could hardly repress his excitement at the thought that they were on the track of a real adventure. tom slade had "gone and done it again." he was always surprising them by his stolid announcement of some discovery which opened up delectable possibilities. and smile as he would (especially in view of pee-wee's exuberance), roy could not but see that here was something of very grave significance. "that's what i meant," drawled tom, "when i told her that we could _try_--to find her brother." this was a knockout blow. "this trip of ours is going to be just like a book," prophesied pee-wee, excitedly; "there's a--there's a--long lost brother, and--and--a deep mystery!" "sure," said roy. "we'll have to change our names; i'll be roy rescue, you be pee-wee pinkerton, the boy sleuth, and tom'll be tom trustful. what d'you say, tom?" tom made no answer and for all roy's joking, he was deeply interested. like most important clues, the discovery was but a little thing, yet it could not be accounted for except on the theory that harry stanton had somehow gotten back to the launch after the accident, whatever the accident was. it meant just that--nothing less and nothing more; though, indeed, it did mean more to pee-wee and as he slept that night, in the gently rocking boat, he dreamed that he had vowed a solemn vow to mr. stanton's daughter to "find her brother or perish in the attempt." he carried a brace of pistols, and sailing forth with his trusty chums, he landed in the island of madagascar, to which harry stanton had been carried, bound hand and foot, in an aeroplane. the three, undaunted, then built a zeppelin and sailed up to the summit of a dizzy crag where they rescued the kidnapped youth and on reaching home, mr. stanton gave them a sea-going yacht and a million dollars each for pocket money. when he awoke from this thrilling experience he found that the _good turn_ was chugging leisurely up the river in the broad daylight. the boat behaved very well, indeed. she leaked a little from the strain of launching, but the engine pumped the water out faster than it came in. all day long they lolled in the cockpit or on the cabin roof, taking turns at the steering. roy, who best understood gas engines, attended to the motor, but it needed very little attention except that it missed on high speed, so he humored it and they ambled along at "sumpty-sump miles an hour," as roy said, "but what care we," he added, "as long as she goes." they anchored for several hours in the middle of the day and fished, and had a mess of fresh perch for luncheon. naturally, the topic of chief interest was the possibility that harry stanton was living, but the clue which appeared to indicate that much suggested nothing further, and the question of why he did not return home, if he were indeed alive was a puzzling one. "his sister said he had been to costa rica, and was fond of traveling," suggested tom. "maybe his parents objected to his going away from home so he went this way--as long as the chance came to him--and let them think he was drowned." roy, sitting on the cabin roof with his knees drawn up, shook his head. "or maybe he left the boat again and tried to swim to shore to go home, and didn't make it," he added. "that's possible," said tom, "but then they'd probably have found his body." "we aren't sure he's alive," roy said thoughtfully, "but it means a whole lot not to be sure that he's dead." "maybe he was made away with by someone who wanted the boat," said pee-wee. "maybe a convict from the prison killed him--you never can tell. jiminys, it's a mystery, sure." "you bet it is," said roy. "the plot grows thicker. if sir guy weatherby were only here, or detective darewell--or some of those story-book ginks they----" "they probably wouldn't have noticed the plank from the skiff," suggested pee-wee. roy laughed and then fell to thinking. "gee, it would be great if we could find him!" he said. and there the puzzling matter ended, for the time being; but the _good turn_ took on a new interest because of the mystery with which it was associated and pee-wee was continually edifying his companions with startling and often grewsome theories as to the fate or present whereabouts of harry stanton, until--until that thing happened which turned all their thoughts from this puzzle and proved that bad turns as well as good ones have the boomerang quality of returning upon their author. it was the third afternoon of their cruise, or their "flop" as roy called it, for they had flopped along rather than cruised, and the _good turn's_ course would have indicated, as he remarked, a fit of the blind staggers. they had paused to fish and to bathe; they had thrown together a makeshift aquaplane from the pieces of an old float which they had found, and had ridden gayly upon it; and their course had been so leisurely and rambling that they had not yet reached poughkeepsie, when all of a sudden the engine stopped. roy went through the usual course of procedure to start it up, but without result. there was not a kick left in it. silently he unscrewed the cap on the deck, pushed a stick into the tank and lifted it out--dry. "boys," said he, solemnly, "there is not a drop of gasoline in the tank. the engine must have used it all up. probably it has been using it all the time----" "you make me sick," said pee-wee. "i have known engines to do that before." "didn't i tell you to get gasoline in newburgh?" demanded pee-wee. "you did, sir walter, and would that we had taken your advice; but i trusted the engine and it has evidently been using the gasoline while our backs were turned. _we_ should worry! you don't suppose it would run on witch hazel, do you?" "didn't i tell----" began pee-wee. "if we could only reduce friend walter to a liquid," said roy. "i think we could get started all right--he's so explosive." "bright boy," said tom. "oh, i'm a regular feller, i am," said roy. "i knew that engine would stop when there wasn't any more gasoline--i just felt it in my bones. but what care we! 'oh, we are merry mountaineers, and have no carking cares or fears- or gasoline.' get out the oars, scouts!" so they got out the oars and with the aid of these and a paddle succeeded in making the shore where they tied up to the dilapidated remnants of what had once been a float. "there must be a village in the neighborhood," said tom, "or there wouldn't be a float here." "sherlock holmes slade is at it again," said roy. it would have been a pretty serious accident that roy wouldn't have taken gayly. "pee-wee, you're appointed a committee to look after the boat while tomasso and i go in search of adventure--and gasoline. there must be a road up there somewhere and if there's a road i dare say we can find a garage--maybe even a village. get things ready for supper, pee-wee, and when we get back i'll make a silver fox omelet for good luck." the spot where they had made a landing was at the foot of precipitous hills between which and the shore ran the railroad tracks. tom and roy, carrying a couple of gasoline cans, started along a road which led around the lower reaches of one of these hills. as pee-wee stood upon the cabin watching them, the swinging cans were brightened by the rays of the declining sun, and there was a chill in the air as the familiar grayness fell upon the heights, bringing to the boy that sense of loneliness which he had felt before. he was of the merriest temperament, was pee-wee, and, as he had often said, not averse to "being jollied." but he was withal very sensitive and during the trip he had more than once fancied that tom and roy had fallen together to his own exclusion, and it awakened in him now and then a feeling that he was the odd number of the party. he had tried to ingratiate himself with them, though to be sure no particular effort was needed to do that, yet sometimes he saw, or fancied he saw, little things which made him feel that in important matters he was left out of account. roy would slap him on the shoulder and tousle his hair, but he would ask tom's advice--and take it. perhaps roy had allowed his propensity for banter and jollying to run too far in his treatment of pee-wee. at all events, the younger boy had found himself a bit chagrined at times that their discussions had not been wholly three-handed. and now, as he watched the others hiking off through the twilight, and heard their laughter, he recalled that it was usually _he_ who was appointed a "committee to stay and watch the boat." this is not a pleasant train of thought when you are standing alone in the bleakness and sadness and growing chill of the dying day, with tremendous nature piled all about you, and watching your two companions as they disappear along a lonely road. but the mood was upon him and it did not cheer him when roy, turning and making a megaphone of his hands, called, "look out and don't fall into the gas tank, pee-wee!" he _had_ reminded them that they had better buy gasoline at newburgh, while they had the chance. roy had answered jokingly telling pee-wee that he had better buy a soda in the city while _he_ had the chance, and tom had added, "i guess the kid thinks we want to drink it." well, there they were hiking it up over the hills now in quest of gasoline and still joking him. if pee-wee had remembered roy's generous pleasure in the "parrot stunt," he would have been much happier, but instead he allowed his imagination to picture tom and roy in the neighboring village, having a couple of sodas--perhaps taking a flyer at a movie show. he did as much as he could toward getting supper, and when it grew dark and still they did not return, he clambered up on the cabin roof again and sat there gazing off into the night. but still they did not come. "gee, i'm a silver fox, anyway," he said; "you'd think he'd want one of his own patrol with him _sometimes_--gee!" he rose and went down into the cabin where the dollar watch which hung on a nail told him that it was eight o'clock. then it occurred to him that it would serve them right if he got his own supper and was in his bunk and asleep when they returned. it would be a sort of revenge on them. he would show them, at least, that he could get along very well by himself, and by way of doing so he would make some rice cakes. roy was not the only one who could make rice cakes. he, pee-wee, could make them if nobody stood by guying him. he had never wielded the flopper; that had been roy's province; but he could, all right, he told himself. so he dug into roy's duffel bag for the recipe book which was famous in the troop; which told the secrets of the hunter's stew; which revealed the mystery of plum-duff and raisin pop-overs in all their luscious details and which set you on the right path for the renowned rice cakes. between the leaves, right where the rice cake recipe revealed itself to the hungry inquirer, was a folded paper which dropped out as pee-wee opened the book. for all he knew it contained the recipe so he held it under the lantern and read: "dear mary: "since you butted in, tom and i have decided that it would be better for pee-wee to go with _him_, and i'll stay home. anyway, that's what i've decided. so you'll get your wish all right and i should worry. "roy." pee-wee read it twice over, then he laid it on the locker and sat down and looked at it. then he picked it up and read it over again. he did not even realize that its discovery among roy's things would indicate that it had never been sent. sent or not, it had been written. so this was the explanation of roy's invitation that he accompany them on the trip. mary temple had asked them to let him go. yet, despite his present mood, he could not believe that his own patrol leader, roy blakeley, could have written this. "i bet tom slade is--i bet he's the cause of it," he said. he recalled now how he had talked about the trip to mary temple and how she had spoken rather mysteriously about the possibility of his going along. so it was she who was his good friend; it was to her he owed the invitation which had come to him with such a fine air of sincerity. "i always--crinkums, anyway girls always seem to like me, that's one thing," he said. "and--and roy did, too, before tom slade came into the troop." it was odd how he turned against tom, making him the scapegoat for roy's apparent selfishness and hypocrisy. "they just brought me along for charity, like," he said, "'cause she told them to. cracky, anyway, i didn't try to make her do that--i didn't." this revelation in black and white of roy's real feeling overcame him and as he put the letter back in the book and the book back in the duffel bag, he could scarcely keep his hand from trembling. "anyway, i knew it all the time," he said. "i could see it." he had no appetite for rice cakes now. he took some cakes of chocolate and a couple of hard biscuits and stuffed them in his pocket. then he went out into the cockpit and listened. there was no sound of voices or footfalls, nothing but the myriad voices of nature, or frogs croaking nearby, of a cheery cricket somewhere on shore, of the water lapping against the broken old wharf as the wind drove it in shoreward. he returned to the cabin, tore a leaf from his scout notebook and wrote, but he had to blink his eyes to keep back the tears. "dear roy: "i think you'll have more fun if you two go the rest of the way alone. i always said two's a company, three's a crowd. you've heard me say it and i ought to have had sense enough to remember it. but anyway, i'm not mad and i like you just as much. i'll see you at camp. "walter harris." "p. s.--if i had to vote again for patrol leader i'd vote for you." he was particular not to mention tom by name and to address his note to roy. he laid it in the frying pan on the stove (in which he had intended to make the rice cakes) and then, with his duffel bag over his shoulder and his scout staff in hand, he stepped from the _good turn_, listening cautiously for approaching footsteps, and finding the way clear he stole away through the darkness. chapter x pee-wee's adventure a walk of a few yards or so brought him to the railroad track. he was no longer the clown and mascot of the _good turn_; he was the scout, alert, resourceful, bent on hiding his tracks. he did not know where he was going, more than that he was going to elude pursuit and find a suitable spot in which to camp for the night. matters would take care of themselves in the daytime. he wanted to follow the railroad tracks, for he knew that would keep him close to the river, but he knew also that it had the disadvantage of being the very thing the boys would suppose it most likely that he would do. for, feel as he would toward them, he did not for a moment believe that they would let him take himself off without searching for him. and he knew something of tom slade's ability as a tracker. "they won't get any merit badges trailing _me_, though," he said. so he crossed the tracks and walked a couple of hundred feet or so up a hill, grabbed the limb of a tree, swung up into its branches, let himself down on the other side, and retraced his steps to the tracks and began to walk the ties, northward. he was now thoroughly in the spirit of the escapade and a feeling of independence seized him, a feeling that every scout knows, that having undertaken a thing he must succeed in it. a walk of about ten minutes brought him to a high, roofed platform beside the tracks, where one or two hogsheads were standing and several cases. but there was no sign of life or habitation. it was evidently the freight station for some town not far distant, for a couple of old-fashioned box-cars stood on a siding, and pee-wee contemplated them with the joy of sudden inspiration. "crinkums, that would be a dandy place to sleep," he thought, for it was blowing up cold and he had but scant equipment. he went up to the nearest car and felt of the sliding door. it was the least bit open, owing to its damaged condition, and by moving it a very few inches more he could have slipped inside. but he paused to examine the pasters and chalk marks on the body. one read "buffalo--4--llm." there were the names of various cities and numerous strange marks. it was evident the car had been quite a globe-trotter in its time, but as it stood there then it seemed to pee-wee that so it must have stood for a dozen years and was likely to stand for a dozen years more. he slid the door a little farther open on its rusty hinges and climbed inside. it was very dark and still and smelled like a stable, but suddenly he was aware of a movement not far from him. he did not exactly hear it, but he felt that something was moving. for a moment a cold shudder went over him and he stood stark still, not daring to move. then, believing that his imagination had played a trick, he fumbled in his duffel bag, found his flashlight and sent its vivid gleam about the car. a young fellow in a convict's suit stood menacingly before the door with one hand upon it, blinking and watching the boy with a lowering aspect. his head was close-shaven and shone in the light's glare so that he looked hardly human. he had apparently sprung to the door, perhaps out of a sound sleep, and he was evidently greatly alarmed. pee-wee was also greatly alarmed, but he was no coward and he stood his ground though his heart was pounding in his breast. "you ain't no bo," said the man. "i--i'm a scout," stammered pee-wee, "and i was going to camp here for the night. i didn't know there was anyone here." the man continued to glare at him and pee-wee thought he had never in his life seen such a villainous face. "i'll--i'll go away," he said, "i was only going to sleep here." the convict, still guarding the door, leered brutally at him, his head hanging low, his lips apart, more like a beast than a man. "no, yer won't go 'way, nuther," he finally said; "yer ain't goin' ter double-cross _me_, pal. wot d'yer say yer wuz?" "a scout," said pee-wee. "i don't need to stay here, you were here first. i can camp outdoors." "no, yer don't," said the man. "you stay whar yer are. yer ain't goin' ter double-cross _me_." "i don't know what you mean by that," said pee-wee. the convict did not offer him any explanation, only stood guarding the door with a threatening aspect, which very much disconcerted pee-wee. he was a scout and he was brave, and not panicky in peril or emergency, but the striped clothing and cropped head and stupid leer of the man before him made him seem something less than human. his terror was more that of an animal than of a man and his apparent inability to express himself save by the repetition of that one sentence frightened the boy. apparently the creature was all instinct and no brains. "yer gotta stay here," he repeated. "yer ain't goin' ter double-cross _me_, pal." then it began to dawn on pee-wee what he meant. "i guess i know about you," he said, "because i heard about your--getting away. but, anyway, if you let me go away i won't tell anyone i saw you. i don't want to camp here now. i'll promise not to go and tell people, if that's what you're afraid of." "wot's in that bag?" asked the man. "my camping things." "got any grub?" "i've got two biscuits and some chocolate." "gimme it," said the man, coming closer. he snatched the food as fast as it was taken out of the bag, and pee-wee surmised that he had not eaten since his escape from prison for he devoured it ravenously like a famished beast. "got any more?" he asked, glaring into the boy's face menacingly. "no, i'm sorry i haven't. i escaped, too, as you might say, from my friends--from the fellers i was with. and i only brought a little with me." after a few minutes (doubtless from the stimulating effects of the food), the convict's fear seemed to subside somewhat and he spoke a little more freely. but pee-wee found it very unpleasant being shut in with him there in the darkness, for, of course, the flashlight could not be kept burning all the time. "i wouldn't do yer no hurt," he assured pee-wee. "i t'ought mebbe yer wuz a _de_-coy. yer ain't, are ye?" he asked suspiciously. "no, i'm not," said pee-wee, "i'm just what i told you----" "i ain't goin' ter leave ye go free, so ye might's well shut up. i seen pals double-cross _me_--them ez i trusted, too. yer square, i guess--only innercent." "i'd keep my word even with--i'd keep my word with you," said pee-wee, "just the same as with anyone. besides, i don't see what's the use of keeping me here. you'll have to let me go some time, you can't keep me here forever, and you can't stay here forever, yourself." "if ye stan' right 'n' show ye're game," said the convict, "thar won't no hurt come to ye. this here car's way-billed fer buff'lo, 'n' i'm waitin' ter be took up now. it's a grain car. yer ain't goin' ter peach wot i tell ye, now? i wuz put wise to it afore i come out by a railroad bloke. i had it straight these here cars would be picked up fer buff'lo the nex' day after i done my trick. but they ain't took 'em up yet, an' i'm close ter starvin' here." pee-wee could not help but feel a certain sympathy with this man, wretch though he was, who on the information of some accomplice outside the prison, had made his escape expecting to be carried safely away the next day and had been crouching, half-starved, in this freight car ever since, waiting. "what will you do if they don't take up the car for a week?" he asked. "they might look inside of it, too; or they might change their minds about taking it." he was anxious for himself for he contemplated with terror his threatened imprisonment, but he could not help being concerned also for this miserable creature and he wondered what would happen if they both remained in the car for several days more, with nothing to eat. then, surely, the man would be compelled to put a little faith in him and let him go out in search of food. he wondered what he should do in that case--what he ought to do; but that, he realized, was borrowing trouble. mr. ellsworth, his scoutmaster, had once said that it is _always bad to play false_. well, then, would it be bad to play false with an escaped felon--to double-cross him? pee-wee did not know. his companion interrupted his train of thought "they don' look inside o' way-billed empties--not much," he said, "an' they don't let 'em stan' so long, nuther. i got bad luck, i did, from doin' my trick on a friday. they'll be 'long pretty quick, though. they reckisitioned all th' empty grain cars fer buff'lo. i'm lookin' ter hear th' whistle any minute, i am, an' i got a pal waitin' fer me in the yards up ter buff'lo, wid the duds. when i get there 'n' get me clo's changed, mebbe i'll leave ye come back if me pal 'n' me thinks ye kin be trusted." "i can be trusted now just as much as i could be trusted then," said pee-wee, greatly disturbed at the thought of this enforced journey; "and how could i get back? i guess maybe you don't know anything about scouts--maybe they weren't started when you were---anyway, a scout can be trusted. anybody'll tell you that. if he gives his word he'll keep it. i don't know anything about what you did and if you ask me if i want to see you get captured i couldn't tell you, because i don't know how i feel. but if you'll let me go now i'll promise not to say anything to anyone. i don't want to go to buffalo. i want to go to my camp. as long as i know about you, you got to trust me some time and you might as well trust me now." if the fugitive could have seen pee-wee's earnest face and honest eyes as he made this pitiful appeal, he might have softened a little, even if he had not appreciated the good sense of the boy's remarks. "i'd ruther get me other duds on fust, 'n' i'd like fer ter hev ye meet me pal," he said, with the first touch of humor he had shown. "now, if yer go ter cuttin' up a rumpus i'll jest hev ter brain ye, see?" pee-wee leaned back against the side of the car in the darkness as despair seized him. he had always coveted adventure but this was too much and he felt himself to be utterly helpless in this dreadful predicament. even as he stood there in a state of pitiable consternation, a shrill whistle sounded in the distance, which was echoed back from the unseen hills. "dat's a freight," said the convict, quickly. pee-wee listened and his last flickering hope was extinguished as he recognized the discordant rattle and bang of the slow-moving train, emphasized by the stillness of the night. nearer and nearer it came and louder grew the clank and clamor of the miscellaneous procession of box cars. it was a freight, all right. "if--if you'll let me get out," pee-wee began, on the very verge of a panic, "if you'll let me get out----" the convict fumblingly took him by the throat. he could feel the big, coarse, warm fingers pressing into the sides of his neck and it gagged him. "if yer open yer head when we're bein' took up, i'll brain yer, hear that?" he said. "gimme that light, gimme yer knife." he flashed on the light, tore the scout knife from pee-wee's belt, and flung the frightened boy against the side of the car. keeping the light pointed at him, he opened the knife. the spirit of desperate resolve seemed to have reawakened within him at the sound of that long-hoped-for train and pee-wee was no more to him than an insect to have his life trampled out if he could not be used or if his use were unavailing. here, unmasked, was the man who had braved the tempestuous river on that dreadful night. truly, as the sheriff had said, "desperate characters will take desperate chances." "if yer open yer head or call out or make a noise wid yer feet or poun' de side o' de car or start a-bawlin' i'll brain ye, ye hear? nobody gets _me_ alive. an' if anybody comes in here 'cause o' you makin' a noise and cryin' fer help, yer'll be the fust to git croaked--see?" he pointed the light straight at pee-wee, holding the open jack-knife in his other hand, and glared at him with a look which struck terror to the boy's heart. pee-wee was too frightened and exhausted to answer. he only shook his head in acknowledgment, breathing heavily. in a few minutes the train had come abreast of them and stopped. they could hear the weary puffing of the engine, and voices calling and occasionally they caught the gleam of a lantern through the crack in the car. pee-wee remained very still. the convict took his stand in the middle of the car between the two sliding doors, lowering and alert, holding the flashlight and the clasp knife. soon the train moved again, then stopped. there were calls from one end of it to the other. then it started again and continued to move until pee-wee thought it was going away, and his hope revived at the thought that escape might yet be possible. then the sound came nearer again and presently the car received a jolt, accompanied by a bang. the convict was thrown a little, but he resumed his stand, waiting, desperate, menacing. those few minutes must have been dreadful ones to him as he watched the two doors, knife in hand. then came more shunting and banging and calling and answering, a short, shrill whistle and more moving and then at last the slow, continuous progress of the car, which was evidently now at last a part of that endless miscellaneous procession, rattling along through the night with its innumerable companions. "it's lucky for them," said the convict, through his teeth, as he relaxed. pee-wee hardly knew what he meant, he had scarcely any interest, and it was difficult to hear on account of the noise. he was too shaken up to think clearly, but he wondered, as the rattling train moved slowly along, how long he could go without food, how he would get back from buffalo, and whether this dreadful companion of his would take his stand, like an animal at bay, whenever the train stopped. after a little time, when he was able to get a better grip on himself and realize fully his terrible plight, he began to think how, after all, the scout, with all his resource and fine courage, his tracking and his trailing and his good turns, is pretty helpless in a real dilemma. here was an adventure, and rather too much of a one, and neither he nor any other scout could extricate him from his predicament. in books they could have done it with much brave talk, but in real life they could do nothing. he was tired and frightened and helpless; the shock of the pressure of those brutal fingers about his neck still distressed him, and his head ached from it all. what wonder if in face of this tragical reality, the scouts with all their much advertised resource and prowess should lose prestige a little in his thoughts? yet it might have been worth while for him to pause and reflect that though the scout arm is neither brutal nor menacing, it still has an exceedingly long reach and that it can pin you just as surely as the cruel fingers which had fixed themselves on his own throat. but he was too terrified and exhausted to think very clearly about anything. chapter xi tracks and trailing when the engineer blew the whistle which the convict had heard with such satisfaction and pee-wee with such dread, it was by way of warning two dark figures which were about to cross the tracks. something bright which they carried shone in the glare of the headlight. "here comes a freight," said tom. "let it come, i can't stop it," said roy. "je-ru-salem, this can is heavy." "same here," said tom. "i wouldn't carry another can of gas this far for a prince's ransom--whatever in the dickens that is. look at the blisters on my hand, will you? gee, i'm so hungry i could eat a package of tacks. i bet pee-wee's been throwing duck fits. never mind, we did a good turn. 'we seen our duty and we done it noble.' some grammar! they ought to put us on the cover of the manual. boy scouts returning from a gasoline hunt! good turn, turn down the gas, hey? did you ever try tracking a freight train? it's terribly exciting." "keep still, will you!" said tom, setting down his can. "can't you see i'm spilling the gasoline? don't make me laugh." "the face with the smile wins," roy rattled on. "for he ain't no slouch, but the lad with the grouch---pick up your can and get off the track--safety first!" "well, then, for goodness' sake, shut up!" laughed tom. it had been like this all the way back, tom setting down his can at intervals and laughing in spite of himself at roy's nonsense. when they reached the boat roy looked inside and called pee-wee. "where is our young hero, anyway?" he said. but "our young hero" was not there. they poured the gas into the tank and then went inside where roy discovered the note in the saucepan. he read it, then handed it to tom and the two stood for a moment staring at each other, too surprised to speak. "what do you suppose has got into him?" exclaimed tom. "search me; unless he's mad because we left him here." tom looked about as if in search of some explanation, and as usual his scrutiny was not unfruitful. "it looks as if he had started to get supper," said he: "there's the rice----" a sudden inspiration seized roy. pulling out the recipe book from his duffel bag he opened it where the letter to mary temple lay. "i thought so," he said shamefacedly. "i left the end of it sticking out to mark the place and now it's in between the leaves. that's what did the mischief; he must have found it." "you ought to have torn it up before we started," said tom. "i know it, but i just stuck it in there when i was brushing up my memory on rice cakes, and there it's been ever since. i ought never to have written it at all, if it comes to that." tom made no answer. they had never mentioned that incident which was such an unpleasant memory to them both. "well, we've got to find him, that's all," said tom. "gee, it seems as if we couldn't possibly get along without pee-wee now," roy said. "i never realized how much fun it would be having him along. poor kid! it serves me right for----" "what's the use of thinking about that _now_?" said tom, bluntly. "we've just got to find him come on, hurry up, get your flashlight. every minute we wait he's a couple of hundred feet farther away." for the first time in all their trip, as it seemed to roy, tom's spirit and interest were fully aroused. he was as keen as a bloodhound for the trail and instinctively roy obeyed him. they hurried out without waiting for so much as a bite to eat and with the aid of their flashlights (and thanks to the recent rains) had no difficulty in trailing pee-wee as far as the railroad tracks. "he'd either follow the track," said tom, "or else the road we took and hide somewhere till we passed. he wouldn't try any cross-country business at night, i don't believe." "poor kid!" was all roy could say. the thought of that note which he had carelessly left about and of pee-wee starting out alone haunted him and made him feel like a scoundrel. all his gayety had vanished and he depended on tom and followed his lead. he remembered only too well the wonderful tracking stunt that tom had done the previous summer, and now, as he looked at that rather awkward figure, kneeling with head low, and creeping along from tie to tie, oblivious to all but his one purpose, he felt a certain thrill of confidence. by a sort of unspoken understanding, he (who was the most all-round scout of them all and looked it into the bargain) had acted as their leader and spokesman on the trip; and tom slade, who could no more talk to strangers, and especially girls, than he could fly, had followed, envying roy's easy manner and all-around proficiency. but tom was a wizard in tracking, and as roy watched him now he could not help realizing with a pang of shame that again it was tom who had come to the rescue to save him from the results of his own selfishness and ill-temper. he remembered those words, spoken in tom's stolid way on the night of their quarrel. "_it's kind of like a trail in your mind and i got to hit the right trail._" he _had_ hit the right trail then and brought roy to his senses, and now again when that rude, selfish note cropped up to work mischief it was tom who knelt down there on the railroad tracks, seeking again for the right trail. "here it is," he said at last, when he had closely examined and smelt of a dark spot on one of the ties. "lucky you let him clean the engine; he must have been standing in the oil trough." "good he had his sneaks on, too," said roy, stooping. "it's like a stamp on a pound of butter." it was not quite as clear as that, but if pee-wee had prepared his sneaks especially for making prints on wooden ties he could scarcely have done better. in order to get at the main bearings of the engine he had, with characteristic disregard, stood plunk in the copper drain basin under the crank-case. the oil had undoubtedly softened the rubber sole of his sneakers so that it held the clinging substance, and in some cases it was possible to distinguish on the ties the half-obliterated crisscross design of the rubber sole. "come on," said tom, "this thing is a cinch." "it's a shame to call it tracking," said roy, regaining some measure of his wonted spirits as they hurried along. "it's a blazed trail." and so, indeed, it was while it lasted, but suddenly it ceased and the boys paused, puzzled. "listen for trains," warned tom. "there won't be any along yet a while," said roy. "there's one stopped up there a ways now." they could hear the shunting up the track, interspersed with faint voices calling. "here's where he's put one over on us," said roy. "poor kid." "here's where he's been reading sir baden-powell, you mean. wait till i see if he worked the boomerang trick. see that tree up there?" it was amazing how readily tom assumed that pee-wee would do just what he had done to elude pursuit. "tree's always a suspicious thing," said he; "this is a boer wrinkle--comes from south africa." he did not bother hunting for the tracks in the hubbly ground, but made straight for the tree. "poor kid," was all he could say as he picked up a few freshly fallen leaves and a twig or two. "he's good at climbing anyway." he examined one of the leaves carefully with his flashlight. "squint around," he said to roy, "and see if you can find where he stuck his staff in the ground." roy got down, poking his light here and there, and parting the rough growth. "here it is," said he. oh, it was all easy--too easy, for a scout. it gave them no feeling of triumph, only pity for the stout-hearted little fellow who had tried to escape them. a more careful examination of the lower branches of the tree and of the ground beneath was enough. tom did not even bother about the prints leading back to the railroad, but went back to the tracks and after a few minutes picked up the trail again there. this they followed till they came to the siding, now deserted. here, for a few minutes, it did seem as if pee-wee had succeeded in baffling them, for the prints leaving the ties ran over to the siding and there ended in a confused collection of footprints pointing in every direction. evidently, pee-wee had paused here, but what direction he had taken from this point they could not see. "this has got _me_ guessing," said tom. "he was tangoing around here," said roy, pointing his flashlight to the ground, "that's sure. maybe the little indian walked the rail." but an inspection of the rail showed that he had not done that, unless, indeed, the recent rain had obliterated the marks. they examined the platform carefully, the steps, the one or two hogsheads, but no sign did they reveal. "it gets me," said tom, as they sat down on the edge of the platform, dangling their legs. "he swore he wouldn't go near a railroad--remember?" said roy, smiling a little wistfully. tom slowly shook his head. "it's all my fault," said roy. "meanwhile, we're losing time," said tom. "you don't suppose----" began roy. "where do you suppose that freight stopped? here?" tom said nothing for a few moments. then he jumped down and kneeling with his light began again examining the confusion of footprints near the siding. roy watched him eagerly. he felt guilty and discouraged. tom was apparently absorbed with some fresh thought. around one footprint he drew a ring in the soil. then he got up and crept along by the rail throwing his light upon it. about twelve or fifteen feet along this he paused, and crossing suddenly, examined the companion rail exactly opposite. then he straightened up. "what is it?" asked roy. but he got no answer. tom went back along the rail till he came to a point twelve or fifteen feet in the other direction from the group of footprints, and here he made another careful scrutiny of both rails. the group of footprints was outside the track and midway between the two points in which he seemed so much interested. "this is the end of _our_ tracking," he said at length. "what's the matter?" "come here and i'll show you. see that footprint--it's only half a one--the front half--see? that's the last one of the lot. that's where he climbed into the car--see?" roy stood speechless. "see? now come here and i'll show you something. see those little rusty places on the track? it's fresh rust--see? you can wipe it off with your finger. there's where the wheels were--see? one, two, three, four--same on the other side, see? and down there," pointing along the track, "it's the same way. if it hadn't been raining this week, we'd never known about a freight car being stalled here, hey? see, those footprints are just half-way between the rusty spots. there's where the door was. see? this little front half of a footprint tells the story. he had to climb to get in--poor kid. he went on a railroad train, after all." roy could say nothing. he could only stare as tom pointed here and there and fitted things together like a picture puzzle. the car was gone, but it had left its marks, just as the boy had. "you put it into my head when you mentioned the train," said tom. "oh, sure; _i_ put it into your head," said roy, in disgust. "_i'm_ a wonderful scout--_i_ ought to have a tin medal! it was you brought me that letter back. it was pee-wee got the bird down and won a boat for us--and i've turned him out of it," he added, bitterly. "no, you----" "yes, i have. and it was _you_ that tracked him, and it was _you_ spelled this out and it's _you_--it's just like _you_, too--to turn around and say i put it into your head. the only thing _i've_ done in this whole blooming business is try to insult mary temple--only--only you wouldn't let me get away with it," he stammered. "roy," interrupted tom, "listen--just a minute." he had never seen roy like this before. "come on," said roy, sharply. "you've done all _you_ could. come on back!" tom was not much at talking, but seeing his friend in this state seemed to give him words and he spoke earnestly and with a depth of feeling. "it's always _you_," said roy. "it's----" "roy," said tom, "don't--wait a minute--_please_. when we got back to the boat i said we'd have to find him--don't go on like that, roy--please! i thought i could find him. but you see i can't--_i_ can't find him." "you can make these tracks talk to you. i'm a----" "no, you're not; listen, _please_. i said--you remember how i said i wanted to be alone with you--you remember? well, now we are alone, and it's going to be you to do it, roy; it's going to be _you_ to bring pee-wee back. just the same as you made me a scout a year ago, you remember? you're the only one can do it, roy," he put his hand on roy's shoulder, "and i'll--i'll help you. and it'll seem like old times--sort of--roy. but you're the one to do it. you haven't forgotten about the searchlight, have you, roy? you remember how you told me about the scout's arm having a long reach? you remember, roy? come on, hurry up!" chapter xii the long arm of the scout as tom spoke, there came rushing into roy's memory as vivid as the searchlight's shaft, a certain dark night a year before when tom slade, hoodlum, had stood by his side and with eyes of wonder watched him flash a message from blakeley's hill to the city below to undo a piece of vicious mischief of which tom had been guilty. he had turned the heavens into an open book for westy martin, miles away, to read what he should do. a thrill of new hope seized roy. "so you see it _will_ be you, roy." "it has to be you to remind me of it." "shut up!" said tom. they ran for the boat at top speed, for, as they both realized, it was largely a fight against time. "that train was dragging along pretty slow when it passed _us_," said tom. "sure, 'bout a million cars," roy panted. "there's an up-grade, too, i think, between here and poughkeepsie. be half an hour, anyway, before they make it. you're a wonder. we'll kid the life out of pee-wee for riding on a train after all. 'spose he did it on purpose or got locked in?" "locked in, i guess," said tom. "let's try scout pace, i'm getting winded." the searchlight which had been an important adjunct of the old _nymph_ had not been used on the _good turn_, for the reason that the boys had not run her at night. it was an acetylene light of splendid power and many a little craft harry stanton had picked up with it in his nocturnal cruising. pee-wee had polished its reflector one day to pass the time, but with the exception of that attention it had lain in one of the lockers. reaching the boat they pulled the light out, connected it up, and found to their delight that it was in good working order. "my idea," said roy, now all excitement, "is to flash it from that hill, then from the middle of the river. of course, it's a good deal a question of luck, but it seems as if _somebody_ ought to catch it, in all these places along the river. be great if we could find him to-night, hey?" "they'd just have to hold him till we could get there in the boat--they couldn't get him back here." "no sooner said than stung," said roy; "hurry up, bring that can, and some matches and--yes, you might as well bring the manual anyway, thought i know that code backwards." "you're right you do," said tom. he was glad to see roy himself again and taking the lead, as usual. "if there was only one of these telegraph operators--guys, as i used to call them--star-gazing, we'd pass the word to him, all right." "a word to the guys, hey? come on, hustle!" a strenuous climb brought them to the brow of a hill from which the lights of several villages, and the more numerous lights of poughkeepsie could be seen. "now, tomasso, see-a if you know-a de lesson--queeck! connect that up and--look out you don't step on the tube! i wish we had a pedestal or something. when you're roaming, you have to do as the romans do, hey? open your manual to page 232. no!" he said hurriedly looking over tom's shoulder. "_care of the fingernails!_ that's _259_ you've got. what do you think we're going to do, start a manicure parlor? _there_ you are--now keep the place to make assurance doubly sure. here goes! hello, folks!" he called, as he swung the long shaft fan-wise across the heavens. "now, three dots for s?" "right," said tom. roy sent three short flashes into the night, then paused and sent a longer flash of about three seconds. another pause, then three of the longer flashes, then a short one, two long ones and a short one. "s-t-o-p--stop," he said. "right-o," concurred tom. "now f--two shorts, a long and a short--is it?" "you know blamed well it is," said tom. thus the message was sent. _"stop freight going north; boy locked in car. hold. friends coming up river in boat flying yellow flag."_ they had on board a large yellow flag with temple camp on it, and roy thought of this as being the best means of identifying the boat for anyone who might be watching for it along the shore. three times they flashed the message, then hurried back to the boat and chugged out, anchoring in midstream. the course of the river is as straight as an arrow here. the lights in the small towns of milton and camelot were visible on either side; tiny lights flickered along the railroads that skirted either shore, and beyond in the distance twinkled the lights on the great bridge at poughkeepsie. "we're right in the steamer's path here," said tom; "let's hurry." roy played the shaft for a minute to attract attention, then threw his message again and again into the skies. the long, bright, silent column seemed to fill the whole heaven as it pierced the darkness in short and long flashes. the chugging of the _good turn's_ engine was emphasized by the solemn stillness as they ran in toward shore, and the splash of their dropping anchor awakened a faint echo from the neighboring mountains. "well, that's all we can do till morning," said roy. "what do you say to some eats?" "gee, it's big and wild and lonely, isn't it?" said tom. they had never thought of the hudson in this way before. after breakfast in the morning they started upstream, their big yellow camp flag flying and keeping as near the shore as possible so as to be within hail. now that the black background of the night had passed and the broad daylight was all about them, their hope had begun to wane. the spell seemed broken; the cheerful reality of the morning sunlight upon the water and the hills seemed to dissipate their confidence in that long shaft, and they saw the whole experience of the night as a sort of fantastic dream. but pee-wee was gone; there was no dream about that, and the boat did not seem like the same place without him. the first place they passed was stoneco, but there was no sign of life near the shore, and the _good turn_ chugged by unheeded. they ran across to milton where a couple of men lolled on a wharf and a few people were waiting at the little station. they could not get in very close to the shore on account of the flats, but roy, making a megaphone of an old newspaper, asked if a flash message had been received there. after much shouting back and forth, he learned that the searchlight had been seen but had been thought to be from one of the night boats plying up and down the river. it had evidently meant nothing to the speaker or to anyone else there. roy asked if they would please ask the telegraph operator if he had seen it. "he'd understand it all right," he said, a bit disheartened. but the answer came back that the operator had not seen it. at poughkeepsie they made a landing at the wharf. here expressmen were moving trunks about, a few stragglers waiting for some boat peered through the gates like prisoners; there was a general air of bustle and a "city" atmosphere about the place. a few people gathered about, looking at the _good turn_ and watching the boys as they made their way up the wharf. "boy scouts," they heard someone say. there was the usual good-natured curiosity which follows scouts when they are away from home and which they have come to regard as a matter of course, but the big yellow flag seemed to carry no particular meaning to anyone here. they walked up to the station where they asked the operator if he had seen the searchlight message or heard anything about it, but he had not. they inquired who was the night watchman on the wharf, hunted him out, and asked him. he had seen the light and wondered what and where it was. that was all. "foiled again!" said roy. they made inquiries of almost everyone they saw, going into a nearby hotel and several of the stores. they inquired at the fire house, where they thought men would have been up at night who might be expected to know the morse code, but the spokesman there shook his head. "a fellow who was with us got locked in a freight car," roy explained, "and we signaled to people up this way to stop the train." the man smiled; apparently he did not take roy's explanation very seriously. "now if you could only get that convict that escaped down yonder----" "we have no interest in him," said roy, shortly. he and tom had both counted on poughkeepsie with its police force and fire department and general wide-awakeness, and they went back to the _good turn_ pretty well discouraged, particularly as the good people of whom they had inquired had treated them with an air of kindly indulgence, smiling at their story, saying that the scouts were a wide-awake lot, and so forth; interested, but good-naturedly skeptical. one had said, "are you making believe to telegraph that way? well, it's good fun, anyway." another asked if they had been reading dime novels. the patronizing tone had rather nettled the boys. "i'd like to have told that fellow that if we _had_ been reading dime novels, we wouldn't have had time to learn the morse code," said roy. _"the motor boat heroes_!" mocked tom. "yes, volume three thousand, and they haven't learned how to run a gas engine yet! get out your magnifying glass, tom; what's that, a village, up there?" "a house." "some house, too," said roy, looking at the diminutive structure near the shore. "put your hand down the chimney and open the front door, hey?" but as they ran in nearer the shore other houses showed themselves around the edge of the hill and here, too, was a little wharf with several people upon it and near it, on the shore, a surging crowd on the edge of which stood several wagons. "guess they must be having a mass meeting about putting a new spring on the post-office door," said roy. "somebody ought to lay a paperweight on that village a windy day like this. it might blow away. close your throttle a little, tom and put your timer back; we'll run in and see what's up." "you don't suppose all that fuss can have anything to do with pee-wee, do you?" tom asked. "no, it looks more as if a german submarine had landed there. there wouldn't be so much of a rumpus if they'd got the kid." but in another moment roy's skeptical mood had changed as he saw a tall, slender fellow in brown standing at the end of the wharf with arms outspread. "what's he doing--posing for the movies?" "he's semaphoring," tom answered. "i'll be jiggered if he isn't!" said roy, all interest at once. "c--o--m--e---i--(he makes his i too much like his c)--n. _what do you know about that!_ come in!" the stranger held what seemed to be a large white placard in either hand in place of a flag and his motions were not as clear-cut as they should have been, but to roy, with whom, as he had often said, the semaphore code was like "pumpkin pie," the message was plain. as they ran alongside the wharf the khaki-clad signaler greeted them with the scout salute. "pretty brisk out on the water this morning?" he said. "we got your message--we were out canoeing last night; you use the international code, don't you?" "have you got him?" roy asked anxiously. "oh, yes, he's here; pulled in somewhere around midnight, i guess. he stayed all night with one of our troop; he's up there now getting his breakfast. great kid, isn't he?" he laughed. "he was telling us about rice cakes. we're kind of out of date up here, you know. i was a little balled up on your spacing," he added as they went up the wharf. "i haven't got the international down very good. yes, we were drifting around, a couple of us, telling ford jokes, when you sprung it on us." "have you got the signaling badge?" said roy. "oh, yes, i managed to pull that; i'm out for the star now." "you'll get it," said tom. "is the kid all right?" roy asked. "oh, sure; but he had some pretty rough handling, i guess. it was quite a little movie show when we dragged the other one out. lucky the station agent and the constable were there. he's up there now waiting for the men from ossining." through the surging crowd tom and roy could see, sitting on a bench at the station, a man in convict garb, with his hands manacled together and a guard on either side of him. in the broad light of day he was a desperate-looking creature, as he sat with his ugly head hanging low, apparently oblivious to all about him. "i don't understand," said roy. "didn't you know about him?" "not a thing--except we did know someone got away from sing sing the other night--but we never thought----" "didn't you know he was in the same car? that's why the little fellow couldn't get away. he'd have come back to you, sure." roy doubted it, but he said nothing and presently the mystery was cleared up by the arrival on the scene of pee-wee himself, accompanied by several scouts. they were laughing merrily and seemed greatly elated that the boat had come; but pee-wee was rather embarrassed and held back until roy dragged him forward. "kiddo," said he, looking straight into the boy's face, "the _good turn_ couldn't have lived another day without you. so you did hit the railroad after all, didn't you? gee, it's good to see you; you've caused us more worry----" he put his arm over pee-wee's shoulder and turned away with him, and the others, being good scouts, had sense enough not to follow. "pee-wee," said roy, "don't try to tell me--that can wait. listen, kiddo. we're in the same boat, you and i. we each wrote a letter that we shouldn't have written, but yours was received and mine wasn't--thanks to tom. we've got to forget about both those letters, pee-wee. i was ashamed of mine before i'd finished writing it. there's no good talking about it now. you're with us because we want you with us, not because mary temple wanted it, but because _i_ want you and tom wants you; do you hear? you know who it is that's always doing something for someone and never getting any credit for it, don't you? it's tom slade. he saved me from being a crazy fool--from sending that letter to mary. and i came to my senses the next day. he tracked you to that car, only it always seems to work around so that someone else gets all the glory. it makes me feel like a---listen to them over there now, talking about _signaling_. pee-wee, you gave us an awful scare. it didn't seem natural on top of the cabin last night without you--you little mascot! we're not going to have another word to say about this, kid--i'm your patrol leader, remember. we're going to hit it straight for camp now--the three of us--the big three--and you're with us because we can't do without you. do you get that?" "roy," said pee-wee, speaking with difficulty. "i--i had an--adventure." "well, i should think you did." chapter xiii temple camp the scouts of the village stood upon the wharf and waved a last good-bye to the three as the _good turn_ chugged merrily away. "i'm going to give that fellow the full salute," said tom, raising his hand to his forehead. "he's a wonder." the scouts on shore received this tribute to their comrade with shouts, throwing their hats in the air and giving three lusty cheers for the "silver foxes and the elks" as the launch, swerving out into midstream, bent her course for catskill landing. "he sure is a wonder," said roy. "i told him all about you," chimed in pee-wee, "and all the stunts you can do." "he seems to be prouder of his ford jokes than of his signal work," laughed roy. "he----" "oh, crinkums, he knows some dandy ford jokes, and his wrist is so strong from paddling that he can stick a shovel in the ground and turn it around with one hand; oh, he's got that paddle twist down fine, roy; but, gee, he says you're all right; even before you came he said that; as soon as i told him who it was that signaled----" "do you think they'll come up?" roy interrupted. "sure they will; i told them all about the camp and how they could have a cabin to themselves--they're only a small troop, one patrol, and he wants to know you better; gee, i told him all about you and how you could----" "all right, kiddo," laughed roy. "they're coming up in august. say, that fellow's got eleven merit badges, but the one thing he's crazy to get is the gold cross." "he'll get it," said tom, who had been wiping the engine. "he says the trouble is," added pee-wee, "that he can't save anybody's life with great danger to his own--that's what it says in the manual, isn't it?" "yes," said tom, quietly. "he says the trouble is nobody ever gets in danger. the trouble with his troop is they all know how to swim and they're so blamed clever that he never has a chance to rescue one of them. he said he tipped the canoe over with one fellow and the fellow just wouldn't be saved; he swam around and dived and wouldn't let garry imperil his life--and that's the only way you can do it, roy. you've got to imperil your own life, and he says he never gets a chance to imperil his life." "must be discouraging," said roy. "oh, jiminys, you'd laugh to hear him talk; he's got that quiet way about him, roy--sober like. i told him there's lots of different ways a feller can imperil his life." "sure, fifty-seven varieties," said roy. "well, i'm glad they treated you so well, kid, and i hope we'll have a chance to pay them back. what do you say we tie up in kingston and have a soda?" early the next day they came in sight of catskill landing. roy stood on top of the cabin like columbus, his rapt gaze fixed upon the dock. "we have arrove," said he. "gee, i'm sorry it's over." [illustration] the trip _had_ been enjoyable, but now their every thought was centered upon temple camp to which they were so near and they were filled with delightful anticipations as they made ready for the hike which still lay before them. the boating club, with the hospitality which a love of the water seems always to inspire in its devotees, gave them a mooring buoy and from this, having made their boat fast, they rowed ashore and set out with staves and duffel bags for the quaint little village of leeds. the distance to leeds depends upon who is making the journey, or from whom you get your information. the farmers will tell you it is five miles. the summer boarders are likely to tell you that it is ten. to be exact, it is somewhere between two miles and twenty miles, and you can't get back to catskill landing for dinner. "i think it's ten miles there and twenty miles back," said roy; "_we_ should worry! when we get to leeds we make our grand dash for the lake." "like peary," said pee-wee, already bubbling over with excitement. "something like him, yes." their way took them through a beautiful hilly country and for a while they had glimpses of the river, which brought them pleasant reminiscences of their rambling, happy-go-lucky voyage. "who does the _good turn_ belong to?" tom asked. "i think it belongs to honorable pee-wee harris," said roy. "he did the trick that won it." "i'll tell you who she belongs to," said pee-wee. "she belongs to the first bridgeboro troop, boy scouts of america." "raven, fox and elk!" said roy. "right you are, pee-wee. united we stand, divided we squall." a tramp of a couple of hours over country roads brought them to leeds, and they hiked along its main street contributing not a little to its picturesqueness with their alert, jaunty air, their brown complexions which matched so well with the scout attire, their duffel bags and their long staves. more than one farmer and many an early summer boarder stared at them and hailed them pleasantly as they passed along. "i like this village," said pee-wee. "i'll have it wrapped up for you," said roy; "take it, or have it sent?" "how do we get to black lake?" tom asked of a man who was lounging outside one of the shops. "ye ain't goin' to walk it, be ye?" he answered, scrutinizing them curiously. "right you are," said roy. "how did you guess?" "ye got a pooty smart walk afore ye," the man said, dubiously. "well, we're pretty smart boys," said roy. "break it to us gently, and let us hear the worst." "baout five mile 'f ye take th' hill rud." "gracious, goodness me!" said roy, "are they all the same length?" "haouw?" "the miles; lads, i'm just reckless enough to do it." "wall," drawled their informant, "ye go 'long this rud t'l ye come t' a field whar thar's a red caouw, then ye cut right through th' middle uv it 'n' go on over a stun wall 'n' ye'll come to a woods rud. ye foller that t'l ye come to a side path on the left on it that goes up hill. black lake's t'other side that hill. ye got to pick yer way up through the woods 'long that path if ye kin foller it, 'n' when ye git t' the top ye kin look daown 'n' see th' lake, but ye'll have a smart climb gettin' daown th' hill." "that's us," said roy. "thanks--thanks very much." when they had gone a little way he halted tom and pee-wee with a dramatic air. "lads," said he, "we've got the _motor boat heroes_ and the _dauntless chums_ and _submarine sam_ beaten to a frazzle! we're the _terrible trio series_, volume two million. lads, get out your dirks and keep up stout hearts. we have to cut through the middle of a red cow! that man said so!" three-quarters of an hour more along an apparently disused road and they came upon a trail which was barely discernible, leading up a steep and densely wooded hill. in places they had to climb over rugged terraces, extricating themselves from such mazes of tangled underbrush as they had never before seen. now and then the path seemed to peter out and they found it again with difficulty and only by the skilful use of scout tracking lore. the long, steep climb was filled with difficulties, but they pressed on amazed at the wildness all about them. at last, by dint of much hard effort and after many wasted steps through loss of the trail, they came out upon the summit, and looked down upon a sight which sent a thrill to all three. the other side of the hill was, perhaps, not as steep as the side which they had mounted, but it was thickly wooded and at its base was a sheet of water surrounded by lofty hills, all covered with dense forest, which extended right down to the water's edge. the lake was perhaps a mile long, and lay like a dark jewel amid the frowning heights which closed it in. the trees along shore were dimly reflected in the still, black water. the quiet of the spot was intense. it was relieved by no sign of habitation, save a little thin, uncertain column of smoke which rose from among the trees on the farther shore. the solemnity of the scene, the blackness and isolation of that sheet of water, the dense woods, rising all around it and shutting out the world, was quite enough to cast a spell on anyone, and the three boys looked about them awestruck and for a moment speechless. "jiminy crinkums!" said pee-wee, at length. tom only shook his head. "reminds you of broadway and forty-second street," said roy. they started down the hill and found that their descent was quite as difficult as the ascent had been, but at last they reached the foot and now, from this lower viewpoint they could catch a glimpse of the wood interior on the opposite shore. there were several log cabins harmonizing in color with the surrounding forest and, therefore, inconspicuous. farther from the shore the boys glimpsed another and larger structure and at the water's edge they now saw a boat drawn up. it was evident that the way they had come was not the usual way to reach the camp, for there was no sign of trail along the shore, and to pick their way around, with the innumerable obstacles which beset the way, would have taken several hours. "it must be lively around here on saturday nights with the crowd out doing their marketing, and the movie shows----" began roy. "aw, shut up!" said pee-wee. they raised their voices in unison and shouted, and the echo resounded from the hills across the water, almost as loud and distinguishable as their own call. roy yelled long and loud, slapping his open lips with the palm of his hand, and a pandemonium of similar sounds came back as if from a multitude of voices. "i tell you, when john temple does a thing he does it right!" said pee-wee. "gee, you can't deny that!" in a few moments a man approached on the opposite shore and leisurely got into the boat. as he rowed across, he looked around once in a while, and as the boat drew near the boys saw that its occupant had iron gray hair, a long drooping moustache, and a face deeply wrinkled and browned almost to a mulatto hue. "hello," called roy. "is that temple camp over there? i guess we came in the back way." "thet's it," said the man. "you some o' the bridgeboro boys?" his voice was low and soft, as of one who has lived long in the woods by himself. there was a humorous twinkle in his eye which the boys liked. he was long and lanky and wore khaki trousers and a coarse gray flannel shirt. his arms, which were bare, were very sinewy. altogether, the impression which he made on the boys was that he was perfectly self-possessed and at ease, so absolutely sure of himself that nothing in all the wide world could frighten him or disconcert him. the president of the united states, kings, emperors, millionaires--including john temple--might want to be rowed across and this man would come leisurely over and get them, but he would not hurry and he would be no more embarrassed or flustered at meeting them than a tree would be. nature, the woods and mountains and prairies, had put their stamp upon him, had whispered their secrets to him, and civilization could not phase him. that was the way he struck the boys, who from being scouts had learned to be observant and discerning. "are you mr. rushmore?" tom asked, and as the man nodded assent he continued, "my name is tom slade; we're members of the bridgeboro troop and i'm the one selected to help you. i don't know if you expected me yet, but my scoutmaster and mr. temple thought i better come ahead of the other fellows so's to help you and get acquainted--like. these fellows came with me just for fun, but, of course, they want to help get things ready. the rest are coming up in july." this was a good deal for tom to say at a stretch, and it fell to the voluble pee-wee later to edify mr. rushmore with all the details of their trip, winding up with a glowing peroration on roy's greatness. "waal, i reck'n i'm glad ye've come--the hull three on ye," jeb rushmore drawled. "that's some trail over that hill," said roy, as they rowed across. "we lost it about a dozen times." "thet? thet ain't no trail," said jeb. "thet's a street--a thurafare. i'm a-goin' t' test you youngsters out follerin' thet on a dark night." "have a heart!" said roy. "i could never pick that out with a flashlight." "a what? ye won't hev no light o' no sort, not ef _i_ know it." the boys laughed. "well, i see we're up against the real thing," said roy, "but if that's a thoroughfare, i'd like to see a trail--that's all." "ye don' need ter see it," drawled jeb. "ye jest _feel_ it." "you must have a pretty good sense of touch," said roy. "ye don' feel it with your hands, youngster, ye jest _sense_ it." "_good night!_" said roy. tom said nothing. he had been watching mr. rushmore and hanging with rapt attention on his every word. they found the hill on the opposite shore not as steep as it had looked from across the water, and here at its base, in the dim solitude by the shore, was temple camp. there was a large open pavilion built of untrimmed wood, which would accommodate eight or ten troops, allowing to each some measure of privacy and there were as many as a dozen log cabins, some large enough for two or three patrols, others intended evidently to accommodate but one. there was a shack for the storage of provisions and equipment, in which the boys saw among other things piles upon piles of wooden platters. "not much dishwashing here," said pee-wee, joyfully. here, also, were half a dozen tents and every imaginable article necessary to camp life. close by was a cooking shack and outside this several long mess boards with rough seats; and just beyond was a spring of clear water. jeb rushmore had a cabin to himself upon the outside of which sprawled the skins of as many as a dozen different sorts of animals--the trophies of his life in the west. john temple had certainly done the thing right; there was no doubt of that. he had been a long time falling, but when he fell he fell hard. temple camp comprised one hundred acres of woodland--"plenty of room to grow in," as jeb said. it was more than a camp; it was really a community, and had somewhat the appearance of a frontier trading post. in its construction very little bark had been taken from the wood; the whole collection of buildings fitted well in their wild surroundings; there wasn't a jarring note. but temple camp was unique not only in its extent, its rustic character and its magnificent situation; it was the fulfilment of a grand dream which john temple had dreamed. any troop of scouts could, by making timely application to the trustees, go to temple camp and remain three weeks without so much as a cent of cost. there was to be absolutely no favoritism of any kind (and jeb rushmore was the man to see to that), not even in the case of the bridgeboro troop; except that troops from cities were to be given preference over troops from country districts. jeb rushmore was to be the camp manager, working with the trustees and the visiting scoutmasters; but as it turned out he became a character in this scout village, and if he fell short in executive capacity he more than made up for it in other ways. before the first season was over people came miles to see him. there were also a doctor and a cook, though a troop occupying a cabin could do its own cooking and mess by itself if it chose. there were some rather interesting rules and regulations. if a scout won a merit badge while at camp this entitled his whole troop to lengthen its stay by two days, if it so elected. if he won the life scout badge, four extra days was the reward of his whole troop. the star badge meant an extra week, the eagle badge ten extra days. a scout winning the bronze cross was entitled with his troop to occupy "hero cabin" and to remain two extra weeks at camp. the silver cross meant three extra weeks; the gold cross four extra weeks. if a troop could not conveniently avail itself of this extra time privilege in the current season it could be credited with the time and use it, whole or piecemeal, in subsequent seasons. on the lake there were to be several boats which were not yet ready, and every scout winning a life saving medal was to have a boat named for him. at the time the boys arrived there was only one boat and that was named _mary temple_. chapter xiv hero cabin the history of temple camp during that gala season of its opening would fill a book; but this is not a history of temple camp, and we must pass at once to those extraordinary happenings which shook the little scout community to its very center and cast a shadow over the otherwise pleasant and fraternal life there. by the middle of july every inch of space in the pavilion was occupied, and among the other troops which lodged there was the little troop from down the hudson, of which garry everson was the leader. tom had tried to procure cabin accommodations for these good friends, but the cabins had all been spoken for before their application came and they had to be content with the less desirable quarters. during the early days of their stay the bridgeboro troop arrived in a blaze of glory; the ravens, with their pride and delight, doc carson, first aid boy; the rest of the silver foxes with westy martin, dorry benton and others; and tom's own patrol, the elks, with connie bennett, the bronson boys, the famous o'connor twins, all with brand new outfits, for this was a new patrol. three small cabins had been reserved for them and in these they settled down, each patrol by itself and flying its own flag. tom, by reason of his duties, which identified him with the camp as a whole rather than with any troop or patrol, occupied the cabin with jeb rushmore, and though he was much with the elks, he had delegated connie bennett to substitute as patrol leader for the time being. garry everson was a general favorite. not only had his stunt of receiving the signal message and restoring the fugitive pee-wee won him high regard with the bridgeboro boys, but his quiet manner and whimsical humor had made him many friends throughout the camp. he was tall and slim, but muscular; the water seemed to be his specialty; he was an expert at rowing and paddling, he could dive in a dozen different ways and as for swimming, no one at temple camp could begin to compete with him. tom's friendship with garry everson had grown quite intimate. they were both interested in tracking and made many little trips together, for tom had much time to himself. one morning, as tom, according to rule, was making his regular inspection of the pavilion, he lingered for a few minutes in garry's corner to chat with him. "you're not getting ready to go?" he asked in surprise, noticing that some of the troop's paraphernalia had been packed. "beginning to get ready," said garry. "sit down. why didn't you bring your knitting?" "i can't stay long," said tom. "i've got to inspect the cabins yet, and then i've got to make up the program for campfire yarns to-night. by the way, couldn't _you_ give us a spiel?" "oh, sure," said garry. "_the quest of the honor medal_. i'll tell how nobody ever gets into danger here--or imperils his life, as pee-wee would say. i'm going to put a notice up on one of the trees and get you to read another at mess with the regular announcements: wanted; by scout seeking honor medal; someone willing to imperil his life. suitable reward. apply temple camp pavilion. signed, would-be hero." tom laughed. "i'm like old what's-his-name, cã¦sar. ready to do the conquest act, but nothing more to conquer. believe me, it's no cinch being a would-be hero. couldn't you get bitten by a rattlesnake on one of your tracking stunts? get your foot on him, you know, and he'll be wriggling and squirming to get his head free, and his cruel fangs will be within an inch of your ankle and you'll just begin to feel them against your stocking----" "don't," laughed tom. "when all of a sudden i'll come bounding out of the thicket, and i'll grab him by the head and force his cruel jaws shut and slip an elastic band around his mug. that ought to pull the silver cross, hey? and i and my faithful followers would get three extra weeks in camp." "would you like to stay longer?" tom asked. "foolish question, number three million. haven't we had the time of our young lives? i never knew two weeks to go so fast. never mind, we've got two days more--and two days _only_ unless i get some answers to my 'ad.'" "where's your patrol this morning?" "stalking; they've a date with a robin. i would have gone along except i didn't see much chance of any of them imperilling their lives taking snapshots of robins. so i stayed home to do a little packing--things we won't need again. but no use thinking about that, i suppose; that's what i tell them. we've had some good times, all right. seems a pity we have to go just when mr. temple and his daughter have come. you're a lucky kid; you stay till the last gun is fired, don't you?" "yes, i'm going to stay till we close up. come on, stroll up the hill with me. i've got to raise the colors. if you've only two days more there's no use moping around in here." "all right, wait a minute and i'll be with you--dry the pensive tear, as your friend roy would say. he's an all-around scout, isn't he?" "yes, he came right off the cover of the manual, mr. ellsworth says." "you're a bully troop, you fellows. gee, i envy you. trouble with us," he continued, as they walked up the hill together, "is we haven't any scoutmaster. i'm scoutmaster and patrol leader rolled into one. we're going to get better organized this winter. there's only just the seven of us, you know, and we haven't got any money. you might think that because we live in a country village on the hudson everything's fine and dandy. but there's blamed little money in our burg. four of our troop have to work after school. one works all day and goes to night school down to poughkeepsie. i saved up two years to buy that canoe i was in when i caught your message." "well, you caught it all right," said tom, with a note of pride in his usually expressionless voice. "we'll come out all right, though," said garry, cheerily. "that's what i'm always telling them; only we're so gol-blamed poor." "i know what it is," said tom, after a pause. "maybe that's what makes us such good friends, sort of. i lived in a tenement down in bridgeboro. i've got to thank roy for everything--roy and mr. ellsworth. they all treat me fine and you'd never know most of them are rich fellows; but somehow--i don't just know how to tell you---but you know how a scout is supposed to be a brother to every other scout. well, it seems to me, kind of, as if a poor fellow is a brother to every other poor fellow--and--and--i understand." "it's easy to see they all think a lot of you," said garry. "well, we've had a rattling good time up here and i don't suppose we'll feel any worse about going away than lots of others will. if you miss one thing you usually have another to make up. we're all good friends in our little troop--we have more fun than you could shake a stick at, joshing each other about different kinds of heroic stunts, to win an honor medal, and some of them have thought up the craziest things----" "i wish you could stay," said tom. "well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as some old duffer said." the wooded hill sloped upward behind the camp for a distance of some hundred yards, where it was broken by a sheer precipice forming one side of a deep gully. this was the work of man, having once been a railroad cut, but it had been in disuse for many years and was now covered with vegetation. you could walk up the hill till you came to the brink of this almost vertical chasm, but you could no more scramble down it than you could scramble down a well. on the opposite side of the cut the hill continued upward and the bridging of the chasm by the scouts themselves had been a subject of much discussion; but up to the present time nothing had been done and there was no way to continue one's ascent of the hill except to follow along the edge of the cut to a point where the precipice was low enough to allow one to scramble down--a walk of several miles. right on the brink of this old overgrown cut was a shack which had probably once been used by the workmen. although on the camp property it was rather too far removed from the other buildings to be altogether convenient as a living place, but its isolated situation had attracted the boys, and the idea of calling it hero cabin was an inspiration of roy's. mr. keller, one of the trustees, had fallen in with the notion and while deprecating the use of this remote shack for regular living quarters, had good-naturedly given his consent that it be used as the honored domicile of any troop a member of which had won an honor medal. perhaps he thought that, honor medals being not so easily won, it would be quite safe to make this concession. in any event, it was quite enough for the boys. a committee was formed with a member from each troop to make the shack a suitable abode for a hero and his court. impulsive roy was the moving spirit of the plan; pee-wee was its megaphone, and in the early days of the bridgeboro troop's stay a dozen or more scouts had worked like beavers making a path up through the woods, covering the shack with bark, and raising a flagpole near it. they had hiked into leeds and bought material for a flag to fly above the shack showing the name, hero cabin, and they had fitted it with rustic bunks inside. the idea was a good one, the boys had taken a great deal of pride and pleasure in the work of preparation, the whole thing had given rise to much friendly jealousy as to what troop should be honored by residence here and what fortunate scout should be escorted to this new abode amid acclamations. probably every troop in camp had dreams of occupying it (i am sure that pee-wee had), and of spending its "honor time" here. but apparently mr. keller, who was not much given to dreaming, was right in his skeptical conjecture for hero cabin remained unoccupied, though tom made it a point to tramp up and raise and lower the colors there each day. "some day, maybe next season," said he as they stood on the brink and gazed across the deep gully, "they'll bring somebody up here riding on their shoulders. you can't win an honor medal every day in the week. i think the bronze cross would be enough for _me_--let alone the silver or the gold one. i'd be satisfied with that, wouldn't you?" "except that the gold cross gives you four extra weeks," said garry, "and, of course, the more risk a fellow takes, the greater the honor is." he picked up a pebble and threw it at a tree across the gully. "i'd rather have one of those medals," he said, "than anything in the world--and i want a wireless outfit pretty bad, too. but besides that" (he kept throwing pebbles across the gully and spoke half absently), "besides that, it would be fine to have that extra time. maybe we couldn't use it _all_ this season, but--look, i can hit that thin tree every time--but i'm thinking of the little codger mostly; you know the one i mean--with the light hair?" "the little fellow that coughs?" "he doesn't cough any more. he did before we came up here. his father died of consumption. no, he doesn't cough much now--guess it agrees with him up here. he's---there, i hit it six times in succession." for a few minutes tom said nothing, but watched as garry, time after time, hit the slender tree across the gully. "i often dream about having an honor medal, too," he said, after a while. "we haven't got any in our troop. roy'll be the one, i guess. i suppose the gold cross is the highest award they'll ever have, hey?" "guess so." "there's nothing better than gold, is there?" "it isn't because there's nothing better than gold," said garry, still intent upon hitting his mark. "it's because there's nothing better than heroism--bravery--risking your life." "diamonds--they might have a diamond cross, hey?" "what for?" "in case they found anything that's better than heroism.[missing: "?] "what?" "oh, i don't know. there might be." garry turned and laughingly clapped tom on the back. "i might push you over this precipice and then jump down after you, hey?" he laughed. "you'd be crushed to death yourself," said tom. "well, stop talking nonsense or i'll do it. come on, get your chores done and we'll go down and have a swim. what'd' you say?" he ran his hand through tom's thick shock of hair and laughed again. "come on, forget it," said he. "i've only got two days more here and i'm not going to miss a morning dip. come on, i'll show you the double twist dive." he put his arm through tom's with the contagious gaiety that was his, and started down the hill with him toward the lake. "come on, wake up, you old grouch," he said. chapter xv coward! there were not many boys bathing at the time this thing happened. roy and several of the silver foxes were at a little distance from the shore practising archery, and a number of scouts from other troops lolled about watching them. three or four boys from a pennsylvania troop were having an exciting time with the rowboat, diving from it out in the middle of the lake. pee-wee harris and dory bronson, of tom's patrol, were taking turns diving from the spring-board. tom and garry joined them and, as usual, whenever garry was diving, boys sauntered down to the shore and watched. "here goes the temple twist," said he, turning a complete somersault and then jerking himself sideways so as to strike the water crossways to the spring-board. there was some applause as he came up spluttering. tom tried it, but could not get the twist. "try this on your piano," said garry, diving and striking the water flat. "that's what you call the bridgeboro botch," he laughed, as tom went sprawling into the water. "hey, blakeley," he shouted to roy, "did you see the bridgeboro botch?" "there's no use their trying _your_ tricks," roy called in genuine admiration. "i'm coming in in a few minutes, myself." but tom dived very well for all that, and so did pee-wee, but dory bronson was new at the game. the thing which was destined to have such far-reaching consequences happened suddenly and there was some difference of opinion among the eye-witnesses as to just how it occurred, but all were agreed as to the main fact. dory had just dived, it was pee-wee's turn next, tom would follow, and then garry, who meanwhile had stepped up to where roy and the others were shooting, and was chatting with them. they had dived in this order like clockwork for some time, so that when dory did not appear on the board the others looked about for him. just at that moment a piercing cry arose, and a dozen pairs of eyes were turned out on the lake where the boy was seen struggling frantically. it was evident that the boys in the boat were pulling to his assistance, but they were too far away and meanwhile he floundered and struggled like a madman, sending up cries that echoed from the hills. how he had gotten out so far no one knew, unless indeed he had tried to swim to the boat. the sight of a human being struggling frantically in the water and lost to all sense of reason by panic fright is one to strike terror to a stout heart. even the skilful swimmer whose courage is not of the stoutest may balk at the peril. that seemed to be the feeling which possessed tom slade as he stood upon the end of the spring-board and instead of diving cast a hurried look to where garry everson was talking with roy. it all happened in a moment, the cries from the lake, tom's hesitation, his swift look toward roy and garry, and his evident relief as the latter rushed to the shore and plunged into the water. he stood there on the end of the high spring-board, conspicuous against the blue sky, with his eyes fixed upon the swimmer. he saw the struggle in the water, saw the frantic arms clutch at garry, watched him as he extricated himself from that insane grasp, saw him catch the struggling figure with the "neck grip" as the only means of saving both lives, and watched him as he swam toward shore with his now almost unconscious burden. what he thought, how he felt, no human being knew. he stood motionless like a statue until the growing crowd below him set up a cheer. then he went down and stood among them. "didn't you see him drowning there?" a fellow demanded of him. "yes, i did," said tom. the other stared at him for a moment with a peculiar expression, then swung on his heel and strode away. tom craned his neck to see and spoke to those nearest him, but they only answered perfunctorily or ignored him altogether. he moved around to where roy stood, and roy, without looking at him, pressed farther into the crowd. "that's he," a boy near him whispered to his neighbor; "stood on the end of the board, watching. i didn't think we had any cowards here." in every face and most of all in the faces of his own troop tom saw contempt plainly written. he could not go away from them, for that might excite fresh comment; so he remained, trying to disregard the significant glances and swallowing hard to keep down the lump which kept rising in his throat. soon the doctor came, relieving doc carson of the ravens, and the half-drowned boy was taken to his cabin. "he--he's all right, isn't he?" tom asked of the doctor. "yes," said the doctor, briefly. "he's one of your own patrol, isn't he?" "yes--sir." the doctor looked at him for a moment and then turned away. "hello, old man," said garry, as he passed him, hurrying to the pavilion. "cold feet, eh? guess you got a little rattled. never mind." the words stabbed tom like a knife, but at least they were friendly and showed that garry did not entirely condemn him. he paused at the elks cabin, the cabin of his own patrol, where most of the members of his troop were gathered. one or two made way for him in the doorway, but did not speak. roy blakeley was sitting on the edge of dory's couch. "roy," said tom, still hesitating in the doorway of his own patrol cabin, "can i speak to you a minute?" roy came out and silently followed tom to a point out of hearing of the others. "i--i don't care so much what the others think," said tom. "if they want to think i'm a coward, all right. but i want to tell _you_ how it was so _you_ won't think so." "oh, you needn't mind about me," said roy. "you and garry--i----" "i guess _he_ knows what to think, too," said roy, coldly. "i guess he has his opinion of the first bridgeboro troop's courage." "that's why i care most," said tom, "on account of disgrace for one being disgrace for all--and honor, too. but there's something----" "well, you should have thought of that," roy interrupted impetuously, "when you stood there and let a strange fellow rescue one of your own patrol. you practically asked him to do it--everybody saw." "there's something----" "oh, sure, _there's something_! i suppose you'll be able to dig something out of the handbook, defending cowards! you're great on the handbook." again that something came up in tom's throat and the ugly word cut him so that he could hardly speak. "no, there isn't anything in the manual about it," said he, in his slow monotone, "because i looked." roy sneered audibly. "but i thought there might be another law--a 13th one about----" "oh, you make me sick with your 13th law!" roy flared up. "is that what you were dreaming about when you stood on the end of that board and beckoned to garry----" "i didn't beckon, i just looked----" "just looked! well, i don't claim to be up on the law like you, but the 10th law's good enough for me,--'a scout is brave; he has the courage to face danger in spite of fear.' this fellow will have the bronze cross, maybe the silver one, for rescuing one of _our_ troop, one of _your own_ patrol. _you_ know how we made a resolution that the first honor medal should come to us! and here you stand there watching and let a stranger walk away with it!" "do you think he'll get it?" tom asked. "of course, he'll get it." tom smiled slightly. "and _you_ think i'm a coward?" "i'm not saying what i think. i never _did_ think so before. i know that fellow will have the cross and they'll be the honor troop because in _our_ troop we've got----" "don't say that again, roy; please don't--i----" roy looked at him for one moment; perhaps in that brief space all the history of their friendship came rushing back upon him, and he was on the point of stretching out his hand and letting tom explain. but the impulse passed like a sudden storm, and he walked away. tom watched him until he entered the patrol shack, and then went on to his own cabin. jeb rushmore was out with the class in tracking, teaching them how to _feel_ a trail, and tom sat down on his own couch, glad to be alone. he thought of the members of his own troop, in and about his own patrol cabin, ministering to dory bronson. he wondered what they were saying about him and whether roy would discuss him with others. he didn't think roy would do that. he wondered what mr. ellsworth would think--and jeb rushmore. he got up and, fumbling in his duffel bag, fished out the thumbed and dilapidated handbook, which was his trusty friend and companion. he opened it at page 64. he knew the place well enough, for he had many times coveted what was offered there. there, standing at attention and looking straight at him, was the picture of a scout, very trim and natty, looking, as he had often thought, exactly like roy. beside it was another picture of a scout tying knots and he recalled how roy had taught him the various knots. his eyes scanned the type above till he found what he sought. "the bronze medal is mounted on a red ribbon and is awarded to a scout who has actually saved life where risk is involved. "the silver medal is mounted on a blue ribbon and is awarded to a scout who saves life with considerable risk to himself. "the gold medal is mounted on white ribbon and is the highest possible award for heroism. it may be granted to a scout who has gravely endangered his own life in actually saving the life of another." "it'll mean the silver one for him, all right," said tom to himself, "and that's three more weeks. i wish it could be the gold one." idly he ran through the pages of the book, pausing here and there. on page 349 were pictures of scouts rescuing drowning persons. he knew the methods well and looked at the pictures wistfully. again at page 278 was some matter about tracking, with notes in facsimile handwriting. this put the idea into his mind that he might insert a little handwriting of his own at a certain place, and he turned to the pages he knew best of all--33 and 34. he read the whole twelve laws, but none seemed quite to cover his case. so he wrote in a very cramped hand after law 12 these words: "13--a scout can make a sacrifice. he can keep from winning a medal so somebody else can get it. especially he must do this if it does the other scout more good. that is better than being a hero." he turned to the fly leaf and wrote in sprawling, reckless fashion: "i am not a coward. i hate cowards." then he tore the page out and threw it away. he hardly knew what he was doing. after a few minutes he turned to page 58, where the picture of the honor medal was. as he sat gazing at it, loud shouting arose in the distance. nearer and nearer it came, and louder it grew, until it swelled into a lusty chorus. around the corner of the pavilion they came, two score or more of scouts, yelling and throwing their hats into the air. tom looked up and listened. through the little window he could glimpse them as they passed, carrying garry everson upon their shoulders, and shrieking themselves hoarse. pee-wee was there and artie val arlen, of the ravens, and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough, running to keep up and yelling proudly for his chief and idol. "hurrah for the silver cross!" they called. "three cheers for the honor scout!" "three cheers and three extra weeks!" they paused within a dozen feet of where tom sat, and pushing, elbowing, fell into the woods path leading up to hero cabin. tom listened until their voices, spent by the distance, were scarcely audible. then he fell to gazing again at the picture of the medal. chapter xvi ostracized the question was as to the bronze cross or the silver one, and it was the silver one which came. roy, who had been the most observant witness, testified before the honor court that the frantic struggling of the rescued scout must have incurred danger to the rescuer and that only his dexterity and skill had saved him. but after all, who can say how much risk is involved in such an act. it is only in those deeds of sublime recklessness where one throws his life into the balance as a tree casts off a dried leaf that the true measure of peril is known. that is where insanity and heroism seem to join hands. and hence the glittering cross of the yellow metal lying against its satin background of spotless white stands alone by itself, apart from all other awards. there was no thought of it here and least of all by garry himself. when asked by the court how much he believed he had jeopardized his life, he said he did not know, and that at the time he had thought only of saving dory bronson. he added that all scouts know the different life-saving "wrinkles" and that they have to use their judgment. his manner had a touch of nonchalance, or rather, perhaps of indifference, which struck one or two of the visiting scoutmasters unfavorably. but jeb rushmore, who was in the room, sitting far back with his lanky arms clasped about his lanky limbs, and a shrewd look in his eyes, was greatly impressed, and it was largely because of his voice that the recommendation went to headquarters for the silver medal. in all of the proceedings the name of tom slade was not once mentioned, though his vantage point on the spring-board ought to have made his testimony of some value. so garry everson and his little one-patrol troop took up their abode in hero cabin, and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough raised and lowered the colors each day, as tom had done, and ate more heartily down at mess, and made birchbark ornaments in the sunshine up at his beloved retreat, and was very proud of his leader; but he had little use for tom slade, because he believed tom was a coward. in due time the silver cross itself came, and scouts who strolled up to visit the cabin on the precipice noticed that sometimes the little sandy-haired fellow wore it, so that it came to be rumored about that garry everson cared more about him than he did about the medal. there were times when garry took his meals up to him and often he was not at campfire in the evenings. but the little fellow improved each day and every one noticed it. in time the feeling toward tom subsided until nothing was left of it except a kind of passive disregard of him. organized resentment would not have been tolerated at temple camp and it is a question whether the scouts themselves would have had anything to do with such a conspiracy. but the feeling had changed toward him and was especially noticeable in certain quarters. perhaps if he had lived among his own troop and patrol as one of them the estrangement would have been entirely forgotten, but he lived a life apart, seeing them only at intervals, and so the coldness continued. as the time drew near for the troop to leave, tom fancied that the feeling against him was stronger because they were thinking of the extra time they might have had along with the honor they had lost, but he was sensitive and possibly imagined that. he sometimes wondered if roy and the others were gratified to know that these good friends of their happy journey to camp could remain longer. but the camp was so large and the honor troop stayed so much by itself that the bridgeboro boys hardly realized what it meant to that little patrol up at hero cabin. tom often thought wistfully of the pleasant cruise up the river and wondered if roy and pee-wee thought of it as they made their plans to go home in the _good turn_. two friends tom had, at all events, and these were jeb rushmore and garry everson. the honor troop was composed mostly of small boys and all except the little boy who was garry's especial charge were in tom's tracking class. he used to put them through the simpler stunts and then turn them over to jeb rushmore. apparently, they did not share the general prejudice and he liked to be with them. one afternoon he returned with three or four of these youngsters and lingered on the hill to chat with garry. he had come to feel more at home here than anywhere else. "how's the kid?" tom asked, as the sandy haired boy came out of the cabin and passed him without speaking. "fine. you ought to see him eat. he's a whole famine in himself. you mustn't mind him," he added; "he has notions." "oh," said tom, "i'm used to being snubbed. it just amuses me in his case." "how's tracking?" "punk. there's so much dust you can't make a track. what we need is rain, so we can get some good plain prints. that's the only way to teach a tenderfoot. jeb says dust ought to be good enough, but he's a fiend." "he could track an aeroplane," said garry. "everything's pretty dry, i guess." "you'd say so," said tom, "if you were down through those east woods. you could light a twig with a sun glass. they're having forest fires up back of tannerstown." "i saw the smoke," said garry. "there's a couple of hoboes down the cut a ways; we tracked them today, cooking over a loose fire. i tried to get them to cut it out; told 'em they'd have the whole woods started. they only laughed. i'm going to report it to j. r." "they on the camp land?" "if they were they'd have been off before this." they strolled out to the edge of the cut and looked off across the country beyond where the waning sunlight fell upon the dense woods, touching the higher trees with its lurid glow. over that way smoke arose and curled away in the first twilight. "there's some good timber gone to kindling wood over there," said garry. "it's going to blow up to-night," said tom; "look at the flag." they watched the banner as it fluttered and spread in the freshening breeze. "looks pretty, don't it?" said tom. "shall we haul it down?" "no, let the kid do it." garry called and the little fellow came over for the task he loved. "sunset," said garry. "now just look at his muscle," he added, winking at tom. "by the time this precious three weeks is up, he'll be a regular samson." garry walked a few paces down the hill with tom. "i wish i could have had a chance to thank mr. temple when he was here," he said, "for this bully camp and that extra time arrangement." "he deserves thanks," said tom. they walked on for a few moments in silence. "you--_you_ don't think i'm a coward, do you?" said tom, suddenly. "i wouldn't speak about it to anyone but you. but i can't help thinking about it sometimes. i wouldn't speak about it even to roy--now." "of course, i don't. i think you were a little rattled, that's all. i've been the same myself. for a couple of seconds you didn't know what to do--you were just up in the air--and by the time you got a grip on yourself--i had cheated you out of it. you were just going to dive, weren't you?" "sometimes it's hard to make a fellow understand," said tom, not answering the question. "i can't tell you just what i was thinking. that's my own business. i--i've got it in my handbook. but all i want to know is, _you_ don't think i'm a coward, do you?" "sure, i don't." garry turned back and tom went on down the winding path through the woods to camp. the breeze, becoming brisker, blew the leaves this way and that, and as he plodded on through the dusk he had to lower his head to keep his hat from blowing off. the wind brought with it a faint but pungent odor which reminded him of the autumn days at home when he and roy raked up the leaves and burned them behind the blakeley house. he avoided this train of thought. his face was stolid, and his manner dogged as he hurried on, with the rather clumsy gait which still bore the faintest trace of the old shuffle barrel alley had known so well. near the camp he ran plunk into roy. "hello," he said. "hello," said roy, and passed on. "roy," tom called after him, "i want to speak to you a minute." roy paused. "i--i was thinking--do you smell smoke, roy? it makes me think how we used to rake up the leaves." roy said nothing. "i understand the troop is going home tomorrow and some of you are going in the _good turn_. i hope you'll have a fine trip--like when we came up. i wish you could all stay longer. it makes me kind of homesick to see you all go." "we might have stayed longer," said roy, coldly, "only--is that all you want to say to me?" he broke off. "i just want to say good-bye and----" "all right, good-bye," said roy, and walked away. tom watched him for a few seconds, then went on down to supper. chapter xvii the winning of the golden cross the wind had become so strong that it was necessary to move the mess boards around to the leeward side of the pavilion. several fellows remarked on the pungent odor which permeated the air and a couple who had been stalking spoke of the woods fires over beyond tannerstown. garry was not at supper, nor the little sandy-haired fellow, but the others of his patrol came down before the meal was over. "guess we'll cut out yarns to-night," said jeb rushmore, "and hike out on a little tour of inspection." "there are a couple of tramps in the woods this side of the cut, right up the hill a ways," said tom. "we need rain, that's sure," said another scout. "maybe we'll get some with this wind," remarked another. "no, i reckon it's a dry wind," said mr. rushmore, looking about and sniffing audibly. "gol smash it," he added, rising and sniffing still louder. "thar's somethin' in the air." for a minute he stood near his place, then strode off up the hill a little way, among the trees, where he paused, listening, like an animal at bay. they could see his dark form dimly outlined in the darker night. "j. r.'s on the scent," remarked doc. carson. several fellows rose to join him and just at that minute westy martin, of the silver foxes, and a scout from a maryland troop who had been stalking, came rushing pell-mell into camp. "the woods are on fire!" gasped westy. "up the hill! look!" "i seed it," said jeb. "the wind's bringin' it." "you can't get through up there," westy panted. "we had to go around." "ye couldn't get round by now. b'ys, we're a-goin' ter git it for sure. it's goin' ter blow fire." for a moment he stood looking up into the woods, with the boys about him, straining their eyes to see the patches of fire which were visible here and there. suddenly these patches seemed to merge and make the night lurid with a red glare, a perfect pandemonium of crackling and roaring assailed the silent night and clouds of suffocating smoke enveloped them. the fire, like some heartless savage beast, had stolen upon them unawares and was ready to spring. jeb rushmore was calm and self-contained and so were most of the boys as they stood ready to do his bidding. "naow, ye see what i meant when i said a leopard's as sneaky as a fire," said jeb. "here, you bridgeboro troop and them two maryland troops and the troop from washin't'n," he called, "you make a bucket line like we practiced. tom--whar's tom? and you oakwood b'ys, git the buckets out'n the provish'n camp. line up thar ri' down t' the water's edge and come up through here. you fellers from pennsylvany 'n' you others thar, git the axes 'n' come 'long o' me. don't git rattled, now." like clockwork they formed a line from the lake up around the camp, completely encircling it. the fire crept nearer every second, stifling them with its pungent smoke. other scouts, some with long axes, others with belt axes, followed jeb rushmore, chopping down the small trees which he indicated along the path made by this human line. in less than a minute fifty or more scouts were working desperately felling trees along the path. fortunately, the trees were small, and fortunately, too, the scouts knew how to fell them so that they fell in each case away from the path, leaving an open way behind the camp. along this open way the line stood, and thus the full buckets passing from hand to hand with almost the precision of machinery, were emptied along this open area, soaking it. "the rest o' you b'ys," called jeb, "climb up on the cabins--one on each cabin, and three or four uv ye on the pavilion. some o' ye stay below to pass the buckets up. keep the roofs wet--that's whar the sparks'll light. hey, tom!" as the hurried work went on one of garry's troop grasped jeb by the arm. "how about our cabin?" said he, fearfully. "there are two fellows up there." jeb paused a moment, but shook his head. "they'll hev ter risk jumpin' int' th' cut," said he. "no mortal man c'u'd git to 'em through them woods naow." the boy fell back, sick at heart as he thought of those two on the lonely hill surrounded by flame and with a leap from the precipice as their only alternative. it was simply a choice between two forms of awful death. the fire had now swept to within a few yards of the outer edge of the camp, but an open way had been cleared and saturated to check its advance and the roofs of the shacks were kept soaked by a score or more of alert workers as a precaution against the blowing sparks. tom slade had not answered any of jeb's calls for him. at the time of his chief's last summons he was a couple of hundred feet from the buildings, tearing and tugging at one of the overflow tents. like a madman and with a strength born of desperation he dragged the pole down and, wrenching the stakes out of the ground by main force, never stopping to untie the ropes, he hauled the whole dishevelled mass free of the paraphernalia which had been beneath it, down to the lake. duffel bags rolled out from under it, the uprooted stakes which came along with it caught among trees and were torn away, the long clumsy canvas trail rebelled and clung to many an obstruction, only to be torn and ripped as it was hauled willy-nilly to the shore of the lake. in he strode, tugging, wrenching, dragging it after him. part of it floated because of the air imprisoned beneath it, but gradually sank as it became soaked. standing knee-deep, he held fast to one corner of it and waited during one precious minute while it absorbed as much of the water as it could hold. it was twice as heavy now, but he was twice as strong, for he was twice as desperate and had the strength of an unconquerable purpose. the lips of his big mouth were drawn tight, his shock of hair hung about his stolid face as with bulldog strength and tenacity he dragged the dead weight of dripping canvas after him up onto the shore. the water trickled out of its clinging folds as he raised one side of the soaking fabric, and dragged the whole mass up to the provision cabin. he seized the coil of lasso rope and hung it around his neck, then raising the canvas, he pulled it over his head like a shawl and pinned it about him with the steel clutch of his fingers, one hand at neck and one below. up through the blazing woods he started with the leaden weight of this dripping winding sheet upon him and catching in the hubbly obstructions in his path. the water streamed down his face and he felt the chill of it as it permeated his clothes, but that was well--it was his only friend and ally now. like some ghostly bride he stumbled up through the lurid night, dragging the unwieldly train behind him. apparently no one saw this strange apparition as it disappeared amid the enveloping flames. "tom--whar's tom?" called jeb rushmore again. up the hill he went, tearing his dripping armor when it caught, and pausing at last to lift the soaking train and wind that about him also. the crackling flames gathering about him like a pack of hungry wolves hissed as they lapped against his wet shroud, and drew back, baffled, only to assail him again. the trail was narrow and the flames close on either side. once, twice, the drying fabric was aflame, but he wrapped it under wetter folds. his face was burning hot; he strove with might and main against the dreadful faintness caused by the heat, and the smoke all but suffocated him. on and up he pressed, stooping and sometimes almost creeping, for it was easier near the ground. now he held the drying canvas with his teeth and beat with his hands to extinguish the persistent flames. his power of resistance was all but gone and as he realized it his heart sank within him. at last, stooping like some sneaking thing, he reached the sparser growth near the cut. two boys who had been driven to the verge of the precipice and lingered there in dread of the alternative they must take, saw a strange sight. a dull gray mass, with two ghostly hands reaching out and slapping at it, and a wild-eyed face completely framed by its charred and blackening shroud, emerged from amid the fire and smoke and came straight toward them. "what is it?" whispered the younger boy, drawing closer to garry in momentary fright at the sight of this spectral thing. "don't jump--it's me--tom slade! here, take this rope, quick. i guess it isn't burned any. i meant to wet it, too," he gasped. "is that tree solid? i can't seem to see. all right, quick! i can't do it. make a loop and put it under his arms and let him down." there was not a minute to spare, and no time for explanations or questions. garry lowered the boy into the cut. "now you'll have to let me down, i'm afraid," said tom. "my hands are funny and i can't--i can't go hand over hand." "that's easy," said garry. but it was not so easy as it had been to lower the smaller boy. he had to encircle the tree twice with the rope to guard against a too rapid descent, and to smooth the precipice where the rope went over the edge to keep it from cutting. when tom had been lowered into the cut, garry himself went down hand over hand. it was cool down there, but they could hear the wild flames raging above and many sparks descended and died on the already burned surface. the air blew in a strong, refreshing draught through the deep gully, and the three boys, hardly realizing their hair-breadth escape, seemed to be in a different world, or rather, in the cellar of the world above, which was being swept by that heartless roistering wind and fire. * * * * * along through the cut they came, a dozen or more scarred and weary scouts, their clothing in tatters, anxious and breathing heavily. they had come by the long way around the edge of the woods and got into the cut where the hill was low and the gully shallow. "is anyone there?" a scout called, as they neared the point above which hero cabin had stood. they knew well enough that no one could be left alive above. "we're here," called garry. "hurt? did you jump--both of you?" "three, the kid and i and tom slade." "tom slade? how did _he_ get here?" "came up through the woods and brought us a rope. _we're_ all right, but he's played out. got a stretcher?" "sure." they came up, swinging their lanterns, to where tom lay on the ground with garry's jacket folded under his head for a pillow, and they listened soberly to garry's simple tale of the strange, shrouded apparition that had emerged from the flames with the precious life line coiled about its neck. it was hard to believe, but there were the cold facts, and they could only stand about, silent and aghast at what they heard. "we missed him," said one scout. "is the camp saved?" asked garry. "mostly, but we had a stiff job." "don't talk about _our_ job," said doc carson as he stooped, holding the lantern before tom's blackened face and taking his wrist to feel the pulse. again there was silence as they all stood about and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough crept close to the prostrate form and gazed, fascinated, into that stolid, homely face. and still no one spoke. "it means the gold cross," someone whispered. "do you think the gold cross is good enough?" garry asked, quietly. "it's the best we have." then roy, who was among them, kneeled down and put his arm out toward tom. "don't touch my hand," said tom, faintly. "it isn't that i don't want to shake hands with you," he added. "i wanted to do that when i met you--before supper. only my hands feel funny--tingly, kind of--and they hurt. "any of my own patrol here?" he asked after a moment. "yes, connie bennett's here--and will bronson." "then i'd rather have them carry the stretcher, and i'd like for you to walk along by me--i got something to say to you." they did as he asked, the others following at a little distance, except the little sandy-haired boy who persisted in running forward until garry called him back and kept his own deterring arm about the boy's shoulder. "i don't mind my own patrol hearing--or you. i don't care about the gold cross. it's only what it means that counts--sort of. i let garry save your brother, will, because i knew he needed to stay longer--i knew about that kid not being strong--that's all. i can go through water as easy as i can through fire--it's--it's easier--if it comes to that." "don't try to talk, tom," said roy, brokenly. "but i wouldn't tell even you, roy, because--because if he'd found it out he wouldn't think it was fair--and he wouldn't have taken it. that's the kind of a fellow he is, roy." "yes, i know what kind of a fellow he is," said roy. "anyway, it's no matter now. you see yourself hero cabin is burned down. a fellow might--he might even lose the cross. it's the three weeks that counted--see?" "yes, i see," said roy. "and tomorrow i want to go back with you fellows in the _good turn_--and see mr. temple. i want to ask him if that kid can stay with jeb 'till christmas. then i'll come back up to camp. i've thought a lot lately about our trip up in the _good turn_, roy." "yes--so have i, tom. but don't talk now. doc doesn't want you to." "we've got to find harry stanton," said tom, after a few minutes. "yes," said roy. but whether they ever did find him and the singular adventures attending their quest, are really part of another story. the end the lucky piece a tale of the north woods by albert bigelow paine author of "the van dwellers," "the bread line," "the great white way," etc. _frontispiece in color_ new york the outing publishing company 1906 copyright, 1906, by the outing publishing company copyright, 1905, by the butterick publishing company _this edition published march, 1906_ [illustration: _he climbed down carefully and secured his treasure._] contents chapter page prologue 1 1 but paladins ride far between 6 2 out in the blowy wet weather 18 3 the deep woods of enchantment 34 4 a brief lecture and some introductions 48 5 a flower on a mountain top 66 6 in the "devil's garden" 80 7 the path that leads back to boyhood 99 8 what came out of the mist 115 9 a shelter in the forest 134 10 the hermit's story 148 11 during the absence of constance 166 12 constance returns and hears a story 183 13 what the small woman in black saw 193 14 what miss carroway did 208 15 edith and frank 219 16 the lucky piece 233 epilogue 250 the lucky piece prologue there is a sharp turn just above the hill. the north elba stage sometimes hesitates there before taking the plunge into the valley below. but this was late september. the morning was brisk, the mountains glorified, the tourists were going home. the four clattering, snorting horses swung into the turn and made straight for the brow--the stout, ruddy-faced driver holding hard on the lines, but making no further effort to check them. then the boy in the front seat gave his usual "hey! look there!" and, the other passengers obeying, as they always did, saw something not especially related to algonquin, or tahawus, or whiteface--the great mountains whose slopes were ablaze with autumn, their peaks already tipped with snow--that was not, indeed, altogether adirondack scenery. where the bend came, at the brink, a little weather-beaten cottage cornered--a place with apple trees and some faded summer flowers. in the road in front was a broad flat stone, and upon it a single figure--a little girl of not more than eight--her arm extended toward the approaching stage, in her hand a saucer of berries. the tourists had passed a number of children already, but this one was different. the others had been mostly in flocks--soiled, stringy-haired little mountaineers, who had gathered to see the stage go by. the smooth, oval face of this child, rich under the tan, was clean, the dark hair closely brushed--her dress a simple garment, though of a fashion unfavored by the people of the hills. all this could be comprehended in the brief glance allowed the passengers; also the deep wistful look which followed them as the stage whirled by without stopping. a lady in the back seat (she had been in italy) murmured something about a "child madonna." another said, "poor little thing!" but the boy in the front seat had caught the driver's arm and was demanding that he stop the stage. "i want to get out!" he repeated, with determination. "i want to buy those berries! stop!" the driver could not stop just there, even had he wished to do so, which he did not. they were already a third of the way down, and the hill was a serious matter. so the boy leaned out, looking back, to make sure the moment's vision had not faded, and when the stage struck level ground, was out and running, long before the horses had been brought to a stand-still. "you wait for me!" he commanded. "i'll be back in a second!" then he pushed rapidly up the long hill, feeling in his pockets as he ran. the child had not moved from her place, and stood curiously regarding the approaching boy. he was considerably older than she was, as much as six years. her wistful look gave way to one of timidity as he came near. she drew the saucer of berries close to her and looked down. then, puffing and panting, he stood there, still rummaging in his pockets, and regaining breath for words. "say," he began, "i want your berries, you know, only, you see, i--i thought i had some money, but i haven't--not a cent--only my lucky piece. my mother's in the stage and i could get it from her, but i don't want to go back." he made a final, wild, hopeless search through a number of pockets, looking down, meanwhile, at the little bowed figure standing mutely before him. "look here," he went on, "i'm going to give you my lucky piece. maybe it'll bring luck to you, too. it did to me--i caught an awful lot of fish up here this summer. but you mustn't spend it or give it away, 'cause some day when i come back up here i'll want it again. you keep it for me--that's what you do. keep it safe. when i come back, i'll give you anything you like for it. whatever you want--only you must keep it. will you?" he held out the worn spanish silver piece which a school chum had given him "for luck" when they had parted in june. but the little brown hand clung to the berries and made no effort to take it. "oh, you must take it," he said. "i should lose it anyway. i always lose things. you can take care of it for me. likely i'll be up again next year. anyway, i'll come some time, and when i do i'll give you whatever you like in exchange for it." she did not resist when he took the berries and poured them into his cap. then the coin was pushed into one of her brown hands and he was pressing her fingers tightly upon it. when she dared to look up, he had called, "good-bye!" and was halfway down the hill, the others looking out of the stage, waving him to hurry. she watched him, saw him climb in with the driver and fling his hand toward her as the stage rounded into the wood and disappeared. still she did not move, but watched the place where it had vanished, as if she thought it might reappear, as if presently that sturdy boy might come hurrying up the hill. then slowly--very slowly, as if she held some living object that might escape--she unclosed her hand and looked at the treasure within, turning it over, wondering at the curious markings. the old look came into her face again, but with it an expression which had not been there before. it was some hint of responsibility, of awakening. vaguely she felt that suddenly and by some marvelous happening she had been linked with a new and wonderful world. all at once she turned and fled through the gate, to the cottage. "mother!" she cried at the door, "oh, mother! something has happened!" and, flinging herself into the arms of the faded woman who sat there, she burst into a passion of tears. chapter i but paladins ride far between frank rose and, plunging his hands into his pockets, lounged over to the wide window and gazed out on the wild march storm which was drenching and dismaying fifth avenue. a weaving throng of carriages, auto-cars and delivery wagons beat up and down against it, were driven by it from behind, or buffeted from many directions at the corners. coachmen, footmen and drivers huddled down into their waterproofs; pedestrians tried to breast the rain with their umbrellas and frequently lost them. from where he stood the young man could count five torn and twisted derelicts soaking in gutters. they seemed so very wet--everything did. when a stage--that relic of another day--lumbered by, the driver on top, only half sheltered by his battered oil-skins, seemed wetter and more dismal than any other object. it all had an art value, certainly, but there were pleasanter things within. the young man turned to the luxurious room, with its wide blazing fire and the young girl who sat looking into the glowing depths. "do you know, constance," he said, "i think you are a bit hard on me." then he drifted into a very large and soft chair near her, and, stretching out his legs, stared comfortably into the fire as if the fact were no such serious matter, after all. the girl smiled quietly. she had a rich oval face, with a deep look in her eyes, at once wistful and eager, and just a bit restless, as if there were problems there among the coals--questions she could not wholly solve. "i did not think of it in that way," she said, "and you should not call me constance, not now, and you are mr. weatherby. i do not know how we ever began--the other way. i was only a girl, of course, and did not know america so well, or realize--a good many things." the young man stirred a little without looking up. "i know," he assented; "i realize that six months seems a long period to a--to a young person, and makes a lot of difference, sometimes. i believe you have had a birthday lately." "yes, my eighteenth--my majority. that ought to make a difference." "mine didn't to me. i'm just about the same now as i was then, and----" "as you always will be. that is just the trouble." "i was going to say, as i always had been." "which would not be true. you were different, as a boy." "and who gave you that impression, pray?" the girl flushed a little. "i mean, you must have been," she added, a trifle inconsequently. "boys always are. you had ambitions, then." "well, yes, and i gratified them. i wanted to be captain of my college team, and i was. we held the championship as long as i held the place. i wanted to make a record in pole-vaulting, and i did. it hasn't been beaten since. then i wanted the half-mile cup, and i won that, too. i think those were my chief aspirations when i entered college, and when i came out there were no more worlds to conquer. incidentally i carried off the honors for putting into american some of mr. horace's justly popular odes, edited the college paper for a year, and was valedictorian of the class. but those were trivial things. it was my prowess that gave me standing and will remain one of the old school's traditions long after this flesh has become dust." the girl's eyes had grown brighter as he recounted his achievements. she could not help stealing a glance of admiration at the handsome fellow stretched out before her, whose athletic deeds had made him honored among his kind. then she smiled. "perhaps you were a pillar of modesty, too," she commented, "once." he laughed--a gentle, lazy laugh in which she joined--and presently she added: "of course, i know you did those things. that is just it. you could do anything, and be anything, if you only would. oh, but you don't seem to care! you seem satisfied, comfortable and good-naturedly indifferent; if you were poor, i should say idle--i suppose the trouble is there. you have never been poor and lonely and learned to want things. so, of course, you never learned to care for--for anything." her companion leaned toward her--his handsome face full of a light that was not all of the fire. "i have, for you," he whispered. the girl's face lighted, too. her eyes seemed to look into some golden land which she was not quite willing to enter. "no," she demurred gently. "i am not sure of that. let us forget about that. as you say, a half-year has been a long time--to a child. i had just come from abroad then with my parents, and i had been most of the time in a school where girls are just children, no matter what their ages. when we came home, i suppose i did not know just what to do with my freedom. and then, you see, father and mother liked you, and let you come to the house, and when i first saw you and knew you--when i got to know you, i mean--i was glad to have you come, too. then we rode and drove and golfed all those days about lenox--all those days--your memory is poor, very poor, but you may recall those october days, last year, when i had just come home--those days, you know----" again the girl's eyes were looking far into a fair land which queens have willingly died to enter, while the young man had pulled his chair close, as one eager to lead her across the border. "no," she went on--speaking more to herself than to him, "i am older, now--ages older, and trying to grow wise, and to see things as they are. riding, driving and golfing are not all of life. life is serious--a sort of battle, in which one must either lead or follow or merely look on. you were not made to follow, and i could not bear to have you look on. i always thought of you as a leader. during those days at lenox you seemed to me a sort of king, or something like that, at play. you see i was just a schoolgirl with ideals, keeping the shield of launcelot bright. i had idealized him so long--the one i should meet some day. it was all very foolish, but i had pictured him as a paladin in armor, who would have diversions, too, but who would lay them aside to go forth and redress wrong. you see what a silly child i was, and how necessary it was for me to change when i found that i had been dreaming, that the one i had met never expected to conquer or do battle for a cause--that the diversions were the end and sum of his desire, with maybe a little love-making as a part of it all." "a little--" her companion started to enter protest, but did not continue. the girl was staring into the fire as she spoke and seemed only to half remember his existence. for the most part he had known her as one full of the very joy of living, given to seeing life from its cheerful, often from its humorous, side. yet he knew her to be volatile, a creature of moods. this one, which he had learned to know but lately, would pass. he watched her, a little troubled yet fascinated by it all, his whole being stirred by the charm of her presence. "one so strong--so qualified--should lead," she continued slowly, "not merely look on. oh, if i were a man i should lead--i should ride to victory! i should be a--a--i do not know what," she concluded helplessly, "but i should ride to victory." he restrained any impulse he may have had to smile, and presently said, rather quietly: "i suppose there are avenues of conquest to-day, as there were when the world was young. but i am afraid they are so crowded with the rank and file that paladins ride few and far between. you know," he added, more lightly, "knight-errantry has gone out of fashion, and armor would be a clumsy thing to wear--crossing broadway, for instance." she laughed happily--her sense of humor was never very deeply buried. "i know," she nodded, "we do not meet many galahads these days, and most of the armor is make-believe, yet i am sure there are knights whom we do not recognize, with armor which we do not see." the young man sat up a bit straighter in his chair and assumed a more matter-of-fact tone. "suppose we put aside allegory," he said, "and discuss just how you think a man--myself, for instance--could set the world afire--make it wiser and better, i mean." the embers were dying down, and she looked into them a little longer before replying. then, presently: "oh, if i were only a man!" she repeated. "there is so much--so many things--for a man to do. discovery, science, feats of engineering, the professions, the arts, philanthropy--oh, everything! and for us, so little!" a look of amusement grew about the young man's mouth. he had seen much more of the world than she; was much older in a manner not reckoned by years. "we do not monopolize it all, you know. quite a few women are engaged in the professions and philanthropy; many in the arts." "the arts, yes, but i am without talent. i play because i have been taught, and because i have practiced--oh, so hard! but god never intended that the world should hear me. i love painting and literature, and all those things. but i cannot create them. i can only look on. i have thought of the professions--i have thought a great deal about medicine and the law. but i am afraid those would not do, either. i cannot understand law papers, even the very simple ones father has tried to explain to me. and i am not careful enough with medicines--i almost poisoned poor mamma last week with something that looked like her headache drops and turned out to be a kind of preparation for bruises. besides, somehow i never can quite see myself as a lawyer in court, or going about as a doctor. lawyers always have to go to court, don't they? i am afraid i should be so confused, and maybe be arrested. they arrest lawyers don't they, sometimes?" "they should," admitted the young man, "more often than they do. i don't believe you ought to take the risk, at any rate. i somehow can't think of you either as a lawyer or a doctor. those things don't seem to fit you." "that's just it. nothing fits me. oh, i am not even as much as i seem to be, yet can be nothing else!" she burst out rather incoherently, then somewhat hastily added: "there is philanthropy, of course. i could do good, i suppose, and father would furnish the money. but i could never undertake things. i should just have to follow, and contribute. some one would always have to lead. some one who could go among people and comprehend their needs, and know how to go to work to supply them. i should do the wrong thing and make trouble----" "and maybe get arrested----" they laughed together. they were little more than children, after all. "i know there _are_ women who lead in such things," she went on. "they come here quite often, and father gives them a good deal. but they always seem so self-possessed and capable. i stand in awe of them, and i always wonder how they came to be made so wise and brave, and why most of us are so different. i always wonder." the young man regarded her very tenderly. "i am glad you are different," he said earnestly. "my mother is a little like that, and of course i think the world of her. still, i am glad you are different." he leaned over and lifted an end of log with the tongs. a bright blaze sprang up, and for a while they watched it without speaking. it seemed to frank weatherby that nothing in the world was so worth while as to be there near her--to watch her there in the firelight that lingered a little to bring out the rich coloring of her rare young face, then flickered by to glint among the deep frames along the wall, to lose itself at last amid the heavy hangings. he was careful not to renew their discussion, and hoped she had forgotten it. there had been no talk of these matters during their earlier acquaintance, when she had but just returned with her parents from a long sojourn abroad. that had been at lenox, where they had filled the autumn season with happy recreation, and a love-making which he had begun half in jest and then, all at once, found that for him it meant more than anything else in the world. not that anything had hitherto meant a great deal. he had been an only boy, with a fond mother, and there was a great deal of money between them. it had somehow never been a part of his education that those who did not need to strive should do so. his mother was a woman of ideas, but this had not been one of them. perhaps as a boy he had dreamed his dreams, but somehow there had never seemed a reason for making them reality. the idea of mental and spiritual progress, of being a benefactor of mankind was well enough, but it was somehow an abstract thing--something apart from him--at least, from the day of youth and love. chapter ii out in the blowy wet weather the room lightened a little and constance rose and walked to the window. "it isn't raining so hard, any more," she said. "i think i shall go for a walk in the park." the young man by the fire looked a little dismayed. the soft chair and the luxurious room were so much more comfortable than the park on such a day as this. "don't you think we'd better put it off?" he asked, walking over beside her. "it's still raining a good deal, and it's quite windy." "i said that _i_ was going for a walk in the park," the girl reiterated. "i shall run, too. when i was a child i always loved to run through a storm. it seemed like flying. you can stay here by the fire and keep nice and cozy. mamma will be glad to come in and talk to you. she will not urge you to do and be things. she thinks you well enough as you are. she says you have repose, and that you rest her--she means, of course, after a session with me." "i have the greatest regard for your mother--i might even say sympathy. indeed, when i consider the serene yet sterling qualities of both your parents, i find myself speculating on the origin of your own--eh--rather unusual and, i hasten to add, wholly charming personality." she smiled, but he thought a little sadly. "i know," she said, "i am a trial, and, oh, i want to be such a comfort to them!" then she added, somewhat irrelevantly, "but father made his fight, too. it was in trade, of course, but it was a splendid battle, and he won. he was a poor boy, you know, and the struggle was bitter. you should stay and ask him to tell you about it. he will be home presently." he adopted her serious tone. "i think myself i should stay and have an important talk with your father," he said. "i have been getting up courage to speak for some time." she affected not to hear, and presently they were out in the wild weather, protected by waterproofs and one huge umbrella, beating their way toward the fifty-ninth street entrance to central park. not many people were there, and, once within, they made their way by side paths, running and battling with the wind, laughing and shouting like children, until at last they dropped down on a wet bench to recover breath. "oh," she panted, "that was fine! how i should like to be in the mountains such weather as this. i dream of being there almost every night. i can hardly wait till we go." her companion assented rather doubtfully. "i have been in the mountains in march," he said. "it was pretty nasty. i suppose you have spent summers there. i believe you went to the pyrenees." "but i know the mountains in march, too--in every season, and i love them in all weathers. i love the storms, when the snow and sleet and wind come driving down, and the trees crack, and the roads are blocked, and the windows are covered with ice; when there's a big drift at the door that you must climb over, and that stays there almost till the flowers bloom. and when the winter is breaking, and the great rains come, and the wind,--oh, it's no such little wind as this, but wind that tears up big trees and throws them about for fun, and the limbs fly, and it's dangerous to go out unless you look everywhere, and in the night something strikes the roof, and you wake up and lie there and wonder if the house itself won't be carried away soon, perhaps to the ocean, and turn into a ship that will sail until it reaches a country where the sun shines and there are palm trees, and men who wear turbans, and where there are marble houses with gold on them. and in that country where the little house might land, a lot of people come down to the shore and they kneel down and say, 'the sea has brought a princess to rule over us.' then they put a crown on her head and lead her to one of the marble and gold houses, so she could rule the country and live happy ever after." as the girl ran on, her companion sat motionless, listening--meanwhile steadying their big umbrella to keep their retreat cozy. when she paused, he said: "i did not know that you knew the hills in winter. you have seen and felt much more than i. and," he added reflectively, "i should not think, with such fancy as yours, that you need want for a vocation; you should write." she shook her head rather gravely. "it is not fancy," she said, "at least not imagination. it is only reading. every child with a fairy-book for companionship, and nature, rides on the wind or follows subterranean passages to a regal inheritance. such things mean nothing afterward. i shall never write." they made their way to the art museum to wander for a little through the galleries. in the egyptian room they lingered by those glass cases where men and women who died four thousand years ago lie embalmed in countless wrappings and cryptographic cartonnage--exhibits, now, for the curious eye, waiting whatever further change the upheavals of nations or the progress of an alien race may bring to pass. they spoke in subdued voice as they regarded one slender covering which enclosed "a lady of the house of artun"--trying to rebuild in fancy her life and surroundings of that long ago time. then they passed to the array of fabrics--bits of old draperies and clothing, even dolls' garments--that had found the light after forty centuries, and they paused a little at the cases of curious lamps and ornaments and symbols of a vanished people. "oh, i should like to explore," she murmured, as she looked at them. "i should like to lead an expedition to uncover ancient cities, somewhere in egypt, or india, or yucatan. i should like to find things right where they were left by the people who last saw them--not here, all arranged and classified, with numbers pasted on them. if i were a man, i should be an explorer, or maybe a discoverer of new lands--places where no one had ever been before." she turned to him eagerly, "why don't you become an explorer, and find old cities or--or the north pole, or something?" mr. weatherby, who was studying a fine scarab, nodded. "i have thought of it, i believe. i think the idea appealed to me once. but, don't you see, it takes a kind of genius for those things. discoverers are born, i imagine, as well as poets. besides"--he lowered his voice to a pitch that was meant for tenderness--"at the north pole i should be so far from you--unless," he added, reflectively, "we went there on our wedding journey." "which we are as likely to do as to go anywhere," she said, rather crossly. they passed through the corridor of statuary and up the stairway to wander among the paintings of masters old and young. by a wall where the works of van dyck, rembrandt and velasquez hung, she turned on him reproachfully. "these men have left something behind them," she commented--"something which the world will preserve and honor. what will you leave behind you?" "i fear it won't be a picture," he said humbly. "i can't imagine one of my paintings being hung here or any place else. they might hang the painter, of course, though not just here, i fancy." in another room they lingered before a painting of a boy and a girl driving home the cows--israel's "bashful suitor." the girl contemplated it through half-closed lids. "you did not look like that," she said. "you were a self-possessed big boy, with smart clothes, and an air of ownership that comes of having a lot of money. you were a good-hearted boy, rather impulsive, i should think, but careless and spoiled. had israel chosen you it would have been the girl who was timid, not you." he laughed easily. "now, how can you possibly know what i looked like as a boy?" he demanded. "perhaps i was just such a slim, diffident little chap as that one. time works miracles, you know." "but even time has its limitations. i know perfectly well how you looked at that boy's age. sometimes i see boys pass along in front of the house, and i say: 'there, he was just like that!'" frank felt his heart grow warm. it seemed to him that her confession showed a depth of interest not acknowledged before. "i'll try to make amends, constance," he said, "by being a little nearer what you would like to have me now," and could not help adding, "only you'll have to decide just what particular thing you want me to be, and please don't have the north pole in it." out in the blowy wet weather again, by avenues and by-ways, they raced through the park, climbing up to look over at the wind-driven water of the old reservoir, clambering down a great wet bowlder on the other side--the girl as agile and sure of foot as a boy. then they pushed toward eighth avenue, missed the entrance and wandered about in a labyrinth of bridle-paths and footways, suddenly found themselves back at the big bowlder again, scrambled up it warm and flushed with the exertion, and dropped down for a moment to breathe and to get their bearings. "i always did get lost in this place," he said. "i have never been able to cross the park and be sure just where i was coming out." then they laughed together happily, glad to be lost--glad it was raining and blowing--glad, as children are always glad, to be alive and together. they were more successful, this time, and presently took an eighth avenue car, going down--not because they especially wanted to go down, but because at that time in the afternoon the down cars were emptier. they had no plans as to where they were going, it being their habit on such excursions to go without plans and to come when the spirit moved. they transferred at the columbus statue, and she stood looking up at it as they waited for a car. "that is my kind of a discoverer," she said; "one who sails out to find a new world." "yes," he agreed, "and the very next time there is a new world to be discovered i am going to do it." the lights were already coming out along broadway, this gloomy wet evening, and the homing throng on the pavements were sheltered by a gleaming, tossing tide of umbrellas. frank and constance got out at madison square, at the worth monument, and looked down toward the "flat-iron"--a pillar of light, looming into the mist. "everywhere are achievements," said the girl. "that may not be a thing of beauty, but it is a great piece of engineering. they have nothing like those buildings abroad--at least i have not seen them. oh, this is a wonderful country, and it is those splendid engineers who have helped to make it so. i know of one young man who is going to be an engineer. he was just a poor boy--so poor--and has worked his way. he would never take help from anybody. i shall see him this summer, when we go to the mountains. he is to be not far away. oh, you don't know how proud i shall be of him, and how i want to see him and tell him so. wouldn't you be proud of a boy like that, a--a son or--a brother, for instance?" she looked up at him expectantly--a dash of rain glistening on her cheek and in the little tangle of hair about her temples. she seemed a bit disappointed that he was not more responsive. "wouldn't you honor him?" she demanded, "and love him, too--a boy who had made his way alone?" "oh, why, y-yes, of course--only, you know, i hope he won't spend his life building these things"--indicating with his head the great building which they were now passing, the gusts of wind tossing them and making it impossible to keep the umbrella open. "oh, but he's to build railroads and great bridges--not houses at all." "um--well, that's better. by the way, i believe you go to the adirondacks this summer." "yes, father has a cottage--he calls it a camp--there. that is, he had. he says he supposes it's a wreck by this time. he hasn't seen it, you know, for years." "i suppose there is no law against my going to the adirondacks, too, is there?" he asked, rather meekly. "you know, i should like to see that young man of yours. maybe i might get some idea of what i ought to be like to make you proud of me. i haven't been there since i was a boy, but i remember i liked it then. no doubt i'd like it this year if--if that young man is there. i suppose i could find a place to stay not more than twenty miles or so from your camp, so you could send word, you know, any time you were getting proud of me." she laughed--he thought a little nervously. "why, yes," she admitted, "there's a sort of hotel or lodge or something, not far away. i know that from father. he said we might have to stay there awhile until our camp is ready. oh, but this talk of the mountains makes me want to be there. i wish i were starting to-night!" it seemed a curious place to discuss a summer's vacation--under a big wind-tossed umbrella, along broadway on a march evening. perhaps the incongruity of it became more manifest with the girl's last remark, for her companion chuckled. "pretty disagreeable up there to-night," he objected; "besides, i thought you liked all this a few minutes ago." "yes, oh, yes; i do, of course! it's all so big and bright and wonderful, though after all there is nothing like the woods, and the wind and rain in the hills." what a strange creature she was, he thought. the world was so big and new to her, she was confused and disturbed by the wonder of it and its possibilities. she longed to have a part in it all. she would settle down presently and see things as they were--not as she thought they were. he was not altogether happy over the thought of the young man who had made his way and was to be a civil engineer. he had not heard of this friend before. doubtless it was some one she had known in childhood. he was willing that constance should be proud of him; that was right and proper, but he hoped she would not be too proud or too personal in her interest. especially if the young man was handsome. she was so likely to be impulsive, even extreme, where her sympathies were concerned. it was so difficult to know what she would do next. constance, meanwhile, had been doing some thinking and observing on her own account. now she suddenly burst out: "did you notice the headlines on the news-stand we just passed? the bill that the president has just vetoed? i don't know just what the bill is, but father is so against it. he'll think the president is fine for vetoing it!" a moment later she burst out eagerly, "oh, why don't you go in for politics and do something great like that? a politician has so many opportunities. i forgot all about politics." he laughed outright. "try to forget it again," he urged. "politicians have opportunities, as you say; but some of the men who have improved what seemed the best ones have gone to jail." "but others had to send them there. you could be one of the noble ones!" "yes, of course, but you see i've just made up my mind to work my way through a school of technology and become a civil engineer, so you'll be proud of me--that is, after i've uncovered a few buried cities and found the north pole. i couldn't do those things so well if i went into political reform." then they laughed again, inconsequently, and so light-hearted she seemed that frank wondered if her more serious moods were not for the most part make-believe, to tease him. at union square they crossed by seventeenth street back to fifth avenue. when they had tacked their way northward for a dozen or more blocks, the cheer of an elaborate dining-room streamed out on the wet pavement. "it's a good while till dinner," frank observed. "if your stern parents would not mind, i should suggest that we go in there and have, let me see--something hot and not too filling--i think an omelette soufflã© would be rather near it, don't you?" "wonderful!" she agreed, "and, do you know, father said the other day--of course, he's a gentle soul and too confiding--but i heard him say that you were one person he was perfectly willing i should be with, anywhere. i don't see why, unless it is that you know the city so well." "mr. deane's judgment is not to be lightly questioned," avowed the young man, as they turned in the direction of the lights. "besides," she supplemented, "i'm so famished. i should never be able to wait for dinner. i can smell that omelette now. and may i have pie--pumpkin pie--just one piece? you know we never had pie abroad, and my whole childhood was measured by pumpkin pies. may i have just a small piece?" half an hour later, when they came out and again made their way toward the deane mansion, the wind had died and the rain had become a mild drizzle. as they neared the entrance of her home they noticed a crouching figure on the lower step. the light from across the street showed that it was a woman, dressed in shabby black, wearing a drabbled hat, decorated with a few miserable flowers. she hardly noticed them, and her face was heavy and expressionless. the girl shrank away and was reluctant to enter. "it's all right," he whispered to her. "that is the island type. she wants nothing but money. it's a chance for philanthropy of a very simple kind." he thrust a bill into the poor creature's hand. the girl's eye caught a glimpse of its denomination. "oh," she protested, "you should not give like that. i've heard it does much more harm than good." "i know," he assented. "my mother says so. but i've never heard that she or anybody else has discovered a way really to help these people." they stood watching the woman, who had muttered something doubtless intended for thanks and was tottering slowly down the street. the girl held fast to her companion's arm, and it seemed to him that she drew a shade closer as they mounted the steps. "i suppose it's so, about doing them harm," she said, "and i don't think you will ever lead as a philanthropist. still, i'm glad you gave her the money. i think i shall let you stay to dinner for that." chapter iii the deep woods of enchantment that green which is known only to june lay upon the hills. algonquin, tahawus and whiteface--but a little before grim with the burden of endless years--rousing from their long, white sleep, had put on, for the millionth time, perhaps, the fleeting mantle of youth. spring lay on the mountain tops--summer filled the valleys, with all the gradations between. to the young man who drove the hack which runs daily between lake placid and spruce lodge the scenery was not especially interesting. he had driven over the road regularly since earlier in the month, and had seen the hills acquire glory so gradually that this day to him was only as other days--a bit more pleasant than some, but hardly more exciting. with his companion--his one passenger--it was a different matter. mr. frank weatherby had occupied a new york sleeper the night before, awaking only at daybreak to find the train puffing heavily up a long adirondack grade--to look out on a wet tangle of spruce, and fir, and hardwood, and vine, mingled with great bowlders and fallen logs, and everywhere the emerald moss, set agleam where the sunrise filtered through. with his curtain raised a little, he had watched it from the window of his berth, and the realization had grown upon him that nowhere else in the world was there such a wood, though he wondered if the marvel and enchantment of it might not lie in the fact that somewhere in its green depths he would find constance deane. he had dressed hurriedly and through the remainder of the distance had occupied the rear platform, drinking in the glory of it all--the brisk, life-giving air--the mystery and splendor of the forest. he had been here once, ten years ago, as a boy, but then he had been chiefly concerned with the new rod he had brought and the days of sport ahead. he had seen many forests since then, and the wonder of this one spoke to him now in a language not comprehended in those far-off days. during the drive across the open farm country which lies between lake placid and spruce lodge he had confided certain of his impressions to his companion--a pale-haired theological student, who as driver of the lodge hack was combining a measure of profit with a summer's vacation. the enthusiasm of his passenger made the quiet youth responsive, even communicative, when his first brief diffidence had worn away. he had been awarded this employment because of a previous knowledge acquired on his father's farm in pennsylvania. a number of his fellow students were serving as waiters in the lake placid hotels. when pressed, he owned that his inclination for the pulpit had not been in the nature of a definite call. he had considered newspaper work and the law. a maiden aunt had entered into his problem. she had been willing to supply certain funds which had influenced the clerical decision. perhaps it was just as well. having thus established his identity, he proceeded to indicate landmarks of special interest, pointing out whiteface, colden and elephant's back--also tahawus and algonquin--calling the last two marcy and mcintyre, as is the custom to-day. the snow had been on the peaks, he said, almost until he came. it must have looked curious, he thought, when the valleys were already green. then they drove along in silence for a distance--the passive youth lightly flicking the horses to discourage a number of black flies that had charged from a clump of alder. frank, supremely content in the glory of his surroundings and the prospect of being with constance in this fair retreat, did not find need for many words. the student likewise seemed inclined to reflect. his passenger was first to rouse himself. "many people at the lodge yet?" he asked. "n-no--mostly transients. they climb marcy and mcintyre from here. it's the best place to start from." "i see. i climbed whiteface myself ten years ago. we had a guide--an old chap named lawless. my mother and i were staying at saranac and she let me go with a party from there. i thought it great sport then, and made up my mind to be a guide when i grew up. i don't think i'd like it so well now." "they have the best guides at the lodge," commented the driver. "the head guide there is the best in the mountains. this is his first year at the lodge. he was with the adirondack club before." "i suppose it couldn't be my old hero, lawless?" "no; this is a young man. i don't just remember his last name, but most people call him robin." "um, not robin hood, i hope." the theological student shook his head. the story of the sherwood bandit had not been a part of his education. "it doesn't sound like that," he said. "it's something like forney, or farham. he's a student, too--a civil engineer--but he was raised in these hills and has been guiding since he was a boy. he's done it every summer to pay his way through college. next year he graduates, and they say he's the best in the school. of course, guides get big pay--as much as three dollars a day, some of them--besides their board." the last detail did not interest mr. weatherby. he was suddenly recalling a wet, blowy march evening on broadway--himself under a big umbrella with constance deane. she was speaking, and he could recall her words quite plainly: "i know one young man who is going to be an engineer. he was a poor boy--so poor--and has worked his way. i shall see him this summer. you don't know how proud i shall be of him." to frank the glory of the hills faded a little, and the progress of the team seemed unduly slow. "suppose we move up a bit," he suggested to the gentle youth with the reins, and the horses were presently splashing through a shallow pool left by recent showers. "he's a very strong fellow," the informant continued, "and handsome. he's going to marry the daughter of the man who owns the lodge when he gets started as an engineer. she's a pretty girl, and smart. her mother's dead, and she's her father's housekeeper. she teaches school sometimes, too. they'll make a fine match." the glory of the hills renewed itself, and though the horses had dropped once more into a lazy jog, frank did not suggest urging them. "i believe there is a young lady guest at the lodge," he ventured a little later--a wholly unnecessary remark--he having received a letter from constance on her arrival there, with her parents, less than a week before. the youth nodded. "two," he said. "one i brought over yesterday--from utica, i think she was--and another last week, from new york, with her folks. their names are deane, and they own a camp up here. they're staying at the lodge till it's ready." "i see; and did the last young lady--the family, i mean--seem to know any one at the lodge?" but the youth could not say. he had taken them over with their bags and trunks and had not noticed farther, only that once or twice since, when he had arrived with the mail, the young lady had come in from the woods with a book and a basket of mushrooms, most of which he thought to be toadstools, and poisonous. once--maybe both times--robin had been with her--probably engaged as a guide. robin would be apt to know about mushrooms. frank assented a little dubiously. "i shouldn't wonder if we'd better be moving along," he suggested. "we might be late with that mail." there followed another period of silence and increased speed. as they neared the north elba post-office--a farmhouse with a flower-garden in front of it--the youth pointed backward to a hill with a flag-staff on it. "that is john brown's grave," he said. his companion looked and nodded. "i remember. my mother and i made a pilgrimage to it. poor old john. this is still a stage road, isn't it?" "yes, but we leave it at north elba. it turns off there for keene." at the fork of the road frank followed the stage road with his eye, recalling his mountain summer of ten years before. "i know, now," he reflected aloud. "this road goes to keene, and on to elizabeth and westport. i went over it in the fall. i remember the mountains being all colors, with tips of snow on them." suddenly he brought his hand down on his knee. "it's just come to me," he said. "somewhere between here and keene there was a little girl who had berries to sell, and i ran back up a long hill and gave her my lucky piece for them. i told her to keep it for me till i came back. that was ten years ago. i never went back. i wonder if she has it still?" the student of theology shook his head. it did not seem likely. then he suggested that, of course, she would be a good deal older now--an idea which did not seem to have occurred to mr. weatherby. "sure enough," he agreed, "and maybe not there. i suppose you don't know anybody over that way." the driver did not. during the few weeks since his arrival he had acquired only such knowledge as had to do with his direct line of travel. they left north elba behind, and crossing another open stretch of country, headed straight for the mountains. they passed a red farmhouse, and brooks in which frank thought there must be trout. then by an avenue of spring leafage, shot with sunlight and sweet with the smell of spruce and deep leaf mold, they entered the great forest where, a mile or so beyond, lay the lodge. frank's heart began to quicken, though not wholly as the result of eagerness. he had not written constance that he was coming so soon. indeed, in her letter she had suggested in a manner which might have been construed as a command that _if_ he intended to _come to the adirondacks at all_ this summer he should wait until they were settled in their camp. but frank had discovered that new york in june was not the attractive place he had considered it in former years. also that the thought of the adirondacks, even the very word itself, had acquired a certain charm. to desire and to do were not likely to be very widely separated with a young man of his means and training, and he had left for lake placid that night. yet now that he had brought surprise to the very threshold, as it were, he began to hesitate. perhaps, after all, constance might not be overjoyed or even mildly pleased at his coming. she had seemed a bit distant before her departure, and he knew how hard it was to count on her at times. "you can see the lodge from that bend," said his companion, presently, pointing with his whip. then almost immediately they had reached the turn, and the lodge--a great, double-story cabin of spruce logs, with wide verandas--showed through the trees. but between the hack and the lodge were two figures--a tall young man in outing dress, carrying a basket, and a tall young woman in a walking skirt, carrying a book. they were quite close together, moving toward the lodge. they seemed to be talking earnestly, and did not at first notice the sound of wheels. "that's them now," whispered the young man, forgetting for the moment his scholastic training. "that's robin and miss deane, with the book and the basket of toadstools." the couple ahead stopped just then and turned. frank prepared himself for the worst. but mr. weatherby would seem to have been unduly alarmed. as he stepped from the vehicle constance came forward with extended hand. "you are good to surprise us," she was saying, and then, a moment later, "mr. weatherby, this is mr. robin farnham--a friend of my childhood. i think i have mentioned him to you." whatever momentary hostility frank weatherby may have cherished for robin farnham vanished as the two clasped hands. frank found himself looking into a countenance at once manly, intellectual and handsome--the sort of a face that men, and women, too, trust on sight. and then for some reason there flashed again across his mind a vivid picture of constance as she had looked up at him that wet night under the umbrella, the raindrops glistening on her cheek and in the blowy tangle about her temples. he held robin's firm hand for a moment in his rather soft palm. there was a sort of magnetic stimulus in that muscular grip and hardened flesh. it was so evidently the hand of achievement, frank was loath to let it go. "you are in some way familiar to me," he said then. "i may have seen you when i was up this way ten years ago. i suppose you do not recall anything of the kind?" a touch of color showed through the brown of robin's cheek. "no," he said; "i was a boy of eleven, then, probably in the field. i don't think you saw me. those were the days when i knew miss deane. i used to carry baskets of green corn over to mr. deane's camp. if you had been up this way during the past five or six years i might have been your guide. winters i have attended school." they were walking slowly as they talked, following the hack toward the lodge. constance took up the tale at this point, her cheeks also flushing a little as she spoke. "he had to work very hard," she said. "he had to raise the corn and then carry it every day--miles and miles. then he used to make toy boats and sail them for me in the brook, and a playhouse, and whatever i wanted. of course, i did not consider that i was taking his time, or how hard it all was for him." "miss deane has given up little boats and playhouses for the science of mycology," robin put in, rather nervously, as one anxious to change the subject. frank glanced at the volume he had appropriated--a treatise on certain toadstools, edible and otherwise. "i have heard already of your new employment, or, at least, diversion," he said. "the young man who brought me over told me that a young lady had been bringing baskets of suspicious fungi to the lodge. from what he said i judged that he considered it a dangerous occupation." "that was mr. meelie," laughed constance. "i have been wondering why mr. meelie avoided me. i can see now that he was afraid i would poison him. you must meet miss carroway, too," she ran on. "i mean you _will_ meet her. she is a very estimable lady from connecticut who has a nephew in the electric works at haverford; also the asthma, which she is up here to get rid of. she is at the lodge for the summer, and is already the general minister of affairs at large and in particular. among other things, she warns me daily that if i persist in eating some of the specimens i bring home, i shall presently die with great violence and suddenness. she is convinced that there is just one kind of mushroom, and that it doesn't grow in the woods. she has no faith in books. her chief talent lies in promoting harmless evening entertainments. you will have to take part in them." frank had opened the book and had been studying some of the colored plates while constance talked. "i don't know that i blame your friends," he said, half seriously. "some of these look pretty dangerous to the casual observer." "but i've been studying that book for weeks," protested constance, "long before we came here. by and by i'm going to join the mycological society and try to be one of its useful members." "i suppose you have to eat most of these before you are eligible?" commented frank, still fascinated by the bright pictures. "not at all. some of them are quite deadly, but one ought to be able to distinguish most of the commoner species, and be willing to trust his knowledge." "to back one's judgment with one's life, as it were. well, that's one sort of bravery, no doubt. tell me, please, how many of these gayly spotted ones you have eaten and still live to tell the tale?" chapter iv a brief lecture and some introductions the outside of spruce lodge suggested to frank the anglo-saxon castle of five or six hundred years ago, though it was probably better constructed than most of the castles of that early day. it was really an immense affair, and there were certain turrets and a tower which carried out the feudal idea. its builder, john morrison, had been a faithful reader of scott, and the architecture of the lodge had in some manner been an expression of his romantic inclination. frank thought, however, that the feudal saxon might not have had the long veranda facing the little jewel of a lake, where were mirrored the mountains that hemmed it in. with constance he sat on the comfortable steps, looking through the tall spruces at the water or at mountain peaks that seemed so near the blue that one might step from them into the cloudland of an undiscovered country. no one was about for the moment, the guests having collected in the office for the distribution of the daily mail. robin had gone, too, striding away toward a smaller cabin where the guides kept their paraphernalia. frank said: "you don't know how glad i am to be here with you in this wonderful place, conny. i have never seen anything so splendid as this forest, and i was simply desperate in town as soon as you were gone." she had decided not to let him call her that again, but concluded to overlook this offense. she began arranging the contents of her basket on the step beside her--a gay assortment of toadstools gathered during her morning walk. "you see what _i_ have been doing," she said. "i don't suppose it will interest you in the least, but to me it is a fascinating study. perhaps if i pursue it i may contribute something to the world's knowledge and to its food supply." frank regarded the variegated array with some solemnity. "i hope, conny, you don't mean to eat any of those," he said. "probably not; but see how beautiful they are." they were indeed beautiful, for no spot is more rich in fungi of varied hues than the adirondack woods. there were specimens ranging from pale to white, from cream to lemon yellow--pink that blended into shades of red and scarlet--gray that deepened to blue and even purple--numerous shades of buff and brown, and some of the mottled coloring. some were large, almost gigantic; some tiny ones were like bits of ivory or coral. frank evinced artistic enthusiasm, but a certain gastronomic reserve. "wonderful!" he said. "i did not suppose there were such mushrooms in the world--so beautiful. i know now what the line means which says, 'how beautiful is death.'" there was a little commotion just then at the doorway of the lodge, and a group of guests--some with letters, others with looks of resignation or disappointment--appeared on the veranda. from among them, mrs. deane, a rather frail, nervous woman, hurried toward mr. weatherby with evident pleasure. she had been expecting him, she declared, though constance had insisted that he would think twice before he started once for that forest isolation. they would be in their own quarters in a few days, and it would be just a pleasant walk over there. there were no hard hills to climb. mr. deane walked over twice a day. he was there now, overseeing repairs. the workmen were very difficult. "but there are _some_ hills, mamma," interposed constance--"little ones. perhaps mr. weatherby won't care to climb at all. he has already declared against my mushrooms. he said something just now about their fatal beauty--i believe that was it. he's like all the rest of you--opposed to the cause of science." mrs. deane regarded the young man appealingly. "try to reason with her," she said nervously. "perhaps she'll listen to you. she never will to me. i tell her every day that she will poison herself. she's always tasting of new kinds. she's persuaded me to eat some of those she had cooked, and i've sent to new york for every known antidote for mushroom poisoning. it's all right, perhaps, to study them and collect them, but when it comes to eating them to prove that the book is right about their being harmless, it seems like flying in the face of providence. besides, constance is careless." "i remember her telling me, as reason for not wanting to be a doctor, something about giving you the wrong medicine last winter." "she did--some old liniment--i can taste the stuff yet. constance, i do really think it's sinful for you to meddle with such uncertain subjects. just think of eating any of those gaudy things. constance! how can you?" constance patted the nervous little lady on the cheek. "be comforted," she said. "i am not going to eat these. i brought them for study. most of them are harmless enough, i believe, but they are of a kind that even experts are not always sure of. they are called _boleti_--almost the first we have found. i have laid them out here for display, just as the lecturer did last week at lake placid." miss deane selected one of the brightly colored specimens. "this," she began, with mock gravity and a professional air, "is a _boletus_--known as _boletus speciosus_--that is, i think it is." she opened the book and ran hastily over the leaves. "yes, _speciosus_--either that or the _bicolor_--i can't be certain just which." "there, constance," interrupted mrs. deane, "you confess, yourself, you can't tell the difference. now, how are we going to know when we are being poisoned? we ate some last night. perhaps they were deadly poison--how can we know?" "be comforted, mamma; we are still here." "but perhaps the poison hasn't begun to work yet." "it should have done so, according to the best authorities, some hours ago. i have been keeping watch of the time." mrs. deane groaned. "the best authorities? oh, dear--oh, dear! are there really any authorities in this awful business? and she has been watching the time for the poison to work--think of it!" a little group of guests collected to hear the impromptu discussion. frank, half reclining on the veranda steps, ran his eye over the assembly. for the most part they seemed genuine seekers after recreation and rest in this deep forest isolation. there were brain-workers among them--painters and writer folk. some of the faces frank thought he recognized. in the foreground was a rather large woman of the new england village type. she stood firmly on her feet, and had a wide, square face, about which the scanty gray locks were tightly curled. she moved closer now, and leaning forward, spoke with judicial deliberation. "them's tudstools!" she said--a decision evidently intended to be final. she adjusted her glasses a bit more carefully and bent closer to the gay collection. "the' ain't a single one of 'em a mushroom," she proceeded. "we used to have 'em grow in our paster, an' my little nephew, charlie, that i brought up by hand and is now in the electric works down to haverford, he used to gather 'em, an' they wa'n't like them at all." a ripple of appreciation ran through the group, and others drew near to inspect the fungi. constance felt it necessary to present frank to those nearest, whom she knew. he arose to make acknowledgments. with the old lady, whose name, it appeared, was miss carroway, he shook hands. she regarded him searchingly. "you're some taller than my charlie," she said, and added, "i hope you don't intend to eat them tudstools, do you? charlie wouldn't a et one o' them kind fer a thousand dollars. he knew the reel kind that grows in the medders an' pasters." constance took one of miss carroway's hands and gave it a friendly squeeze. "you are spoiling my lecture," she laughed, "and aiding mamma in discrediting me before the world. i will tell you the truth about mushrooms. not the whole truth, but an important one. all toadstools are mushrooms and all mushrooms are toadstools. a few kinds are poisonous--not many. most of them are good to eat. the only difficulty lies in telling the poison ones." miss carroway appeared interested, but incredulous. constance continued. "the sort your charlie used to gather was the _agaricus campestris_, or meadow mushroom--one of the commonest and best. it has gills underneath--not pores, like this one. the gills are like little leaves and hold the spores, or seed as we might call it. the pores of this _boletus_ do the same thing. you see they are bright yellow, while the top is purple-red. the stem is yellow, too. now, watch!" she broke the top of the _boletus_ in two parts--the audience pressing closer to see. the flesh within was lemon color, but almost instantly, with exposure to the air, began to change, and was presently a dark blue. murmurs of wonder ran through the group. they had not seen this marvel before. "bravo!" murmured frank. "you are beginning to score." "many of the _boleti_ do that," constance resumed. "some of them are very bad tasting, even when harmless. some are poisonous. one of them, the _satanus_, is regarded as deadly. i don't think this is one of them, but i shall not insist on miss carroway and the rest of you eating it." miss carroway sent a startled glance at the lecturer and sweepingly included the assembled group. "eat it!" she exclaimed. "eat that? well, i sh'd think not! i wouldn't eat that, ner let any o' my folks eat it, fer no money!" there was mirth among the audience. a young mountain climber in a moment of recklessness avowed his faith by declaring that upon miss deane's recommendation he would eat the whole assortment for two dollars. "you'd better make it enough for funeral expenses," commented miss carroway; whereupon the discussion became general and hilarious, and the extempore lecture ceased. "you see," constance said to frank, "i cannot claim serious attention, even upon so vital a subject as the food supply." "but you certainly entertained them, and i, for one, have a growing respect for your knowledge." then, rising, he added, "speaking of food reminds me that you probably have some sort of midday refreshment here, and that i would better arrange for accommodations and make myself presentable. by the way, constance," lowering his voice, "i saw a striking-looking girl on the veranda as we were approaching the house a while ago. i don't think you noticed her, but she had black eyes and a face like an indian princess. she came out for a moment again, while you were talking. i thought she rather looked as if she belonged here, but she couldn't have been a servant." they had taken a little turn down the long veranda, and constance waited until they were well out of earshot before she said: "you are perfectly right--she could not. she is the daughter of mr. morrison, who owns the lodge--edith morrison--her father's housekeeper. i shall present you at the first opportunity so that you may lose no time falling in love with her. it will do you no good, though, for she is going to marry robin farnham. the wedding will not take place, of course, until robin is making his way, but it is all settled, and they are both very happy." "and quite properly," commented frank with enthusiasm. "i heard something about it coming over. mr. meelie told me. he said they were a handsome pair. i fully agree with him." the young man smiled down at his companion and added: "do you know, conny, if that young man farnham were unencumbered, i might expect you to do some falling in love, yourself." the girl laughed, rather more than seemed necessary, frank thought, and an added touch of color came into her cheeks. "i did that years ago," she owned. "i think as much of robin already as i ever could." then, less lightly, "besides, i should not like to be a rival of edith morrison's. she is a mountain girl, with rather primitive ideas. i do not mean that she is in any sense a savage or even uncultured. far from it. her father is a well-read man for his opportunities. they have a good many books here, and edith has learned the most of them by heart. last winter she taught school. but she has the mountains in her blood, and in that black hair and those eyes of hers. only, of course, you do not quite know what that means. the mountains are fierce, untamed, elemental--like the sea. such things get into one's blood and never entirely go away. of course, you don't quite understand." regarding her curiously, frank said: "i remember your own hunger for the mountains, even in march. one might almost think you native to them, yourself." "my love for them makes me understand," she said, after a pause; then in lighter tone added, "and i should not wish to get in edith morrison's way, especially where it related to robin farnham." "by which same token i shall avoid getting in robin farnham's way," frank said, as they entered the lodge hall--a wide room, which in some measure carried out the anglo-saxon feudal idea. the floor was strewn with skins, the dark walls of unfinished wood were hung with antlers and other trophies of the chase. at the farther end was a deep stone fireplace, and above it the mounted head of a wild boar. "you see," murmured constance, "being brought up among these things and in the life that goes with them, one is apt to imbibe a good deal of nature and a number of elementary ideas, in spite of books." a door by the wide fireplace opened just then, and a girl with jetty hair and glowing black eyes--slender and straight as a young birch--came toward them with step as lithe and as light as an indian's. there was something of the type, too, in her features. perhaps in a former generation a strain of the native american blood had mingled and blended with the fairer flow of the new possessors. constance deane went forward to meet her. "miss morrison," she said cordially, "this is mr. weatherby, of new york--a friend of ours." the girl took frank's extended hand heartily. indeed, it seemed to the young man that there was rather more warmth in her welcome than the occasion warranted. her face, too, conveyed a certain gratification in his arrival--almost as if here were an expected friend. he could not help wondering if this was her usual manner of greeting--perhaps due to the primitive life she had led--the untrammeled freedom of the hills. but constance, when she had passed them, said: "i think you are marked for especial favor. perhaps, after all, robin is to have a rival." * * * * * yet not all is to be read upon the surface, even when one is so unskilled at dissembling as edith morrison. we may see signs, but we may not always translate their meaning. her love affair had been one of long standing, begun when robin had guided his first party over marcy to the lodge, then just built--herself a girl of less than a dozen years, trying to take a dead mother's place. how many times since then he had passed to and fro, with tourists in summer and hunting parties in winter. often during fierce storms he had stayed at the lodge for a week or more--gathered with her father and herself before the great log fire in the hall while the winds howled and the drifts banked up against the windows, gleaning from the lodge library a knowledge of such things as books can teach--history, science and the outside world. then had come the time when he had decided on a profession, when, with his hoarded earnings and such employment as he could find in the college town, he had begun his course in a school of engineering. the mountain winters without robin had been lonely ones, but with her father she had devoted them to study, that she might not be left behind, and had taken the little school at last on the north elba road in order to feel something of the independence which robin knew. in this, the last summer of his mountain life, he had come to her father as chief guide, mainly that they might have more opportunity to perfect their plans for the years ahead. all the trails carried their story, and though young men still fell in love with edith morrison and maids with robin farnham, no moment of distrust had ever entered in. but there would appear to be some fate which does not fail to justify the old adage concerning true love. with the arrival of constance deane at the lodge, it became clear to edith that there had been some curious change in robin. it was not that he became in the least degree indifferent--if anything he had been more devoted than before. he made it a point to be especially considerate and attentive when miss deane was present--and in this itself there lay a difference. no other guest had ever affected his bearing toward her, one way or the other. edith remembered, of course, that he had known the deanes, long before, when the lodge was not yet built. like constance, she had only been a little girl then, her home somewhere beyond the mountains where she had never heard of robin. yet her intuition told her that the fact of a long ago acquaintance between a child of wealthy parents and the farm boy who had sold them produce and built toy boats for the little girl could not have caused this difference now. it was nothing that constance had engaged robin to guide her about the woods and carry her book or her basket of specimens. edith had been accustomed to all that, but this time there was a different attitude between guide and guest--something so subtle that it could hardly be put into words, yet wholly evident to the eyes of love. half unconsciously, at first, edith revolved the problem in her mind, trying to locate the cause of her impression. when next she saw them alone together, she strove to convince herself that it was nothing, after all. the very effort had made her the more conscious of a reality. now had come the third time--to-day--the moment before frank weatherby's arrival. they were approaching the house and did not see her, while she had lost not a detail of the scene. robin's very carriage--and hers--the turn of a face, the manner of a word she could not hear, all spoke of a certain tenderness, an understanding, a sort of ownership, it seemed--none the less evident because, perhaps, they themselves were all unconscious of it. the mountain girl remarked the beauty of that other one and mentally compared it with her own. this girl was taller than she, and fairer. her face was richer in its coloring--she carried herself like one of the noble ladies in the books. oh, they were a handsome pair--and not unlike, she thought. not that they resembled, yet something there was common to both. it must be that noble carriage of which she had been always so proud in robin. there swept across her mental vision a splendid and heart-sickening picture of robin going out into the world with this rich, cultured girl, and not herself, his wife. the deanes were not pretentious people, and there was wealth enough already. they might well be proud of robin. edith cherished no personal bitterness toward either constance or robin--not yet. neither did she realize to what lengths her impetuous, untrained nature might carry her, if really aroused. her only conscious conclusion thus far was that robin and constance, without knowing it themselves, were drifting into a dangerous current, and that this new arrival might become a guide back to safety. between frank weatherby and herself there was the bond of a common cause. chapter v a flower on a mountain top prosperous days came to the lodge. hospitable john morrison had found a calling suited to his gifts when he came across the mountain and built the big log tavern at the foot of mcintyre. with july, guests multiplied, and for those whose duty it was to provide entertainment the problem became definite and practical. edith morrison found her duties each day heavier and robin farnham was seldom unemployed. usually he was away with his party by daybreak and did not return until after nightfall. wherever might lie his inclination there would seem to be little time for love making in such a season. by the middle of the month the deanes had taken possession of their camp on the west branch of the au sable, having made it habitable with a consignment of summer furnishings from new york, and through the united efforts of some half dozen mountain carpenters, urged in their deliberate labors by the owner, israel deane, an energetic new englander who had begun life a penniless orphan and had become chief stockholder in no less than three commercial enterprises on lower broadway. with the removal of the deanes mr. weatherby also became less in evidence at the lodge. the walk between the lodge and the camp was to him a way of enchantment. he had been always a poet at heart, and this wonderful forest reawakened old dreams and hopes and fancies which he had put away for the immediate and gayer things of life, hardly more substantial and far less real. to him this was a veritable magic wood--the habitation of necromancy--where robber bands of old might lurk; where knights in silver armor might do battle; where huntsmen in gold and green might ride, the vanished court of some forgotten king. and at the end of the way there was always the princess--a princess that lived and moved, and yet, he thought, was not wholly awake--at least not to the reality of his devotion to her, or, being so, did not care, save to test it at unseemly times and in unusual ways. frank was quite sure that he loved constance. he was certain that he had never cared so much for anything in the world before, and that if there was a real need he would make any sacrifice at her command. only he did not quite comprehend why she was not willing to put by all stress and effort to become simply a part of this luminous summer time, when to him it was so good to rest by the brook and listen to her voice following some old tale, or to drift in a boat about the lake shore, finding a quaint interest in odd nooks and romantic corners or in dreaming idle dreams. indeed, the lodge saw him little. most days he did not appear between breakfast and dinner time. often he did not return even for that function. yet sometimes it happened that with constance he brought up there about mail time, and on these occasions they were likely to remain for luncheon. constance had by no means given up her nature study, and these visits usually resulted from the discovery of some especial delicacy of the woods which, out of consideration for her mother's nervous views on the subject, was brought to the lodge for preparation. edith morrison generally superintended in person this particular cookery, constance often assisting--or "hindering," as she called it--and in this way the two had become much better acquainted. of late edith had well-nigh banished--indeed, she had almost forgotten--her heart uneasiness of those earlier days. she had quite convinced herself that she had been mistaken, after all. frank and constance were together almost continually, while robin, during the brief stay between each coming and going, had been just as in the old time--natural, kind and full of plans for the future. only once had he referred more than casually to constance deane. "i wish you two could see more of each other," he had said. "some day we may be in new york, you and i, and i am sure she would be friendly to us." and edith, forgetting all her uneasiness, had replied: "i wish we might"; and added, "of course, i do see her a good deal--one way and another. she comes quite often with mr. weatherby, but then i have the household and she has mr. weatherby. do you think, robin, she is going to marry him?" robin paused a little before replying. "i don't know. i think he tries her a good deal. he is rich and rather spoiled, you know. perhaps he has become indifferent to a good many of the things she thinks necessary." edith did not reflect at the moment that this knowledge on robin's part implied confidential relations with one of the two principals. robin's knowledge was so wide and varied it was never her habit to question its source. "she would rather have him poor and ambitious, i suppose," she speculated thoughtfully. then her hand crept over into his broad palm, and, looking up, she added: "do you know, robin, that for a few days--the first few days after she came--when you were with her a good deal--i almost imagined--of course, i was very foolish--but she is so beautiful and--superior, like you--and somehow you seemed different toward her, too--i imagined, just a little, that you might care for her, and i don't know--perhaps i was just the least bit jealous. i never was jealous before--maybe i wasn't then--but i felt a heavy, hopeless feeling coming around my heart. is that jealousy?" his strong arm was about her and her face hidden on his shoulder. then she thought that he was laughing--she did not quite see why--but he held her close. she thought it must all be very absurd or he would not laugh. presently he said: "i do care for her a great deal, and always have--ever since she was a little girl. but i shall never care for her any more than i did then. some day you will understand just why." if this had not been altogether explicit it at least had a genuine ring, and had laid to sleep any lingering trace of disquiet. as for the lodge, it accepted frank and constance as lovers and discussed them accordingly, all save a certain small woman in black whose mission in life was to differ with her surroundings, and who, with a sort of rocking-chair circle of industry, crocheted at one end of the long veranda, where from time to time she gave out vague hints that things in general were not what they seemed, thereby fostering a discomfort of the future. for the most part, however, her pessimistic views found little acceptance, especially as they concerned the affairs of mr. weatherby and miss deane. miss carroway, who for some reason--perhaps because of the nephew whose youthful steps she had guided from the cradle to a comfortable berth in the electric works at haverford--had appointed herself a sort of guardian of the young man's welfare, openly pooh-poohed the small woman in black, and announced that she shouldn't wonder if there was going to be a wedding "right off." it may be added that miss carroway was usually the center of the rocking-chair circle, and an open rival of the small woman in black as its directing manager. the latter, however, had the virtue of persistence. she habitually elevated her nose and crochet work at miss carroway's opinions, avowing that there was many a slip and that appearances were often deceitful. for her part, she didn't think miss deane acted much like a girl in love unless--she lowered her voice so that the others had to lean forward that no syllable might escape--unless it was with _some other man_. for her part, she thought miss deane had seemed happier the first few days, before mr. weatherby came, going about with robin farnham. anyhow, she shouldn't be surprised if something strange happened before the summer was over, at which prediction miss carroway never failed to sniff indignantly, and was likely to drop a stitch in the wristlets she was knitting for charlie's christmas. it was about the mail hour, at the close of one such discussion, that the circle became aware of the objects of their debate approaching from the boat landing. they made a handsome picture as they came up the path, and even the small woman in black was obliged to confess that they were well suited enough "so far as looks were concerned." as usual they carried the book and basket, and waved them in greeting as they drew near. constance lifted the moss and ferns as she passed miss carroway to display, as she said, the inviting contents, which the old lady regarded with evident disapproval, though without comment. miss deane carried the basket into the lodge, and when she returned brought edith morrison with her. the girl was rosy with the bustle going on indoors, and her bright color, with her black hair and her spotless white apron, made her a striking figure. constance admired her openly. "i brought her out to show you how pretty she looks," she said gayly. "oh, haven't any of you a camera?" this was unexpected to edith, who became still rosier and started to retreat. constance held her fast. "miss morrison and i are going to do the russulas--that's what they were, you know--ourselves," she said. "of course, miss carroway, you need not feel that you are obliged to have any of them, but you will miss something very nice if you don't." "well, mebbe so," agreed the old lady. "i suppose i've missed a good deal in my life by not samplin' everything that came along, but mebbe i've lived just as long by not doin' it. isn't that robin farnham yonder? i haven't seen him for days." he had come in the night before, miss morrison told them. he had brought a party through indian pass and would not go out again until morning. constance nodded. "i know. they got their supper at the fall near our camp. robin came over to call on us. he often runs over for a little while when he comes our way." she spoke quite unconcernedly, and robin's name came easily from her lips. the little woman in black shot a triumphant look at miss carroway, who did not notice the attention or declined to acknowledge it. of the others only edith morrison gave any sign. the sudden knowledge that robin had called at the deane camp the night before--that it was his habit to do so when he passed that way--a fact which robin himself had not thought it necessary to mention--and then the familiar use of his name--almost caressing, it had sounded to her--brought back with a rush that heavy and hopeless feeling about her heart. she wanted to be wise and sensible and generous, but she could not help catching the veranda rail a bit tighter, while the rich color faded from her cheek. yet no one noticed, and she meant that no one, not even robin, should know. no doubt she was a fool, unable to understand, but she could not look toward robin, nor could she move from where she stood, holding fast to the railing, trying to be wise and as self-possessed as she felt that other girl would be in her place. robin, meantime, had bent his steps in their direction. in his genial manner and with his mellow voice he acknowledged the greetings of this little group of guests. he had just recalled, he said to constance, having seen something, during a recent trip over mcintyre, which he had at first taken for a very beautiful and peculiar flower. later he had decided it might be of special interest to her. it had a flower shape, he said, and was pink in color, but was like wax, resembling somewhat the indian pipe, but with more open flowers and much more beautiful. he did not recall having seen anything of the sort before, and would have brought home one of the waxen blooms, only that he had been going the other way and they seemed too tender to carry. he thought it a fungus growth. constance was deeply interested in his information, and the description of what seemed to her a possible discovery of importance. she made him repeat the details as nearly as he could recollect, and with the book attempted to classify the species. her failure to do so only stimulated her enthusiasm. "i suppose you could find the place, again," she said. "easily. it is only a few steps from the tripod at the peak," and he drew with his pencil a plan of the spot. "i've heard the mcintyre trail is not difficult to keep," constance reflected. "no--provided, of course, one does not get into a fog. it's harder then. i lost the trail myself up there once in a thick mist." the girl turned to frank, who was lounging comfortably on the steps, idly smoking. "suppose we try it this afternoon," she said. mr. weatherby lifted his eyes to where algonquin lay--its peaks among the clouds. "it looks pretty foggy up there--besides, it will be rather late starting for a climb like that." miss deane seemed a bit annoyed. "yes," she said, rather crossly, "it will always be too foggy, or too late, or too early for you. do you know," she added, to the company at large, "this young man hasn't offered to climb a mountain, or to go trouting, once since he's been here. i don't believe he means to, all summer. he said the other day that mountains and streams were made for scenery--not to climb and fish in." the company discussed this point. miss carroway told of a hill near haverford which she used to climb, as a girl. frank merely smiled good-naturedly. "i did my climbing and fishing up here when i was a boy," he said. "i think the fish are smaller now----" "and the mountains taller--poor, decrepit old man!" "well, i confess the trails do look steeper," assented frank, mildly; "besides, with the varied bill of fare we have been enjoying these days, i don't like to get too far from mrs. deane's medicine chest. i should not like to be seized with the last agonies on top of a high mountain." miss deane assumed a lofty and offended air. "never you mind," she declared; "when i want to scale a high mountain i shall engage mr. robin farnham to accompany me. can you take me this afternoon?" she added, addressing robin. the young man started to reply, reddened a little and hesitated. edith, still lingering, holding fast to the veranda rail, suddenly spoke. "he can go quite well," she said, and there was a queer inflection in her voice. "there is no reason----" but constance had suddenly arisen and turned to her. "oh, i beg your pardon!" she pleaded hastily. "he has an engagement with you, of course. i did not think--i can climb mcintyre any time. besides, mr. weatherby is right. it is cloudy up there, and we would be late starting." she went over close to edith. the latter was pale and constrained, though she made an effort to appear cordial, repeating her assurance that robin was quite free to go--that she really wished him to do so. robin himself did not find it easy to speak, and edith a moment later excused herself, on the plea that she was needed within. constance followed her, presently, while frank, lingering on the steps, asked robin a few questions concerning his trip through the pass. of the rocking-chair circle, perhaps only the small woman in black found comfort in what had just taken place. a silence had fallen upon the little company, and it was a relief to all when the mail came and there was a reason for a general breaking-up. as usual, frank and constance had a table to themselves at luncheon and ate rather quietly, though the russulas, by a new recipe, were especially fine. when it was over at last they set out to explore the woods back of the lodge. chapter vi in the "devil's garden" constance deane had developed a definite ambition. at all events she believed it to be such, which, after all, is much the same thing in the end. it was her dream to pursue this new study of hers until she had made a definite place for herself, either as a recognized authority or by some startling discovery, in mycological annals--in fact, to become in some measure a benefactor of mankind. the spirit of unrest which had possessed her that afternoon in march, when she had lamented that the world held no place for her, had found at least a temporary outlet in this direction. we all have had such dreams as hers. they are a part of youth. often they seem paltry enough to others--perhaps to us, as well, when the morning hours have passed by. but those men and women who have made such dreams real have given us a wiser and better world. constance had confided something of her intention to frank, who had at least assumed to take it seriously, following her in her wanderings--pushing through tangle and thicket and clambering over slippery logs into uncertain places for possible treasures of discovery. his reluctance to scale mcintyre, though due to the reasons given rather than to any thought of personal discomfort, had annoyed her, the more so because of the unpleasant incident which followed. there had been a truce at luncheon, but once in the woods miss deane did not hesitate to unburden her mind. "do you know," she began judicially, as if she had settled the matter in her own mind, "i have about concluded that you are hopeless, after all." the culprit, who had just dragged himself from under a rather low-lying wet log, assumed an injured air. "what can i have done, now?" he asked. "it's not what you have done, but what you haven't done. you're so satisfied to be just comfortable, and----" frank regarded his earthy hands and soiled garments rather ruefully. "of course," he admitted, "i may have looked comfortable just now, rooting and pawing about in the leaves for that specimen, but i didn't really feel so." "you know well enough what i mean," constance persisted, though a little more pacifically. "you go with me willingly enough on such jaunts as this, where it doesn't mean any very special exertion, though sometimes i think you don't enjoy them very much. i know you would much rather drift about in a boat on the lake, or sit under a tree, and have me read to you. do you know, i've never seen any one who cared so much for old tales of knights and their deeds of valor and strove so little to emulate them in real life." frank waited a little before replying. then he said gently: "i confess that i would rather listen to the tale of king arthur in these woods, and as you read it, conny, than to attempt deeds of valor on my own account. when i am listening to you and looking off through these wonderful woods i can realize and believe in it all, just as i did long ago, when i was a boy and read it for the first time. these are the very woods of romance, and i am expecting any day we shall come upon king arthur's castle. when we do i shall join the round table and ride for you in the lists. meantime i can dream it all to the sound of your voice, and when i see the people here climbing these mountains and boasting of such achievements i decide that my dream is better than their reality." but miss deane's memory of the recent circumstances still rankled. she was not to be easily mollified. "and while you dream, i am to find my reality as best i may," she said coldly. "but, constance," he protested, "haven't i climbed trees, and gone down into pits, and waded through swamps, and burrowed through vines and briars at your command; and haven't i more than once tasted of the things that you were not perfectly sure of, because the book didn't exactly cover the specimen? now, here i'm told that i'm hopeless, which means that i'm a failure, when even at this moment i bear the marks of my devotion." he pointed at the knees of his trousers, damp from his recent experience. "i've done battle with nature," he went on, "and entered the lists with your detractors. you said once there are knights we do not recognize and armor we do not see. now, don't you think you may be overlooking one of those knights, with a suit of armor a little damp at the knees, perhaps, but still stout and serviceable?" the girl did not, as usual, respond to his gayety and banter. "you may joke about it, if you like," she said, "but true knights, even in the garb of peasants, have been known to scale dizzy heights for a single flower. i have never known of one who refused to accompany a lady on such an errand, especially when it was up an easy mountain trail which even children have climbed." "then this is a notable day, for you have met two." she nodded. "but one was without blame, and but for the first there could not have occurred the humiliation of the second, and that, too"--she smiled in spite of herself--"in the presence of my detractors. it will be hard for you to rectify that, sir knight!" there was an altered tone in the girl's voice. the humorous phase was coming nearer the surface. frank brightened. "really, though," he persisted, "i was right about it's being foggy up there. farnham would have said so, himself." "no doubt," she agreed, "but we could have reached that conclusion later. an expressed willingness to go would have spared me and all of us what followed. as it is, edith morrison thinks i wanted to deprive her of robin on his one day at home, while he was obliged to make himself appear foolish before every one." "i wish you had as much consideration for me as you always show for robin," said frank, becoming suddenly aggrieved. "and why not for robin?" the girl's voice became sharply crisp and defiant. "who is entitled to it more than he--a poor boy who struggled when no more than a child to earn bread for his invalid mother and little sister; who has never had a penny that he did not earn; who never would take one, but in spite of all has fought his way to recognition and respect and knowledge? oh, you don't know how he has struggled--you who have had everything from birth--who have never known what it is not to gratify every wish, nor what it feels like to go hungry and cold that some one else might be warm and fed." miss deane's cheeks were aglow, and her eyes were filled with fire. "it is by such men as robin farnham," she went on, "that this country has been built, with all its splendid achievements and glorious institutions, and the possibilities for such fortunes as yours. why should i not respect him, and honor him, and love him, if i want to?" she concluded, carried away by her enthusiasm. frank listened gravely to the end. then he said, very gently: "there is no reason why you should not honor and respect such a man, nor, perhaps, why you should not love him--if you want to. i am sure robin farnham is a very worthy fellow. but i suppose even you do not altogether realize the advantage of having been born poor----" the girl was about to break in, but checked herself. "of having been born poor," he repeated, "and compelled to struggle from the beginning. it gets to be a habit, you see, a sort of groundwork for character. perhaps--i do not say it, mind, i only say perhaps--if robin farnham had been born with my advantages and i with his, it might have made a difference, don't you think, in your very frank and just estimate of us to-day? i have often thought that it is a misfortune to have been born with money, but i suppose i didn't think of it soon enough, and it seems pretty late now to go back and start all over. besides, i have no one in need to struggle for. my mother is comfortably off, and i have no little suffering sister----" she checked him a gesture. "don't--oh, don't!" she pleaded. "perhaps you are right about being poor, but that last seems mockery and sacrilege--i cannot bear it! you don't know what you are saying. you don't know, as i do, how he has gone out in the bitter cold to work, without his breakfast, because there was not enough for all, and how--because he had cooked the breakfast himself--he did not let them know. no, you do not realize--you could not!" mr. weatherby regarded his companion rather wonderingly. there was something in her eyes which made them very bright. it seemed to him that her emotion was hardly justified. "i suppose he has told you all about it," he said, rather coldly. she turned upon him. "he? never! he would never tell any one! i found it out--oh, long ago--but i did not understand it all--not then." "and the mother and sister--what became of them?" the girl's voice steadied itself with difficulty. "the mother died. the little girl was taken by some kind people. he was left to fight his battle alone." neither spoke after this, and they walked through woods that were like the mazy forests of some old tale. if there had been a momentary rancor between them it was presently dissipated in the quiet of the gold-lit greenery about them, and as they wandered on there grew about them a peace which needed no outward establishment. they held their course by a little compass, and did not fear losing their way, though it was easy enough to become confused amid those barriers of heaped bowlders and tangled logs. by and by constance held up her hand. "listen," she said, "there are voices." they halted, and a moment later robin farnham and edith morrison emerged from a natural avenue just ahead. they had followed a different way and were returning to the lodge. frank and constance pushed forward to meet them. "we have just passed a place that would interest you," said robin to miss deane. "a curious shut-in place where mushrooms grow almost as if they had been planted there. we will take you to it." robin spoke in his usual manner. edith, though rather quiet, appeared to have forgotten the incident of the veranda. frank and constance followed a little way, and then all at once they were in a spot where the air seemed heavy and chill, as though a miasma rose from the yielding soil. thick boughs interlaced overhead, and the sunlight of summer never penetrated there. such light as came through seemed dim and sorrowful, and there was about the spot a sinister aspect that may have been due to the black pool in the center and the fungi which grew about it. pale, livid growths were there, shading to sickly yellow, and in every form and size. so thick were they they fairly overhung and crowded in that gruesome bed. here a myriad of tiny stems, there great distorted shapes pushed through decaying leaves--or toppled over, split and rotting--the food of buzzing flies, thousands of which lay dead upon the ground. a sickly odor hung about the ghastly place. no one spoke at first. then constance said: "i believe they are all deadly--every one." and frank added: "i have heard of the devil's garden. i think we have found it." edith morrison shuddered. perhaps the life among the hills had made her a trifle superstitious. "let us be going," constance said. "even the air of such a place may be dangerous." then, curiosity and the collecting instinct getting the better of her, she stooped and plucked one of the yellow fungi which grew near her foot. "they seem to be all amanitas," she added, "the most deadly of toadstools. those paler ones are _amanita phalloides_. there is no cure for their poison. these are called the fly amanita because they attract flies and slay them, as you see. this yellow one is an amanita, too--see its poison cup. i do not know its name, and we won't stop here to find it, but i think we might call it the yellow danger." she dropped it into the basket and all turned their steps homeward, the two girls ahead, the men following. the unusual spot had seemed to depress them all. they spoke but little, and in hushed voices. when they emerged from the woods the sun had slipped behind the hills and a semi-twilight had fallen. day had become a red stain in the west. constance turned suddenly to robin farnham. "i think i will ask you to row me across the lake," she said. "i am sure mr. weatherby will be glad to surrender the privilege. i want to ask you something more about those specimens you saw on mcintyre." there was no hint of embarrassment in miss deane's manner of this request. indeed, there was a pleasant, matter-of-fact tone in her voice that to the casual hearer would have disarmed any thought of suspicion. yet to edith and frank the matter seemed ominously important. they spoke their adieus pleasantly enough, but a curious spark glittered a little in the girl's eyes and the young man's face was grave as they two watched the handsome pair down the slope, and saw them enter the adirondack canoe and glide out on the iridescent water. suddenly edith turned to her companion. she was very pale and the spark had become almost a blaze. "mr. weatherby," she said fiercely, "you and i are a pair of fools. you may not know it--perhaps even they do not know it, yet. but it is becoming very clear to me!" frank was startled by her unnatural look and tone. as he stood regarding her, he saw her eyes suddenly flood with tears. the words did not come easily either to deny or acknowledge her conclusions. then, very gently, as one might speak to a child, he said: "let us not be too hasty in our judgments. very sad mistakes have been made by being too hasty." he looked out at the little boat, now rapidly blending into the shadows of the other shore, and added--to himself, as it seemed--"i have made so little effort to be what she wished. he is so much nearer to her ideal." he turned to say something more to the girl beside him, but she had slipped away and was already halfway to the lodge. he followed, and then for a time sat out on the veranda, smoking, and reviewing what seemed to him now the wasted years. he recalled his old ambitions. once they had been for the sea--the navy. then, when he had become associated with the college paper he had foreseen in himself the editor of some great journal, with power to upset conspiracies and to unmake kings. presently he had begun to write--he had always dabbled in that--and his fellow-students had hailed him not only as their leader in athletic but literary pursuits. as editor-in-chief of the college paper and valedictorian of his class, he had left them at last, followed by prophecies of a career in the world of letters. well, that was more than two years ago, and he had never picked up his pen since that day. there had been so many other things--so many places to go--so many pleasant people--so much to do that was easier than to sit down at a remote desk with pen and blank paper, when all the world was young and filled with gayer things. then, presently, he had reasoned that there was no need of making the fight--there were too many at it, now. so the flower of ambition had faded as quickly as it had bloomed, and the blossoms of pleasure had been gathered with a careless hand. his meeting with constance had been a part of the play-life of which he had grown so fond. now that she had grown into his life he seemed about to lose her, because of the flower he had let die. the young man ate his dinner silently--supplying his physical needs in the perfunctory manner of routine. he had been late coming in, and the dining-room was nearly empty. inadvertently he approached the group gathered about the wide hall fireplace as he passed out. miss carroway occupied the center of this little party and, as usual, was talking. she appeared to be arranging some harmless evening amusement. "it's always pleasant after supper," she was saying--miss carroway never referred to the evening meal as dinner--"to ask a few conundrums. my charlie that i raised and is now in the electric works at haverford used to say it helped digestion. now, suppose we begin. i'll ask the first one, and each one will guess in turn. the first one who guesses can ask the next." becoming suddenly conscious of the drift of matters, frank started to back out, silently, but miss carroway had observed his entrance and, turning, checked him with her eye. "you're just in time," she said. "we haven't commenced yet. oh, yes, you must stay. it's good for young people to have a little diversion in the evening and not go poking off alone. i am just about to ask the first conundrum. mebbe you'll get the next. this is one that charlie always liked. what's the difference between a fountain and the prince of wales? now, you begin, mr. weatherby, and see if you can guess it." the feeling was borne in upon frank that this punishment was rather more than he could bear, and he made himself strong for the ordeal. dutifully he considered the problem and passed it on to the little woman in black, who sat next. miss carroway's rival was consumed with an anxiety to cheapen the problem with a prompt answer. "that's easy enough," she said. "one's the son of the queen, and the other's a queen of the sun. of course," she added, "a fountain isn't really a queen of the sun, but it shines and sparkles and _might_ be called that." miss carroway regarded her with something of disdain. "yes," she said, with decision, "it might be, but it ain't. you guessed wrong. next!" "one's always wet, and the other's always dry," volunteered an irreverent young person outside the circle, which remark won a round of ill-deserved applause. "you ought to come into the game," commented miss carroway, "but that ain't it, either." "i'm sure it has something with 'shine' and 'line,'" ventured the young lady from utica, who was a school-mistress, "or 'earth' and 'birth.' i know i've heard it, but i can't remember." "humph!" sniffed miss carroway, and passed it on. nobody else ventured a definition and the problem came back to its proposer. she sat up a bit straighter, and swept the circle with her firelit glasses. "one's thrown to the air, and the other's heir to the throne," she declared, as if pronouncing judgment. "i don't think this is much of a conundrum crowd. my charlie would have guessed that the first time. but i'll give you one more--something easier, and mebbe older." when at last he was permitted to go frank made his way gloomily to his room and to bed. the day's events had been depressing. he had lost ground with constance, whom, of late, he had been trying so hard to please. he had been willing enough, he reflected, to go up the mountain, but it really had been cloudy up there and too late to start. then constance had blamed him for the unpleasant incident which had followed--it seemed to him rather unjustly. now, edith morrison had declared openly what he himself had been almost ready, though rather vaguely, to suspect. he had let constance slip through his fingers after all. he groaned aloud at the thought of constance as the wife of another. was it, after all, too late? if he should begin now to do and dare and conquer, could he regain the lost ground? and how should he begin? half confused with approaching sleep, his thoughts intermingled with strange fancies, that one moment led him to the mountain top where in the mist he groped for mushrooms, while the next, as in a picture, he was achieving some splendid triumph and laying the laurels at her feet. then he was wide awake again, listening to the whisper of the trees that came through his open window and the murmur of voices from below. presently he found himself muttering, "what is the difference between a fountain and the prince of wales?"--a question which immediately became a part of his perplexing sleep-waking fancies, and the answer was something which, like a boat in the mist, drifted away, just out of reach. what _was_ the difference between a fountain and the prince of wales? it seemed important that he should know, and then the query became visualized in a sunlit plume of leaping water with a diadem at the top, and this suddenly changed into a great mushroom, of the color of gold, and of which some one was saying, "don't touch it--it's the yellow danger." perhaps that was edith morrison, for he saw her dark, handsome face just then, her eyes bright with tears and fierce with the blaze of jealousy. then he slept. chapter vii the path that leads back to boyhood the sun was not yet above the hills when frank weatherby left the lodge next morning. he halted for a moment to procure some convenient receptacle and was supplied with a trout basket which, slung across his shoulder, gave him quite the old feeling of preparation for a day's sport, instead of merely an early trip up mcintyre. robin farnham was already up and away with his party, but another guide loitered about the cabin and showed a disposition to be friendly. "better wait till after breakfast," he said. "it don't take long to run up mcintyre and back. you'll have plenty of time." "but it looks clear up there, now. it may be foggy, later on. besides, i've just bribed the cook to give me a bite, so i'm not afraid of getting hungry." the guide brought out a crumpled, rusty-looking fly-hook and a little roll of line. "take these," he urged. "you'll cross a brook or two where there's some trout. mebbe you can get a few while you're resting. i'd lend you a rod if we had one here, but you can cut a switch that will do. the fish are mostly pretty small." the sight of the gayly colored flies, the line and the feeling of the basket at his side was a combination not to be resisted. the years seemed to roll backward, and frank felt the old eager longing to be following the tumbling, swirling water--to feel the sudden tug at the end of a drifting line. it was a rare morning. the abundant forest was rich with every shade of green and bright with dew. below, where the path lay, it was still dim and silent, but the earliest touch of sunrise had set the tree-tops aglow and started a bird concert in the high branches. the mcintyre trail was not a hard one to follow. neither was it steep for a considerable distance, and frank strode along rapidly and without fatigue. in spite of his uneasiness of spirit the night before, he had slept the sleep of youth and health, and the smell of the morning woods, the feel of the basket at his side, the following of this fascinating trail brought him nearer to boyhood with every forward step. he would go directly to the top of the mountain, he thought, find the curious flower or fungus which robin had seen, and on his return trip would stop at the brooks and perhaps bring home a basket of trout; after which he would find constance and lay the whole at her feet as a proof that he was not altogether indifferent to her wishes. also, it might be, as a token that he had renewed his old ambition to be something more than a mere lover of ease and pleasure and a dreamer of dreams. the suspicions stirred by edith morrison the night before had grown dim--indeed had almost vanished in the clear glow of morning. constance might wish to punish him--that was quite likely--though it was highly improbable that she should have selected this method. in fact, it was quite certain that any possibility of causing heartache, especially where edith morrison was concerned, would have been most repugnant to a girl of the character and ideals of constance deane. she admired robin and found pleasure in his company. that she made no concealment of these things was the best evidence that there was nothing to be concealed. that unconsciously she and robin were learning to care for each other, he thought most unlikely. he remembered constance as she had seemed during the days of their meeting at lenox, when she had learned to know, and he believed to care for him. it had never been like that. it would not be like that, now, with another. there would be no other. he would be more as she would have him--more like robin farnham. why, he was beginning this very moment. those years of idleness had dropped away. he had regarded himself as beyond the time of beginning! what nonsense! at twenty-four--full of health and the joy of living--swinging up a mountain trail to win a flower for the girl he loved, with a cavalcade of old hopes and dreams and ambitions once more riding through his heart. to-day was life. yesterday was already with the vanished ages. then for a moment he recalled the sorrow of edith morrison and resolved within him to see her immediately upon his return, to prove to her how groundless and unjust had been her conclusions. she was hardly to blame. she was only a mountain girl and did not understand. it was absurd that he, who knew so much of the world and of human nature, should have allowed himself even for a moment to be influenced by the primitive notions of this girl of the hills. the trail grew steeper now. the young man found himself breathing a trifle quicker as he pushed upward. sometimes he seized a limb to aid him in swinging up a rocky steep--again he parted dewy bushes that locked their branches across the way. presently there was a sound of water falling over stones, and a moment later he had reached a brook that hurried down the mountain side, leaping and laughing as it ran. there was a narrow place and a log where the trail crossed, with a little fall and a deep pool just below it. frank did not mean to stop for trout now, but it occurred to him to try this brook, that he might judge which was the better to fish on his return. he looked about until he found a long, slim shoot of some tough wood, and this he cut for a rod. then he put on a bit of the line--a longer piece would not do in this little stream--and at the end he strung a short leader and two flies. it was queer, but he found his fingers trembling just a little with eagerness as he adjusted those flies; and when he held the rig at arm's length and gave it a little twitch in the old way it was not so bad, after all, he thought. as he stealthily gained the exact position where he could drop the lure on the eddy below the fall and poised the slender rod for the cast, the only earthly thing that seemed important was the placing of those two tiny bits of gimp and feathers just on that spot where the water swirled under the edge of the black overhanging rock. gently, now--so. a quick flash, a swish, a sharp thrilling tug, an instinctive movement of the wrist, and something was leaping and glancing on the pebbles below--something dark and golden and gayly red-spotted--something which no man who has ever trailed a brook can see without a quickening heart--a speckled trout! certainly it was but a boy who leaped down and disentangled the captured fish and held it joyously for a moment, admiring its markings and its size before dropping it into the basket at his side. "pretty good for such a little brook," he said aloud. "i wonder if there are many like that." he made another cast, but without result. "i've frightened them," he thought. "i came lumbering down like a duffer. besides, they can see me, here." he turned and followed the stream with his eye. it seemed a succession of falls and fascinating pools, and the pools grew even larger and more enticing. he could not resist trying just once more, and when another goodly trout was in his creel and then another, all else in life became hazy in the joy of following that stream from fall to fall and from pool to pool--of dropping those gay little flies just in the particular spot which would bring that flash and swish, that delightful tug, and the gayly speckled capture that came glancing to his feet. why not do his fishing now, in these morning hours when the time was right? later, the sport might be poor, or none at all. at this rate he could soon fill his creel and then make his way up the mountain. he halted a moment to line the basket with damp moss and water grasses to keep his catch fresh. then he put aside every other purpose for the business of the moment, creeping around bushes, or leaping from stone to stone--sometimes slipping to his knees in the icy water, caring not for discomfort or bruises--heedless of everything except the zeal of pursuit and the zest of capture--the glory of the bright singing water, spilling from pool to pool--the filtering sunlight--the quiring birds--the resinous smell of the forest--all the things which lure the feet of young men over the paths trod by their fathers in the long-forgotten days. the stream widened. the pools grew deeper and the trout larger as he descended. soon he decided to keep only the larger fish. all others he tossed back as soon as taken. then there came a break ahead and presently the brook pitched over a higher fall than any he had passed, into a larger stream--almost a river. a great regret came upon the young man as he viewed this fine water that rushed and swirled among a thousand bowlders, ideal stepping stones with ideal pools below. oh, now, for a rod and reel, with a length of line to cast far ahead into those splendid pools! the configuration of the land caused this larger stream to pursue a course around, rather than down the mountain side, and frank decided that he could follow it for a distance, and then, with the aid of his compass, strike straight for the mountain top without making his way back up stream. but first he must alter his tackle. he looked about and presently cut a much longer and stronger rod and lengthened his line accordingly. then he made his way among the bowlders and began to whip the larger pools. cast after cast resulted in no return. he began to wonder, after all, if it would not be a mistake to fish this larger and less fruitful stream. but suddenly there came a great gleam of light where his flies fell, and though the fish failed to strike, frank's heart gave a leap, for he knew now that in this water--though they would be fewer in number--there were trout which were well worth while. he cast again over the dark, foamy pool, and this time the flash was followed by such a tug as at first made him fear that his primitive tackle might not hold. oh, then he longed for a reel and a net. this was a fish that could not be lightly lifted out, but must be worked to a landing place and dragged ashore. holding the line taut, he looked for such a spot, and selecting the shallow edge of a flat stone, drew his prize nearer and nearer--drawing in the rod itself, hand over hand, and finally the line until the struggling, leaping capture was in his hands. this was something like! this was sport, indeed! there was no thought now of turning back. to carry home even a few fish, taken with such a tackle, would redeem him for many shortcomings in constance's eyes. he was sorry now that he had kept any of the smaller fry. he followed down the stream, stepping from bowlder to bowlder, casting as he went. here and there trout rose, but they were old and wary and hesitated to strike. he got another at length, somewhat smaller than the first, and lost still another which he thought was larger than either. then for a considerable distance he whipped the most attractive water without reward, changing his flies at length, but to no purpose. "it must be getting late," he reflected aloud, and for the first time thought of looking at his watch. he was horrified to find that it was nearly eleven o'clock, by which time he had expected to have reached the top of mcintyre and to have been well on his way back to the lodge. he must start at once, for the climb would be long and rough here, out of the regular trail. yet he paused to make one more cast, over a black pool where there was a fallen log, and bubbles floating on the surface. his arm had grown tired swinging the heavy green rod and his aim was poor. the flies struck a little twig and hung there, dangling in the air. a twitch and they were free and had dropped to the surface of the water. yet barely to reach it. for in that instant a wave rolled up and divided--a great black-and-gold shape made a porpoise leap into the air. the lower fly disappeared, and an instant later frank was gripping the tough green rod with both hands, while the water and trees and sky blended and swam before him in the intensity of the struggle to hold and to keep holding that black-and-gold monster at the other end of the tackle--to keep him from getting back under that log--from twisting the line around a limb--in a word, to prevent him from regaining freedom. it would be lunacy to drag this fish ashore by force. the line or the fly would certainly give way, even if the rod would stand. indeed, when he tried to work his capture a little nearer, it held so like a rock that he believed for a moment the line was already fast. but then came a sudden rush to the right and another stand, and to the left--with a plunge for depth--and with each of these rushes frank's heart stood still, for he felt that against the power of this monster his tackle could not hold. every nerve and fiber in his body seemed to concentrate on the slow-moving point of dark line where the tense strand touched the water. a little this way or that it swung--perhaps yielded a trifle or drew down a bit as the great fish in its battle for life gave an inch only to begin a still fiercer struggle in this final tug of war. to all else the young man was oblivious. a bird dropped down on a branch and shouted at him--he did not hear it. a cloud swept over the sun--he did not see it. life, death, eternity mattered nothing. only that moving point of line mattered--only the thought that the powerful, unconquered shape below might presently go free. and then--inch by inch it seemed--the steady wrist and the crude tackle began to gain advantage, the monster of black and gold was forced to yield. scarcely breathing, frank watched the point of the line, inch by inch, draw nearer to a little pebbly shore that ran down, where, if anywhere, he could land his prey. once, indeed, the great fellow came to the surface, then, seeing his captor, made a fierce dive and plunged into a wild struggle, during which hope almost died. another dragging toward the shore, another struggle and yet another, each becoming weaker and less enduring, until lo, there on the pebbles, gasping and striking with his splendid tail, lay the conquered king of fish. it required but an instant for the captor to pounce upon him and to secure him with a piece of line through his gills, and this he replaced with a double willow branch which he could tie together and to the basket, for this fish was altogether too large to go inside. exhausted and weak from the struggle, frank sat down to contemplate his capture and to regain strength before starting up the mountain. five pounds, certainly, this fish weighed, he thought, and he tenderly regarded the fly that had lured it to the death, and carefully wound up the cheap bit of line that had held true. no such fish had been brought to the lodge, and then, boy that he was, he thought how proud he should be of his triumph, and with what awe constance would regard his skill in its capture. and in that moment it was somehow borne in upon him that with this battle and this victory there had come in truth the awakening--that the indolent, luxury-loving man had become as a sleep-walker of yesterday who would never cross the threshold of to-day. * * * * * a drop of water on his hand aroused him. the sun had disappeared--the sky was overcast--there was rain in the air. he must hurry, he thought, and get up the mountain and away, before the storm. he could not see the peak, for here the trees were tall and thick, but he knew his direction by the compass and by the slope of the land. from the end of his late rod he cut a walking stick and set out as rapidly as he could make his way through brush and vines, up the mountain-side. but it was toilsome work. the mountain became steeper, the growth thicker, his load of fish weighed him down. he was almost tempted to retrace his way up the river and brook to the trail, but was loath to consume such an amount of time when it seemed possible to reach the peak by a direct course. then it became darker in the woods, and the bushes seemed damp with moisture. he wondered if he was entering a fog that had gathered on the mountain top, and, once there, if he could find what he sought. only the big fish, swinging at his side and dragging in the leaves as he crept through underbrush, gave him comfort in what was rapidly becoming an unpleasant and difficult undertaking. presently he was reduced to climbing hand over hand, clinging to bushes and bracing his feet as best he might. all at once, he was face to face with a cliff which rose sheer for sixty feet or more and which it seemed impossible to ascend. he followed it for a distance and came at last to where a heavy vine dropped from above, and this made a sort of ladder, by which, after a great deal of clinging and scrambling, he managed to reach the upper level, where he dropped down to catch breath, only to find, when he came to look for his big fish, that somehow in the upward struggle it had broken loose from the basket and was gone. it was most disheartening. "if i were not a man i would cry," he said, wearily--then peering over the cliff he was overjoyed to see the lost fish hanging not far below, suspended by the willow loop he had made. so then he climbed down carefully and secured it, and struggled back again, this time almost faint with weariness, but happy in regaining his treasure. and now he realized that a fog was indeed upon the mountain. at the foot of the cliff and farther down the air seemed clear enough, but above him objects only a few feet distant were lost in a white mist, while here and there a drop as of rain struck in the leaves. it would not do to waste time. a storm might be gathering, and a tempest, or even a chill rain on the top of mcintyre was something to be avoided. he rose, and climbing, stooping, crawling, struggled toward the mountain-top. the timber became smaller, the tangle closer, the white mist thickened. often he paused from sheer exhaustion. once he thought he heard some one call. but listening there came only silence, and staggering to his feet he struggled on. chapter viii what came out of the mist it was several hours after frank weatherby had set out on the mcintyre trail--when the sun had risen to a point where it came mottling through the tree-tops and dried the vines and bushes along the fragrant, yielding path below--that a girl came following in the way which led up the mountain top. she wore a stout outing costume--short skirt and blouse, heavy boots, and an old felt school hat pinned firmly to luxuriant dark hair. on her arm she carried the basket of many wanderings, and her step was that of health and strength and purpose. one watching constance deane unawares--noting her carriage and sureness of foot, the easy grace with which she overcame the various obstructions in her path--might have said that she belonged by right to these woods, was a part of them, and one might have added that she was a perfect flowering of this splendid forest. on the evening before, she had inquired of robin the precise entrance to the mcintyre trail, and with his general directions she had no hesitation now in setting out on her own account to make the climb which would bring her to the coveted specimens at the mountain top. she would secure them with the aid of no one and so give frank an exhibition of her independence, and perhaps impress him a little with his own lack of ambition and energy. she had avoided the lodge, making her way around the lake to the trail, and had left no definite word at home as to her destination, for it was quite certain that mrs. deane would worry if it became known that constance had set off up the mountain alone. yet she felt thoroughly equal to the undertaking. in her basket she carried some sandwiches, and she had no doubt of being able to return to the lodge during the afternoon, where she had a certain half-formed idea of finding frank disconsolately waiting--a rather comforting--even if pathetic--picture of humiliation. constance did not linger at the trout-brook which had enticed frank from the narrow upward path, save to dip up a cold drink with the little cup she carried, and to rest up a moment and watch the leaping water as it foamed and sang down the natural stairway which led from one mystery in the dark vistas above to another mystery and wider vistas below--somehow, at last, to reach that deeper and vaster and more impenetrable mystery--the sea. she recalled some old german lines beginning, "_du bachlein, silberhell und klar_," and then she remembered having once recited them to frank, and how he had repeated them in an english translation: "thou brooklet, silver-bright and clear- forever passing--always here- upon thy brink i sit, and think whence comest thou? whence goest thou?" he had not confessed it, but she suspected the translation to be his own, and it had exasperated her that one who could do a thing well and with such facility should set so little store by his gift, when another, with a heart hunger for achievement, should have been left so unfavored of the gods. she walked rather more slowly when she had passed the brook--musing upon these things. then presently the path became precipitous and narrow, and led through thick bushes, and over or under difficult obstructions. constance drew on a thick pair of gloves to grapple with rough limbs and sharp points of rock. here and there were fairly level stretches and easy going, but for the most part it was up and up--steeper and steeper--over stones and logs, through heavy bushes and vines that matted across the trail, so that one must stoop down and burrow like a rabbit not to miss the way. miss deane began to realize presently that the mcintyre trail was somewhat less easy than she had anticipated. "if robin calls this an easy trail, i should like to know what he means by a hard one," she commented aloud, as she made her way through a great tumble of logs only to find that the narrow path disappeared into a clump of bushes beyond and apparently brought up plump against a plunging waterfall on the other side. "one would have to be a perfect salmon to scale that!" but arriving at the foot of the fall, she found that the trail merely crossed the pool below and was clearly marked beyond. this was the brook which frank had not reached. it was no great distance from the summit. but now the climb became steeper than ever--a hand over hand affair, with scratched face and torn dress and frequent pauses for breath. there was no longer any tall timber, but only masses of dwarfed and twisted little oak trees--a few feet high, though gnarled and gray with age, and loaded with acorns. constance knew these for the scrub-oak, that degenerate but persistent little scion of a noble race, that pushes its miniature forests to the very edge and into the last crevice of the barren mountain top. soon this diminutive wilderness began to separate into segments and the trail reached a comparative level. then suddenly it became solid rock, with only here and there a clump of the stunted oak, or a bit of grass. the girl realized that she must be on the summit and would presently reach the peak, where, from a crevice, grew the object of her adventure. she paused a moment for breath, and to straighten her disheveled hair. also she turned for a look at the view which she thought must lie behind her. but she gave a little cry of disappointment. a white wraith of mist, like the very ghost of a cloud, was creeping silently along the mountain side and veiled the vision of the wide lands below. where she stood the air was still clear, but she imagined the cloud was creeping nearer and would presently envelop the mountain-top. she would hurry to the peak and try to get a view from the other side, which after all was considered the best outlook. the trail now led over solid granite and could be followed only by little cairns or heaps of stone, placed at some distance apart, but in the clear air easily seen from one to the other. she moved rapidly, for the way was no longer steep, and ere long the tripod which marked the highest point, and near which robin had seen the strange waxen flower, was outlined against the sky. a moment later when she looked it seemed to her less clear. the air, too, had a chill damp feeling. she turned quickly to look behind her, and uttered a little cry of surprise that was almost terror. the cloud ghost was upon her--she was already enveloped in its trailing cerements. behind, all was white, and when she turned again the tripod too had well-nigh disappeared. as if about to lose the object of her quest, she started to run, and when an instant later the beacon was lost in a thick fold of white she again opened her lips in a wild despairing cry. yet she did not stop, but raced on, forgetting even the little guiding cairns which pointed the way. it would have made no difference had she remembered them, for the cloud became so dense that she could not have seen one from the other. how close it shut her in, this wall of white, as impalpable and as opaque as the smoke of burning grass! it seemed a long way to the tripod. it must have been farther than she had thought. suddenly she realized that the granite no longer rose a little before her, but seemed to drop away. she had missed the tripod, then, and was descending on the other side. turning, she retraced her steps, more slowly now, trying to keep the upward slope before her. but soon she realized that in this thick and mystifying whiteness she could not be certain of the level--that by thinking so she could make the granite seem to slope a little up or down, and in the same manner, now, she could set the tripod in any direction from her at will. confused, half terrified at the thought, she stood perfectly still, trying to think. the tripod, she knew, could not be more than a few yards distant, but surrounded by these enchanted walls which ever receded, yet always closed about her she must only wander helplessly and find it by mere chance. and suppose she found it, and suppose she secured the object of her search, how, in this blind spot, would she find her way back to the trail? she recalled now what robin had said of keeping the trail in the fog. her heart became cold--numb. the chill mist had crept into her very veins. she was lost--lost as men have been lost in the snow--to die almost within their own door-yards. if this dread cloud would only pass, all would be well, but she remembered, too, hopelessly enough, that she had told no one of her venture, that no one would know where to seek her. and now the sun, also, must be obscured, for the world was darkening. an air that pierced her very marrow blew across the mountain and a drop of rain struck her cheek. oh, it would be wretched without shelter to face a storm in that bleak spot. she must at least try--she must make every effort to find the trail. she set out in what she believed to be a wide circuit of the peak, and was suddenly rejoiced to come upon one of the little piles of stones which she thought must be one of the cairns, leading to the trail. but which way must she look for the next? she strained her eyes through the milky gloom, but could distinguish nothing beyond a few yards of granite at her feet. it did not avail her to remain by the cairn, yet she dreaded to leave a spot which was at least a point in the human path. she did so, at last, only to wander down into an unmarked waste, to be brought all at once against a segment of the scrub-oak forest and to find before her a sort of opening which she thought might be the trail. eagerly in the gathering gloom she examined the face of the granite for some trace of human foot and imagined she could make out a mark here and there as of boot nails. then she came to a bit of grass that seemed trampled down. her heart leaped. oh, this must be the trail, after all! she hastened forward, half running in her eagerness. branches slapped and tore at her garments--long, tenuous filaments, wet and web-like, drew across her face. twice she fell and bruised herself cruelly. and when she rose the second time, her heart stopped with fear, for she lay just on the edge of a ghastly precipice--the bottom of which was lost in mist and shadows. it had only been a false trail, after all. weak and trembling she made her way back to the open summit, fearing even that she might miss this now and so be without the last hope of finding the way, or of being found at last herself. back on the solid granite once more, she made a feeble effort to find one of the cairns, or the tripod, anything that had known the human touch. but now into her confused senses came the recollection that many parties climbed mcintyre, and she thought that one such might have chosen to-day and be somewhere within call. she stood still to listen for possible voices, but there was no sound, and the bitter air across the summit made her shrink and tremble. then she uttered a loud, long, "hoo-oo-woo-o!" a call she had learned of mountaineers as a child. she listened breathlessly for an answer. it was no use. yet she would call again--at least it was an effort--a last hope. "hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and again "hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and then her very pulses ceased, for somewhere, far away it seemed, from behind that wall of white her ear caught an answering cry. once more she called--this time wildly, with every bit of power she could summon. once more came the answering "hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and now it seemed much nearer. she started to run in the direction of the voice, stopping every few steps to call, and to hear the reassuring reply. she was at the brushy edge of the summit when through the mist came the words--it was a man's voice, and it made her heart leap---"stay where you are! don't move--i will come to you!" she stood still, for in that voice there was a commanding tone which she was only too eager to obey. she called again and again, but she waited, and all at once, right in front of her it seemed, the voice said: "well, conny, it's a good thing i found you. if you had played around here much longer you might have got wet." but constance was in no mood to take the matter lightly. "frank! oh, frank!" she cried, and half running, half reeling forward, she fell into his arms. and then for a little she gave way and sobbed on his shoulder, just as any girl might have done who had been lost and miserable and had all at once found the shoulder of a man she loved. then, brokenly---"oh, frank--how did you know i was here?" his arm was about her and he was holding her close. but for the rest, he was determined to treat it lightly. "well, you know," he said, "you made a good deal of noise about it, and i thought i recognized the tones." "but how did you come to set out to look for me? how did you know that i came? oh, it was brave of you--in this awful fog and with no guide!" she believed, then, that he had set out purposely to search for her. he would let her think so for the moment. "why, that's nothing," he said; "a little run up the mountain is just fun for me, and as for fogs, i've always had a weakness for fogs since a winter in london. i didn't really know you were up here, but that might be the natural conclusion if you weren't at home, or at the lodge--after what happened yesterday, of course." "oh, frank, forgive me--i was so horrid yesterday." "don't mention it--i didn't give it a second thought." "but, frank--" then suddenly she stopped, for her eye had caught the basket, and the great fish dangling at his side. "frank!" she concluded, "where in the world did you get that enormous trout?" it was no use after that, so he confessed and briefly told her the tale--how it was by accident that he had found her--how he had set out at daybreak to find the wonderful flower. "and haven't you found it either?" he asked, glancing down at her basket. then, in turn, she told how she had missed the tripod just as the fog came down and could not get near it again. "and oh, i have lost my luncheon, too," she exclaimed, "and you must be starving. i must have lost it when i fell." "then we'll waste no time in getting home. it's beginning to rain a little now. we'll be pretty miserable if we stay up here any longer." "but the trail--how will you find it in this awful mist?" "well, it should be somewhere to the west, i think, and with the compass, you see----" he had been feeling in a pocket and now stared at her blankly. "i am afraid i have lost something, too," he exclaimed, "my compass. i had it a little while ago and put it in the change pocket of my coat to have it handy. i suppose the last time i fell down, it slipped out." he searched hastily in his other pockets, but to no purpose. "never mind," he concluded, cheerfully. "all ways lead down the mountain. if we can't find the trail we can at least go down till we find something. if it's a brook or ravine we'll follow that till we get somewhere. anything is better than shivering here." they set out in the direction where it seemed to frank the trail must lie. suddenly a tall shape loomed up before them. it was the tripod. "oh!" constance gasped, "and i hunted for it so long!" "those flowers, or whatever they were, should be over here, i think," frank said, and constance produced a little plan which robin had given her. but when in the semi-dusk they groped to the spot only some wet, blackened pulp remained of the curious growth. the tender flower of the peak had perhaps bloomed and perished in a day. frank lamented this misfortune, but constance expressed a slighter regret. they made an effort now to locate the cairns, but with less success. they did not find even one, and after wandering about for a little could not find the tripod again, either. "never mind," consoled frank, "we'll trust a little to instinct. perhaps it will lead us to something." in fact, they came presently to the fringe of scrub-oak, and to what seemed an open way. but constance shook her head. "i do not think this is the beginning of the trail. i followed just such an opening, and it led me to that dreadful cliff." perhaps it was the same false lead, for presently an abyss yawned before them. "i shouldn't wonder," speculated frank, "if this isn't a part of the cliff that i climbed. if we follow along, it may lead us to the same place. then we may be able to make our way over it and down to the river and so home. it's a long way, but a sure one, if we can only find it." they proceeded cautiously along the brink for the light was dim and the way uncertain. they grew warmer now, for they were away from the bitter air of the mountain top, and in constant motion. when they had followed the cliff for perhaps half a mile, frank suddenly stopped. "what is it?" asked constance, "is this where you climbed up?" her companion only pointed over the brink. "look," he said, "it is not a cliff, here, but one side of a chasm. i can see trees on the other side." sure enough, dimly through the gloom, not many feet away, appeared the outline of timber of considerable growth, showing that they had descended somewhat, also an increased depth of soil. it was further evident that the caã±on was getting narrower, and presently they came upon two logs, laid across it side by side, forming a sort of bridge. frank knelt and examined them closely. "some one has used this," he said. "this may be a trail. do you think we can get over, conny?" the girl looked at the narrow crossing and at the darkening woods beyond. it was that period of stillness and deepening gloom which precedes a mountain storm. still early in the day, one might easily believe that night was descending. constance shuddered. she was a bit nervous and unstrung. "there is something weird about it," she said. "it is like entering the enchanted forest. oh, i can cross well enough--it isn't that," and stepping lightly on the little footway she walked as steadily and firmly as did frank, a moment later. "you're a brick, conny," he said heartily. an opening in the bushes at the end of the little bridge revealed itself. they entered and pushed along, for the way led downward. the darkness grew momentarily. rain was beginning to fall. yet they hurried on, single file, frank leading and parting the vines and limbs to make the way easier for his companion. they came presently to a little open space, where suddenly he halted. "there's a light," he said, "it must be a camp." but constance clung to his arm. it was now quite dark where they stood, and there came a low roll of thunder overhead. "oh, suppose it is something dreadful!" she whispered--"a robbers' den, or moonshiners. i've heard of such things." "it's more likely to be a witch," said frank, "or an ogre, but i think we must risk it." the rain came faster and they hurried forward now and presently stood at the door of a habitation, though even in the mist and gloom it impressed them as being of a curious sort. there was a window and a light, certainly, but the window held no sash, and the single opening was covered with a sort of skin, or parchment. there was a door, too, and walls, but beyond this the structure seemed as a part of the forest itself, with growing trees forming the door and corner posts, while others rose apparently from the roof. further outlines of this unusual structure were lost in the dimness. under the low, sheltering eaves they hesitated. "shall we knock?" whispered constance. "it is all so queer--so uncanny. i feel as if it might be the home of a real witch or magician, or something like that." "then we may at least learn our fate," frank answered, and with his knuckles struck three raps on the heavy door. at first there was silence, then a sound of movement within, followed by a shuffling step. a moment later the heavy door swung ajar, and in the dim light from within frank and constance beheld a tall bowed figure standing in the opening. in a single brief glance they saw that it was a man--also that his appearance, like that of his house, was unusual. he was dressed entirely in skins. his beard was upon his breast, and his straggling hair fell about his shoulders. he stood wordless, silently regarding the strangers, and frank at first was at a loss for utterance. then he said, hesitatingly: "we missed our way on the mountain. we want shelter from the storm and directions to the trail that leads to spruce lodge." still the tall bent figure in the doorway made no movement and uttered no word. they could not see his face, but constance felt that his eyes were fixed upon her, and she clung closer to frank's arm. yet when the strange householder spoke at last there was nothing to cause fear, either in his words or tone. his voice was gentle--not much above a whisper. "i crave your pardon if i seem slow of hospitality," he said, quaintly, "but a visitor seldom comes to my door. only one other has ever found his way here, and he comes not often." he pushed the rude door wider on its creaking withe hinges. "i bid you welcome," he added, then, as constance came more fully into the light shed by a burning pine knot and an open fire, he stopped, stared at her still more fixedly and muttered something under his breath. but a moment later he said gently, his voice barely more than a whisper: "i pray you will pardon my staring, but in that light just now you recalled some one--a woman it was--i used to know. besides, i have not been face to face with any woman for nearly a score of years." chapter ix a shelter in the forest certainly the house of the hermit, for such he undoubtedly was, proved a remarkable place. there was no regular form to the room in which frank and constance found themselves, nor could they judge as to its size. its outlines blended into vague shadows, evidently conforming to the position of the growing trees which constituted its supports. the walls were composed of logs of varying lengths, adjusted to the spaces between the trees, intermingled with stones and smaller branches, the whole cemented or mud-plastered together in a concrete mass. at the corner of the fireplace, and used as one end of it, was a larger flat stone, which became not only a part of the wall but served as a wide shelf or table within, and this, covered with skins, supported a large wooden bowl of nuts, a stone hammer somewhat resembling a tomahawk, a few well-worn books, also a field glass in a leather case, such as tourists use. on a heavy rustic mantel were numerous bits and tokens of the forest, and suspended above it, on wooden hooks, was a handsome rifle. on the hearth below was a welcome blaze, with a heavy wooden settle, wide of seat, upon which skins were thrown, drawn up comfortably before the fire. the other furniture in the room consisted of a high-backed armchair, a wooden table, and what might have been a bench, outlined in the dimness of a far corner where the ceiling seemed to descend almost to the ground, and did, in fact, join the top of a low mound which formed the wall on that side. but what seemed most remarkable in this singular dwelling-place were the living trees which here and there like columns supported the roof. the heavy riven shingles and a thatching of twisted grass had been fitted closely about them above, and the hewn or puncheon floor was carefully joined around them below. lower limbs had been converted into convenient hooks, while attached here and there near the ceiling were several rustic, nest-like receptacles, showing a fringe of grass and leaves. as frank and constance entered this strange shelter there had been a light scurrying of shadowy forms, a whisking into these safe retreats, and now, as the strangers stood in the cheerful glow of the fire and the sputtering pine-knot, they were regarded not only by the hermit, but by a score or more of other half-curious, half-timid eyes that shone bright out of the vague dimness behind. the ghostly scampering, the shadowy flitting, and a small, subdued chatter from the dusk enhanced in the minds of the visitors a certain weird impression of the place and constrained their speech. there was no sensation of fear. it was only a vague uneasiness, or rather that they felt themselves harsh and unwarranted intruders upon a habitation and a life in which they had no part. their host broke the silence. "you must needs pardon the demeanor of my little friends," he said. "they are unaccustomed to strangers." he indicated the settle, and added: "be seated. you are weary, without doubt, and your clothes seem damp." then he noticed the basket and the large fish at frank's belt. "a fine trout," he said; "i have not seen so large a one for years." frank nodded with an anxious interest. "would you like it?" he asked. "i have a basketful besides, and would it be possible--could we, i mean, manage to cook a few of them? i am very hungry, and i am sure my companion, miss deane, would like a bite also." constance had dropped down on the settle, and was leaning toward the fire--her hands outspread before it. "i am famished," she confessed, and added, "oh, and will you let me cook the fish? i can do it quite well." the hermit did not immediately reply to the question. "miss deane," he mused; "that is your name, then?" "yes, constance deane, and this is mr. frank weatherby. we have been lost on the mountain all day without food. we shall be so thankful if you will let us prepare something, and will then put us on the trail that leads to spruce lodge." the hermit stirred the fire to a brighter blaze and laid on a fresh piece of wood. "that will i do right gladly," he said, "if you will accept my humble ways. let me take the basket; i will set about the matter." gladly enough frank unloosed his burden, and surrendered the big trout and the basket to his host. as the latter turned away from the fire a dozen little forms frisked out of the shadows behind and ran over him lightly, climbing to his shoulders, into his pockets, clinging on to his curious dress wherever possible--chattering, and still regarding the strange intruders with bright, inquisitive eyes. they were tiny red squirrels, it seemed, and their home was here in this nondescript dwelling with this eccentric man. suddenly the hermit spoke to them--an unknown word with queer intonation. in an instant the little bevy of chatterers leaped away from him, scampering back to their retreats. frank, who stood watching, saw a number of them go racing to a tree of goodly size and disappear into a hole near the floor. the hermit turned, smiling a little, and the firelight fell on his face. for the first time frank noticed the refinement and delicacy of the meager features. the hermit said: "that is their outlet. the tree is hollow, and there is another opening above the roof. in winter the birds use it, too." he disappeared now into what seemed to be another apartment, shutting a door behind. frank dropped down on the settle by constance, thoroughly tired, stretched out his legs, and gave himself up to the comfort of the warm glow. "isn't it all wonderful?" murmured constance. "it is just a dream, of course. we are not really here, and i shall wake up presently. i had just such fancies when i was a child. perhaps i am still wandering in that awful mist, and this is the delirium. oh, are you sure we are really here?" "quite sure," said frank. "and it seems just a matter of course to me. i have known all along that this wood was full of mysteries--enchantments, and hermits, and the like. probably there are many such things if we knew where to look for them." the girl's voice dropped still lower. "how quaintly he talks. it is as if he had stepped out of some old book." frank nodded toward the stone shelf by the fire. "he lives chiefly in books, i fancy, having had but one other visitor." the young man lifted one of the worn volumes and held it to the light. it was a copy of shakespeare's works--a thick book, being a complete edition of the plays. he laid it back tenderly. "he dwells with the men and women of the master," he said, softly. there followed a little period of silence, during which they drank in the cheer and comfort of the blazing hearth. outside, the thunder rolled heavily now and then, and the rain beat against the door. what did it matter? they were safe and sheltered, and together. constance asked presently: "what time is it?" and, looking at his watch, frank replied: "a little after three. an hour ago we were wandering up there in the mist. it seems a year since then, and a lifetime since i took that big trout." "it is ages since i started this morning," mused constance. "yet we divide each day into the same measurements, and by the clock it is only a little more than six hours." "it is nine since i left the lodge," reflected frank, "after a very light and informal breakfast at the kitchen door. yes, i am willing to confess that such time should not be measured in the ordinary way." there was a sharper crash of thunder and a heavier gust of rain. then a fierce downpour that came to them in a steady, muffled roar. "when shall we get home?" constance asked, anxiously. "we won't worry, now. likely this is only a shower. it will not take long to get down the mountain, once we're in the trail, and it's light, you know, until seven." the door behind was pushed open and the hermit re-entered. he bore a flat stone and a wooden bowl, and knelt down with them before the fire. the glowing embers he heaped together and with the aid of a large pebble set the flat stone at an angle before them. then from the wooden bowl he emptied a thick paste of coarse meal upon the baking stone, and smoothed it with a wooden paddle. rising he said: "i fear my rude ways will not appetize you, but i can only offer you what cheer i have." the aroma of the cooking meal began to fill the room. "please don't apologize," pleaded constance. "my only hope is that i can restrain myself until the food is ready." "i'll ask you to watch the bread for a moment," the hermit said, turning the stone a little. "and if i let it burn you may punish me as the goodwife did king alfred," answered constance. then a glow came into her cheeks that was not all of the fire, for the man's eyes--they were deep, burning eyes--were fixed upon her, and he seemed to hang on her every word. yet he smiled without replying, and again disappeared. "conny," admonished frank, "if you let anything happen to that cake i'll eat the stone." so they watched the pone carefully, turning it now and then, though the embers glowed very hot and a certain skill was necessary. the hermit returned presently with a number of the trout dressed, and these were in a frying-pan that had a long wooden handle, which constance and frank held between them, while their host installed two large potatoes in the hot ashes. then he went away for a little and placed some things on the table in the middle of the room, returning now and then to superintend matters. and presently the fish and the cakes and the potatoes were ready, and the ravenous wanderers did not wait to be invited twice to partake of them. the thunder still rolled at intervals and the rain still beat at the door, but they did not heed. within, the cheer, if not luxurious, was plenteous and grateful. the table furnishings were rude and chiefly of home make. but the guests were young, strong of health and appetite, and no king's table could have supplied goodlier food. oh, never were there such trout as those, never such baked potatoes, nor never such hot, delicious hoecake. and beside each plate stood a bowl of fruit--berries--delicious fresh raspberries of the hills. presently their host poured a steaming liquid into each of the empty cups by their plates. "perhaps you will not relish my tea," he said, "but it is soothing and not harmful. it is drawn from certain roots and herbs i have gathered, and it is not ill-tasting. here is sweet, also; made from the maple tree." an aromatic odor arose from the cups, and, when constance tasted the beverage and added a lump of the sugar, she declared the result delicious--a decision in which frank willingly concurred. the host himself did not join the feast, and presently fell to cooking another pan of trout. it was a marvel how they disappeared. even the squirrels came out of their hiding places to witness this wonderful feasting, a few bolder ones leaping upon the table, as was their wont, to help themselves from a large bowl of cracked nuts. and all this delighted the visitors. everything was so extraordinary, so simple and near to nature, so savoring of the romance of the old days. this wide, rambling room with its recesses lost in the shadows; the low, dim roof supported by its living columns; the glowing fireplace and the blazing knot; the wild pelts scattered here and there, and the curious skin-clad figure in the firelight--certainly these were things to stir delightfully the heart of youth, to set curious fancies flitting through the brain. "oh," murmured constance, "i wish we might stay in a place like this forever!" then, reddening, added hastily, "i mean--i mean----" "yes," agreed frank, "i mean that, too--and i wish just the same. we could have fish every day, and such hoecake, and this nice tea, and i would pick berries like these, and you could gather mushrooms. and we would have squirrels to amuse us, and you would read to me, and perhaps i should write poems of the hills and the storms and the haunted woods, and we could live so close to nature and drink so deeply of its ever renewing youth that old age could not find us, and we should live on and on and be always happy--happy ever after." the girl's hand lay upon the table, and when his heavier palm closed over it she did not draw it away. "i can almost love you when you are like this," she whispered. "and if i am always like this----?" they spoke very low, and the hermit sat in the high-back chair, bowed and staring into the blaze. yet perhaps something of what they said drifted to his ear--perhaps it was only old and troubling memories stirring within him that caused him to rise and walk back and forth before the fire. his guests had finished now, and they came back presently to the big, deep settle, happy in the comfort of plenteous food, the warmth and the cosy seat, and the wild unconvention of it all. the beat of the rain did not trouble them. secretly they were glad of any excuse for remaining by the hermit's hearth. their host did not appear to notice them at first, but paced a turn up and down, then seated himself in the high-backed chair and gazed into the embers. a bevy of the little squirrels crept up and scaled his knees and shoulders, but with that curious note of warning he sent them scampering. the pine knot sputtered low and he tossed it among the coals, where it renewed its blaze. for a time there was silence, with only the rain sobbing at the door. then by and by--very, very softly, as one who muses aloud--he spoke: "i, too, have had my dreams--dreams which were ever of happiness for me--and for another; happiness that would not end, yet which was to have no more than its rare beginning. "that was a long time ago--as many as thirty years, maybe. i have kept but a poor account of time, for what did it matter here?" he turned a little to constance. "your face and voice, young lady, bring it all back now, and stir me to speak of it again--the things of which i have spoken to no one before--not even to robin." "to robin!" the words came involuntarily from constance. "yes, robin farnham, now of the lodge. he found his way here once, just as you did. it was in his early days on the mountains, and he came to me out of a white mist, just as you came, and i knew him for her son." constance started, but the words on her lips were not uttered. "i knew him for her son," the hermit continued, "even before he told me his name, for he was her very picture, and his voice--the voice of a boy--was her voice. he brought her back to me--he made her live again--here, in this isolated spot, even as she had lived in my dreams--even as a look in your face and a tone in your voice have made her live for me again to-day." there was something in the intensity of the man's low speech, almost more than in what he said, to make the listener hang upon his words. frank, who had drawn near constance, felt that she was trembling, and he laid his hand firmly over hers, where it rested on the seat beside him. "yet i never told him," the voice went on, "i never told robin that i knew him--i never spoke his mother's name. for i had a fear that it might sadden him--that the story might send him away from me. and i could have told nothing unless i told it all, and there was no need. so i spoke to him no word of her, and i pledged him to speak to no one of me. for if men knew, the curious would come and i would never have my life the same again. so i made him promise, and after that first time he came as he chose. and when he is here she who was a part of my happy dream lives again in him. and to you i may speak of her, for to you it does not matter, and it is in my heart now, when my days are not many, to recall old dreams." chapter x the hermit's story the hermit paused and gazed into the bed of coals on the hearth. his listeners waited without speaking. constance did not move--scarcely did she breathe. "as i said, it may have been thirty years ago," the gentle voice continued. "it may have been more than that--i do not know. it was on the sound shore, in one of the pretty villages there--it does not matter which. "i lived with my uncle in the adjoining village. both my parents were dead--he was my guardian. in the winter, when the snow fell, there was merry-making between these villages. we drove back and forth in sleighs, and there were nights along the sound when the moon path followed on the water and the snow, and all the hills were white, and the bells jingled, and hearts were gay and young. "it was on such a night that i met her who was to become robin's mother. the gathering was in our village that night, and, being very young, she had come as one of a merry sleighful. half way to our village their sleigh had broken down, and the merry makers had gayly walked the remainder, trusting to our hospitality to return them to their homes. i was one of those to welcome them and to promise conveyance, and so it was that i met her, and from that moment there was nothing in all the world for me but her." the hermit lifted his eyes from the fire and looked at constance. "my girl," he said, "there are turns of your face and tones of your voice that carry me back to that night. but robin, when he first came here to my door, a stripling, he was her very self. "i recall nothing of that first meeting but her. i saw nothing but her. i think we danced--we may have played games--it did not matter. there was nothing for me but her face. when it was over, i took her in my cutter and we drove together across the snow--along the moonlit shore. i do not remember what we said, but i think it was very little. there was no need. when i parted from her that night the heritage of eternity was ours--the law that binds the universe was our law, and the morning stars sang together as i drove homeward across the hills. "that winter and no more holds my happiness. yet if all eternity holds no more for me than that, still have i been blest as few have been blest, and if i have paid the price and still must pay, then will i pay with gladness, feeling only that the price of heaven is still too small, and eternity not too long for my gratitude." the hermit's voice had fallen quite to a whisper, and he was as one who muses aloud upon a scene rehearsed times innumerable. yet in the stillness of that dim room every syllable was distinct, and his listeners waited, breathless, at each pause for him to continue. into frank's eyes had come the far-away look of one who follows in fancy an old tale, but the eyes of constance shone with an eager light and her face was tense and white against the darkness. "it was only that winter. when the spring came and the wild apple was in bloom, and my veins were all a-tingle with new joy, i went one day to tell her father of our love. oh, i was not afraid. i have read of trembling lovers and halting words. for me the moments wore laggingly until he came, and then i overflowed like any other brook that breaks its dam in spring. "and he--he listened, saying not a single word; but as i talked his eyes fell, and i saw tears gather under his lids. then at last they rolled down his cheeks and he bowed his head and wept. and then i did not speak further, but waited, while a dread that was cold like death grew slow upon me. when he lifted his head he came and sat by me and took my hand. 'my boy,' he said, 'your father was my friend. i held his hand when he died, and a year later i followed your mother to her grave. you were then a little blue-eyed fellow, and my heart was wrung for you. it was not that you lacked friends, or means, for there were enough of both. but, oh, my boy, there was another heritage! have they not told you? have you never learned that both your parents were stricken in their youth by that scourge of this coast--that fever which sets a foolish glow upon the cheek while it lays waste the life below and fills the land with early graves? oh, my lad! you do not want my little girl.'" the hermit's voice died, and he seemed almost to forget his listeners. but all at once he fixed his eyes on constance as if he would burn her through. "child," he said, "as you look now, so she looked in the moment of our parting. her eyes were like yours, and her face, god help me! as i saw it through the dark that last night, was as your face is now. then i went away. i do not remember all the places, but they were in many lands, and were such places as men seek who carry my curse. i never wrote--i never saw her, face to face, again. "when i returned her father was dead, and she was married--to a good man, they told me--and there was a child that bore my name, robin, for i had been called robin gray. and then there came a time when a stress was upon the land--when fortunes tottered and men walked the streets with unseeing eyes--when his wealth and then hers vanished like smoke in the wind--when my own patrimony became but worthless paper--a mockery of scrolled engravings and gaudy seals. to me it did not matter--nothing matters to one doomed. to them it was shipwreck. john farnham, a high-strung, impetuous man, was struck down. the tension of those weeks, and the final blow, broke his spirit and undermined his strength. they had only a pittance and a little cottage in these mountains, which they had used as a camp for summer time. it stood then where it stands to-day, on the north elba road, in view of this mountain top. there they came in the hope that robin's father might regain health to renew the fight. there they remained, for the father had lost courage and only found a little health by tilling the few acres of ground about the cottage. there, that year, a second child--a little girl--was born." it had grown very still in the hermitage. there was only a drip of the rain outside--the thunder had rolled away. the voice, too, ceased for a little, as if from weariness. the others made no sign, but it seemed to frank that the hand locked closely in his had become quite cold. "the word of those things drifted to me," so the tale went on, "and it made me sad that with my own depleted fortune and failing health i could do nothing for their comfort or relief. but one day my physician said to me that the air and the altitude of these mountains had been found beneficial for those stricken like me. he could not know how his words made my heart beat. now, indeed, there was a reason for my coming--an excuse for being near her--with a chance of seeing her, it might be, though without her knowledge. for i decided that she must not know. already she had enough burden without the thought that i was near--without the sight of my doleful, wasting features. "so i sold the few belongings that were still mine--such things as i had gathered in my wanderings--my books, save those i loved most dearly--my furnishings, my ornaments, even to my apparel--and with the money i bought the necessaries of mountain life--implements, rough wear and a store of food. these, with a tent, my gun, the few remaining volumes, and my field glass--the companion of all my travels--i brought to the hills." he pointed to the glass and the volumes lying on the stone at his hand. "those have been my life," he went on. "the books have brought me a world wherein there was ever a goodly company, suited to my mood. for me, in that world, there are no disappointments nor unfulfilled dreams. king, lover, courtier and clown--how often at my bidding have they trooped out of the shadows to gather with me about this hearth! oh, i should have been poor indeed without the books! yet the glass has been to me even more, for it brought me her. "i have already told you that their cottage could be seen from this mountain top. i learned this when i came stealthily to the hills and sought out their home, and some spot amid the overhanging peaks where i might pitch my camp and there unseen look down upon her life. this is the place i found. i had my traps borne up the trail to the foot of the little fall, as if i would camp there. then when the guides were gone i carried them here, and reared my small establishment, away from the track of hunters, on this high finger of rock which commanded the valley and her home. there is a spring here and a bit of fertile land. it was state land and free, and i pitched my tent here, and that summer i cleared an open space for tillage and built a hut for the winter. the sturdy labor and the air of the hills strengthened my arm and renewed my life. but there was more than that. for often there came a clear day, when the air was like crystal and other peaks drew so near that it seemed one might reach out and stroke them with his hand. on such a day, with my glass, i sought a near-by point where the mountain's elbow jutted out into the sky, and when from that high vantage i gazed down on the roof which covered her, my soul was filled with strength to tarry on. for distance became as nothing to my magic glass. three miles it may be as the crow flies, but i could bring the tiny cottage and the door-yard, as it stood there at the turn of the road above the little hill, so close to me that it seemed to lie almost at my very feet." again the speaker rested for a moment, but presently the tale went on. "you can never know what i felt when i first saw _her_. i had watched for her often, and i think she had been ill. i had seen him come and go, and sometimes i had seen a child--robin it was--playing about the yard. but one day when i had gone to my point of lookout and had directed my glass--there, just before me, she stood. there she lived and moved--she who had been, who was still my life--who had filled my being with a love that made me surrender her to another, yet had lured me at last to this lonely spot, forever away from men, only that i might now and again gaze down across the tree tops, and all unseen, unknown to her, make her the companion of my hermit life. "she walked slowly and the child walked with her, holding her hand. when presently she looked toward me, i started and shrank, forgetting for the moment that she could not see me. not that i could distinguish her features at such a range, only her dear outline, but in my mind's eyes her face was there before me just as i had seen it that last time--just as i have seen yours in the firelight." he turned to constance, whose features had become blurred in the shadows. frank felt her tremble and caught the sound of a repressed sob. he knew the tears were streaming down her cheeks, and his own eyes were not dry. "after that i saw her often, and sometimes the infant, robin's sister, was in her arms. when the autumn came, and the hills were glorified, and crowned with snow, she stood many times in the door-yard to behold their wonder. when at last the leaves fell, and the trees were bare, i could watch even from the door of my little hut. the winter was long--the winter is always long up here--from november almost till may--but it did not seem long to me, when she was brought there to my door, even though i might not speak to her. "and so i lived my life with her. the life in that cottage became my life--day by day, week by week, year by year--and she never knew. after that first summer i never but once left the mountain top. all my wants i supplied here. there was much game of every sort, and the fish near by were plentiful. i had a store of meal for the first winter, and during the next summer i cultivated my bit of cleared ground, and produced my full need of grain and vegetables and condiments. one trip i made to a distant village for seeds, and from that day never left the mountain again. "it was during the fifth winter, i think, after i came here, that a group of neighbors gathered in the door-yard of the cottage, and my heart stood still, for i feared that she was dead. the air dazzled that day, but when near evening i saw a woman with a hand to each child re-enter the little house i knew that she still lived--and had been left alone. "oh, then my heart went out to her! day and night i battled with the impulse to go to her, with love and such comfort and protection as i could give. time and again i rose and made ready for the journey to her door. then, oh, then i would remember that i had nothing to offer her--nothing but my love. penniless, and a dying man, likely to become a helpless burden at any time, what could i bring to her but added grief. and perhaps in her unconscious heart she knew. for more than once that winter, when the trees were stripped and the snow was on the hills, i saw her gaze long and long toward this mountain, as if she saw the speck my cabin made, and once when i stretched my arms out to her across the waste of deadly cold, i saw a moment later that her arms, too, were out-stretched, as if somehow she knew that i was there." a low moan interrupted the tale. it was from constance. "don't, oh, don't," she sobbed. "you break my heart!" but a moment later she added, brokenly, "yes, yes--tell me the rest. tell me all. oh, she was so lonely! why did you never go to her?" "i would have gone then. i went mad and cried out, 'my wife! my wife! i want my wife!' and i would have rushed down into the drifts of the mountain, but in that moment the curse of my heritage fell heavily upon me and left me powerless." the hermit's voice had risen--it trembled and died away with the final words. in the light of the fading embers only his outline could be seen--wandering into the dusk and silence. when he spoke again his tone was low and even. "and so the years went by. i saw the sturdy lad toil with his mother for a while, and then alone, and i knew by her slow step that the world was slipping from her grasp. i did not see the end. i might have gone, then, but it came at a time when the gloom hung on the mountains and i did not know. when the air cleared and for days i saw no life, i knew that the little house was empty--that she had followed him to rest. they two, whose birthright had been health and length of days, both were gone, while i, who from the cradle had made death my bed-fellow, still lingered and still linger through the years. "i put the magic glass aside after that for my books. nothing was left me but my daily round, with them for company. yet from a single volume i have peopled all the woods about, and every corner of my habitation. through this forest of arden i have walked with orlando, and with him hung madrigals on the trees, half believing that rosalind might find them. with nick the weaver on a moonlit bank i have waited for titania and puck and all that lightsome crew. on the wild mountain top i have met lear, wandering with only a fool for company, and i have led them in from the storm and warmed them at this hearthstone. in that recess romeo has died with juliet in the capulets' tomb. with me at that table jack falstaff and prince hal have crossed their wit and played each the rã´le of king. yonder, beneath the dim eaves, in the moment just before you came, macbeth had murdered duncan, and i saw him cravenly vanish at the sound of your fearsome knocking. "but what should all this be to you? it is but my shadow world--the only world i had until one day, out of the mist as you have come, so robin came to me--her very self, it seemed--from heaven. at first it lay in my heart to tell him. but the fear of losing him held me back, as i have said. and of himself he told me as little. rarely he referred to the past. only once, when i spoke of kindred, he said that he was an orphan, with only a sister, who had found a home with kind people in a distant land. and with this i was content, for i had wondered much concerning the little girl." the voice died away. the fire had become ashes on the hearth. the drip of the rain had ceased--light found its way through the parchment-covered window. the storm had passed. the hermit's story was ended. neither constance nor frank found words, and for a time their host seemed to have forgotten their presence. then, arousing, he said: "you will wish to be going now. i have detained you too long with my sad tale. but i have always hungered to pour it into some human ear before i died. being young, you will quickly forget and be merry again, and it has lifted a heaviness from my spirit. i think we shall find the sun on the hills once more, and i will direct you to the trail. but perhaps you will wish to pause a moment to see something of my means of providing for life in this retreat. i will ask of you, as i did of robin, to say nothing of my existence here to the people of the world. yet you may convey to robin that you have been here--saying no more than that. and you may say that i would see him when next he builds his campfire not far away, for my heart of hearts grows hungry for his face." rising, he led them to the adjoining room. "this was my first hut," he said. "it is now my storehouse, where, like the squirrels, i gather for the winter. i hoard my grain here, and there is a pit below where i keep my other stores from freezing. there in the corner is my mill--the wooden mortar and pestle of our forefathers--and here you see i have provided for my water supply from the spring. furs have renewed my clothing, and i have never wanted for sustenance--chiefly nuts, fruits and vegetables. i no longer kill the animals, but have made them my intimate friends. the mountains have furnished me with everything--companions, shelter, clothing and food, savors--even salt, for just above a deer lick i found a small trickle from which i have evaporated my supply. year by year i have added to my house--making it, as you have seen, a part of the forest itself--that it might be less discoverable; though chiefly because i loved to build somewhat as the wild creatures build, to know the intimate companionship of the living trees, and to be with the birds and squirrels as one of their household." they passed out into the open air, and to a little plot of cultivated ground shut in by the thick forest. it was an orderly garden, with well-kept paths, and walks of old-fashioned posies. bright and fresh after the summer rain, it was like a gay jewel, set there on the high mountain side, close to the bending sky. it was near sunset, and a chorus of birds were shouting in the tree tops. coming from the dim cabin, with its faded fire and its story of human sorrow, into this bright living place, was stepping from enchantment of the play into the daylight of reality. frank praised the various wonders in a subdued voice, while constance found it difficult to speak at all. presently, when they were ready to go, the hermit brought the basket and the large trout. "you must take so fine a prize home," he said. "i do not care for it." then he looked steadily at constance and added: "the likeness to her i loved eludes me by daylight. it must have been a part of my shadows and my dreams." constance lifted her eyes tremblingly to the thin, fine, weather-beaten face before her. in spite of the ravage of years and illness she saw, beneath it all, the youth of long ago, and she realized what he had suffered. "i thank you for what you have told us to-day," she said, almost inaudibly. "it shall be--it is--very sacred to me." "and to me," echoed frank, holding out his hand. he led them down the steep hillside by a hidden way to the point where the trail crossed the upper brook, just below the fall. "i have sometimes lain concealed here," he said, "and heard mountain climbers go by. perhaps i caught a glimpse of them. i suppose it is the natural hunger one has now and then for his own kind." a moment later he had grasped their hands, bidden them a fervent godspeed, and disappeared into the bushes. the sun was already dipping behind the mountain tops and they did not linger, but rapidly and almost in silence made their way down the mountain. chapter xi during the absence of constance yet the adventure on the mountain was not without its ill effects. it happened that day that mr. and mrs. deane had taken one of their rare walks over to spruce lodge. they had arrived early after luncheon, and learning that frank and constance had not been seen there during the morning, mrs. deane had immediately assured herself that dire misfortune had befallen the absent ones. the possibility of their having missed their way was the most temperate of her conclusions. she had visions of them lying maimed and dying at the foot of some fearful precipice; she pictured them being assailed by wild beasts; she imagined them tasting of some strange mushroom and instantly falling dead as a result. fortunately, the guide who had seen frank set out alone was absent. had the good lady realized that constance might be alone in a forest growing dark with a coming storm, her condition might have become even more serious. as it was, the storm came down and held the deanes at the lodge for the afternoon, during which period mr. deane, who was not seriously disturbed by the absence of the young people, endeavored to convince his wife that it was more than likely they had gone directly to the camp and would be there when the storm was over. the nervous mother was far from reassured, and was for setting out immediately through the rain to see. it became a trying afternoon for her comforters, and the lugubrious croaking of the small woman in black and the unflagging optimism of miss carroway, as the two wandered from group to group throughout the premises, gave the episode a general importance of which it was just as well that the wanderers did not know. yet the storm proved an obliging one to frank and constance, for the sun was on the mountain long before the rain had ceased below, and as they made straight for the deane camp they arrived almost as soon as mrs. deane herself, who, bundled in waterproofs and supported by her husband and an obliging mountain climber, had insisted on setting out the moment the rain ceased. it was a cruel blow not to find the missing ones at the moment of arrival, and even their prompt appearance, in full health and with no tale of misfortune, but only the big trout and a carefully prepared story of being confused in the fog but safely sheltered in the forest, did not fully restore her. she was really ill next day, and carried constance off for a week to lake placid, where she could have medical attention close at hand and keep her daughter always in sight. it began by being a lonely week for frank, for he had been commanded by constance not to come to lake placid, and to content himself with sending occasional brief letters--little more than news bulletins, in fact. yet presently he became less forlorn. he went about with a preoccupied look that discouraged the attentions of miss carroway. for the most part he spent his mornings at the lodge, in his room. immediately after luncheon he usually went for an extended walk in the forest, sometimes bringing up at the deane camp, where perhaps he dined with mr. deane, a congenial spirit, and remained for a game of cribbage, the elder man's favorite diversion. once frank set out to visit the hermitage, but thought better of his purpose, deciding that constance might wish to accompany him there on her return. one afternoon he spent following a trout brook and returned with a fine creel of fish, though none so large as the monster of that first day. robin farnham was absent almost continuously during this period, and edith morrison frank seldom saw, for the last weeks in august brought the height of the season, and the girl's duties were many and imperative. there came no opportunity for the talk he had meant to have with her, and as she appeared always pleasant of manner, only a little thoughtful--and this seemed natural with her responsibilities--he believed that, like himself, she had arrived at a happier frame of mind. and certainly the young man was changed. there was a new light in his eyes, and it somehow spoke a renewed purpose in his heart. even his step and carriage were different. when he went swinging through the forest alone it was with his head thrown back, and sometimes with his arms outspread he whistled and sang to the marvelous greenery above and about him. and he could sing. perhaps his was not a voice that would win fame or fortune for its possessor, but there was in it a note of ecstasy which answered back to the call of the birds, to the shout or moan of the wind, to every note of the forest--that was, in fact, a tone in the deep chord of nature, a lilt in the harmony of the universe. he forgot that his soul had ever been asleep. a sort of child frenzy for the mountains, such as constance had echoed to him that wild day in march, grew upon him and possessed him, and he did not pause to remember that it ever had been otherwise. when the storm came down from the peaks, he strode out into it, and shouted his joy in its companionship, and raced with the wind, and threw himself face down in the wet leaves to smell the ground. and was it no more than the happiness of a lover who believes himself beloved that had wrought this change, or was there in this renewal of the mad joy of living the reopening and the flow of some deep and half-forgotten spring? from that day on the mountain he had not been the same. that morning with its new resolve; the following of the brook which had led him back to boyhood; the capture of the great trout; the battle with the mountain and the mist; the meeting with constance at the top; the hermit's cabin with its story of self-denial and abnegation--its life so close to the very heart of nature, so far from idle pleasure and luxury--with that eventful day had come the change. in his letters to constance, frank did not speak of these things. he wrote of his walks, it is true, and he told her of his day's fishing--also of his visits to her father at the camp--but of any change or regeneration in himself, any renewal of old dreams and effort, he spoke not at all. the week lengthened before constance returned, though it was clear from her letters that she was disinclined to linger at a big conventional hotel, when so much of the summer was slipping away in her beloved forest. from day to day they had expected to leave, she wrote, but as mrs. deane had persuaded herself that the lake placid practitioner had acquired some new and subtle understanding of nerve disorders, they were loath to hurry. the young lady ventured a suggestion that mr. weatherby was taking vast comfort in his freedom from the duties and responsibilities of accompanying a mushroom enthusiast in her daily rambles, especially a very exacting young person, with a predilection for trying new kinds upon him, and for seeking strange and semi-mythical specimens, peculiar to hazy and lofty altitudes. "i am really afraid i shall have to restrain my enthusiasm," she wrote in one of these letters. "i am almost certain that mamma's improvement and desire to linger here are largely due to her conviction that so long as i am here you are safe from the baleful amanita, not to mention myself. besides, it is a little risky, sometimes, and one has to know a very great deal to be certain. i have had a lot of time to study the book here, and have attended a few lectures on the subject. among other things i have learned that certain amanitas are not poison, even when they have the cup. one in particular that i thought deadly is not only harmless, but a delicacy which the romans called 'cã¦sar's mushroom,' and of which one old epicure wrote, 'keep your corn, o libya--unyoke your oxen, provided only you send us mushrooms.'" she went on to set down the technical description from the text-book and a simple rule for distinguishing the varieties, adding, "i don't suppose you will gather any before my return--you would hardly risk such a thing without my superior counsel--but should you do so, keep the rule in mind. it is taken word for word from the book, so if anything happens to you while i am gone, either you or the book will be to blame--not i. when i come back--if i ever do--i mean to try at least a sample of that epicurean delight, which one old authority called 'food of the gods,' provided i can find any of them growing outside of that gruesome 'devil's garden.'" frank gave no especial attention to this portion of her letter. his interest in mushrooms was confined chiefly to the days when constance could be there to expatiate on them in person. in another letter she referred to their adventure on the mountain, and to the fact that frank would be likely to see robin before her return. "you may tell robin farnham," she said, "about our visit to the hermit, and of the message he sent. robin may be going in that direction very soon, and find time to stop there. of course you will be careful not to let anything slip about the tale he told us. i am sure it would make no difference, but i know you will agree with me that his wishes should be sacred. dear me, what a day that was, and how i did love that wonderful house! here, among all these people, in this big modern hotel, it seems that it must have been all really enchantment. perhaps you and robin could make a trip up there together. i know, if there truly is a hermit, he will be glad to see you again. i wonder if he would like to see _me_ again. i brought up all those sad memories. poor old man! my sympathy for him is deeper than you can guess." it happened that robin returned to the lodge that same afternoon. a little later frank found him in the guide's cabin, and recounted to him his recent adventures with constance on the mountain--how they had wandered at last to the hermitage, adding the message which their host had sent to robin himself. the guide listened reflectively, as was his habit. then he said: "it seems curious that you should have been lost up there, just as i was once, and that you should have drifted to the same place. you took a little different path from mine. i followed the chasm to the end, while you crossed on the two logs which the old fellow and i put there afterward to save me time. i usually have to make short visits, because few parties care to stay on mcintyre over night, and it's only now and then that i can get away at all. i have been thinking about the old chap a good deal lately, but i'm afraid it would mean a special trip just now, and it would be hard to find a day for that." "i will arrange it," said frank. "in fact, i have already done so. i spoke to morrison this morning, and engaged you for a day as soon as you got in. i want to make another trip up the mountain, myself. we'll go to-morrow morning--directly to the cabin--and i'll see that you have plenty of time for a good visit. what i want most is another look around the place itself and its surroundings. i may want to construct a place like that some day--in imagination, at least." so it was arranged that the young men should visit the hermitage together. they set out early next morning, following the mcintyre trail to the point below the little fall where the hermit had bidden good-by to mankind so many years before. here they turned aside and ascended the cliff by the hidden path, presently reaching the secluded and isolated spot where the lonely, stricken man had established his domain. as they drew near the curious dwelling, which because of its construction was scarcely noticeable until they were immediately upon it, they spoke in lowered voices, and presently not at all. it seemed to them, too, that there was a hush about the spot which they had not noticed elsewhere. frank recalled the chorus of birds which had filled the little garden with song, and wondered at their apparent absence now. the sun was bright, the sky above was glorious, the gay posies along the garden paths were as brilliant as before, but so far as he could see and hear, the hermit's small neighbors and companions had vanished. "there is a sort of sunday quiet about it," whispered frank. "perhaps the old fellow is out for a ramble, and has taken his friends with him." then he added, "i'll wait here while you go in. if he's there, stay and have your talk with him while i wander about the place a little. later, if he doesn't mind, i will come in." frank directed his steps toward the little garden and let his eyes wander up and down among the beds which the hermit had planted. it was late summer now, and many of the things were already ripening. in a little more the blackening frost would come and the heavy snow drift in. what a strange life it had been there, winter and summer, with only nature and a pageantry of dreams for companionship. there must have been days when, like the lady of shalott, he had cried out, "i am sick of shadows!" and it may have been on such days that he had watched by the trail to hear and perhaps to see real men and women. and when the helplessness of very old age should come--what then? within his mind frank had a half-formed plan to persuade the hermit to return to the companionship of men. there were many retreats now in these hills--places where every comfort and the highest medical skill could be obtained for patients such as he. frank had conceived the idea of providing for the hermit's final days in some such home, and he had partly confided his plan to robin as they had followed the trail together. robin, if anybody, could win the old fellow to the idea. there came the sound of a step on the path behind. the young man, turning, faced robin. there was something in the latter's countenance that caused frank to regard him searchingly. "he is not there, then?" "no, he is not there." "he will be back soon, of course." but robin shook his head, and said with gentle gravity: "no, he will not be back. he has journeyed to a far country." together they passed under the low eaves and entered the curious dwelling. light came through the open door and the parchment-covered window. in the high-backed chair before the hearth the hermit sat, his chin dropped forward on his breast. his years of exile were ended. all the heart-yearning and loneliness had slipped away. he had become one with the shadows among which he had dwelt so long. nor was there any other life in the room. as the birds outside had vanished, so the flitting squirrels had departed--who shall say whither? yet the change had come but recently--perhaps on that very morning--for though the fire had dropped to ashes on the hearth, a tiny wraith of smoke still lingered and drifted waveringly up the chimney. the intruders moved softly about the room without speaking. presently frank beckoned to robin, and pointed to something lying on the table. it was a birch-bark envelope, and in a dark ink, doubtless made from some root or berry, was addressed to robin. the guide opened it and, taking it to the door, read: my dear boy robin: i have felt of late that my time is very near. it is likely that i shall see you no more in this world. it is my desire, therefore, to set down my wishes here while i yet have strength. they are but few, for a life like mine leaves not many desires behind it. it is my wish that such of my belongings as you care to preserve should be yours. they are of little value, but perhaps the field glass and the books may in future years recall the story in which they have been a part. in a little chest you will find some other trifles--a picture or two, some papers that were once valuable to those living in the world of men, some old letters. all that is there, all that is mine and all the affection that lingers in my heart, are yours. yet i must not forget the little girl who was once your sister. if it chance that you meet her again, and if when she knows my story she will care for any memento of this lonely life, you may place some trifle in her hands. it was my story that i had chiefly meant to set down for you, for it is nearer to your own than you suppose. but now, only a few days since, out of my heart i gave it to those who were here and who, perhaps, ere this, have given you my message to come. a young man and a woman they were, and their happiness together led me to speak of old days and of a happiness that was mine. the girl's face stirred me strangely, and i spoke to her fully, as i have long wished, yet feared, to speak to you. you will show her this letter, and she will repeat to you all the tale which i no longer have strength to write. then you will understand why i have been drawn to you so strangely; why i have called you "my dear boy"; why i would that i might call you "son." there is no more--only, when you shall find me here asleep, make me a bed in the corner of my garden, where the hollyhocks come each year, and the squirrels frisk overhead, and the birds sing. lay me not too deeply away from it all, and cover me only with boughs and the cool, gratifying earth which shall soothe away the fever. and bring no stone to mark the place, but only breathe a little word of prayer and leave me in the comfortable dark. neither robin nor frank spoke for a time after the reading of the letter. then faithfully and with a few words they carried out the hermit's wishes. tenderly and gently they bore him to the narrow resting-place which they prepared for him, and when the task was finished they stood above the spot for a little space with bowed heads. after this they returned to the cabin and gathered up such articles of robin's inheritance as they would be able to carry down the mountain--the books and field glass, which had been so much to him; the gun above the mantel, a trout rod and a package of articles from the little chest which they had brought to the door and opened. at the top of the package was a small, cheap ferrotype picture, such as young people are wont to have made at the traveling photographer's. it was of a sweet-faced, merry-lipped girl, and robin scanned it long and thoughtfully. "that is such a face as my mother had when young," he said at last. then turning to frank, "did he know my mother? is that the story?" frank bent his head in assent. "that is the story," he said, "but it is long. besides, it is his wish, i am sure, that another should tell it to you." he had taken from the chest some folded official-looking papers as he spoke, and glanced at them now, first hastily, then with growing interest. they were a quantity of registered bonds--the hermit's fortune, which in a few brief days had become, as he said, but a mockery of scrolled engraving and gaudy seals. frank had only a slight knowledge of such matters, yet he wondered if by any possibility these old securities of a shipwrecked company might be of value to-day. the corporation title, he thought, had a familiar sound. a vague impression grew upon him that this company had been one of the few to be rehabilitated with time; that in some measure at least it had made good its obligations. "suppose you let me take these," he suggested to robin. "they may not be wholly worthless. at least, it will do no harm to send them to my solicitor." robin nodded. he was still regarding the little tintype and the sweet, young face of the mother who had died so long ago. chapter xii constance returns and hears a story "i only told him," frank wrote that night to constance, "that the hermit's story had a part in his mother's life. i suppose i might have told him more, but he seemed quite willing to wait and hear it from you, as suggested by the hermit's letter, and i was only too willing that he should do so. knowing robin, as you have, from childhood, and the sorrow of his early days and all, you are much better fitted to tell the story, and you will tell it much better than i. robin is to leave again to-morrow on a trip over marcy (tahawus, i mean, for i hate these modern names), but will be back by the end of the week, by which time i hope you also will once more make glad these lonesome forest glades. seriously, conny, i long for you much more than perhaps you realize or, i am sure, would permit me to say. and i don't mean to write a love letter now. in the first place, i would not disobey orders to that degree, and even if i did, i know that you would say that it was only because poor old robin gray's story and his death, and all, and perhaps wandering about in these woods alone, had made me a bit sentimental. well, who knows just whence and how emotions come? perhaps you would be right, but if i should tell you that, during the two weeks which have nearly slipped by since that day when we found our way through the mist to the hermit's cabin, my whole point of view has somehow changed, and that, whatever the reasons, i see with different eyes--with a new heart and with an uplifted spirit--perhaps i should be right, too; and if from such a consecration my soul should speak and say, 'dear, my heart, i love you, and i will love you all my days!' it may be that you would believe and understand." whether it was this letter, or the news it contained, or whether mrs. deane's improved condition warranted--from whatever reason, constance and her mother two days later returned to the camp on the au sable. they were given a genuine ovation as they passed the lodge, at which point mr. deane joined them. frank found his heart in a very disturbing condition indeed as he looked once more into miss deane's eyes and took her hand in welcome. later in the day, he deemed it necessary to take a walk in the direction of the camp to see if he could be of any assistance in making the new arrivals comfortable. it was a matter of course that he should remain for dinner, and whatever change may have taken place in him, he certainly appeared on this occasion much like the old light-hearted youth, with little thought beyond the joy of the event and the jest of the moment. but that night, when he parted from constance to take the dark trail home, he did not find it easy to go, nor yet to make an excuse for lingering. the mantle of gayety had somehow slipped away, and as they stood there in the fragrance of the firs, with the sound of falling water coming through the trees, the words he had meant to utter did not come. he spoke at last of their day together on the mountain and of their visit to the hermit's cabin. to both of them it seemed something of a very long time ago. then frank recounted in detail all that had happened that quiet morning when he and robin had visited the place, and spoke of the letter and last wishes of the dead man. "you are sure you do not mind letting me tell robin the story?" she said; "alone, i mean? i should like to do so, and i think he would prefer it." frank looked at her through the dusk. "i want you to do it that way," he said earnestly. "i told you so in my letter. i have a feeling that any third person would be an intruder at such a time. it seems to me that you are the only one to tell him." "yes," she agreed, after a pause, "i am. i--knew robin's mother. i was a little girl, but i remember. oh, you will understand it all, some day." frank may have wondered vaguely why she put it in that way, but he made no comment. his hand found hers in the dusk, and he held it for a moment at parting. "that is a dark way i am going," he said, looking down the trail. "but i shall not even remember the darkness, now that you are here again." constance laughed softly. "perhaps it is my halo that makes the difference." a moment later he had turned to go, but paused to say--casually, it seemed: "by the way, i have a story to read to you--a manuscript. it was written by some one i know, who had a copy mailed me. it came this morning. i am sure the author, whose name is to be withheld for the present, would appreciate your opinion." "and my judgment is to be final, of course. very well; minerva holds her court at ten to-morrow, at the top of yon small mountain, which on the one side slopes to the lake, and on the other overlooks the pleasant valley of decision, which borders the west branch." "and do i meet minerva on the mountain top, or do i call for her at the usual address--that is to say, here?" "you may call for minerva. after her recent period of inactivity she may need assistance over the hard places." frank did, in fact, arrive at the camp next morning almost in time for breakfast. perhaps the habit of early rising had grown upon him of late. perhaps he only wished to assure himself that constance had really returned. even a wish to hear her opinion of the manuscript may have exerted a certain influence. they set out presently, followed by numerous injunctions from mrs. deane concerning fogs and trails and an early return. frank had never ascended this steep little mountain back of the camp, save once by a trail that started from near the lodge. he let constance take the lead. it was a rare morning--one of the first september days, when the early blaze of autumn begins to kindle along the hills, when there is just a spice of frost in the air, when the air and sunlight combine in a tonic that lifts the heart, the soul, almost the body itself, from the material earth. "if you are minerva, then i am mercury," frank declared as they ascended the first rise. "i feel that my feet have wings." then suddenly he paused, for they had come to a little enclosure, where the bushes had been but recently cleared away. there was a gate, and within a small grave, evidently that of a child; also a headstone upon which was cut the single word, "constance." frank started a little as he read the name, and regarded it wonderingly without speaking. then he turned to his companion with inquiry in his face. "that was the first little constance," she said. "i took her place and name. she always loved this spot, so when she died they laid her here. they expected to come back sooner. her mother wanted just the name on the stone." frank had a strange feeling as he regarded the little grave. "i never knew that you had lost a sister," he said. "i mean that your parents had buried a little girl. of course, she died before you were born." "no," she said, "but her death was a fearful blow. mamma can hardly speak of it even to-day. she could never confess that her little girl was dead, so they called me by her name. i cannot explain it all now." frank said musingly: "i remember your saying once that you were not even what you seemed to be. is this what you meant?" she nodded. "yes; that is what i meant." they pushed on up the hill, without many words. the little enclosure and the graven stone had made them thoughtful. arriving at the peak they found, at the brow of a cliff, a broad, shelving stone which hung out over a deep, wooded hollow, where here and there the red and gold were beginning to gleam. from it they could look across toward algonquin, where they tried to locate the spot of the hermit's cabin, and down upon the lake and the lodge, which seemed to lie almost at their feet. at first they merely rested and drank in the glory of the view. then at last frank drew from his pocket a folded typewritten paper. "if the court of minerva is convened, i will lay this matter before her," he said. it was not a story of startling theme that he read to her--"the victory of defeat"; it was only a tale of a man's love, devotion and sacrifice, but it was told so simply, with so little attempt to make it seem a story, that one listening forgot that it was not indeed a true relation, that the people were not living and loving and suffering toward a surrender which rose to triumph with the final page. once only constance interrupted, to say: "your friend is fortunate to have so good a reader to interpret his story. i did not know you had that quality in your voice." he did not reply, and when he had finished reading and laid the manuscript down he waited for her comment. it was rather unexpected. "you must be very fond of the one who wrote that," she said. he looked at her quickly, hardly sure of her meaning. then he smiled. "i am. almost too much so, perhaps." "but why? i think i could love the man who did that story." an expression half quizzical, half gratified, flitted across frank's features. "and if it were written by a woman?" he said. constance did not reply, and the tender look in her face grew a little cold. a tiny bit of something which she did not recognize suddenly germinated in her heart. it was hardly envy--she would have scorned to call it jealousy. she rose--rather hastily, it seemed. "which perhaps accounts for your having read it so well," she said. "i did not realize, and--i suppose such a story might be written by almost any woman except myself." frank caught up the manuscript and poised it like a missile. "another word and it goes over the cliff," he threatened. she caught back his arm, laughing naturally enough. "it is ourselves that must be going over the cliff," she declared. "i am sure mamma is worrying about us already." chapter xiii what the small woman in black saw with september the hurry at the lodge subsided. vacations were beginning to be over--mountain climbers and wood rangers were returning to office, studio and classroom. those who remained were chiefly men and women bound to no regular occupations, caring more for the woods when the crowds of summer had departed and the red and gold of autumn were marching down the mountain side. it had been a busy season at the lodge, and edith morrison's face told the tale. the constant responsibility, and the effort to maintain the standard of entertainment, had left a worn look in her eyes and taken the color from her cheeks. the burden had lain chiefly on her young shoulders. her father was invaluable as an entertainer and had a fund of information, but he was without practical resources, and the strain upon edith had told. if for another reason a cloud had settled on her brow and a shadow had gathered in her heart, she had uttered no word, but had gone on, day by day, early and late, devising means and supervising methods--doing whatever was necessary to the management of a big household through all those busy weeks. little more than the others had she seen robin during those last august days. he had been absent almost constantly. when he returned it was usually late, and such was the demand upon this most popular of adirondack guides that in nearly every case he found a party waiting for early departure. if edith suspected that there were times when he might have returned sooner, when she believed that he had paused at the camp on the west branch of the au sable, she still spoke no word and made no definite outward sign. whatever she brooded in her heart was in that secret and silence which may have come down to her, with those black eyes and that glossy hair, from some old ancestor who silently in his wigwam pointed his arrows and cuddled his resentment to keep it warm. it had happened that during the days when constance had been absent with her mother robin had twice returned at an earlier hour, and this could hardly fail to strengthen any suspicion that might already exist of his fidelity, especially as the little woman in black had commented on the matter in edith's presence, as well as upon the fact that immediately after the return of the absent ones he failed to reach the lodge by daylight. it is a fact well established that once we begin to look for heartache we always find it--and, as well, some one to aid us in the search. not that edith had made a confidante of the sinister-clad little woman. on the whole, she disliked her and was much more drawn toward the good-natured but garrulous old optimist, miss carroway, who saw with clear undistorted vision, and never failed to say a word--a great many words, in fact--that carried comfort because they constituted a plea for the creed of general happiness and the scheme of universal good. had edith sought a confidante merely for the sake of easing her heart, it is likely that it was to this good old spinster that she would have turned. but a nature such as hers does not confide its soul-hurt merely for the sake of consolation. in the beginning, when she had hinted something of it to robin, he had laughed her fears away. then, a little later, she had spoken to frank weatherby, for his sake as well as for her own. he had not laughed, but had listened and reflected, for the time at least; and his manner and his manhood, and that which she considered a bond of sympathy between them, made him the one to whom she must turn, now when the time had come to speak again. there came a day when robin did not go to the woods. in the morning he had been about the lodge and the guides' cabin, of which he was now the sole occupant, greeting edith in his old manner and suggesting a walk later in the day. but the girl pleaded a number of household duties, and presently robin disappeared to return no more until late in the afternoon. when he did appear he seemed abstracted and grave, and went to the cabin to prepare for a trip next morning. frank weatherby, who had been putting in most of the day over some papers in his room, now returning from a run up the hillside to a point where he could watch the sunset, paused to look in, in passing. "miss deane has been telling me the hermit's story," robin said, as he saw who it was. "it seems to me one of the saddest stories i ever heard. my regret is that he did not tell it to me himself, years ago. poor old fellow! as if i would have let it make any difference!" "but he could not be sure," said frank. "you were all in the world to him, and he could not afford to take the chance of losing you." "and to think that all those years he lived up there, watching our struggle. and what a hard struggle it was! poor mother--i wish she might have known he was there!" neither spoke for a time. then they reviewed their visit to the hermitage together, when they had performed the last sad offices for its lonely occupant. next morning robin was away with his party and frank wandered over to the camp, but found no one there besides the servants. he surmised that constance and her parents had gone to visit the little grave on the hillside, and followed in that direction, thinking to meet them. he was nearing the spot when, at a turn in the path, he saw them. he was unobserved, and he saw that constance had her arms about mrs. deane, who was weeping. he withdrew silently and walked slowly back to the lodge, where he spent the rest of the morning over a writing table in his room, while on the veranda the circle of industry--still active, though much reduced as to numbers--discussed the fact that of late mr. weatherby was seen oftener at the lodge, while, on the other hand, constance had scarcely been seen there since her return. the little woman in black shook her head ominously and hinted that she might tell a good deal if she would, an attitude which miss carroway promptly resented, declaring that she had thus far never known her to keep back anything that was worth telling. it was during the afternoon that frank, loitering through a little grove of birches near the boat landing, came face to face with edith morrison. he saw in an instant that she had something to say to him. she was as white as the birches about her, while in her eyes there was the bright, burning look he had seen there once before, now more fierce and intensified. she paused by a mossy-covered bowlder called the "stone seat," and rested her hand upon it. frank saw that she was trembling violently. he started to speak, but she forestalled him. "i have something to tell you," she began, with hurried eagerness. "i spoke of it once before, when i only suspected. now i know. i don't think you believed me then, and i doubted, sometimes, myself. but i do not doubt any longer. we have been fools all along, you and i. they have never cared for us since she came, but only for each other. and instead of telling us, as brave people would, they have let us go on--blinding us so they could blind others, or perhaps thinking we do not matter enough for them to care. oh, you are kind and good, and willing to believe in them, but they shall not deceive you any longer. i know the truth, and i mean that you shall know it, too." out of the varying emotions with which the young man listened to the rapid torrent of words, there came the conviction that without doubt the girl, to have been stirred so deeply, must have seen or heard something which she regarded as definite. he believed that she was mistaken, but it was necessary that he should hear her, in order, if possible to convince her of her error. he motioned her into the seat formed by the bowlder, for she seemed weak from over-excitement. leaning against it, he looked down into her dark, striking face, startled to see how worn and frail she seemed. "miss morrison," he began gently, "you are overwrought. you have had a hard summer, with many cares. perhaps you have not been able to see quite clearly--perhaps things are not as you suppose--perhaps----" she interrupted him. "oh," she said, "i do not suppose--i know! i have known all the time. i have seen it in a hundred ways, only they were ways that one cannot put into words. but now something has happened that anybody can see, and that can be told--something _has_ been seen and told!" she looked up at frank--those deep, burning eyes of hers full of indignation. he said: "tell me just what you mean. what has happened, and who has seen it?" "it was yesterday, in the woods--the woods between here and the camp on the au sable. they were sitting as we are, and he held her hand, and she had been crying. and when they parted he said to her, 'we must tell them. you must get mrs. deane's consent. i am sure edith suspects something, and it isn't right to go on like this. we must tell them.' then--then he kissed her. that--of course----" the girl's voice broke and she could not continue. frank waited a moment, then he said: "and who witnessed this scene?" "mrs. kitcher." "you mean the little woman who dresses in black?" "yes, that is the one." "and you would believe that tale-bearing eavesdropper?" "i must. i have seen so much myself." "then, let me say this. i believe that most of what she told you is false. she may have seen them together. she may have seen him take her hand. i know that miss deane told robin something yesterday that related to his past life, and that it was a sad tale. it might easily bring the tears, and she would give him her hand as an old friend. there may have been something said about his telling you, for there is no reason why you should not know the story. it is merely of an old man who is dead, and who knew robin's mother. so far as anything further, i believe that woman invented it purely to make mischief. one who will spy and listen will do more. i would not believe her on oath--nor must you, either." but edith still shook her head. "oh, you don't know!" she persisted. "there has been much besides. it is all a part of the rest. you have not a woman's intuition, and robin has not a woman's skill in deceiving. there is something--i know there is something--i have seen it all along. and, oh, what should robin keep from me?" "have you spoken to him of it?" "once--about the time you came--he laughed at me. i would hardly mention it again." "yet it seems to me that would be the thing to do," frank reflected aloud. "at least, you can ask him about the story told him by miss deane. you--you may say i mentioned it." edith regarded him in amaze. "and you think i could do that--that i could ask him of anything that he did not tell me of his own accord? will you ask miss deane about that meeting in the woods?" frank shook his head. "i do not need to do so. i know about it." she looked at him quickly--puzzled for the moment as to his meaning--wondering if he, too, might be a part of a conspiracy against her happiness. then she said, comprehending: "no, you only believe. i have not your credulity and faith. i see things as they are, and it is not right that you should be blinded any longer. i had to tell you." she rose with quick suddenness as if to go. "wait," he said. "i am glad you told me. i believe everything is all right, whatever that woman saw. i believe she saw very little, and until you have seen and learned for yourself you must believe that, too. somehow, everything always comes out right. it must, you know, or the world is a failure. and this will come out right. robin will tell you the story when he comes back, and explain everything. i am sure of it. don't let it trouble you for a single moment." he put out his hand instinctively and she took it. her eyes were full of hot tears. it came upon frank in that instant that if mrs. kitcher were watching now she would probably see as much to arouse suspicion as she had seen the day before, and he said so without hesitation. edith made a futile effort to reflect his smile. "yes," she agreed, "but, oh, that was different! there was more, and there has been so much--all along." she left him then, followed by a parting word of reassurance. when she had disappeared he dropped back on the stone seat and sat looking through the trees toward the little boat landing, revolving in his mind the scene just ended. from time to time he applied unpleasant names to the small woman in black, whose real name had proved to be kitcher. what, after all, had she really seen and heard? he believed, very little. certainly not so much as she had told. but then, one by one, certain trifling incidents came back to him--a word here--a look there--the tender speaking of a name--even certain inflections and scarcely perceptible movements--the things which, as edith had said, one cannot put into words. reviewing the matter carefully, he became less certain in his faith. perhaps, after all, edith was right--perhaps there was something between those two; and troubling thoughts took the joy out of the sunlight and the brightness from the dancing waters. the afternoon was already far gone, and during the rest of the day he sat in the little grove of birches above the landing, smoking and revolving many matters in his mind. for a time the unhappiness of edith morrison was his chief thought, and he resolved to go immediately to constance and lay the circumstances fully before her, that she might clear up the misunderstanding and restore general happiness and good will. twice, indeed, he rose to set out for the camp, but each time returned to the stone seat. what if it were really true that a great love had sprung up between constance and robin--a love which was at once a glory and a tragedy--such a love as had brightened and blotted the pages of history since the gods began their sports with humankind and joined them in battle on the plains of troy? what if it were true after all? if it were true, then constance and robin would reveal it soon enough, of their own accord. if it were not true, then edith morrison's wild jealousy would seem absurd to constance, and to robin, who would be obliged to know. frank argued that he had no right to risk for her such humiliation as would result to one of her temperament for having given way to groundless jealousy. these were the reasons he gave himself for not going with the matter to constance. but the real reason was that he did not have the courage to approach her on the subject. for one thing, he would not know how to begin. for another--and this, after all, comprised everything--he was afraid it _might be true_. so he lingered there on the stone seat while the september afternoon faded, the sun slipped down the west, and long, cool mountain shadows gathered in the little grove. if it were true, there was no use of further endeavor. it was for constance, more than for any other soul, living or dead, that he had renewed his purpose in life, that he had recalled old ambitions, re-established old effort. without constance, what was the use? nobody would care--he least of all. if it were true, the few weeks of real life that had passed since that day with her on the mountain, when they had been lost in the mist and found the hermitage together, would remain through the year to come a memory somewhat like that which the hermit had carried with him into the wilderness. like robin gray, he, too, would become a hermit, though in that greater wilderness--the world of men. yet he could be more than robin gray, for with means he could lend a hand. and then he remembered that such help would not be needed, and the thought made the picture in his mind seem more desolate--more hopeless. but suddenly, from somewhere--out of the clear sky of a sub-conscious mind, perhaps--a thought, a resolve, clothed in words, fell upon his lips. "if it is true, and if i can win her love, i will marry edith morrison," he said. chapter xiv what miss carroway did the circle of industry had been minus an important member that afternoon. the small woman in black was there, and a reduced contingent of such auxiliary members as still remained in the wilds, but the chief director and center of affairs, miss carroway, was absent. she had set out immediately after luncheon, and mrs. kitcher had for once enjoyed the privilege of sowing discord, shedding gloom and retailing dark hints, unopposed and undismayed. her opponent, for the time at least, had abandoned the field. miss carroway had set out quietly enough, taking the path around the lake that on the other side joined the trail which led to the deane camp. it was a rare afternoon, and the old lady, carefully dressed, primly curled, and with a bit of knitting in her hand, sauntered leisurely through the sunlit woods toward the west branch. she was a peaceful note in the picture as she passed among the tall spruces, or paused for a moment amid a little grove of maples that were turning red and gold, some of the leaves drifting to her feet. perhaps she reflected that for them, as for her, the summer time was over--that their day of usefulness was nearly ended. perhaps she recalled the days not long ago when the leaves had been fresh and fair with youth, and it may be that the thought brought back her own youth, when she had been a girl, climbing the hills back of haverford--when there had been young men who had thought her as fresh and fair, and one who because of a misunderstanding had gone away to war without a good-bye, and had died at wilson's creek with a bullet through her picture on his heart. as she lingered here and there in the light of these pleasant places, it would have been an easy task to reconstruct in that placid, faded face the beauty of forty years ago, to see in her again the strong, handsome girl who had put aside her own heritage of youth and motherhood to carry the burdens of an invalid sister, to adopt, finally, as her own, the last feeble, motherless infant, to devote her years and strength to him, to guide him step by step to a place of honor among his fellow-men. seeing her now, and knowing these things, it was not hard to accord her a former beauty--it was not difficult even to declare her beautiful still--for something of it all had come back, something of the old romance, of awakened purpose and the tender interest of love. where the trail crossed the au sable falls, she paused and surveyed the place with approval. "that would be a nice place for a weddin'," she reflected aloud. "charlie used to say a piece at school about 'the groves was god's first temples,' an' this makes me think of it." then she forgot her reflections, for a little way beyond the falls, assorting something from a basket, was the object of her visit, constance deane. she had spread some specimens on the grass and was comparing them with the pictures in the book beside her. as miss carroway approached, she greeted her cordially. "welcome to our camp," she said. "i have often wondered why you never came over this way. my parents will be so glad to see you. you must come right up to the house and have a cup of tea." but miss carroway seated herself on the grass beside constance, instead. "i came over to see _you_," she said quietly, "just you alone. i had tea before i started. i want to talk about one or two things a little, an' mebbe to give you some advice." constance smiled and looked down at the mushrooms on the grass. "about those, you mean," she said. "well, i suppose i need it. i find i know less than i thought i did in the beginning." miss carroway shook her head. "no," she admitted; "i've give up that question. i guess the books know more than i do. you ain't dead yet, an' if they was pizen you would 'a' been by this time. it's somethin' else i want to talk about--somethin' that's made a good many people unhappy, includin' me. that was a long time ago, but i s'pose i ain't quite got over it yet." a good deal of the september afternoon slipped away as the two women talked there in the sunshine by the au sable falls. when at last miss carroway rose to go, constance rose, too, and, taking her hand, kissed the old lady on the cheek. "you are sweet and good," she said, "and i wish i could do as much for you as you have done, and are willing to do for me. if i have not confided in you, it is only because i cannot--to-day. but i shall tell you all that there is to tell as soon--almost as soon--as i tell any one. it may be to-morrow, and i promise you that there shall be no unhappiness that i can help." "things never can be set straight too soon," said the old lady. "i've had a long time to think of that." miss deane's eyes grew moist. "oh, i thank you for telling me your story!" she said. "it is beautiful, and you have lived a noble life." the shadows had grown deeper in the woods as miss carroway followed a path back to the lake, and so around to the lodge. the sun had vanished from the tree tops, and some of the light and reflex of youth had faded from the old lady's face. perhaps she was a little weary with her walk, and it may be a little disappointed at what she had heard, or rather what she had not heard, in her talk with constance deane. at the end of the lake she followed the path through the little birch grove and came upon frank weatherby, where he mused, on the stone seat. miss carroway paused as he rose and greeted her. "i just come from a good walk," she said peacefully. "i've been over to the deanes' camp. it's a pretty place." frank nodded. "i suppose you saw the family," he said. "no; only miss deane. she was studyin' tudstools, but i guess they wa'n't pizen. i guess she knows 'em." frank made no comment on this remark, and the old lady looked out on the lake a moment and added, as one reflecting aloud on a matter quite apart from the subject in hand: "if i was a young man and had anything on my mind, i'd go to the one it was about and get it off as quick as i could." then she started on up the path, frank stepping aside to let her pass. as he did so, he lifted his hat and said: "i think that is good advice, miss carroway, and i thank you for it." but he dropped back on the seat when she was gone, and sat staring out on the water, that caught and gave back the colors of the fading sky. certainly it was good advice, and he would act on it--to-morrow, perhaps--not to-day. then he smiled, rather quaintly. "i wonder who will be next on the scene," he thought. "first, the injured girl. then the good old busybody, whose mission it is to help things along. it would seem about time for the chief characters to appear." once the sun is gone, twilight gathers quickly in the hills. the color blended out of the woods, the mountains around the lake faded into walls of tone, a tide of dusk crept out of the deeper forest and enclosed the birches. only the highest mountain peaks, algonquin and tahawus, caught the gold and amethyst of day's final tokens of good-bye. then that faded, and only the sky told the story to the lake, that repeated it in its heart. from among the shadows on the farther side a boat drifted into the evening light. it came noiselessly. frank's eye did not catch it until it neared the center of the lake. then presently he recognized the silhoueted figures, holding his breath a little as he watched them to make sure. evidently robin had returned with his party and stopped by the deane camp. frank's anticipation was to be realized. the chief characters in the drama were about to appear. propelled by robin's strong arms, the adirondack canoe shot quickly to the little dock. a moment later the guide took a basket handed to him and assisted his two passengers, constance and mrs. deane, to land. as they stood on the dock they were in the half dusk, yet clearly outlined against the pale-green water behind. frank wondered what had brought mrs. deane to the lodge. probably the walk and row through the perfect evening. the little group was but a few yards distant, but it never occurred to frank that he could become an eavesdropper. the presence of mrs. deane would have dispelled any such idea, even had it presented itself. he watched them without curiosity, deciding that when they passed the grove of birches he would step out and greet them. for the moment, at least, most of his recent doubts were put aside. but all at once he saw constance turn to her mother and take her hands. "you are sure you are willing that we should make it known to-night?" she said. and quite distinctly on that still air came the answer: "yes, dear. i have kept you and robin waiting long enough. after all, robin is more to you than i am," and the elder woman held out her hand to robin farnham, who, taking it, drew closer to the two. then the girl's arms were about her mother's neck, but a moment later she had turned to robin. "after to-night we belong to each other," she said. "how it will surprise everybody," and she kissed him fairly on the lips. it had all happened so quickly--so unexpectedly--they had been so near--that frank could hardly have chosen other than to see and hear. he sat as one stupefied while they ascended the path, passing within a few feet of the stone seat. he was overcome by the suddenness of the revelation, even though the fact had been the possibility in his afternoon's brooding. also, he was overwhelmed with shame and mortification that he should have heard and seen that which had been intended for no ears and eyes but their own. how fiercely he had condemned mrs. kitcher, who, it would seem, had been truthful, after all, and doubtless even less culpable in her eavesdropping. he told himself that he should have turned away upon the first word spoken by constance to her mother. then he might not have heard and seen until the moment when they had intended that the revelation should be made. that was why mrs. deane had come--to give dignity and an official air to the news. he wondered if he and edith were to be told privately, or if the bans were to be announced to a gathered company, as in the old days when they were published to church congregations. and edith--what would it mean to her--what would she do? oh, there was something horrible about it all--something impossible--something that the brain refused to understand. he did not see or hear the figure that silently--as silently as an indian--from the other end of the grove stole up the incline toward the lodge, avoiding the group, making its way to the rear by another path. he only sat there, stunned and hopeless, in the shadows. the night air became chill and he was growing numb and stiff from sitting in one position. still he did not move. he was trying to think. he would not go to the lodge. he would not be a spectacle. he would not look upon, or listen to, their happiness. he would go away at once, to-night. he would leave everything behind and, following the road to lake placid, would catch an early train. then he remembered that he had said he would marry edith morrison if he could win her love. but the idea had suddenly grown impossible. edith--why, edith would be crushed in the dust--killed. no, oh, no, that was impossible--that could not happen--not now--not yet. he recalled, too, what he had resolved concerning a life apart, such a life as the hermit had led among the hills, and he thought his own lot the more bitter, for at least the hermit's love had been returned and it was only fate that had come between. yet he would be as generous. they would not need his help, but through the years he would wish them well--yes, he could do that--and he would watch from a distance and guard their welfare if ever time of need should come. long through the dark he sat there, unheeding the time, caring nothing that the sky had become no longer pale but a deep, dusky blue, while the lake carried the stars in its bosom. chapter xv edith and frank it may have been an hour--perhaps two of them--since robin with constance and her mother had passed him on the way to the lodge, when suddenly frank heard some one hurrying down the path. it was the rustle of skirts that he heard, and he knew that it was a woman running. just at the little grove of birches she stopped and seemed to hesitate. in the silence of the place he could hear her breath come pantingly, as from one laboring under heavy excitement. then there was a sort of sobbing moan, and a moment later a voice that he scarcely recognized as that of edith morrison, so full of wild anguish it was, called his name. he had already risen, and was at her side in an instant. "what is it?" he demanded; "tell me everything--tell me quickly!" "oh," she wailed, "i knew you must be here. they couldn't find you, and i knew why. i knew you had been here, and had seen what i saw, and heard what i heard. oh, you must go to her--you must go at once!" she had seized his arm with both hands, shaking with a storm of emotion--of terror, it seemed--her eyes burning through the dark. "when i saw that, i went mad," she raved on. "i saw everything through a black mist, and out of it the devil came and tempted me. he put the means in my hands to destroy my enemy, and i have done it--oh, i have done it! you said it was the devil's garden, and it is! oh, it is his--i know it! i know it!" the girl was fairly beside herself--almost incoherent--but there was enough in her words and fierce excitement to fill frank with sudden apprehension. "what is it you have done?" he demanded. "tell me what you mean by the devil tempting you to destroy your enemy. what have you done?" a wave of passion, anguish, remorse broke over her, and she clung to him heavily. she could not find voice at first. when she did, it had become a shuddering whisper. "i have killed her!" she managed to gasp. "i have killed her! i did it with the yellow danger--you remember--the yellow danger--that day in the devil's garden--that poison one--that deadly one with the cup--there were some among those she brought to-night. she must have left them there by mistake. i knew them--i remembered that day--and, oh, i have been there since. but i was about to throw them away when the devil came from his garden and tempted me. he said no one could ever suspect or blame me. i put one of the deadly ones among those that went to her place at dinner. when it was too late i was sorry. i realized, all at once, that i was a murderer and must not live. so i ran down here to throw myself in the lake. then i remembered that you were here, and that perhaps you could do something to save her. oh, she doesn't know! she is happy up there, but she is doomed. you must help her! you must! oh, i do not want to die a murderer! i cannot do that--i cannot!" the girl's raving had been in part almost inaudible, but out of it the truth came clearly. constance had brought some mushrooms to the lodge, and these, as usual, had been sent in to edith to prepare. among them edith had found some which she recognized as those declared by constance to be deadly, and these she had allowed to go to constance's plate. later, stricken with remorse, she had rushed out to destroy herself, and was now as eager to save her victim. all this rushed through frank's brain in an instant, and for a moment he remembered only that day in the devil's garden, and the fact that a deadly fungus which constance had called the yellow danger was about to destroy her life. but then, in a flash, came back the letter, written from lake placid, in which constance had confessed a mistake, and referred to a certain amanita which she had thought poisonous as a choice edible mushroom, called by the ancients "food of the gods." he remembered now that this was the orange amanita or "yellow danger," and a flood of hope swept over him; but he must be certain of the truth. "miss morrison," he said, in a voice that was at once gentle and grave, "this is a bitter time for us all. but you must be calm, and show me, if you can, one of those yellow mushrooms you did not use. i have reason to hope that they are not the deadly ones after all. but take me where i can see them, at once." his words and tone seemed to give the girl new strength and courage. "oh, don't tell me that unless it is true!" she pleaded. "don't tell me that just to get me to go back to the lodge! oh, i will do anything to save her! come--yes--come, and i will show them to you!" she started hurriedly in the direction of the lodge, frank keeping by her side. as they neared the lights she seized his arm and detained him an instant. "you will not let her die?" she trembled, her fear returning. "she is so young and beautiful--you will not let her die? i will give up robin, but she must not die." he spoke to her reassuringly, and they pushed on, making a wide detour which brought them to the rear of the lodge. through the window they saw the servants still passing to and fro into the dining-room serving a few belated guests. from it a square of light penetrated the woods behind, and on the edge of this they paused--the girl's eyes eagerly scanning the ground. "i hid them here," she said. "i did not put them in the waste, for fear some one would see them." presently she knelt and brushed aside the leaves. something like gold gleamed before her and she seized upon it. a moment later she had uncovered another similar object. "there," she said chokingly; "there they are! tell me--tell me quick! are they the deadly ones?" he gave them a quick glance in the light, then he said: "i think not, but i cannot be sure here. come with me to the guide's cabin. it was dark as we came up, but it was open. i will strike a light." they hurried across to the little detached cabin and pushed in. frank struck a match and lit a kerosene bracket lamp. then he laid the two yellow mushrooms on the table beneath it, and from an inner pocket drew a small and rather mussed letter and opened it--his companion watching every movement with burning eager eyes. "this is a letter from miss deane," he said, "written me from lake placid. in it she says that she made a mistake about the orange amanita that she called the yellow danger. these are her words--a rule taken from the book: "'_if the cup of the yellow amanita is present, the plant is harmless. if the cup is absent, it is poisonous._'" he bent forward and looked closely at the specimens before him. "that is surely the cup," he said. "she gathered these and put them among the others by intention, knowing them to be harmless. she is safe, and you have committed no crime." his last words fell on insensate ears. edith drew a quick breath that was half a cry, and an instant later frank saw that she was reeling. he caught her and half lifted her to a bench by the door, where she lay insensible. an approaching step caught frank's ear and, as he stepped to the door, robin farnham, who had seen the light in the cabin, was at the entrance. a startled look came into his eyes as he saw edith's white face, but frank said quietly: "miss morrison has had a severe shock--a fright. she has fainted, but i think there is no danger. i will remain while you bring a cup of water." there was a well at the end of the lodge, and robin returned almost immediately with a filled cup. already edith showed signs of returning consciousness, and frank left the two, taking his way to the veranda, where he heard the voices of constance and her mother, mingled with that of miss carroway. he ascended the steps with a resolute tread and went directly to constance, who came forward to meet him. "and where did you come from?" she demanded gayly. "we looked for you all about. mamma and i came over on purpose to dine with you, and i brought a very especial dish, which i had all to myself. still, we did miss you, and miss carroway has been urging us to send out a searching party." frank shook hands with mrs. deane and miss carroway, apologizing for his absence and lateness. then he turned to constance, and together they passed down to the further end of the long veranda. neither spoke until they were out of earshot of the others. then the girl laid her hand gently on her companion's arm. "i have something to tell you," she began. "i came over on purpose--something i have been wanting to say a long time, only----" he interrupted her. "i know," he said; "i can guess what it is. that was why i did not come sooner. i came now because i have something to say to you. i did not intend to come at all, but then something happened and--i have changed my mind. i will only keep you a moment." his voice was not quite steady, but grave and determined, with a tone in it which the girl did not recognize. her hand slipped from his arm. "tell me first," he went on, "if you are quite sure that the mushrooms you brought for dinner--all of them--the yellow ones--are entirely harmless." certainly this was an unexpected question. something in the solemn manner and suddenness of it may have seemed farcical. for an instant she perhaps thought him jesting, for there was a note of laughter in her voice as she replied: "oh, yes; quite certain. those are the cã¦sar mushrooms--food of the gods--i brought them especially for you. but how did you know of them?" he did not respond to this question, nor to her light tone. "miss deane," he went on, "i know perfectly well what you came here to say. i happened to be in the little grove of birches to-night when you landed with your mother and robin farnham, and i saw and heard what took place on the dock, almost before i realized that i was eavesdropping. unfortunately, though i did not know it then, another saw and heard, as well, and the shock of it was such that it not only crushed her spirit but upset her moral balance for the time. you will know, of course, that i refer to edith morrison. she had to know, and perhaps no one is to blame for her suffering--and mine; only it seems unfortunate that the revelation should have come just as it did rather than in the gentler way which you perhaps had planned." he paused a moment to collect words for what he had to say next. constance was looking directly at him, though her expression was lost in the dusk. her voice, however, was full of anxiety. "there is a mistake," she began eagerly. "oh, i will explain, but not now. where is edith? tell me first what has happened to edith." "i will do that, presently. she is quite safe. the man she was to marry is with her. but first i have something to say--something that i wish to tell you before--before i go. i want to say to you in all honesty that i consider robin farnham a fine, manly fellow--more worthy of you than i--and that i honor you in your choice, regretting only that it must bring sorrow to other hearts. i want to confess to you that never until after that day upon the mountain did i realize the fullness of my love for you--that it was all in my life that was worth preserving--that it spoke to the best there was in me. i want you to know that it stirred old ambitions and restored old dreams, and that i awoke to renewed effort and to the hope of achievement only because of you and of your approval. the story i read to you that day on the mountain was my story. i wrote it those days while you were away. it was the beginning of a work i hoped to make worth while. i believed that you cared, and that with worthy effort i could win you for my own. i had robin gray's character in mind for my hero, not dreaming that i should be called upon to make a sacrifice on my own account, but now that the time is here i want you to know that i shall try not to make it grudgingly or cravenly, but as manfully as i can. i want to tell you from my heart and upon my honor that i wish you well--that if ever the day comes when i can be of service to you or to him, i will do whatever lies in my power and strength. it is not likely such a time will ever come, for in the matter of means you will have ample and he will have enough. those bonds which poor old robin gray believed worthless all these years have been restored to their full value, and more; and, even if this were not true, robin farnham would make his way and command the recognition and the rewards of the world. what will become of my ambition i do not know. it awoke too late to mean anything to you, and the world does not need my effort. as a boy, i thought it did, and that my chances were all bright ahead. but once, a long time ago, in these same hills, i gave my lucky piece to a little mountain girl, and perhaps i gave away my opportunities with it, and my better strength. now, there is no more to say except god bless you and love you, as i always will." and a moment later he added: "i left miss morrison with robin farnham in the guide's cabin. if she is not there you will probably find her in her room. be as kind to her as you can. she needs everything." he held out his hand then, as if to leave her. but she took it and held it fast. he felt that hers trembled. "you are brave and true," she said, "and you cannot go like this. you will not leave the lodge without seeing me again. promise me you will not. i have something to say to you--something it is necessary you should know. it is quite a long story and will take time. i cannot tell it now. promise me that you will walk once more with me to-morrow morning. i will go now to edith; but promise me what i ask. you must." "it is not fair," he said slowly, "but i promise you." "you need not come for me," she said. "our walk will be in the other direction. i will meet you here quite early." he left her at the entrance of the wide hall and, ascending to his room, began to put his traps together in readiness for departure by stage next day. constance descended the veranda steps and crossed over to the guides' cabin, where a light still shone. as she approached the open door she saw edith and robin sitting on the bench, talking earnestly. edith had been crying, but appeared now in a calmer frame of mind. robin held both her hands in his, and she made no apparent attempt to withdraw them. then came the sound of footsteps and constance stood in the doorway. for a moment edith was startled. then, seeing who it was, she sprang up and ran forward with extended arms. "forgive me! oh, forgive me!" she cried; "i did not know! i did not know!" chapter xvi the lucky piece true to her promise, constance was at the lodge early next morning. frank, a trifle pale and solemn, waited on the veranda steps. yet he greeted her cheerfully enough, for the circle of industry, daily dwindling in numbers but still a quorum, was already in session, and miss carroway and the little woman in black had sharp eyes and ears. constance went over to speak to this group. with miss carroway she shook hands. frank lingered by the steps, waiting for her, but instead of returning she disappeared into the lodge and was gone several minutes. "i wanted to see miss morrison," she exclaimed, in a voice loud enough for all to hear. "she did not seem very well last night. i find she is much better this morning." frank did not make any reply, or look at her. he could not at all comprehend. they set out in the old way, only they did not carry the basket and book of former days, nor did the group on the veranda call after them with warning and advice. but miss carroway looked over to the little woman in black with a smile of triumph. and mrs. kitcher grimly returned the look with another which may have meant "wait and see." a wonderful september morning had followed the perfect september night. there was a smack of frost in the air, but now, with the flooding sunlight, the glow of early autumn and the odors of dying summer time, the world seemed filled with anodyne and glory. frank and constance followed the road a little way and then, just beyond the turn, the girl led off into a narrow wood trail to the right--the same they had followed that day when they had visited the devil's garden. she did not pause for that now. she pushed ahead as one who knew her ground from old acquaintance, with that rapid swinging walk of hers which seemed always to make her a part of these mountains, and their uncertain barricaded trails. frank followed behind, rarely speaking save to comment upon some unusual appearance in nature--wondering at her purpose in it all, realizing that they had never continued so far in this direction before. they had gone something less than a mile, perhaps, when they heard the sound of tumbling water, and a few moments later were upon the banks of a broad stream that rushed and foamed between the bowlders. frank said, quietly: "this is like the stream where i caught the big trout--you remember?" "it is the same," she said, "only that was much farther up. come, we will cross." he put out his hand as if to assist her. she did not take it, but stepped lightly to a large stone, then to another and another--springing a little to one side here, just touching a bowlder all but covered with water there, and so on, almost more rapidly than frank could follow--as one who knew every footing of that uncertain causeway. they were on the other side presently, and took up the trail there. "i did not know you were so handy crossing streams," said frank. "i never saw you do it before." "but that was not hard. i have crossed many worse ones. perhaps i was lighter of foot then." they now passed through another stretch of timber, constance still leading the way. the trail was scarcely discernible here and there, as one not often used, but she did not pause. they had gone nearly a mile farther when a break of light appeared ahead, and presently they came to a stone wall and a traveled road. constance did not scale the wall, but seated herself on it as if to rest. a few feet away frank leaned against the barrier, looking at the road and then at his companion, curious but silent. presently constance said: "you are wondering what i have to tell you, and why i have brought you all this way to tell it. also, how i could follow the trail so easily--aren't you?" and she smiled up at him in the old way. "yes," admitted frank; "though as for the trail, i suppose you must have been over it before--some of those times before i came." she nodded. "that is true. you were not here when i traveled this trail before. it was robin who came with me the last time. but that was long ago--almost ten years." "you have a good memory." "yes, very good--better than yours. that is why i brought you here to-day--to refresh your memory." there was something of the old banter in her voice, and something in her expression, inscrutable though it was, that for some reason set his heart to beating. he wondered if she could be playing with him. he could not understand, and said as much. "you brought me here to tell me a story," he concluded. "isn't that what you said? i shall miss the lake placid hack if we do not start back presently." again that inscrutable, disturbing look. "is it so necessary that you should start to-day?" she asked. "mr. meelie, i am sure, will appreciate your company just as much another time. and to-day is ours." that look--it kept him from saying something bitter then. "the story--you are forgetting it," he said, quietly. "no, i am not forgetting." the banter had all gone out of her voice, and it had become gentle--almost tender. a soft, far-away look had come into her eyes. "i am only trying to think how to tell it--how to begin. i thought perhaps you might help me--only you don't--your memory is so poor." he had no idea of her meaning now, and ventured no comment. "you do not help me," she went on. "i must tell my little story alone. after all, it is only a sequel--do you care for sequels?" there was something in her face just then that, had it not been for all that had come between them, might have made him take her in his arms. "i--i care for what you are about to tell," he said. she regarded him intently, and a great softness came into her eyes. "it is the sequel of a story we heard together," she began, "that day on mcintyre, in the hermit's cabin. you remember that he spoke of the other child--a little girl--hers. this is the story of that little girl. you have heard something of her already--how the brother toiled for her and his mother--how she did not fully understand the bitterness of it all. yet she tried to help--a little. she thought of many things. she had dreams that grew out of the fairy book her mother used to read to her, and she looked for aladdin caves among the hills, and sometimes fancied herself borne away by the wind and the sea to some far eastern land where the people would lay their treasures at her feet. but more than all she waited for the wonderful fairy prince who would one day come to her with some magic talisman of fortune which would make them all rich, and happy ever after. "yet, while she dreamed, she really tried to help in other ways--little ways of her own--and in the summer she picked berries and, standing where the stage went by, she held them out to the tourists who, when the stage halted, sometimes bought them for a few pennies. oh, she was so glad when they bought them--the pennies were so precious--though it meant even more to her to be able to look for a moment into the faces of those strangers from another world, and to hear the very words that were spoken somewhere beyond the hills." she paused, and frank, who had leaned a bit nearer, started to speak, but she held up her hand for silence. "one day, when the summer was over and all the people were going home--when she had gathered her last few berries, for the bushes were nearly bare--she stood at her place on the stone in front of the little house at the top of the hill, waiting for the stage. but when it came, the people only looked at her, for the horses did not stop, but galloped past to the bottom of the hill, while she stood looking after them, holding that last saucer of berries, which nobody would buy. "but at the foot of the hill the stage did stop, and a boy, oh, such a handsome boy and so finely dressed, leaped out and ran back all the way up the hill to her, and stood before her just like the prince in the fairy tales she had read, and told her he had come to buy her berries. and then, just like the prince, he had only an enchanted coin--a talisman--his lucky piece. and this he gave to her, and he made her take it. he took her hand and shut it on the coin, promising he would come for it again some day, when he would give her for it anything she might wish, asking only that she keep it safe. and then, like the prince, he was gone, leaving her there with the enchanted coin. oh, she hardly dared to look, for fear it might not be there after all. but when she opened her hand at last and saw that it had not vanished, then she was sure that all the tales were true, for her fairy prince had come to her at last." again frank leaned forward to speak, a new light shining in his face, and again she raised her hand to restrain him. "you would not help me," she said, "your memory was so poor. now, you must let me tell the story. "the child took the wonderful coin to her mother. i think she was very much excited, for she wept and sobbed over the lucky talisman that was to bring fortune for them all. and i know that her mother, pale, and in want, and ill, kissed her and smiled, and said that now the good days must surely come. "they did not come that winter--a wild winter of fierce cold and terrible storms. when it was over and the hills were green with summer, the tired mother went to sleep one day, and so found her good fortune in peace and rest. "but for the little girl there came a fortune not unlike her dreams. that year a rich man and woman had built a camp in the hills. there was no lodge, then; everything was wild, and supplies hard to get. the child's brother sold vegetables to the camp, sometimes letting his little sister go with him. and because she was of the same age as a little girl of the wealthy people, now and then they asked her to spend the day, playing, and her brother used to come all the way for her again at night. there was one spot on the hillside where they used to play--an open, sunny place that they loved best of all--and this they named their garden of delight; and it was truly that to the little girl of the hills who had never had such companionship before. "but then came a day when a black shadow lay on the garden of delight, for the little city child suddenly fell ill and died. oh, that was a terrible time. her mother nearly lost her mind, and was never quite the same again. she would not confess that her child was dead, and she was too ill to be taken home to the city, so a little grave was made on the hillside where the children had played together, and by and by the feeble woman crept there to sit in the sun, and had the other little girl brought there to play, as if both were still living. it was just then that the mother of robin and his little sister died, and the city woman, when she heard of it, said to the little girl: 'you have no mother and i have no little girl. i will be your mother and you shall be my little girl. you shall have all the dresses and toys; even the name--i will give you that.' she would have helped the boy, too, but he was independent, even then, and would accept nothing. then she made them both promise that neither would ever say to any one that the little girl was not really hers, and she made the little girl promise that she would not speak of it, even to her, for she wanted to make every one, even herself, believe that the child was really hers. she thought in time it might take the cloud from her mind, and i believe it did, but it was years before she could even mention the little dead girl again. and the boy and his sister kept their promise faithfully, though this was not hard to do, for the rich parents took the little girl away. they sailed across the ocean, just as she had expected to do some day, and she had beautiful toys and dresses and books, just as had always happened in the fairy tales. "they did not come back from across the ocean. the child's foster father had interests there and could remain abroad for most of the year, and the mother cared nothing for america any more. so the little girl grew up in another land, and did not see her brother again, and nobody knew that she was not really the child of the rich people, or, if any did know, they forgot. "but the child remembered. she remembered the mountains and the storms, and the little house at the top of the hill, and her mother, and the brother who had stayed among the hills, and who wrote now and then to tell them he was making his way. but more than all she remembered the prince--her knight she called him as she grew older--because it seemed to her that he had been so noble and brave to come back up the hill and give her his lucky piece that had brought her all the fortune. always she kept the coin for him, ready when he should call for it, and when she read how elaine had embroidered a silken covering for the shield of launcelot, she also embroidered a little silken casing for the coin and wore it on her neck, and never a day or night did she let it go away from her. some day she would meet him again, and then she must have it ready, and being a romantic schoolgirl, she wondered sometimes what she might dare to claim for it in return. for he would be a true, brave knight, one of high purpose and noble deeds; and by day the memory of the handsome boy flitted across her books, and by night she dreamed of him as he would some day come to her, all shining with glory and high resolve." again she paused, this time as if waiting for him to speak. but now he only stared at the bushes in front of him, and she thought he had grown a little pale. she stepped across the wall into the road. "come," she said; "i will tell you the rest as we walk along." he followed her over the wall. they were at the foot of a hill, at the top of which there was a weather-beaten little ruin, once a home. he recognized the spot instantly, though the hill seemed shorter to him, and less steep. he turned and looked at her. "my memory has all come back," he said; "i know all the rest of the story." "but i must tell it to you. i must finish what i have begun. the girl kept the talisman all the years, as i have said, often taking it out of the embroidered case to study its markings, which she learned to understand. and she never lost faith in it, and she never failed to believe that one day the knight with the brave, true heart would come to claim it and to fulfill his bond. "and by and by her school-days were ended, and then her parents decided to return to their native land. the years had tempered the mother's sorrow, and brought back a measure of health. so they came back to america, and for the girl's sake mingled with gay people, and by and by, one day--it was at a fine place and there were many fine folk there--she saw him. she saw the boy who had been her fairy prince--who had become her knight--who had been her dream all through the years. "she knew him instantly, for he looked just as she had known he would look. he had not changed, only to grow taller, more manly and more gentle--just as she had known he would grow with the years. she thought he would come to her--that like every fairy prince, he must know--but when at last he stood before her, and she was trembling so that she could hardly stand, he bowed and spoke only as a stranger might. he had forgotten--his memory was so poor. "yet something must have drawn him to her. for he came often to where she was, and by and by they rode and drove and golfed together over the hills, during days that were few but golden, for the child had found once more her prince of the magic coin--the knight who did not remember, yet who would one day win his coin--and again she dreamed, this time of an uplifting, noble life, and of splendid ambitions realized together. "but, then, little by little, she became aware that he was not truly a knight of deeds--that he was only a prince of pleasure, poor of ambition and uncertain of purpose--that he cared for little beyond ease and pastime, and that perhaps his love-making was only a part of it all. this was a rude awakening for the girl. it made her unhappy, and it made her act strangely. she tried to rouse him, to stimulate him to do and to be many things. but she was foolish and ignorant and made absurd mistakes, and he only laughed at her. she knew that he was strong and capable and could be anything he chose, if he only would. but she could not choose for him, and he seemed willing to drift and would not choose for himself. "then, by and by, she returned to her beloved mountains. she found the little cottage at the hill-top a deserted ruin, the garden of delight with its little grave was overgrown. there was one recompense. the brother she had not seen since her childhood had become a noble, handsome man, of whom she could well be proud. no one knew that he was her brother, and she could not tell them, though perhaps she could not avoid showing her affection and her pride in him, and these things were misunderstood and caused suspicion and heartache and bitterness. "yet the results were not all evil, for out of it there came a moment when she saw, almost as a new being, him who had been so much a part of her life so long." they were nearly at the top of the hill now. but a little more and they would reach the spot where ten years before the child with the saucer of berries had waited for the passing stage. "he had awakened at last," she went on, "but the girl did not know it. she did not realize that he had renewed old hopes and ambitions; that some feeling in his heart for her had stirred old purposes into new resolves. he did not tell her, though unconsciously she may have known, for after a day of adventure together on the hills something of the old romance returned, and her old ideal of knighthood little by little seemed about to be restored. and then, all at once, it came--the hour of real trial, with a test of which she could not even have dreamed--and he stood before her, glorified." they were at the hill-top. the flat stone in front of the tumbled house still remained. as they reached it she stopped, and turning suddenly stretched out her hand to him, slowly opening it to disclose a little silken case. her eyes were wet with tears. "oh, my dear!" she said. "here, where you gave me the talisman, i return it. i have kept it for you all the years. it brought me whatever the world had to give--friends, fortune, health. you did not claim it, dear; but it is yours, and in return, oh, my fairy prince--my true knight--i claim the world's best treasure--a brave man's faithful love!" epilogue it is a lonely thoroughfare, that north elba road. not many teams pass to and fro, and the clattering stage was still a mile away. the eternal peaks alone looked down upon these two, for it is not likely that even the leveled glass of any hermit of the mountain-tops saw what passed between them. only, from algonquin and tahawus there came a gay little wind--the first brisk puff of autumn--and frolicking through a yellow tree in the forsaken door-yard it sent fluttering about them a shower of drifting gold. the end note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 13455-h.htm or 13455-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/3/4/5/13455/13455-h/13455-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/3/4/5/13455/13455-h.zip) the rover boys in the mountains or, a hunt for fun and fortune by arthur m. winfield author of "the rover boys at school," "the rover boys on the ocean," "the rover boys in the jungle," "the rover boys out west," "the rover boys on the great lakes," etc. 1902 [illustration: dinner on the way.--_frontis_. _rover boys in the mountains_.] by the same author the rover boys on the river; or, the search for the missing houseboat. the rover boys in camp; or, the rivals of pine island. the rover boys on land and sea; or, the crusoes of seven islands. the rover boys in the mountains; or, a hunt for fun and fortune. the rover boys on the great lakes; or, the secret of the island cave. the rover boys out west; or, the search for a lost mine. the rover boys in the jungle; or, stirring adventures in africa. the rover boys on the ocean; or, a chase for a fortune. the rover boys at school; or, the cadets of putnam hall. 12mo, finely illustrated and bound in cloth. price, per volume, 60 cents. contents. i. the boys of putnam hall ii. a glimpse at the past iii. tom on a tour of discovery iv. dormitory number two v. a scene in the schoolroom vi. news of an old enemy vii. something of a surprise viii. jasper grinder is dismissed ix. a race on the ice, and what followed x. the end of the term xi. home for the holidays xii. the brass-lined money casket xiii. the heart of the adirondacks xiv. the start up the river xv. wild turkeys xvi. on the wrong trail xvii. an unexpected discovery xviii. in the camp of the enemy xix. dick and the wildcat xx. bear pond at last xxi. a pair of prisoners xxii. jasper grinder tries to make terms xxiii. the black bear xxiv. together again xxv. snowed in xxvi. an unwelcome comrade xxvii. bringing down two bears xxviii. two failures xxix. jasper grinder and the wolves xxx. a successful search--conclusion introduction. my dear boys: "the rover boys in the mountains" is a complete story in itself, but forms the sixth volume of the "rover boys series for young americans." this series of books for wide-awake american lads was begun several years ago with the publication of "the rover boys at school." at that time the author had in mind to write not more than three volumes, relating the adventures of dick, tom, and sam rover at putnam hall, "on the ocean," and "in the jungle," but the publication of these books immediately called for a fourth, "the rover boys out west," and then a fifth, "the rover boys on the great lakes." still my young friends did not appear to be satisfied, and so i now present to them this sixth volume, which relates the stirring adventures of the three rover boys in the adirondacks, whither they had gone to solve the mystery of a certain brass-lined money casket found by them on an island in lake huron. in writing this volume i have had a double purpose in view; not only to pen a tale which might prove pleasing to all boys, but one which might likewise give them a fair idea of the wonderful resources and natural beauty of this section of the united states. ours is a wonderful country, and none of us can learn too much concerning it. again thanking my young friends for their kindness in the past, i place this volume in their hands, trusting they will find it as much to their liking as those which have preceded it. affectionately and sincerely yours, arthur m. winfield. the rover boys in the mountains. chapter i. the boys of putnam hall. "hurrah, boys, the lake is frozen over! we'll be sure to have good skating by to-morrow afternoon!" "that's fine news, tom," came from sam rover. "i've been fairly aching for a skate ever since that cold snap of two weeks ago." "we'll have to start up some skating matches if good skating does really turn up," put in dick rover, who had just joined his two brothers in the gymnasium attached to putnam hall. "don't you remember those matches we had last year?" "certainly, dick," answered tom rover. "didn't i win one of the silver medals?" "gracious! but what a lot has happened since then," said sam, who was the youngest of the trio. "we've gotten rid of nearly all of our enemies, and old crabtree is in jail and can't bother mrs. stanhope or dora any more." "we didn't get rid of dan baxter," remarked dick. "he gave us the slip nicely." "do you think he'll dare to bother us again, dick?" questioned sam anxiously. "i hope not, but i'm not certain, sam. the baxters are a bad lot, as all of us know, and as dan grows older he'll be just as wicked as his father, and maybe worse." "what a pity a fellow like dan can't turn over a new leaf," came from tom rover. "he's bright enough in his way, and would make a first-rate chap." "it's not in the blood," went on dick. "we'll have to keep our eyes open, that's all. if anything, dan is probably more angry at us than ever, for he believes we were the sole means of his father being put in prison." "old baxter deserved all he got," murmured sam. "so he did." "well, if dan baxter ever bothers me he'll catch it warm," came from tom. "i shan't attempt to mince matters with him. everybody at this school knows what a bully he was, and they know, too, what a rascal he's been since he left. so i say, let him beware!" and so bringing the conversation to an end for the time being, tom rover ran across the gymnasium floor, leaped up and grasped a turning-bar stationed there, and was soon going through a number of exercises recently taught to him by the new "gym" teacher. "gracious, but tom is getting to be a regular circus gymnast!" cried sam, as he watched his brother in admiration. "just see what beautiful turns he is making." "humph! that aint so wonderful," came from someone at sam's elbow, and turning the youngest rover found himself close to billy tubbs, a short, stocky youth who had entered putnam hall at the opening of the fall term. tubbs was a boy of rich parentage, and while he was not particularly a bully, he considered himself of great importance and vastly superior to the majority of his associates. "all right, tubby; if it isn't so wonderful, just you jump up and do it," returned sam coldly. "look here, how many times have i told you not to call me tubby!" burst out the rich youth. "i don't like it at all." "then what shall we call you?" asked sam innocently. "tubblets?" "no, i don't want you to call me tubblets either. my name is tubbs--william philander tubbs." "gosh! am i to say all that whenever i want to address you?" demanded sam, with a pretended gasp for breath. "i don't see why you shouldn't. it's my name." "but tubby--i mean tubblets--no, willander philliam tubbs--the name is altogether too long. why, supposin' you were standing on a railroad track looking east, and an express train was coming from the west at the rate of seventy-five miles an hour, and it got to within a hundred yards of you when i discovered your truly horrible peril, and i should start to warn you of the aforesaid truly horrible peril, take my word for it, before i could utter such an elongated personal handle as that, you'd be struck and distributed along that track for a distance of a mile and a quarter. no, tubby, my conscience wouldn't allow it--really it wouldn't." and sam shook his head seriously. "see here, what are you giving me?" roared tubbs wrathfully. "don't you worry about my standing on a railroad track and asking you to call me off." and then he added, with a red face, as a laugh went up from half a dozen students standing near: "william philander tubbs is my name, and i shan't answer to any other after this." "good for you washtubs!" came from a boy in the rear of the crowd. "i'd stick to that resolution, by all means, buttertubs," came from the opposite side of the crowd. and then one older youth, who was given to writing songs, began to sing softly: "rub-a-dub-dub! one man in a tub, and who do you think it is, it's william philander, who's got up his dander, and isn't he mad! gee whizz!" the doggerel, gotten up on the spur of the moment, struck the fancy of fully a score of boys, big and little, and in an instant all were singing it over and over again, at the top of their lungs, and at this those who did not sing began to laugh uproariously. "i say, what's it all about?" demanded tom, as he slid from the turning-bar. "songbird powell has composed a comic opera in tubby's honor," answered larry colby, one of the rover boys' chums. "i guess he's going to have it put on the stage after the holidays, with tubby as leading man." "see here, i won't have this!" roared the rich youth, waving his hand wildly first at one boy and then another. "i don't want you to make up any songs about me." "songbird won't charge you anything," put in fred garrison, another of the students. "he's a true poet, and writes for nothing. you ought to feel highly honored." "make a speech of thanks, that's a good fellow," put in george granbury, another student. "it's an outrage!" shouted tubbs, his face growing redder each instant. "i won't stand it." "all right, we won't charge you for sitting on it," came from the back of the crowd. "my right name is----" "barrel, but they call me tubbs for short," finished another student. "hurrah, tubby is discovered at last." "don't blush, washtub! you don't look half as pretty as when you're pale." "if you feel warm, buttertub, go out and sit on the thin ice. it will soon cool you off," came from fred garrison. "i'll cool you off, garry!" burst out the rich youth, and made a wild dash at his tormentor. but somebody put out a foot and the tormented boy stumbled headlong, at which the crowd set up another shout, and then sang louder than ever, "rub-a-dub-dub! one man in a tub!" "i say, who tripped me up!" gasped tubbs, as soon as he could scramble up. "tell me who did it, and i'll soon settle with him." "who rolled over the buttertub?" asked tom solemnly. "one peanut reward for the first correct answer to this absorbing puzzle. please don't all raise your hands at once." "i believe you did it, tom rover!" bellowed the rich youth. "i? never, tubby, my dear boy. i never rolled over a buttertub in my life. you've got the wrong number. kindly ring the bell next door." "then it was sam, and i'll fix him for it, see if i don't!" "no, it wasn't sam. he never touched a washtub in his life." "i say it was sam," cried tubbs, who was almost beside himself with rage. "and i'm going to teach him a lesson. there, sam rover, how do you like that?" as the rich youth finished, he caught the youngest rover by the shoulder with his left hand and with his right gave sam a slanting blow on the cheek. "stop! i didn't trip you!" exclaimed sam; and then as tubbs aimed another blow at him he ducked and broke loose and hit out in return. his blow was harder and more truly aimed than he had anticipated, and it took tubbs directly on the nose. a spurt of blood followed, accompanied by a yell of pain, and the rich youth fell back. "oh! oh! my nose!" "you brought it on yourself," retorted sam. "i didn't----" "stop! stop! boys, what does this mean?" came in a sudden stern voice, and in a moment more the two combatants found themselves confronted by jasper grinder, a new teacher. "fighting, eh? how often, must you be told that such disgraceful conduct is not allowed here? you come with me, and i'll make an example of both of you." and in a moment more the two lads found themselves prisoners in jasper grinder's strong grasp and being marched out of the gymnasium toward the school building proper. chapter ii. a glimpse at the past. as old readers of this series of books know, the rover boys were three in number, dick being the oldest, fun-loving tom next, and small but sturdy sam bringing up the rear of a trio of as bright and up-to-date a set of american lads as could be found anywhere. the home of the lads was with their father, anderson rover, and their uncle randolph and aunt martha, on a beautiful farm at valley brook, in the heart of new york state. from this farm they had been sent to putnam hall, a semi-military institute of learning situated near cedarville, on cayuga lake. this was while their father had mysteriously disappeared while on an exploring tour into the heart of africa. at putnam hall the rover boys made a number of friends, some of whom have already been mentioned in these pages, and they likewise made several enemies. chief among the enemies were josiah crabtree, a dictatorial teacher, and dan baxter, a bully who had done his best to make them "knuckle under" to him. since those first days at school many changes had taken place; so many, in fact, that but a few can be noted here. crabtree had been discharged, and was now in prison for trying to hypnotize a lady into marrying him. this lady was mrs. stanhope, the mother of dora stanhope, who lived in the vicinity of putnam hall, and a girl of whom dick rover thought a good deal. it had not taken the rover boys long to discover that not only the dictatorial old teacher, but also the bully, dan baxter, were rascals, and, what was more, that arnold baxter, the father of dan, was an old enemy to their father. following this had come a journey to africa and into the jungle in search of mr. rover, and this mission accomplished, the rover boys had gone west to establish a mining claim in which their father was interested. this claim was disputed by the baxters, and when the rovers won out and went for a pleasure trip on the great lakes, the baxters did their best to bring dick, tom, and sam to grief. but instead of accomplishing their purpose they failed once more, and arnold baxter was returned to the prison from which he had escaped some months before. what had become of dan baxter nobody knew, but the rover boys were soon to learn, as we will see in the chapters which follow. after their stirring adventures on the great lakes, and especially on needle point island in lake huron, the rover boys were glad enough to get back to dear old putnam hall and to their studies, even though the latter were something of a "grind," as tom declared. they all loved captain victor putnam, the owner of the institution, and it may be added here that the captain thought as much of the rovers as he did of any of the scholars under him, and that was a good deal. the coming of jasper grinder as a new under-teacher was a shock to many of the boys at the school. the principal teacher under captain putnam was professor george strong, who was stern but fair, and almost as well liked as the captain himself, and there were now several others, all of whom were on a good footing with the scholars. what had induced the captain to take in such a dictatorial and harsh master as jasper grinder was a mystery which nobody could explain. as a matter of fact, grinder had come into the hall under a misrepresentation. he was from the northwest, and claimed to have been a professor at a well-known california college. it was true he had once taught at this college, but his record was far from being as satisfactory as captain putnam had been led to believe. it was true he was a learned man,--quite the opposite of josiah crabtree, who had been wise only in looks,--but it was also true that he was a high-strung, passionate man, given to strange fits of anger, and that he was a miser, never spending a cent that was not absolutely required of him. "i say, let me go!" cried sam, as jasper grinder almost dragged him across the parade ground between the gymnasium and the school building. "i am not to blame for this row." "silence! i won't listen to a word until we are in the office," commanded the irate teacher. "he started the whole thing," came from tubbs. "he called me tubby, and got the crowd to singing a song about me." "i had nothing to do with the song, and all the boys have called you tubby since you came here," went on sam. "be quiet, i tell you!" cried jasper grinder, and clutched the arm of each so tightly that tubbs set up a yell of pain. "i am master here, and i will show you how to mind." at these words sam's heart gave a sudden drop. it was friday afternoon, and the next day would be, as usual, a holiday. taking advantage of this fact professor strong had gone to buffalo to visit a sick relative residing there, and only an hour before captain putnam had been driven away behind his team to visit an old army friend living at fordview, twelve miles away. professor strong would not return until monday morning, and it was more than likely the captain would remain away over night. during this interval jasper grinder would be in absolute charge of the academy and the pupils. in a few minutes the teacher had led the way into captain putnam's office, and with a final pinch of their arms, which made tubbs cry out once more with pain, he flung the pair away from him. "don't you know it is disgraceful to fight?" he thundered. "we weren't fighting--that is, not exactly," said tubbs meekly. "silence! i saw the whole affair. why, your nose is still bleeding." "i don't care. it was rover's fault, mr. grinder. he started the boys, and they all began to make fun of me. he wouldn't stop----" "and then you fought like a pair of young tigers. disgraceful! i will have to make an example of both of you." "i'd like to see captain putnam about the matter," said sam boldly. at these words jasper grinder fairly trembled with suppressed anger. "the captain is not here, and i shall deal with you as you deserve," he said. tubbs sank down on a chair and began to attend to his nose with his handkerchief. sam remained standing, but his whole manner showed that he did not consider he was being treated fairly. "what both of you boys deserve is a good thrashing," said the teacher, after a pause. at this sam looked his surprise. thrashing was not permitted at the hall. the worst that could happen to a student was to place him in solitary confinement over night, after a supper of bread and water. "as i am not permitted by the rules to thrash you, i shall put you in the stone cell over night," went on jasper grinder. "together?" questioned tubbs, from behind his blood-stained handkerchief. "no. you shall go to the cell; and rover shall be placed in the empty storeroom next to it." "the cell is ice cold, and so is the storeroom," protested sam. "it is not my fault that you must be placed there, and you will have to put up with the cold," was the curt answer. "i shan't stay in a cold room!" cried sam. "it's not fair." "you shall, and i'll put you there myself!" ejaculated jasper grinder. "tubbs, don't dare to stir until i return." so speaking, the unreasonable teacher caught hold of sam once more, and despite the youngest rover's struggles hustled him out of the office and through a long hallway, at the end of which was located the storeroom he had mentioned. the key to the room was in the lock. "now stay there until you are willing to behave yourself," said jasper grinder, and shoved sam into the apartment. "for your impudence to me you shall go without your supper to-night." "that remains to be seen," replied sam, but in such a low voice that the teacher did not hear. then the door was closed and locked, and jasper grinder hurried away with the key in his pocket, to make poor tubbs a prisoner in the stone cell. "here's a pretty mess, and no mistake," thought sam, as he sank on a bench, the only article of furniture the room contained. "i'm being treated worse than tom was treated by old crabtree when first we came to the hall. and all because i called tubby by his nickname! if this keeps on a fellow won't dare to breathe out loud when grinder is around. what a passionate fellow he is at times! he glares at a fellow as if he was going to eat you up!" while sam remained on the bench he heard footsteps in the hallway and a howling protest from tubbs. then he heard the rich youth thrown into the stone cell next to the storeroom and left to his fate. it was nipping cold, and, even with the window tightly closed and nailed over with slats, sam could not endure it to remain on the bench long. leaping up he began to stamp his feet and slap his arms across his chest to get them warm. soon he heard tubbs doing the same thing. "i guess he's worse off than i am," thought the youngest rover. "that stone cell hasn't any bench in it any more, and it must be twice as cold and damp as this room. it's a shame to put anyone there in this freezing weather. i don't believe captain putnam would stand for it if he was here." he tried to speak to tubbs, but the wall between was too thick, and he soon gave up the idea. then he continued to stamp his feet and slap his arms, and even went through an imaginary prize fight, in order to warm up. it was now growing dark, and with the darkness the atmosphere of the storeroom became colder and colder. chapter iii. tom on a tour of discovery. poor sam was removed from the gymnasium so quickly that neither dick nor tom had time to protest, and when they reached the main door of the school building they found it shut and locked in their faces. "say, this is an outrage," burst out tom. "sam wasn't to blame for that fight. he didn't trip tubby up." "i know he didn't," put in fred garrison, who had come up also. "it was larry mason. but i shan't give larry away." "neither will i." "mr. grinder always carries matters with a high hand when the captain is away," put in dick. "and he gets red-hot at the least little thing." "he doesn't deserve to be a teacher here," came from george granbury, who had followed the others. "to my way of thinking, he's worse than old crabtree was, even though he is perhaps better educated." "i'd like to know what he is going to do with sam," said dick, with a serious look on his face. "sam has made such a good record this term i hate to see it broken." "he'll do something to punish 'em both," came from fred. "it will be too bad, though, if he puts 'em in the stone cell. they'll freeze to death such a night as this is going to be." "i won't allow it," ejaculated dick. "why, that would be inhuman!" "i'm going in by the back way and find out what's going on," said tom, and promptly disappeared around the corner of the hall. he was soon inside the building, but to his chagrin found every door leading to captain putnam's private apartments and to the stone cell and the storeroom locked. having gone through the mess-rooms and through several of the classrooms, he rejoined the others, who had gathered around the fire in what was called the students' general living room,--an apartment set aside during cold weather solely for the boys' comfort, where they might read, study, play quiet games, or do similar things in order to make themselves feel at home. "how did you make out?" was the question immediately put. "made out, and that's all," said tom gloomily. "what do you mean?" came from dick. "every blessed door is locked, and so are the windows. i can't get within two rooms of the office." "did you hear anything?" asked george. "yes; i heard a noise like somebody stamping." "where did it come from?" "i think it came from the stone cell. but it sounded like somebody stamping on wood." "perhaps it came from the empty storeroom," cried dick. "more than likely mr. grinder has placed sam and tubby there. i wish he'd come here. i'd question him." "your wish is gratified," whispered george. "here he comes now!" the door at the far end of the room had opened, and now jasper grinder came forth in a hurry. he was about to pass to another room at the rear of the school when dick stopped him. "mr. grinder, may i ask what you have done with sam?" he asked. "i have placed him in confinement until captain putnam returns," was the snappy answer. "did you put him in the stone cell?" "it is not for you to question me, rover." "in this cold weather it isn't fit for anybody to be in that stone cell. sam may catch his death of cold." "i am the best judge of my own actions, rover, and need no advice from you. your brother has broken the rules of this school, and must suffer for so doing." "it's inhuman to make a fellow freeze," burst out tom. "i don't believe captain putnam would do that." "not another word from either of you," came sharply from the teacher. "your brother will not freeze to death, but the cold may teach him a useful lesson." "if he gets sick, i'll get my father to hold you legally responsible," went on tom. at these words the teacher turned slightly pale, a vision of a lawsuit with damages to pay floating across his miserly mind. "to ease your mind rover, let me say i'll see to it that he doesn't get sick," he said, and before tom or dick could question him further he passed out of the room. "if he isn't the worst yet!" burst out fred, who had listened with interest to what was said. "i shan't stand it," returned tom. "will you, dick?" dick, older and more thoughtful, mused for a moment. "i'd certainly like to help sam," he said. "but we must be careful and not get into trouble with captain putnam." "i'm going to find my way to the door of the cell somehow," went on tom. "old grinder left that door unlocked when he came out," said george, who had joined them. "good! i'm going through before he comes back." as good as his word, tom slipped past the various tables at which the students were sitting, until he reached the door which connected with captain putnam's private apartments. usually this portion of the hall was forbidden ground to the scholars. but tom had been inside the rooms a number of times, so knew the way well. passing through a private sitting room and a small library, he came to a narrow hall connecting with the main hall, at the end of which were the stone cell and the empty storeroom. he was just about to step into the main hall when he heard somebody coming down from the floor above. the party was mrs. green, the housekeeper, a good-natured lady upon whom tom had played many a joke in the past. "gosh! i mustn't be discovered!" he muttered, and looked around for some place to hide. under the staircase was a recess containing a number of hooks with cloaks and overcoats, and into this he crowded, drawing one of the overcoats so as to completely cover the upper portion of his body. hardly had he gained the hiding place when mrs. green reached the lower hallway. tom heard her pause at the foot of the stairs, strike a match, and light the big swinging lamp hanging from overhead. "i might as well mend that overcoat now, while the captain is away," tom heard her murmur to herself. "it's only a buttonhole that's torn out, and a tailor would charge him four times what it's worth--and he always so good at christmas-time!" "she's looking out for her present," thought tom, with a grin. "but that's none of my affair. if only she isn't after this overcoat!" he heard the housekeeper approach the recess and pause for a moment in front of it. he hardly dared to breathe, fearing that he would surely be discovered. "well, i declare, if he hasn't gone and worn the very overcoat itself!" he heard mrs. green cry. "just like him, and two good coats a-hanging here. well, i suppose it's the warmest he's got, and he'll have a cold ride back, especially if he returns to-night." and so speaking mrs. green hurried away. "a narrow shave, and no mistake," murmured tom to himself, and listened until he heard a distant door close. then all was quiet, save the distant murmur of the student's voices, coming from the sitting room. without losing more time, tom left the recess and hurried to the door of the stone cell. "sam!" he called out softly. "are you in there?" "no; _i'm_ in here," came in the voice of tubbs. "and--i'm almost frozen to--to--death." the last words with a chattering of teeth that told only too plainly how the rich youth was suffering. "sorry for you, tubby, really i am. but where is sam?" "in the--the storeroom. oh, rover, won't you please ask mr. grinder to let me out? i'll freeze to death here, i know i will!" "i'll do what i can. but he won't let you out. he isn't that kind of a fellow." "you might buy him off, rover. i've heard he's a regular miser, and i'll give you five dollars of my christmas money if he'll let me go." "i'll see what i can do after i've talked to sam." and so speaking tom hurried to the door of the storeroom. "tom, is it really you?" cried the youngest rover joyfully. "yes. how are you making out?" "horribly. i believe my feet and ears are already frozen!" "grinder is a beast to put you in here, sam." "i know that well enough. he won't give me any supper, i'm afraid." "then i'll try to get some supper to you." "is the key of this door on a hook outside?" "no. if it was i'd have the door open long ago." sam gave a deep sigh, and then began to dance around once more to keep warm. "perhaps i can find a key to fit this lock," went on tom. "i know there are keys in some of the other doors." he ran off and soon returned with four keys, which he tried, one after another. the third was a fair fit, and with an effort the bolt of the lock was forced back. "hurrah! the door's open!" exclaimed tom. "now you can go where you please." "then you wouldn't stay here?" questioned sam anxiously. "not much! i'd hide in one of the dormitories, and i wouldn't show myself until captain putnam gets back. i'll see to it that you get something to eat, and when the captain returns you can tell him that if you had remained in this place all night you would have been frozen to death." sam was willing enough to take tom's advice, and was soon in the hallway. then the door was locked again. "it's heartless to leave poor tubby in that cell," said tom. "let's get him out too." "all right--if you can find a key to fit the lock." losing no time, the brothers tried one key after another in the lock to the door of the stone cell. "who's that?" came in a chatter from tubbs. "tom rover," was the answer. "i've just released sam, and now we are going to release you, if we can." "good for you rover." "there she goes!" cried tom a few seconds later, and in a moment more the door was opened and tubbs stood in the hallway with the rover boys. tubbs was about to say something, when sam suddenly caught him by the arm. "hush!" he whispered. "somebody is coming! i hope it isn't old grinder!" chapter iv. dormitory number two. for the moment none of the three students knew what to do. they felt that if the approaching personage should be jasper grinder there would certainly be "a warm time of it," to say the least. yet the approaching man was not the teacher, but peleg snuggers, the man of all work around the hall, a good-natured individual, well liked by nearly all the students. snuggers was in the habit of taking many a joke from the scholars, yet he rarely retaliated, contenting himself with the saying that "boys will be boys." "it's snuggers!" whispered sam, after a painful pause. "what shall we do?" "perhaps we can get him to keep quiet," returned tom, also in a low voice. "he's a pretty good sort." "do--don't trust him," put in tubbs, in a trembling voice. "if i'm put back in that cell i'll die; i know i will!" "i have it," said tom, struck by a sudden idea. "into the storeroom with you, quick! "but he may be coming after me!" said sam. "never mind--i'll fix it. be quick, or the game will be up!" on tiptoe the three students hurried into the storeroom and tom shut the door noiselessly. then he slipped the key he still held into the lock and turned it. "now groan, sam," he whispered. "pretend to be nearly dead, and ask peleg to bring grinder here." catching the idea, sam began to moan and groan most dismally, in the midst of which peleg snuggers came up. "poor boy, i reckon as how he's nearly stiff from the cold," murmured snuggers. "and this bread and water won't warm him up nohow. i've most a mind to bring him some hot tea on the sly, and a sandwich, too." the general utility man tried to insert a key in the lock, but failed on account of the key on the inside. "oh! oh!" moaned sam. "help! help!" "what's the row?" questioned snuggers. "is that you, snuggers?" "yes, master rover." "i'm most frozen to death! my feet and ears are frozen stiff already!" "it's a shame!" "tell mr. grinder to come here." "he won't come, i'm afraid. he just sent me with some bread and water for you and for master tubbs." "water? do you want me to turn into ice? oh, snuggers, please send him. i know i can't stand this half an hour longer. i'll be a corpse!" "all right, i'll fetch him," answered snuggers. and setting down the pitcher of water and loaf of bread he had been carrying he hurried off. "now is our time!" whispered tom, as soon as he was certain the man of all work was gone. "but which way shall we go?" questioned sam "follow me, and i'll show you." leaving the storeroom, tom led the way through the semi-dark hallway and up the stairs. at the rear of the upper hall was a bedroom reserved for the captain's private guests. "come in here for the present," said tom. "and when i tap on the window unlock the sash and be prepared to climb from the window to the next, which connects with dormitory no. 2." "good for you!" said sam. "but how are you going to get to the dormitory?" "leave that to me." leaving sam and tubbs to take care of themselves, tom left the bedroom and walked out in the upper hall once more. he was just in time to hear peleg snuggers returning with jasper grinder. "it's all nonsense," he heard, in the teacher's harsh voice. "the cold will do both of the boys good." "he said he was half frozen," insisted snuggers. "if anything serious-like happened to them, i dunno what the captain would say." "i know nothing serious will happen," growled jasper grinder. "he was merely trying to work upon your sympathies. both could stay there till morning easily enough." "the wretch!" murmured tom to himself. "i'm mighty glad i let them out!" a few seconds later he heard a cry of dismay. "rover is gone!" "gone?" came from snuggers. "yes, gone. snuggers did you leave the door unlocked?" "no, sir, i couldn't get the key in the lock. here it is." and the general utility man produced it. "ah! here is a key on the inside. what can this mean?" "i don't know, sir. i left him a-groanin' only a few minutes ago." "it is very strange." jasper grinder gazed around the empty storeroom. "did you hear anything from master tubbs?" "no, sir." the teacher stepped out of the storeroom and made his way to the stone cell. "he is gone too!" he ejaculated. "really, sir, did you say 'gone'?" cried peleg snuggers, in dismay. "yes. this is--ah--outrageous, snuggers. where can they be?" "i'm sure i don't know, sir. master rover got out mighty quick." "look for them among the students, and if you find them bring them to me at once." "i will, sir." as soon as peleg snuggers had departed jasper grinder looked around the storeroom and the stone cell to learn if he could find any trace of the boys. this gave tom the chance to slip through the captain's private rooms and into the students' quarters. "well, how did you make out?" was dick's impatient question. "you've been gone an age." "come with me and i'll tell you," said tom, and taking his brother and several chums aside he related what had occurred. "keep them there all night, and on bread and water!" cried dick. "it is awful. i'm sure the captain won't stand for it." "to be sure he won't," came from fred garrison. "but what are you going to do next?" "let them in the dormitory window." tom led the way upstairs and into dormitory no. 2. there were four windows in a row, and six beds, three occupied by the rovers and the others by fred, larry, and george granbury. going to the corner window tom threw it wide open. it was growing dark outside, for it was now half-past six. as he stuck his head out of the window there was the rattle of a drum down in the mess hall. "supper time!" cried fred. "you go down," said tom. "no use of all of us being late." "no, you go down," answered dick. "you've run risk enough. besides, if you are absent from the crowd too long somebody may grow suspicious of you. i'll help sam and tubbs to a safe hiding-place." "find out if they are there first--and lock the door after we are gone." leaning out of the window dick tapped on the next glass. at once sam showed himself. "it's quite a climb, but i reckon i can make it," said the youngest rover. waiting to hear no more, tom hurried below, followed by fred, and mingled with the crowd of students entering the mess hall. many of the boys were talking about the quarrel between sam and tubbs, and all condemned the actions of jasper grinder. "he ought to have set them to doing extra lessons; that would have been punishment enough," said one of the big boys, who was captain of company a of the students for that term. this opinion was that held by the majority. several of the boys came to tom to learn what he had to say. but he merely shrugged his shoulders. "wait and we'll see what we will see," he said "rover's got a card up his sleeve, that's as sure as you're born," said one of the students, and winked at tom. but tom only looked wise and turned away. when the students sat down to eat it was noticed that dick's chair was vacant. "master thomas rover, do you know anything of your brother richard?" asked an under-teacher. "perhaps he is having a talk with mr. grinder," said tom. "oh!" then the under-teacher noticed that mr. grinder's chair was also vacant, and said no more. while the boys were eating, peleg snuggers came to the door and looked carefully about the mess hall. "you won't find them here, peleg," said tom to himself. then the man of all work disappeared, and the supper continued as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. chapter v. a scene in the schoolroom. in the meantime, what of affairs in the dormitory? was all going as quietly as tom had anticipated? as soon as tom went below dick locked the door, then turned again to the window. sam was trying to climb from one room to the next, but could not get a satisfactory hold. "here, give me your hand," cried dick softly, and reaching forth he soon helped his brother to a position of safety. "say, aint it dangerous?" asked tubbs anxiously, as he gazed to the ground, twenty feet below. "you've got to run some risks, tubbs," said dick. "quick, or you may be too late." fearful of a fall, the rich youth put out one foot and a hand. dick tried to reach him, but was unable to do so. "a little further, tubbs," he said encouragingly. [illustration: a perilous climb. _rover boys in the mountains_.] "i--i'm afraid i'll fall," was the trembling answer. then the rich youth let out a cry of alarm. "somebody is coming!" "come," cried dick, and reached out a trifle further. as tubbs gave the eldest rover his fingers dick hauled him from the window and literally swung him into the dormitory. then, as tubbs landed in a heap on the floor, sam closed the window and locked it. "now you must clear out to another room!" cried dick. "whoever was coming will find that window wide open, and guess you have escaped in this direction." "but where can we go to?" asked the rich youth. "go to dormitory no. 6. only young adler is in there, and hemmingway, and they are on a vacation until after christmas. the closet is a big one, and you can both hide on the upper shelf. quick! i'll bring you some supper." all three left the dormitory, and sam and tubbs scurried off in the direction indicated. as for dick, he lost no time in reaching the mess hall. "sorry, sir," he said to the under-teacher. "the bell couldn't have rung very loud." "it rang as loud as usual," was the answer, and no more was said, the teacher's head being just then full of other matters. glad to get off so easily, dick lost no time in eating his supper. while making way with the food he stowed a goodly portion in his pockets, in a couple of spare napkins, and by some silent motions from tom learned that his brother was doing the same. just as the students were finishing the meal, jasper grinder came in and walked down the aisles between the tables. he looked both angry and perplexed. as he came close to tom he paused. "excuse me, mr. grinder, but won't you let sam out of the stone cell?" asked tom, to avoid being questioned. "you be silent rover," muttered the teacher, and passed on without saying more. after the supper hour it was usual for the students to have half an hour to themselves, during which they might read, play games, or do as they pleased. but now mr. grinder called them together in the main classroom. "i wish to talk to you young gentlemen," said the teacher, when all were seated. "we're going to catch it now," whispered tom to dick. "don't you give the secret away." "indeed i won't," answered the eldest rover. "i intend to lay the whole case before captain putnam as soon as he returns." "silence!" thundered jasper grinder. "i want you boys to stop talking instantly." "i didn't say anything," murmured several in an undertone. "silence, i say!" repeated the master, and then all became so quiet that the ticking of the clock could be heard distinctly. the teacher gazed around at the scores of faces and looked more stem than ever. "i am going to question all of you separately, and i trust each of you will tell the truth. the question is, do you know what has become of samuel rover and william tubbs? or do you know what they have done? i shall start with the first boy. hickley, what have you to say?" "i don't know anything about them," answered the boy named hickley. "brainard, do you know?" "no, sir." "parkham?" "i know they had a little set-to in the gymnasium, but that's all. the whole thing was a friendly bout, i guess." "i am the best judge of that. it was a disgraceful fight. what have you to say, griggs?" "if you say it was disgraceful i suppose it was, sir. i thought it was only a friendly dispute----" "stop! i want you to answer the original questions, yes, or no." "no." "no, what?" "no, to both original questions." "no, sir!" and jasper grinder stamped his foot. "oh! all right, sir. no, sir, to both questions, sir." there was a titter at this, which caused jasper grinder to grow red in the face. "boys, be quiet!" he shouted. "if you do not be still i will keep all of you in to-morrow." as this would have spoiled the chances for a good skate and some exciting races, the boys immediately subsided. then the questioning went on until dick rover was reached. "i don't know where sam and tubbs are now," said dick. "perhaps they are frozen stiff." "did you aid them in escaping from the stone cell and the storeroom?" "no, sir." "have you seen them since i placed them there?" "yes, i have," answered dick boldly, seeing it was useless to beat about the bush longer. "oh! then you did aid them to escape?" "not from the stone cell and the storeroom. i met them after they had escaped." "where did you see them last?" "i decline to answer that question." "decline!" thundered jasper grinder. "i do, sir. as soon as captain putnam arrives i shall lay this whole matter before him, and learn if you have any authority for placing my brother in a place where he is liable to catch a cold which may give him pneumonia and be the cause of his death. as it is, my brother suffered a great deal, and so did tubbs, and if they get sick from it you may be sure that you will be held legally accountable. it was an inhuman thing to do." as dick finished there was a murmur, and then a number of the students broke out into applause, while tom clapped his hands as hard as he could. jasper grinder stood at his desk dumbstruck, with his face growing paler each instant. "silence! silence!" he exclaimed, when he could control his voice. "silence, i say, or i will cane you all! this is--is most unseemly--it is--er--mutiny! silence!" "i mean just what i say, mr. grinder," went on dick, when he could be heard. "you are master here, and we are bound to obey you, in certain things. but you shan't keep my brother in an icy room all night, and on a supper of stale bread and cold water. such treatment would almost make a mule sick." "rover, will you be silent, or must i get the cane?" gasped jasper grinder, almost beside himself with rage. "if you get your cane, sir, you won't hit me more than once with it." "won't i? we'll see who is master here." "my gracious! is he really going to try to cane you, dick!" exclaimed tom. "i suppose he is," was the cool answer. "he is so angry he doesn't know what he is doing." rushing from the classroom jasper grinder presently reappeared, carrying a cane which looked as if it might hurt a good deal, if vigorously applied. tom could not help but grin. dick was almost as tall as the school-teacher, and probably just as strong, and the idea of a caning appeared ridiculous in the extreme. caning was not allowed at putnam hall, but evidently jasper grinder meant to take matters in his own hands. "richard rover, come up here," he thundered. "what for, sir?" "to receive the punishment you so richly deserve." "mr. grinder, you haven't any right to cane me. it's against captain putnam's rules." "i don't care for the rules--i mean, you have acted in such an outrageous manner that i must do whatever i think necessary to uphold law and order." "i am willing to stand whatever punishment captain putnam sees fit to inflict. but i shall not take a caning from you." "won't you? we'll see." as jasper grinder spoke he leaped from the platform and strode rapidly toward the spot where dick was standing. the eldest rover did not budge, but remained where he was, eying the enraged school-teacher determinedly. "don't you dare to strike!" he said warningly, as the cane was raised over his head. "i will!" cried jasper grinder, and was about to bring the cane down with all force when tom caught it from behind and wrenched it from his grasp. chapter vi. news of an old enemy. dick had not intended that the cane should hit him. he was prepared to dodge. but he wanted to make certain that jasper grinder would really try to carry out his ill-advised threat. "hi! give me that cane!" cried the schoolmaster, as he whirled around. "i shall not," answered tom, and began to run down one of the aisles to the door. instantly jasper grinder made after him. but the boys had gathered in a crowd, and it was with difficulty that the man could get through. as tom ran for one door dick ran for another, and it was not long before both met in a hallway leading to the mess hall and the dormitories. "dick, what shall we do next?" questioned tom. "we can't stay here, that's certain." "we'll get out," answered dick. "i think mrs. stanhope will keep us all night." "and if she won't, i know the lanings will," said tom, with a grin. "we must let sam know," went on dick. "he can go along. i shan't come back until captain putnam returns." "right you are." up the stairs they rushed, and into the dormitory where sam and tubbs were in hiding. "sam!" called dick, and the youngest rover at once appeared. "what's up now? what are you in such a hurry for?" "get your overcoat and hat, and come on. we are going to the stanhopes for the night. here, tubbs, is some supper," and dick passed over what he had in the napkins, while tom did the same. "thanks," said the rich boy. "but--but must i stay here alone?" "i don't think we can take you along," answered dick. "but you want to be careful. old grinder is as mad as a hornet. he was going to cane me for helping you two. come, sam, there is no time to waste. tubbs, you had better let fred garrison know where you are. he's all right." in a moment more dick, tom, and sam were in their own room and putting on their heavy overcoats and their hats. they lost no time, and as they heard jasper grinder coming up one flight of stairs they ran down another pair leading into the kitchen. here the servants, directed by mrs. green, were putting away what was left of the students' supper. "oh, dear!" burst out the matron, on catching sight of the boys. "what do you want here?" "good-by, mrs. green," said dick. "tell the captain when he comes that we were driven away from the school by mr. grinder, and that we'll return as soon as we learn that he is back." and before the housekeeper could answer they opened the kitchen door and ran outside. it was a dark night and the air was filled with snow, some of which was already sifting lazily downward. but they knew the way well, so the want of light did hot bother them. they crossed the parade ground on a run and made directly for the road leading to the stanhopes' cottage. "i reckon it will be quite a surprise for mrs. stanhope and dora," said tom, after they had told sam of what had happened in the school-room. "they won't be looking for us." "i know they'll treat us well," said dick. "to be sure they will--especially after all we did for them on the lakes," put in sam. "but let me tell you, i am curious to know how this thing is going to end." "i think mr. grinder will get the worst of it," returned tom confidently. "he must know he was doing wrong to put you in that icy storeroom and poor tubbs in the stone cell. how did you make out with tubbs in the closet?" "oh, he became quite friendly, and we decided to let the past drop. i promised i wouldn't call him tubby any more." "that's fair," came from dick. "he isn't such a bad sort." on and on hurried the boys. the road was a somewhat lonely one, with several patches of woods to be passed. several times they halted, endeavoring to ascertain if they were being pursued. but all remained silent. the snow was now coming down more thickly than ever. "what a lot of adventures we have had in these woods," observed tom, during one of the halts. "don't you remember the tramp who stole the watch, and the rows with josiah crabtree and with arnold baxter and dan?" "indeed i do," said sam. "mrs. stanhope and dora must be glad to be rid of old crabtree and arnold baxter." "it's a pity dan baxter wasn't locked up with his father," said dick. "don't you remember how he used to bother dora and the laning girls?" "do you think he'd bother them now?" asked sam. "if he bothers grace laning he had better look out for me." "that's right, sam, stand up for your own particular girl----" began tom. "i didn't say she was my girl," cried sam, and he was glad that the darkness hid his red-growing face. "i'm no more sweet on her than you are on her sister nellie." "it's dick who must lead off, with dora stanhope----" went on tom. "oh, stow it, and come on!" burst in dick. "if you keep on talking you'll surely be caught. grinder may be coming after us in a carriage." "if we had our bicycles we could get there in no time," said sam. "yes, and we might break our necks in the dark," added dick. "come, we haven't more than a mile further to go." on the three trudged, through the snow, which was coming down faster each instant. once they thought they heard carriage wheels behind them, but soon the sounds faded away in the distance. at last they came in sight of the stanhope cottage. a bright light was streaming from the sitting-room windows, and looking in they saw dora sitting at the table reading a book, and mrs. stanhope resting comfortably in an easy-chair in front of the bright-burning fire. dora herself came to the door in answer to their ring. "why, mamma, it's the rovers!" she cried, as she shook hands, "i never expected to see you to-night, in such a snowstorm. how kind of captain putnam to let you come." "the captain had nothing to do with it," answered dick, as he gave her hand an extra squeeze, which he somehow thought she returned. "we came because we were having a lot of trouble, and didn't know what else to do." "more trouble!" came from mrs. stanhope, as she also greeted them. "i was hoping all our troubles were a thing of the past." "this isn't any trouble for you," answered dick. "excepting that it brings trouble through your giving us shelter for the night." "if that's the case, then let it bring trouble," put in dora promptly. "but what is it all about." "i'll tell you presently, dora. but in the meantime can you give sam some supper? he hasn't had a mouthful since dinner time." "you poor boy!" came from mrs. stanhope. "to be sure he shall have his supper. i'll tell mary to prepare it at once," and she bustled from the room to give the servant the necessary directions, and returned at once. sitting down in front of the fire the three boys told their tale, mrs. stanhope and dora listening with keen attention. when dick got to the point where jasper grinder had wanted to thrash him dora gave a scream. "oh, dick, the idea! why, he really must be crazy!" "i believe his passion got the best of him," said the eldest rover. "i'm glad tom took the cane away," went on dora. "it is really too bad," observed mrs. stanhope, when their story was finished. "i quite agree with you that captain putnam will not uphold mr. grinder in his inhuman course. of course you must stay here to-night, and as long after that as you please." it was not long before supper was ready for sam, and when he entered the dining room mrs. stanhope went along, to see that he got all he desired. "i am awfully glad you came," said dora, in a low voice, when she was alone with dick and tom. "i have something important to tell you, something i didn't wish to mention in front of mamma, for it will only worry her without doing any good." "and what is it?" asked tom and dick, in a breath. "i was down to cedarville yesterday to do some shopping, and i am almost certain that i saw dan baxter hanging around the hotel there." "dan baxter!" ejaculated dick. "hush, dick! not so loud. yes, dan baxter. he was on the hotel stoop, but the minute he saw me he went inside." "perhaps you are mistaken," said tom. "i hardly think he'd dare to show himself here." "at first i was uncertain about it. but when i came back that way i looked again, and i caught him peeping out at me from one of the bar-room windows. as soon as he saw me look he dodged out of sight." "if dan baxter is in this neighborhood, he is here for no good," was dick's blunt comment. "evidently he has not forgiven us for helping to put his father back in jail." "dan baxter is not of a forgiving nature, dick. you must be careful, or he will make trouble for all three of you." "we can take care of ourselves, dora. if only he doesn't annoy you and your mother." "i don't think he'll do that--now mr. crabtree is out of it," answered dora, and then, as mrs. stanhope re-entered the room, the subject was dropped. chapter vii. something of a surprise. despite the stirring events which had just passed the rovers managed to pass a pleasant evening at the stanhope cottage. this was in a large measure due to dora, who did all she could to entertain them and make them forget their troubles. all played games, and dora played the piano and sang for them, while dick and tom also took a hand at the singing. sam could not sing, and declared that he was certainly getting a cold, whether from being in the storeroom or not. at ten o'clock the boys retired, to a large bed chamber containing a double bed and a good-sized cot. they were soon undressed, and after saying their prayers dropped asleep and slept soundly until seven in the morning. when they arose a surprise awaited them. on the ground outside the snow lay to the depth of a foot or more, and it was still showing as heavily as ever. "hullo! we are snowed in!" exclaimed sam, as he gazed out on the whitened landscape. "sure enough," returned dick, and added: "this looks as if captain putnam might not come back to-day," "if that's the case, i vote we stay here," put in tom. "i'm sure mrs. stanhope will keep us." it was found that sam's cold had attacked him in earnest. he was very hoarse, and complained of a severe pain in the chest. "you'll have to do something for that cold," said dick. "better stay in bed this morning, and let mrs. stanhope put a plaster on your chest." going below, he told the lady of the cottage of his brother's condition. a mustard draught was at once prepared and placed upon sam, and he was also given some pine tar cough mixture. these things relieved him somewhat, but mrs. stanhope insisted upon it that he remain in bed, and brought him his breakfast with her own hands. "of course you must stay here, especially since sam is sick," said dora, while they were eating a breakfast of buckwheat cakes, honey, chops, and coffee. "he may not get worse, but if he does, one of you will have to take the horse and go for the doctor." "yes, we'll have to watch sam," answered dick. "but don't put yourselves to too much trouble on our account." "as if we could take too much trouble for you!" exclaimed dora, and blushed sweetly. it was not likely that she would ever forget all the rovers had done for her and her mother. tom was anxious to learn about the lanings, and was told that they were all at home and doing finely. "nellie and grace are going on a visit to an aunt at timber run after the holidays," said dora. "they wanted me to go along, but i didn't care to leave mamma, and we didn't wish to lock up the house for fear some tramps might break in and rob us." after breakfast sam said he felt like sitting up, but toward noon his chest began to hurt him again, and mrs. stanhope said it would be best that somebody go for a doctor. dick and tom both volunteered, but it was finally decided that dick should go alone, on horseback. a steed was soon saddled, and off dick rode, wrapped in his overcoat and with an old fur cap pulled well down over his ears. it had now stopped snowing, so the weather was not quite as unpleasant as it had been. dick was bound for the house of dr. fremley, a physician he knew well, and thither he made his way as speedily as the horse could plow through the drifts which presented themselves. at times, when the wind arose, it was nipping cold, and the youth was glad to get in where it was warm when the physician's office in cedarville was reached. "certainly, i will come and see your brother," said dr. fremley. "i'll be ready to go in about half an hour." "will you go on horseback?" "yes." "then i'll wait in town and go back with you," said dick. "i wish to make a purchase or two." it was agreed that the youth should meet the physician at half-past twelve, and leaving his horse in the latter's stable, dick walked down the main street of cedarville. he had his christmas money with him, and entering a drug store he bought a cup of hot chocolate, that warmed him considerably. after this he selected a bottle of cologne and a box of chocolates as a christmas gift for dora. opposite to the drug store was a stationery and book store, and here dick procured a fancy floral calendar for mrs. stanhope and an interesting girl's book for dora. from the store dick could obtain a side view of the cedarville hotel, which stood on a corner up the street, and having paid for his purchases the youth stood near the door and watched the hotel, wondering at the same time if he would see anything of dan baxter. presently a number of men came from the bar-room of the hotel and moved in various directions. with one of these was the youth for whom dick was looking. dan baxter and his companion moved in the direction of the lake shore, and dick lost no time in following the pair. the man with baxter was a stranger to dick, but he showed by his manner that he was a rough individual, and when he talked he did a great deal of swearing, which, however, will not appear in his conversation in these pages. having reached the road running along the lake front, baxter and his companion, whose name was lemuel husty, passed northward past a straggling row of cottages and then on the road leading to the village of neckport. "i wish i had time--i'd follow them," said dick to himself, and turned back, much disappointed over the fact that he had not had a chance to speak to dan baxter. as dick turned in the direction of the doctor's office once more he was hailed by a lad of the village, named harry sharp. "hullo, dick rover!" "how are you harry? how do you like the snow?" "all right enough, only it will spoil some of the skating." "so i've been thinking," answered dick, as the two came closer. "say, dick, who do you suppose i met a while ago," went on harry sharp. "i don't know--dan baxter?" "that's the chap. how did you guess it?" "i saw him myself." "i thought he didn't dare to show himself?" "well, he ought to be arrested, harry. but perhaps having his father in prison, and losing most of his money, is punishment enough for him." "i met him in the post office. he was posting several letters." "did you see the handwriting on the letters?" "no. as soon as he saw me he slid out of sight." "i guess he doesn't fancy being recognized. by the way, have you seen captain putnam?" "saw him about an hour ago. i think he was going to the hall." "good enough! i was waiting for him to get back." a few words more followed, and the two boys separated, and dick hurried to the doctor's office. dr. fremley was ready to leave, and soon the pair were on the way to the stanhope cottage. not wishing to give the hall a bad name dick deemed it advisable to say nothing about the fact that sam had been locked in an ice-cold room without his overcoat or hat, and merely stated that his brother had exposed himself. "he has a very heavy cold," said the doctor, after an examination. "if let run, it would have become serious, beyond a doubt; but i feel confident i can check it," and he left some medicine and some plasters. as soon as the doctor was gone dick announced his intention of returning to putnam academy. "the captain has got back, and i want to lay the whole case before him, and do it, too while sam is still sick." "shall i go along?" asked tom. "no, i'll go alone. they may need you here on sam's account." dick was soon on the way, riding another horse, for the stanhopes now kept two. he had had a fine dinner, and felt in the best of spirits, despite the disagreeable task before him. he did not doubt for a moment but that captain putnam would side with him and condemn the actions of jasper grinder. he was still out of sight of the hall when he saw peleg snuggers riding toward him in the captain's cutter. "is that you, master rover!" sang out the man of all work. "where are your brothers?" "safe, snuggers. has the captain got back?" "yes--got in a couple of hours ago." "has he said anything about our going away?" "said anything? just guess he has. why, the whole school is so upset nobody knows what he is doing. do you know what happened after you and your brothers ran away?" "of course i don't. what did happen?" "mr. grinder had a terrible row with more than a dozen of the boys, who sided with what you had done. he got awfully mad at them, and was going to cane the lot, when all of a sudden he fell down in a fit, just like he was going to die, and we had to work over him most an hour before we could bring him around." chapter viii. jasper grinder is dismissed. dick was greatly surprised over the news which peleg snuggers conveyed to him. he knew that jasper grinder was an intensely passionate man when aroused, as on the occasion of the attempted caning, but he had not imagined that the man would fall into a fit while in such a condition. "did he come out of the fit all right?" he questioned soberly. "when he came around he was as weak as a rag, and i and one of the big boys had to help him up to his room. he stayed there the rest of the evening, and the other teachers had to take charge." "what do they say about the matter?" "as soon as the captain got back all of 'em got in the private office and held a long talk. then the captain had a talk with mr. grinder, and after that the captain sent me off to look for you. he said you must be at the lanings, or at mrs. stanhope's, or else somewhere in cedarville." "we are stopping with mrs. stanhope. sam is sick with a heavy cold." "it's not to be wondered at. master tubbs has a cold, too, and the captain had mrs. green give him some medicine for it." "has he punished tubbs?" "no. he's awfully upset, and i don't think he'll do anything right away," concluded the general utility man. the cutter was turned around, and dick and snuggers hurried toward the hall. their coming was noticed by a score of boys who were snowballing each other oh the parade ground, and a shout went up. "dick rover is coming back! snuggers has brought dick rover back!" "take care of the horse, snuggers," said dick. "do the right thing, and i won't forget to pay you at christmas-time." "all right master rover; thank you," answered the man of all work. dick was at once surrounded, but before he could answer any questions he saw captain putnam appear at one of the windows and at once went inside to greet him. "well, rover, what does all this mean?" demanded the head of the school, but there was not much sternness in his tone. "it means captain putnam, that sam, tom, and i couldn't stand the treatment we received from mr. grinder. for a little set-to which sam and tubbs had in the gymnasium mr. grinder put sam in the ice-cold storeroom, and was going to keep him there all night, with nothing but stale bread to eat and cold water to drink. if sam had remained in the storeroom he would have died from the effects of it. as it is, he is now in bed at mrs. stanhope's, and we had to call in dr. fremley to attend him." "is he very ill, rover? tell me the exact truth." "i have never told you anything else, captain putnam. no, i don't think he is very ill, but he's got a bad cold. he is very hoarse, and he complained of such a pain in the chest that mrs. stanhope put on some plasters, and when the doctor came he left some more." "humph!" captain putnam began to walk up and down his private office. "what did you tell dr. fremley?" "nothing but that sam had exposed himself. i didn't want to give the school a black name. but one thing is certain, we can't remain here if mr. grinder is going to stay. i shall write to my father and tell him the full particulars." "it will not be necessary to do so, richard." the captain caught dick by the shoulder. "i have investigated this affair, and while i find that sam was to blame, and tom and you, too, yet i am convinced that mr. grinder exceeded his authority here. he had no business to put sam in the storeroom and master tubbs in the stone cell in this freezing weather. more than that, something happened after you left that shows plainly mr. grinder is not the proper person to be a teacher here, and from to-day i intend to dispense with his services." dick knew what the captain referred to, the falling of the teacher into his passionate fit on the floor, but he said nothing on that point, for in a way he felt sorry for one who could control himself so little. "i am glad we won't have to put up with him, sir, any longer. in one way, he is worse than mr. crabtree was." "let us drop the whole subject, richard. i have not been satisfied with mr. grinder for some time past, and had in view a teacher to take his place before this happened. the new teacher will come after the holidays, and i feel certain all the students will like him fully as much as they like mr. strong." "we won't ask for anybody better than mr. strong--or yourself," answered dick, with a smile. a talk lasting quarter of an hour followed, and it was decided that dick should return to the stanhope cottage, to tell tom and sam what turn affairs had taken. then tom was to come to the hall, leaving dick to look after sam. it was nightfall before dick got back to the cottage. of course his brothers and the others listened to his story with interest. both sam and tom felt greatly relieved. "if grinder keeps on he'll kill himself in one of his fits," said sam. "i hope he leaves before i go back to school." "if i was you, i wouldn't go back until he does leave," said tom. "i'm sure mrs. stanhope will let you stay here; won't you?" "to be sure, tom," answered the lady of the cottage. "but now captain putnam has made up his mind, you may be sure mr. grinder will not remain at the hall many days." "perhaps he'll go to-night," said dora. "the captain surely wont wish him at the hall over sunday." tom remained with his brothers until evening; then started for the hall on foot, not caring to bother with a horse. the road was now well broken, so he had no trouble in making the journey. when he arrived at the academy he found the boys assembled in the classroom, in charge of one of the under-teachers. "you cannot see captain putnam at present," said the teacher. "you will have to remain here with the other pupils until he is at leisure." "something must be wrong," murmured tom, as he slipped in a seat next to george granbury. "i think the captain is getting rid of old grinder," was the whispered reply. "he's afraid we'd go out and give him three groans when he left." "i see. well, it's best to let him go quietly. good riddance to him." "that's what all the boys say, although some are sorry he had the fit." "so am i sorry; but he brought it on himself." presently there was loud knocking in the front of the building and the slamming of a door. then a trunk was dumped into the captain's cutter, and the horse started off, carrying peleg snuggers and jasper grinder behind him. when the captain came into the classroom he was pale, and pulled nervously on his mustache evidently his task of getting rid of the passionate teacher had not been a light one. he said but little, and shortly after the boys were dismissed and sent to bed. sunday continued bright and clear, but it was so bitter cold that but few of the students went to church and sunday school. tom was anxious to hear how sam was getting along, and in the afternoon captain putnam himself drove him to the stanhope cottage in the cutter. it was found that the youngest rover was feeling much better, although his hoarseness had not left him. he said he was sure he could go back to school the next day. "we had a visit from jasper grinder," said dick. "he insisted on stopping here in spite of all snuggers could do to stop him." "and what did he say?" asked the captain anxiously. "oh, he was in a terrible rage, and threatened to sue my father because, as he put it, we had driven him from earning a good living. i could hardly get him out of the house, and when he left he picked up a big chunk of ice and snow and hurled it through the sitting-room window at sam. i believe the man isn't quite right in his head." "it certainly looks like it," was the captain's grave response. "did snuggers leave him in cedarville?" "yes. but snuggers didn't know where he went after that, excepting that he called at the post office for some letters." "i hope i never have anything to do with him again," said sam, with a shiver. "i do not believe he will bother you in the future," returned the captain. "when he comes to his sober senses he will realize fully how foolishly he has acted." as sam was so much better and needed no care that mrs. stanhope and dora were not willing to give him, tom returned to the hall with dick and captain putnam, after supper at the widow's cottage. the sleigh ride to the school was delightful, for the road was now in excellent shape, while overhead the stars shone down like so many glittering diamonds. chapter ix. a race on the ice, and what followed. after the events just narrated several days passed quietly enough at putnam hall. in the meantime the weather continued clear, and the boys took it upon themselves to clear off a part of the lake for skating. then, one night came a strong wind, and the next morning they found a space of cleared ice nearly half a mile long. "now for some fine skating!" exclaimed tom, as he rushed back to the hall after an inspection of the lake's smooth surface. "we can have all the racing we wish." "it's a pity sam can't go out yet," returned dick. sam was back to the school, but his cold had not entirely left him. "never mind; here are several new magazines he can read," returned tom, who had been to town with snuggers on an errand and had purchased them at the stationery store. "i would just as soon read now," said sam. "the magazines look mighty interesting." just then fred garrison came in, accompanied by george granbury. they had been down to cedarville to purchase some skates and a new pair of shoes for george. "hullo, what do you think we saw in cedarville!" cried fred, as soon as he caught sight of the rovers. "lots of snow," suggested tom dryly. "yes--and more." "a mighty dull town," suggested sam. "we saw dan baxter." "what was he doing?" "he was walking down the street. and who do you suppose was with him? mr. grinder!" "grinder!" came simultaneously from tom and dick. "yes, grinder. and they seemed to be on good terms with each other," put in george. "i could hardly believe my eyes at first," went on fred. "but there they were, as plain as day." "it's very odd," mused dick. "what should bring them together?" nobody could answer that question. "i don't believe they are up to any good," said tom. "i hope grinder doesn't join hands with baxter in plotting against us," came from dick. the matter was talked over for some time, but no satisfactory conclusion could be reached, and presently the boys separated, some to go skating and others to attend to their studies for the morrow. down at the lake the scene was an animated one. boys were flying in every direction, and mingled with them were a dozen or more girls and a few grown persons. george strong, the head teacher, was there, enjoying himself fully as much as the pupils who loved him. "i'll race you, mr. strong!" sang out one of the older boys, tom mardell. "done, master mardell," was the teacher's answer. "to yonder rock and return." and in a moment more the pair were off. "hurrah! a race between mr. strong and tom mardell!" came in a shout from a number of the students, and soon there was a general "lining up" to see how it would terminate. "go in, tom!" shouted tom rover. "don't let him beat you!" "mr. strong is behind!" came presently. "tom is going to win out, sure!" on and on went the skaters, until the rock was gained. then tom mardell turned so suddenly that he ran full tilt into the teacher with whom he was racing. both spun around and came down on the ice with a crash. "oh!" gasped mardell. "i didn't mean to do that!" "i--i know you didn't!" panted mr. strong. "you have finished the race in fine shape, i must declare!" and then he arose slowly to his feet and mardell followed. but nobody was seriously hurt, and in a moment more both skated off hand in hand. dick was looking for dora stanhope, and presently she appeared, in a pretty fur coat and a jaunty fur cap. he put on her skates for her, and they skated off, with many a side wink from some of the boys. "dick's head over heels," said one lad, to tom. "well, i guess you'd be, too, urner, if you could get such a nice girl to notice you," returned tom dryly. and then he added: "you must remember we are all old friends." "oh, i know that; and i was only joking." a grand race, open to all comers, had been arranged by the students of the hall and of pornell academy, a rival institute of learning, which has already figured in other volumes of this series. the pornell boys were out in force, and they were sure that one of their number would win the silver napkin ring, which was the first prize, and another the story book, which constituted the second prize. of this race a gentleman from cedarville, named mr. richards, was to be the starter and judge. the course was a short mile, down the lake and back again. the pornell boys to enter were named gray, wardham, gussy, and de long. the contestants from putnam hall were tom rover, fred garrison, tubbs, and a lad named hollbrook. "are you ready?" asked mr. richards, after lining the boys up and telling them of the conditions of the race. there was a dead silence. "go!" shouted the starter. away went the eight skaters, side by side each striking out bravely. fred was in the lead, with two pornell boys a close second, while tom rover was fourth. "go in, tom, you must win!" sang out dick excitedly. "hurrah for tubby!" came from several others. "he's crawling up!" "go in, gray!" came in a shout from some pornell sympathizers. gray was one of the pair striving for second place. now he shot ahead, and in a second more was close upon fred garrison's heels. the pace was truly terrific from the very start, and long before the turn was gained de long and hollbrook dropped out, satisfied that they could not win. gray, the leader of the pornell contingent, was a tall, lanky, and powerful fellow, and every stroke he took told well in his favor. the turning point was hardly rounded when he began to crawl up to fred, and then he gradually passed him. "hurrah! gray is ahead!" shouted his friends. "here is where pornell wins the race!" added one enthusiastic sympathizer. fred's pace had been too sharp from the very start, and now he slowly but surely dropped back to second place, and then to third. but then tom rover began to crawl up. he had held himself slightly in reserve. now he "let himself out." whiz! whiz! went the polished pair of steels under him, and soon wardham, the fellow who had held second place, was passed, dropping behind fred, thus taking fourth place. then tom came up on gray's heels. "hurrah for tom rover!" "go it, tom, don't let him beat you!" "go it gray, tom rover is at your heels!" gray did not dare to look back, but at the latter cry he did his best to increase his speed. so did tom, and while the finishing line was still a hundred yards distant he came up side by side with gray. "it's a tie!" "no, gray is a little ahead yet!" "go in, gray, don't let him beat you!" "tom rover to the front! go it, tom, for the glory of old putnam hall!" a wild yelling broke out on every side. on and on went the two boys, with fred garrison not two yards behind them. that the finish would be a close one there was no question. the line was but a hundred feet away; now but seventy-five; now but fifty. still the leaders kept side by side, neither gaining an inch. surely it would be a tie. the yelling increased until the noise was deafening. and then of a sudden tom rover shot ahead. how it was done nobody knew, and tom himself couldn't explain it when asked afterward. but ahead he went, like an arrow shot from a bow, and crossed the line six feet in advance of gray. "hurrah! tom rover has won!" "told you tom would do it!" "three cheers for putnam hall!" "and fred garrison came in only one yard behind gray, too, and tubby is a pretty good fourth." "this is putnam hall day, thank you!" the cheering increased, and tom was immediately surrounded by a host of admirers. gray felt very sore, and wanted to leave the pond at once, but before he could do so tom skated up to him and held out his hand. "you came pretty close to beating me," he said. "i can't really say how i got ahead at the finish." "i--i guess my skate slipped, or something," stammered gray, and shook hands. tom's candor took away the keen edge of the defeat. the putnam hall boys were wild with delight, and insisted upon carrying tom on their shoulders around the pond. a great crowd followed, and nobody noticed how this made the ice bend and crack. "be careful there!" shouted mr. strong warningly. "there are too many of you in a bunch!" but ere he had finished the sentence there came another loud cracking, and in a twinkle a section of the ice went down, plunging fully a dozen lads into the icy water below. chapter x. the end of the term. "the ice has gone down!" "some of the boys will be drowned!" "get some boards and a rope, quick!" these and a score of other cries rang out. in the meantime those near to the hole skated with all speed to one place of safety or another. some of the imperiled boys who had not gone down very deeply managed to scramble out with wet feet or wet lower limbs only, but when the crowd had drawn back it was seen that three boys were floundering in the chilling water over their heads. these boys were george granbury and frank harrington, who had been supporting tom on their shoulders, and tom himself, who had been dropped into the opening head first by the frightened lads. realizing that something must be done at once, mr. strong ran to the boathouse, which was close at hand, and soon reappeared, carrying a long plank. he was followed by a boy with a rope, and several boys brought more planks and more ropes. [illustration: the mishap on the ice. _rover boys in the mountains_.] when the first plank was pushed out tom lost no time in grasping hold of it. he crawled to a safe place on hands and knees, but was so nearly paralyzed he could not stand up. "i'll carry him up to the hall," said peleg snuggers, who had chanced upon the scene, and without ceremony he picked tom up in his strong arms and made off for the school building on a run. after tom came frank harrington, who caught hold of one end of a rope tossed toward the hole. as soon as he shouted he had the rope secure, a dozen boys pulled upon it, and frank was literally dragged from his icy bath. once on shore he was started on a run for the hall, some boys rushing ahead to obtain dry clothing for both him and the others. poor george granbury was now the only one left in danger, and matters appeared to be going hard with him. he clutched at one of the planks thrust toward him, but his hold slipped and down he went out of sight. "he'll be drowned! he's too cold to save himself!" was the cry of several who were watching him. "be careful, boys!" came warningly from mr. strong. "be careful, or somebody else will get in!" "mr. strong, if you will hold the plank, i'll crawl out and get hold of granbury," came from dick, in a determined voice. "rover, can you do it?" "i feel certain i can. hold tight, please." dick leaped upon the plank and threw himself flat. then he crawled out as fast as he could, until he was on the end over the open water. holding to the plank with one hand he reached out to grasp george's shoulder with the other. "sa--save me!" gasped the drowning boy. "give me your hand, george," called dick. granbury tried to do so, but the effort was a failure, for the cold had so numbed him he could scarcely move. reaching as far as he could, dick caught a portion of his coat and drew the helpless boy toward him. the ice cracked ominously, but did not break. mr. strong warned the others still further back. slowly but surely dick raised george to a level of the plank. then with an extra effort he hauled the half-drowned boy up. "now haul in on the plank," he called, and mr. strong and two boys did so immediately. in a moment more danger from drowning was a thing of the past for george granbury. a cheer went up because of dick's heroic action, but this was instantly hushed as george was seen to stagger back and fall as if dead. instantly mr. strong picked the boy up in his arms and ran toward the hall. "oh, dick, how noble of you!" it was dora stanhope who spoke, as she came up and placed a trembling little hand on his arm. "and how glad i am that you didn't get in while doing it." and her eyes filled with tears. "i--i'm glad too, dora," he said brokenly. and then added: "excuse me, but i guess i'd better go up and see how tom is making out." "to be sure, and let me know if it's all right," she replied. once inside the hall dick learned that tom had been put into a warm bed. he was apparently none the worse for his mishap, and likely to be as full of life and fun as ever on the morrow. poor granbury, however, was not so well off. it took some time to restore him to consciousness, and while captain putnam and mr. strong put him to bed, with hot-water bags to warm him up, peleg snuggers was sent off post-haste for a doctor. as a result of the adventure granbury had to remain in bed for the best part of a week. "i shan't forget you for what you did," he said to dick, when able to sit up. "you saved my life." and many agreed that what george granbury said was true. as for dora stanhope, she looked upon the elder rover as more of a hero than ever. after the mishap at the races on the ice the time flew by swiftly until the christmas holidays. before going home for christmas dick called upon the stanhopes and gave them the gifts he had purchased, over which they were much pleased. for dick dora had worked a pretty scarf, of which he was justly proud. mrs. stanhope had books for all the boys, something which was always to their liking. the rovers did not forget the lanings, nor were they forgotten by these old friends. "and now for home. hurrah!" shouted sam, on the way to cedarville. "i must say i'm just a bit anxious to see the old place once more." "yes, and see father, and uncle randolph and aunt martha," put in dick. "don't forget alexander pop," put in tom, referring to the colored man who had once been a waiter at the hall, and who was now in the rover employ. "and jack ness and the rest," put in sam. "i guess we'll be glad enough to see everybody." when the boys arrived at ithaca they found there had been a freight smash-up on the railroad, and that they would have to wait for five or six hours for a train to take them home. this would bring them to oak run, their railroad station, at three o'clock in the morning. "i move we stay in ithaca over night," said tom. "if we got to oak run at three in the morning, what would we do? there would be no one there to meet us, and it's a beastly hour for rousing anybody out." so they decided to put up at a hotel in ithaca, and went around to a new place called the students' rest. the hotel was fairly well filled, but they secured a large apartment with two double beds. "there's a nice concert on this evening by a college glee club," said sam. "i move we get tickets and go." "second the motion," said tom promptly. "the motion is put and carried," put in dick just as promptly. "i trust, though, the concert don't make us weep." "they won't know we're there, so perhaps they won't try it on too hard," said sam, and there the students' slang came to an end for the time being. the concert was quite to their taste, and they were surprised, when it was over, to learn that it was after eleven o'clock. "i hadn't any idea it was so late," exclaimed dick. "we'd better be getting back to the hotel, or we won't get our money's worth out of that room." "that's right," laughed tom. "although, to tell the truth, i'm not very sleepy." several blocks were covered when sam, who was looking across the street, uttered a cry of astonishment. "look!" he exclaimed. "at what?" asked both tom and dick. "over in front of that clothing store. there is dan baxter, and jasper grinder is with him!" "sam is right," came from dick. "they must have struck up some sort of a friendship, or they wouldn't be here together." "let's go over and see what baxter has to say for himself," said tom boldly. "all right," returned dick. "but we want to keep out of a row; remember that." they crossed the street and walked straight up to baxter and jasper grinder, who were holding an animated conversation in the doorway of a clothing establishment which was closed for the night. as they came up, sam caught the words, "there is money there, sure," coming from baxter. he paid no attention to the words at the time, but remembered them long afterward, and with good reason. "hullo, baxter!" said dick, halting in front of the bully. dan baxter gave a start, as if detected in some wrong act. then, as the light from an electric lamp shone upon dick's face, he glared sourly at the oldest rover. "where did you come from?" he asked, and then, seeing the other rovers, added: "been following me, i suppose?" "no, we haven't been following you," said dick. "we just came from, the college boys' concert in the hall down the street." jasper grinder looked as sour as did dan baxter. then he shook his finger in dick's face. "i haven't forgotten you, richard rover," he said bitterly. "and i am not likely to forget you." "as you please, mr. grinder," was the cool rejoinder. "and i shan't forget you, jasper grinder," put in sam. "you were the means of my going to bed with a heavy cold." "bah! it was all put on," exclaimed jasper grinder. "had i had my way, i would have kept you in the storeroom all night, and flogged you beside." "captain putnam did a good thing when he dismissed you," put in tom. "it's a pity he ever took on such a cold-hearted and miserly fellow." "you rovers think you are on top," said dan baxter savagely. "but you won't stay on top long, i'll give you my word on that." "what are you going to do about it?" asked dick, not without considerable curiosity. "never mind; you'll learn when the proper time comes." "is your dad going to try to break jail again?" asked sam. "it's none of your business what he does--or what i do, either." "we'll make it our business if you try any of your games on us again," said dick. "we've stood enough from you and your kind, and we don't intend to stand any more." "are you going back to school after the holidays?" asked dan baxter, after a pause. "that's our business," answered tom. "all right; you needn't answer the question if you don't want to." "what do you want to know for?" asked sam. "oh! nothing in particular. i suppose it's a good place for you to go to. you are all captain putnam's pets, and he won't make you do a thing you don't like, or make you study either, if your father shells out to him." "we study a great deal more than you ever studied, baxter," said dick. "let them go," cried jasper grinder, in deep irritation. "i want nothing to do with them," and he turned his back on the rovers. "we're willing to go," said dick. "but, baxter, i warn you against doing anything in the future. you'll only put your foot into it." so speaking, dick walked away, and tom and sam followed him. baxter shook his fist at them, and jasper grinder did the same. "they're a bad team," said tom, as they walked to the hotel. "if they try, perhaps they can give us lots of trouble." chapter xi. home for the holidays. "hurrah! here we are again! how natural oak run looks!" exclaimed tom on the following day, as the long train came to a halt at their station and they piled out on to the narrow platform. "there is old nat ricks, the station master," said sam. "remember how you nearly scared him to death once by putting a big fire-cracker in the waste paper he was burning and then telling him a yarn about dynamite being around?" "well, i just guess i do," answered tom, with a grin. "hullo, mr. ricks!" he called out. "how are you this fine and frosty morning?" "putty well, tom," grumbled the old station master. "been troubled a lot lately with rheumatism." "that's too bad, mr. ricks. caught it hoisting trunks into the cars, i suppose." "don't know how i caught it." "or maybe lifting milk cans." "i don't lift no milk cans no more. job todder has that work around here." "i see. well, you must have caught it somehow, or else it caught you. ever tried the old indian remedy for it?" "indian remedy, what's that?" "gracious, mr. ricks! never heard of the old reliable indian remedy? i'm astonished at you," went on tom, in mock candor. "i've heard tell of indian vegetable pills--but they aint no good for rheumatism," was the slow answer. "where is the pain mostly?" "down this left leg." "then the indian remedy will just cure you, sure pop, mr. ricks." "well, what might it be?" "it might be cover-liver oil, but it isn't. you get a quart bottle--a red quart bottle, for a white one won't do,--and fill it with cold spring water, tapped when the moon is full." "is that all?" "oh, no, no! then you take the spring water and boil it over a charcoal fire, same as the modoc indians used to do. you remember all about that, don't you?" "i--i--'pears to me i ought to," stammered the old station master. "well, after the water is boiled," went on tom, with a side wink at dick and sam, who were already on a broad grin, "you strain it through a piece of red cheesecloth--not white, remember--and add one teaspoonful of sugar, one of salt, one of ginger, one of mustard, one of hog's lard, one of mercury, one of arrowroot, one of kerosene oil, one of lemon juice, one of extract of vanilla, one of mushamusha----" "hold on rover, i can't remember all that. i'll have to put it down," interrupted nat ricks. "no, you don't put it down until everything is in and well mixed. then you put it down, half a pint at a time, four times a day. it's a sure cure, and inside of a week after taking seventeen quarts and rubbing the empty bottles on your left shoulder blade you'll feel like dancing a jig of joy; really, you will." "oh, you go along!" growled the old station master, in sudden wrath. "you're joking me. go oh, or i'll throw something at you!" "no bouquets, please, mr. ricks. then you won't try the cure? all right, but don't blame me if your rheumatism gets worse. and as i can't do anything for you, will you kindly inform me if you've seen anything of jack ness around here, with our turnout?" "if you want your hired man you go find him yourself," growled the station master, and hobbled into his office. "oh, tom, but that was rich," laughed sam softly. "when you said extract of vanilla and mushamusha i thought i'd explode. and he was listening so earnestly, too!" "here's jack ness!" cried dick, as they turned to the rear of the station. "hullo, jack! here we are again!" "master dick!" exclaimed the hired man, with a grin. "an' tom an' sam! glad to see you boys back, indeed i am. here, give me them bags. i'll put 'em in the back of the sleigh." "how is the sleighing?" asked sam. "sleighing is quite fair yet, master tom. in you go. all the folks is dying to see you." they were soon stowed away in the big family sleigh, and jack ness touched up the team, and away they went, through oak run and across the bridge spanning the swift river--that stream where sam had once had such a thrilling adventure. the countryside was covered with snow and with pools of ice. it did not take them long to come in sight of valley brook. while still at a distance they saw faithful alexander pop come out on the broad piazza and wave his hand at them. "there's aleck!" cried tom. "he's been on the watch!" "there is father!" came from sam, a moment later; "and aunt martha and uncle randolph!" soon they turned into the lane, and jack ness brought the sleigh up to the piazza block in fine style. tom was the first out and ran to greet his father, and then his uncle and his aunt, and the others followed. "i am glad to see you back, boys," said mr. anderson rover. "you all look first-rate." "we're feeling first-rate," came from dick. "are you sure, sam, that you are quite over your cold?" asked aunt martha anxiously. "quite sure, aunty dear," he answered, and kissed her very warmly, not once, but several times. "here, don't eat aunt martha up!" cried tom. "leave some for me." "you dear tom!" murmured the lady of the house, as she kissed him and then embraced dick. "full of fun as ever, i suppose." "oh, no, aunty! i never do anything wrong now," answered tom solemnly. "i really haven't time, you know." "i'm afraid, tom, i can't trust you." and mrs. randolph rover shook her head sadly, but smiled nevertheless. she loved the jolly lad with all her heart. there was a warm greeting from randolph rover also, and then the boys turned indoors, to greet faithful alexander pop and the others who worked about the place. "yo' is a sight fo' soah eyes, 'deed yo' is, boys," said the colored man. "i can't tell yo' how much i'se missed yo'!" and his face shone like a piece of polished ebony. "it's more like home than ever, to get where you are, aleck," said dick. "you've been through so much with us you are certainly part of the outfit." and at this aleck laughed and looked more pleased than ever. it was the day before christmas, but in honor of their arrival there was an extra-fine dinner awaiting them. mrs. rover had wanted to keep her turkey meat for christmas, so her husband, anderson rover, and aleck had gone into the woods back of the farm and brought down some rabbits and a number of birds, so there was potpie and other good things galore, not forgetting some pumpkin pies and home-made doughnuts, which aunt martha prepared with her own hands and of which the boys had always been exceedingly fond. "i'll tell you what," remarked tom, as he was stowing away his second generous piece of pie, "the feed at the hall is all right, but when it comes to a real, downright spread, like this, the palm goes to aunt martha." and dick and sam agreed with him. there was, of course, much to tell about on both sides, and after dinner the family gathered in the big sitting room, in front of a cheerful, blazing fire. mr. anderson rover listened with keen interest to what his sons had to say about jasper grinder and dan baxter. "i sincerely trust they do not plot against us," he said. "i am getting old, and i want no more trouble." "i don't believe dan has the backbone his father has," answered dick. "and i believe mr. grinder is good deal of a coward." "if only young baxter would turn over a new leaf!" sighed mrs. martha rover. "i declare i'll not feel safe, on your account, until that young man is taken care of." the evening was passed in talking, singing, and playing games, and it was not until late that all retired. the christmas to follow was not one to be easily forgotten. there were presents for everybody, from mr. rover down to sarah, the hired girl, and everybody was greatly pleased. at the christmas dinner alexander pop insisted upon waiting on the table, just as he had so often done at putnam hall. he had on his full dress suit, and his face wore one perpetual smile. the boys had all remembered aleck handsomely, and he had not forgotten them. in the afternoon the boys went skating, and on the pond met several of the boys of the neighborhood, and all had a glorious time until dark. then they piled home, once more as hungry as wolves, to a hot supper, and an evening of nut-cracking around the fire. "tell you what," said sam on going to bed that night, "i almost wish christmas came once a week instead of once a year!" chapter xii. the brass-lined money casket. it was on the day following christmas that dick brought out the brass-lined money casket which he had picked up in the cave on needle point island, in lake huron, as related in a previous volume of this series. as old readers know, this cave was stumbled upon by accident. it had once been the hiding place of a band of smugglers who plied their unlawful calling between the united states and canada, and the cave was found filled with numerous articles of more or less value. the rovers had gone back for these things, but had found some money gone, also a curiously shaped dagger and a map, which had been in the cave on a rude table. they were pretty well satisfied in their minds that dan baxter had taken these things, but had never been able to prove it. the brass-lined money casket was an odd-looking affair, which dick found thrust in a big box of fancy articles of various descriptions. the box was about a foot long, six inches wide, and six inches deep. it was of rosewood, with silver corners, and the lining was of polished brass, curiously engraved. the box had contained a few odd canadian silver coins, but that was all. "do you know, i would like to know the history of this box," observed dick, as he looked it over. "as it belonged to one of those smugglers it ought to have quite a story to tell." "it will make a nice jewel casket," put in tom. "when you settle down with dora, you can give if to her for her dia----" "oh, stow that, tom! if dora ever does take me for a husband, it won't be for some years to come, you must know that." "let me take a look at the box," put in sam. "i never got the chance to look it over carefully." "it's odd that they should engrave it inside," went on dick. "especially since the outside silver corners are plain." "perhaps there is a secret spring hidden by the engraving," suggested tom. "hunt around. it may fly apart and let out a hundred thousand in diamonds." "don't be foolish, tom," said dick. "it isn't likely there is a spring." "but there just is a spring!" exclaimed sam, who was handling the box. "hark!" he ran his finger nail over a spot on one side of the box, and there followed a tiny click. then he ran his finger nail back, and there was another click. "hurrah! sam has solved the mystery of the sphinx!" cried tom. "can you open it? i claim a third share of the diamonds!" "give me the box," said dick, also a bit excited. when he got it in his hands he, too, ran his finger nail over the engraved brass. several tiny clicks followed. "there must be some opening beneath the brass lining," he said. "take it to the window, and perhaps you'll be able to see something more," suggested sam. dick did as advised, and, with his brothers gathered close beside him, worked over the money casket for fully quarter of an hour. "it seems to click, and that's all," he said disappointedly. "if i could only----oh!" dick stopped short. his finger had run across the lining in a certain way. there were three clicks in rapid succession, and on the instant one of the brass plates of the box flew back, revealing a tiny compartment behind it, not over a quarter of an inch in depth. "no diamonds there," said tom, his face falling. "full of emptiness." "no, here is a sheet of parchment," returned dick, pulling it forth. "a map!" he added, as he unfolded it. "well, i never!" "never what?" came from tom and sam. "unless i am mistaken, this is like the map that was on that table in the cave, only this is much smaller." "that's interesting, too," said tom. "the back of the map is full of writing," said sam. he looked closer. "it's in french." "this box must have belonged to one of those french-canadian smugglers," said dick. "we'll have to get uncle randolph to read the writing and tell us what it says." the three boys had been up to dick's room. now they lost no time in going below. in all eagerness they burst into the library, where anderson rover sat reading a magazine and randolph rover one of his favorite works on scientific farming. "dick has got the money casket open!" cried sam. "and he has found a map," added tom. "we want uncle randolph to read the writing. it's in french." "found a map in that old brass-lined box, eh?" said anderson rover. "that's interesting." "i am afraid my french is a trifle rusty," remarked randolph rover, as he put down his book. "let me see the map." he took it to the window, and both he and anderson rover looked it over with keen interest. "why, this is a map of the locality around timber run," said randolph rover. "that's a great lumbering section in the adirondacks." "timber run!" echoed tom, and for the moment said no more. but he remembered what dora stanhope had said, that after the holidays nellie and grace laning were going on a visit to an aunt who lived at timber run. "yes, thomas, this is a map of timber run. this stream is the perch river, and this is bear pond. the naming is in french, but that is the english of it." "please read the writing on the back," said dick. "if the map is worth anything i want to know it." without further ado randolph rover began to read the writing. it was a hard and tedious task, and the translating was, to him, equally difficult, for his knowledge of french was somewhat limited. translated, the writing ran somewhat after this fashion: "to find the box of silver and gold, go to where bear pond empties into perch river. ten paces to the west is a large pine tree, which was once struck by lightning. go due southwest from the pine tree sixty-two paces, to the flat rock, behind which is a sharp-pointed rock. beneath the sharp-pointed rock is the chamber with the box. stranger, beware of goupert's ghost." * * * * * "a treasure in the mountains!" cried sam. "hurrah! let's go and get it!" "bear pond lies between two high mountains," said randolph rover. "it is in a very wild country, and so far but little of the timber has been taken out." "never mind, we'll go anyhow!" put in tom enthusiastically. "why, the box may be worth a fortune!" "yes, let us go by all means," put in dick. "i wouldn't like any better fun than hunting for a treasure box." "haven't you boys had adventures enough?" questioned anderson rover. "you've been to africa and out west, and on the ocean and the great lakes----" "oh, this would just be a little winter's outing in the mountains," said tom. "we could go hunting, and have lots of fun, even if we didn't find the treasure box." "the treasure box was probably taken away years ago," said randolph rover. "most likely several of the smugglers knew of it." "and what of that ghost?" asked anderson rover, with a twinkle in his eyes. "pooh! we're not afraid of ghosts," sniffed sam. "are we, tom?" "if i saw a ghost, i'd be apt to pepper him with shot, if i had my gun," answered tom. "no, i'm not afraid of such things--and neither is dick." "it would be a fine thing to find a big boxful of silver," said dick seriously. "i know there was lots in that cave, before dan baxter scooped it in. and, by the way, he must have that other map yet." "perhaps he went for the treasure box!" burst out sam. "if the box is gone, we can't help it," said tom. "but i move we get to timber run and bear pond just as soon as possible." "do you want to start in this cold weather?" asked his father anxiously. "pooh! it isn't so very cold." "it's a good deal colder up in the mountains than it is here, i can tell you that. why, you might easily freeze to death if you got lost in the snow." "i wonder if we couldn't find some guide who knows that territory thoroughly," mused dick. "if you could find a good guide, i wouldn't mind your going," said his parent. "but i shall object to your going alone." "then we'll hunt for a guide, and without delay," said dick. "i would like to go up there before putnam hall opens again." "so would i," came from his two brothers. "i think i know where you can get a guide," said tom, after a pause. "the lanings have relatives at timber run. let's write to mr. laning." this was agreed to, and a special trip was made to the village by aleck pop to post the letter. in the letter they asked mr. laning to telegraph, if possible, in reply. the telegram came shortly after noon the next day. it ran as follows: "i feel sure my brother-in-law, john barrow, of timber run, can supply a reliable guide. will write to him. "john laning." "that settles it," said dick. "i know the lanings will do what is right by us, so we may as well get ready to start at once. are you willing, father?" "yes, dick," was the answer. "but be sure and keep out of danger, and keep tom and sam out, too." chapter xiii. the heart of the adirondack. three days later found the rover boys in the heart of the adirondack mountains of new york state. they had left home, after a hasty but thorough preparation, two days before, and taken the train from oak run to the mountain village of medwell. at medwell they had taken the stage to barton's corners, and at this point had hired a private conveyance to carry them and their outfit to timber run. at the time of which i write timber run was nothing more than a collection of a dozen houses, strung along a branch of the perch river, where that stream turned the southern slope of a high hill known as bald top. there was a general store here and also an office belonging to the timber run lumber company. but business with the company was slow, and the village, consequently, was almost destitute of life, two of the houses being without tenants. "well, this doesn't look much like a place," remarked sam, as they got out of the heavy lumber wagon which had brought them and their outfit over. "phew! but aint it cold!" exclaimed tom, dancing around and slapping his arms over his chest. "i wonder how nellie and grace laning like this?" "i'll wager you've been thinking of nellie all the way up," said dick slyly, remembering how his brother had tormented him about dora stanhope. "couldn't think of anything but how cold it was," growled tom, but his face took on a sudden redness. "where do you go next?" he demanded, to change the subject. "let's go over to the store and ask for mr. john barrow," suggested dick. the store was at a fork in the roads, and thither they hurried, to get inside, for the ride from barton's corners had certainly been a chilling one. in the store they found a big pot stove throwing out a generous amount of heat, and around this stove were gathered half a dozen men, smoking and telling stories. "so you are the young men who are looking for john barrow," said the storekeeper, after listening to what dick had to say. "he was here waiting for you, and he'll be back in a bit. rather a cold ride, eh? draw up to the fire and warm up." a place was made for the lads, and while they were "thawing out," as sam put it, john barrow came in. he proved to be a tall, powerful built lumberman, with a well-tanned face and sharp, but kindly, eyes. "how do you do," he said, as he shook hands. "real glad to know you. yes, i got a letter from john laning, my brother-in-law, tellin' me all about you. he says as how you want a guide fer these parts. well, i don't want to brag, but i reckon i know the lay o' the land 'round here about as good as any o' 'em, and a heap sight better nor lots." "we'd like you first-rate for a guide," said tom, who was pleased with john barrow's looks, as were also his brothers. "but can you spare the time?" "reckon i can, just now. you see, the lumber company has got in some sort of a tangle with the owner of the timber on this tract, and consequently work is at a standstill. that's why you see so many men hangin' around here." "then you work for the company?" asked dick. "i do in the winter time, but not in the summer. i've got a tidy farm down the river a bit, and i let out my hosses to the company to haul timber. it's cash money, you see, when the haulin' is goin' on." "i believe the laning girls are stopping with you," put in sam. "yes, nellie and grace came up some time ago. you see, our girl, addie, gits tired being on the farm with only her mother, so we invited her cousins to come up for a spell. they've had some pretty good times together, so far, skatin' and sleighin', and the like. they are all anxious to see you." john barrow had brought with him his wagon, and into this their outfit was dumped, and a minute later they were off, down the winding and rough road running along the bank of the river, which was now frozen to a thickness of a foot or more and covered with several inches of snow. "you say you know this locality," observed dick, as they bumped along over the frozen ground. "do you know the spot where bear pond empties into perch river?" "i know several such spots, my lad." "several!" came from all of the rover boys. "yes, several. you see the ground around the pond is marshy, and the heavy rains cut all sorts of gullies here and there, so the pond empties into the river, now, at five or six p'ints." "are these points very far apart?" asked sam, in dismay. "you see, i'm very anxious we should know the exact particulars." "indeed!" john barrow looked at them curiously. "say, i reckon i know what you are after!" he burst out suddenly. "what?" came from the three. "you're on a hunt for old goupert's treasure." "why, what do you know about that?" demanded dick. he remembered that the writing on the map said, "beware of goupert's ghost." "oh, that's an old yarn about here, and at different times we've had more'n a hundred folks a-hunting around for that old frenchman's money box, but nobody ever got so much as a smell o' it." "who was goupert?" asked tom. "goupert was a thoroughly bad man, who lived sixty or seventy years ago. the story goes that he used to be a smuggler and that he came here when the authorities chased him off the great lakes. he had lots o' money, but he was a miser, and a queer stick to boot. he built himself a cabin on bear pond, and lived there all alone for two years. then some lake men came down here, and one night there was a big row and the lake men disappeared. goupert couldn't be found at first, but about a month later some hunters discovered his dead body tied to a tree in the woods, not far from the spot you asked about. he had been left to starve to death. the story was that the lake men had starved him in order to get him to tell where he had hidden his money box, and that old goupert was too much o' a miser to let the secret out. so folks begun to hunt for that money box high an' low, but never got a smell o' it, as i said." "did you ever hunt for the money?" questioned dick. "no, i never had no time to waste. so you really came up on that account?" "we came up on that account, and also to have a good time in the mountains," said dick, before sam or tom could speak. "but, mr. barrow, i wish you wouldn't mention this to the other folks around here. they might laugh at us for coming on what they think is a wild-goose chase." "oh, i won't say a word on it--if you want it that way." "did this goupert leave any relatives?" asked sam. "no, lad, not a soul." "then if we should find that treasure it would belong to us," put in tom. "every penny on it, lad. but don't raise any high hopes, or you may be sorely disapp'inted." "oh, i came for a good time," replied tom, in an off-handed a manner as possible. presently john barrow had to get out of the wagon to fix something on the harness. while he was doing this dick leaned over to his two brothers. "don't say anything about the map to anybody," he whispered. "we'll keep that a secret for the present." and tom and sam nodded, to show that they understood. the ride to john barrow's house soon came to an end, and as the boys alighted at the horseblock the door opened and nellie and grace laning appeared. "how do you do, tom!" cried nellie, as she ran and caught him by the hand, while grace did the same to sam. "we're awfully glad to see you, and to see dick and sam, too," and a hand-shaking all around followed. then mrs. barrow, a motherly woman, was introduced and also her daughter addie, who was nellie's age, and full of fun. "come right in, boys," said mrs. barrow. "supper is waiting, and i'm sure you must be hungry." "hungry doesn't describe it," said tom. "i could eat sole leather. phew! what an appetite riding in this mountain air does give a fellow!" "can you ever remember the time when you wasn't without an appetite, tom?" asked nellie laning, with a laugh. "never go so far into ancient history," he returned solemnly, and a general laugh followed. soon their outfit was safely housed in the barn, and then they entered the house, where the long supper table, filled with good things, awaited them. all three of the girls insisted upon waiting on the boys, and it proved as jolly a meal as they had ever eaten. they lingered for an hour at the table, talking and cracking nuts, and during that time the rover boys became thoroughly acquainted with the barrow family. "oh, i've heard lots about you!" said addie barrow. "nellie has told me great, long stories about tom's bravery, and grace has told me all about sam's doings, and both of them have told about you, dick----" "now, do be still, addie!" put in nellie laning. "i declare, i never said a word!" "oh! a word! why, you kept me awake one night for over an hour telling about how tom----" "let's have a song," broke in sam. "i see an organ in the next room and some music. you must play," he added, to addie. "she plays beautifully," put in grace, thankful for the change of subject. "addie, give them that new song, 'i'm sorry, oh, so sorry!'" "all right," answered the young lady of the house, and sitting down at the organ she ran her hands over the keys and started the song. she could sing and play well, and all joined in the chorus. the music was kept up for over an hour, and then the rover boys retired, highly pleased over their reception. chapter xiv. the start up the river. "if it wasn't for finding that treasure box i'd just as lief stay here for a few days," remarked tom, on getting up the following morning. "ditto myself," came from sam. "we could have a boss good time, eh?" "how about it if nellie and grace weren't here?" came from dick, and then dodged a shoe thrown at him by tom and a pillow sent forth by sam. "no, boys, it won't do--we must leave for the hunt to-day. why, there may be a million in it." "that's right, dick; when you fly, fly high," said tom. "that frenchman never had a million. if he had a couple of thousand he'd be lucky." "and of course, a couple of thousand is of no importance to us," put in sam grandiloquently. "all right; i'll go on the hunt alone." "no, dick, of course we'll go," said tom hastily. "when do you want to start?" "as soon as mr. barrow can get off." but, in spite of dick's anxiety to get off, the start was delayed for a whole day, much to tom and sam's secret joy. john barrow had to go to timber run for things needed in the house by his wife and daughter. when he returned there was a broad grin on his face. "i've got news for you," he said to dick, who had followed him down to the barn. "there's another party arrived at timber run on the hunt fer that treasure of old goupert's." "another party. who is it?" "didn't hear their names. there are two men and a young fellow o' nineteen or twenty. they have hired bill harney fer a guide, and are goin' to strike out fer the pond to-morrow." "two men and a young fellow," mused dick. "i'd like to know who they are." "one o' the men looked like a preacher or schoolmaster. he called the young feller thacher, or something like that." "it wasn't baxter?" queried dick, struck by a sudden idea. "that's the name--now i remember." "and the man, did they call him grinder--jasper grinder?" went on dick excitedly. "if it wasn't grinder, it was something like it. the party came east from ithaca." "it's dan baxter and jasper grinder sure!" burst out dick. "well, this beats the nation." "then you know the crowd?" "i do--to my sorrow, mr. barrow. that dan baxter is the good-for-nothing young fellow i told you of this morning, and jasper grinder was a teacher at the hall. we had a big row with him and he was kicked out in a hurry by captain putnam. they are our enemies." "humph! that promises to make it interesting for you. but it's queer they should come up at the same time you're here," went on the lumberman thoughtfully. "i might as well let you into a secret, mr. barrow. will you promise to keep it entirely to yourself?" "certainly, lad, if it's an honest secret." "it is honest," answered dick, and thereupon told of the adventure on needle point island and of the map on the table, and how it had disappeared, and of the finding of the second map in the brass-lined money casket later on. "i am sure dan baxter has that other map," he concluded. "he wants that treasure as badly as we do." "then i allow as how it will be a nip-an'-tuck race between you," returned john barrow. "the fust to get there will be the best man. o' course, with that map it ought to be plain enough sailin'." "i thought it would be, but it will mix us up, now you say that bear pond empties into perch river in several places. we'll have to try one place after another." "do your directions start from that p'int?" "yes." "then we'll have to find the right emptyin' place, that's all. my advice is to start fer the spot to-morrow early." so it was arranged, and dick called tom and sam down to the barn to talk it over. it was late in the afternoon, and all worked until after the supper hour in preparing for the start. "it's a good twenty miles' tramp from here," said john barrow, "and we'll have to climb two pretty steep mountains to get to the spot." "why can't we follow the stream up?" asked tom. "that would be easier than tramping up the mountains." "by the river the way is at least forty miles, and there are half a dozen rough spots where you'd have to walk a mile or two." "we have our skates," said sam. "skating would be easier than walking, and pulling the sleds on the ice would be child's play." "well, i allow as how i wouldn't mind skatin' myself," said john barrow thoughtfully. "i never thought of that before. if you want to, we can try that trail. we can take to the mountain any time, if we find skating no good." so it was arranged that they should strike out for bear pond by way of the river, and the sleds, of which there were two, were packed accordingly, and the boys saw to it that their skates were well sharpened and otherwise in good condition. "when you're skating, you want to look out for air holes," was john barrow's caution. "fer where the river runs between the mountains it is mighty deep in spots, i can tell you that!" "thanks, i'll be on my guard," answered tom, with a shiver. "i've had all i want of icy baths this winter." the girls were sorry to see the boys leave so quickly, but were consoled when tom promised to stay longer on the return. on the following morning breakfast was had at six o'clock, and by seven they were off, everybody wishing them a good time. only mrs. barrow knew that the boys were on a treasure, and not a bird and wild animal, hunt. it was a clear, frosty day and everybody was in the best of spirits. the boys wore fur caps and warm clothing, and each was provided with either a rifle or a shot-gun. so far they had seen but little game around the farm, but john barrow assured them that the timber and mountains were full of game of all sorts. "i wonder what route dan baxter's party took," said dick, as they gained the river, and stopped to put on their skates. "i didn't hear what route they took," answered their guide. "i reckon they went straight over the mountains. i don't believe as how bill harney takes to skating." "is this bill harney a good sort?" asked tom. "if he is, i can tell you he has got into bad company." "bill isn't so bad when he's sober. it's when he gits full o' rum that he makes things lively. he's a great drinker." they were soon on the river, which at this point was fifty to sixty feet wide. the snow covered a large portion of the surface, but the wind had cleared many a long stretch, and they skated on these, dragging the sleds behind them. each sled was packed high with the camping outfit, but they ran along readily. "i wonder how long we'll be out," said sam, as he skated by tom's side. "i guess that will depend upon what luck we have, sam. if we strike the right spot first clip we ought to be back inside of five or six days." as the party moved up the river they found the stream wound in and out between the mountains on either side were bare rocky walls or dense patches of timber, with here and there a tiny open space, now piled deep with snowdrifts. "i see some rabbits ahead!" cried tom presently. "wonder if i can bring them down," he added, as he unslung his gun. but long before he could take aim the bunnies were out of sight amid the timber. "you'll have to carry your gun in your hand for a shot at them," came from dick. "but be careful, or you may trip up on some frozen twig and shoot somebody." mile after mile was passed, but no further game came to view, much to tom's disgust. "not much right around here," said john barrow, as he saw tom put his gun back over his shoulder. "the boys from timber run have cleared the ground putty well. but you'll see something sure a little further on--and maybe more'n you bargain for." "i'm not afraid of big game, mr. barrow. we faced some pretty bad animals when we were in africa and out west." "i allow that must be so, tom. but you want to be careful even so. a big mountain deer or a bear aint to be fooled with, i can tell you that." about eleven o'clock they came to the first falls above timber run. here the water was frozen into solid masses, but the way was so uneven they found it profitable to take off their skates and "tote" the sleds around the spot. this necessitated a walk of several hundred feet through the timber skirting the edge of the river. the way was uncertain, and john barrow went ahead, to steer the party clear of any danger. "finest timber in the world right here," he observed. "i can't see why the timber company don't get together and put it in the market. it would fetch a good price." "wait! i see something in yonder trees!" cried dick, in a low voice. "can you make out what they are?" "wild turkeys!" answered the guide. "git down behind these bushes. if we can bag a few of them, we'll have rich eatin' for a few days!" chapter xv. wild turkeys. without delay the rover boys dropped behind the bushes, and john barrow did the same. all kept as quiet as possible, for they knew that on the first alarm the wild turkeys would be off. the game was not over six feet from the ground, sitting in three rows on as many branches of a hemlock that overhung the stream. there were over a dozen in the flock, each as plump as wild turkeys ever get. "how shall we fire?" asked dick. "there is no call for all of us to shoot at the same bird." "i'll take one on the left," answered john barrow. "you take one on the right. tom can take a middle one sitting high, and sam a middle one sitting low. all ready?" "yes," came the answer, from one after another. "then fire when i say three. one, two--three!" bang! bang! went the firearms, and as the reports echoed through the forest, two of the wild turkeys were seen to drop dead under the branches upon which they had been sitting. one, that was badly wounded, fluttered down and began to thrash around in the brush. the rest of the flock flew away with a rush and were lost to sight between the trees. "three! that isn't so bad!" cried dick, as they all started on a run forward. soon they had the turkey on the ground surrounded, and john barrow caught up the game and wrung its neck. "i guess i missed my mark," came rather sheepishly from tom. "you!" exclaimed sam, in surprise. "i was just going to say i had missed." "nobody missed," put in the guide. "nobody?" came from the three rovers. "somebody must have missed," added tom. "we fired four shots and only got three birds." "one of those that flew off was wounded. he dropped a lot of feathers and went up in a shaky fashion. of course, he got away, but just the same, he was hit." "well, i thought i missed clean and clear," said tom doubtfully. "and i thought i missed," laughed sam. "i guess we'll have to divide that third bird between us, tom." "we've got all the wild-turkey meat we'll want on this trip," came from john barrow. "before this is gone, you'll want a change, i'll warrant you." while the guide was caring for the birds the boys went back for the sleds. soon they were again on the way, and they did not stop until the vicinity of the falls was left far behind and they had again reached a point where skating would be good for several miles. "reckon we can stop here and have dinner," observed the guide. "feelin' kind o' hungry, aint you?" "just guess i am hungry," declared tom "but i didn't want to say anything till the rest did." some of the cooking utensils were unpacked, and while the boys got wood for the fire, john barrow brought out some coffee and other things. it was decided that they should not take time to cook a turkey until they went into camp for the night. soon a fire was blazing merrily. they built it under the outer end of a long tree limb, and from the limb suspended a pot full of water by a long iron chain they had brought along. as the ground was covered with snow, there was little danger of spreading a conflagration. soon the water was boiling and the guide made a steaming pot of coffee, which was passed around in tin cups, with sugar and a little condensed milk. they had brought along bread, cheese, chipped beef, and boiled eggs, and also a mince pie which mrs. barrow had baked the day before, and these made what tom declared was a famous dinner. "no sauce like hunger sauce," laughed john barrow, as he saw the lads stow the food away. "once i was trampin' the mountains all day without a mouthful when i chanced to look in a corner o' my game bag and found a slice o' bread, at least two weeks old. i ate that bread up, hard as it was, and nuthin' ever tasted sweeter." "you're right," returned dick. "the folks in the city who don't know what to get to tickle their appetite ought to go hungry a few times. then i'm sure they'd appreciate what they got." the midday meal finished, they lost no time in repacking the sled load and starting up the river once more. the stream was now wider than before, and presently spread out into a small lake. "this is known as tillard's pond," said john barrow. "feller named gus tillard built his cabin over yonder, about ten years ago. he went out bar-huntin' one day, and mr. bar came along and chewed him up." "gracious! then there must be pretty ugly customers in this vicinity," exclaimed sam, with a shiver. "not so many as there used to be. after tillard's death the boys over to the run organized a b'ar hunt, and we brought in six o' the critters. reckon thet scart the others--leas'wise no b'ars showed up fer a long while after." out on tillard's pond a stiff breeze was blowing, and consequently their progress was not as rapid as it had been, nor were any of them as warm as formerly. "we're going to have a cold first night, i can tell you that," said dick, and his prediction proved true. by the time the sun sank to rest behind the mountain in the west it was "snapping cold," as tom expressed it. the wind increased until to go forward was almost impossible. "i know a pretty good place to rest in," said the guide. "it isn't over quarter of a mile from here. if we can make that we'll be all right till mornin'." john barrow led the way, pulling one of the sleds, and the boys followed. poor sam was getting winded and skated only with the greatest of difficulty. it was dark when they reached the location the guide had in mind--a rocky wall on one side of the river. at one point there was a split in the rocks. this was overgrown at the top with cedars and brushwood, forming something of a cave, ten or twelve feet wide and twice as deep, the bottom of which was of rock and fairly smooth. "i camped here two winters ago," said john barrow, as he called a halt. "i laced up the cedars above and they formed a fust-rate roof." "i guess they are pretty well laced still," observed dick. "they seem to hold the snow very well. but we won't dare to make a fire in there." "we'll build a fire in front, in this hollow, dick. that will throw a good deal of hot air into the place, and if we wrap ourselves in our blankets we'll be warm enough." everyone in the party was anxious to get out of the nipping wind, and they lost no time in entering the "cave," as sam called it. the entrance was low, and by placing the two sleds in an upright position on either side they left an opening not over a yard wide. directly in front of this the boys started a roaring fire, cutting down several dwarf cedars for that purpose. "i don't much like the looks o' the sky to-night," observed john barrow, after preparing one of the turkeys for cooking. "do you think there is a storm coming?" asked tom. "looks to me like snow, an plenty of it." "i hope it doesn't come until we reach bear pond," said dick, "i don't want dan baxter and his crowd to get ahead of us." "they won't have no better time o' it than we'll have," was the guide's grim comment. "aint no fun trampin' over the mountains with the snow comin' down heavily; i can tell you that." the wind continued to increase, and after the supper was cooked and brought into the shelter, the guide took it upon himself to bank the fire with great care, that it might not blow into the forest and start a big conflagration. "we've had some terrible fires here," he said. "one threatened my barn two years ago, and we had to stay out two days an' a night a-fightin' it. it would be a bad thing a night like this." to keep out the cold, dick crawled to the top of the opening and bound in the cedar limbs closer than ever. he also got some brush-wood and some vines, and on these placed a thick layer of snow. "that's fine!" cried sam, from below. "it's almost as tight as the roof of a cabin." tightening the roof made a big difference inside, and when they had hung up a blanket behind the upright sleds, and placed some cedar brush on the floor, it was very cozy. they had brought along some candles, and one of these was lit and placed in a lantern which was in one of the packs. it was not a bright light, but it was better than sitting in the dark, and it seemed to make the shelter warmer than ever. chapter xvi. on the wrong trail. one of the turkeys was finished even to the neck piece, and then both tom and sam declared that they were so sleepy they could scarcely keep their eyes open. "it must be the mountain air," said dick. "i'm sleepy, too. let us turn in." "will anybody have to stand watch?" asked sam. at this john barrow shook his head. "don't know as it's necessary," he said. "reckon we're safe enough. i'll keep my gun handy, in case any animal prowls around." the boys laid down and were soon in the land of dreams. tom and sam slept near the back wall, with dick next, and the guide near the opening, which, however, was now completely closed by the blanket. the fire was allowed to die down, for they did not dare to build it up, with such a wind blowing. nothing came to disturb them. once during the night dick roused up and heard the distant howling of a wolf. but the beast did not venture close to the shelter, and while waiting for its appearance the youth dropped asleep again. by midnight the wind fell a little, and then it began to snow, and it was still snowing when john barrow leaped up, pushed the blanket aside, and gazed out upon the river. "hullo, we're in for it now!" he cried, and as the boys sat up, he added: "snowin'--mighty hard, too." "i should say it was snowing hard!" cried tom, as he, too, looked out. "why, you can't see the trees on the other side, and they aren't more than a hundred and fifty feet off." "this will make traveling bad," said dick soberly. "it almost looks as if we were going to be snowed in." "snowed in?" echoed sam. "oh, don't say that!" the boys were somewhat stiff after their long skate of the day before, and it took them some minutes to pull themselves together. then the curtain was pushed aside, and the fire started up with some dry brushwood from the pile on which they had slept. soon breakfast was ready, and this warmed them up and put new life in them. "no use to linger here," announced the guide. "it won't git no better an' it may git a heap sight worse. i reckon the wind kept some o' the spots on the river clear. i know a good camping spot ten miles from here, and that will be just the place for us while you are huntin' around fer that money." "then let us make that camping spot by all means," said tom. "we mustn't let baxter get first whack at the treasure." it was eight o'clock when they started once more on their journey. the air was dull and heavy, and the snow came down in thick flakes, which presently shut out the landscape on all sides. fortunately the wind had died down entirely, so it was not near so cold as it had been. "it would be easy enough, if we could stick to the river all the way," remarked. tom to sam, as they skated along as best they could. "can't we?" "mr. barrow says not. about two miles from here are another falls and a set of rocky rapids, and we'll have to walk around for a distance of nearly a mile through the woods." what tom said was true, and the falls were reached less than an hour later. the river was very narrow at this point and lined on both sides with rough rocks. climbing was difficult, and after crawling along for a few rods the boys halted in dismay. "we're up against it now," groaned dick "don't be discouraged lads!" came from the guide. "it isn't so bad a short distance further on. follow me." and he started again, and there was nothing to do but to fall in behind him. john barrow and dick carried one sled, and tom and sam, the other. in some places the cedars and brush were so thick that those in advance pushed through only with extreme difficulty. "well, we haven't got the task of breaking the way," said tom, as he and sam stopped to get their wind. "it's no fool job to break through this thicket." "we are going up a hill," returned sam. "we must be getting away from the river." the guide and dick had disappeared ahead, and, fearful of losing them, the younger rovers set off once more. carrying the heavy sled up the hill was, however, a great task, especially for sam, and once at the top they had to rest again. "i believe it would have been just as easy to have kept to the river," declared tom "see, there it is, to our left." "it certainly doesn't look very rough down there," was his brother's comment. "gracious, but dick and mr. barrow plow along like steam engines!" he added. "i can't go so fast." "we won't hurry, there is no need. the trail is plain enough," said tom, and so they rested fully quarter of an hour. then they heard dick calling to them from a long distance ahead. "all right; we're coming!" tom called back. "just please don't go so awfully fast!" "we are going to take the trail to the left!" dick shouted back, but the others did not catch the words. tom and sam advanced now slower than ever, and when they reached a spot where there was an opening to the right and another to the left, the others were not only out of sight, but out of hearing as well. it had now begun to snow more thickly than ever. "which way did they take?" questioned sam, in perplexity. "reckon they went this way, sam." "it looks to me as if they went the other way. here are some footprints." "here are some footprints, too." they came to a standstill, more perplexed than ever. sure enough, there were two sets of footprints, running almost at right angles to each other. "i guess we've hit somebody else's trail," said sam. "dick! mr. barrow! where are you?" he called out. no answer came back, and then the two boys shouted in chorus. all remained as silent as before. "well, this is a mess, to say the least," was tom's comment. "how are we to know which trail to follow?" "i move we make a sure thing of it and get down to the river again," was sam's answer. "then we'll be certain to be on the right track. as soon as they reach the river they'll wait for us." this seemed sensible advice, and leaving both trails the boys plunged through the cedar brakes to where they had seen the icy surface of the stream. they had to make several turns, and once tom lost his footing and rolled over and over in the snow. but at last they gained the smooth ice, and then each breathed a long sigh of relief. "it's ten times better than climbing around," observed sam. "the rapids and rocks amount to next to nothing. i don't see why mr. barrow gave us all that extra climbing." "perhaps the river has changed since he was up here last," said tom. "anyway, it's a good bit narrower here than it was further back." sliding down the hillside had loosened the load on the sled, and they had to spend a good five minutes in fastening it and mending a strap that had broken. then several minutes more were consumed in putting on their skates. "my! how it does snow!" came from tom, as they started at last. "i can't see fifty feet ahead." "nor i, tom. i really wish we were with dick and mr. barrow." "so do i, but i guess it's all right." forward they pushed, dragging the sled after them. it was rough work, and the ice was often covered too deep with snow to make skating a pleasure. "it seems to me the river is getting narrower than ever," said sam. "it's queer, too, for mr. barrow said it was quite broad near the lake." "he said one of the branches was broad, sam. we must be on a different branch." "let us call to them again." once more they cried out, at the top of their lungs. but nothing answered them, not even a muffled echo. all was swallowed up in the loneliness of the situation and in the fast falling snow, which now covered even the load on the sled to the depth of an inch or more. "come on," said sam half desperately. "we must catch up to them, sooner or later." "perhaps we are ahead of them." "it isn't likely. let us go on, anyway." and on they went, another quarter of a mile. the stream was now broader, and this raised their hopes considerably. but suddenly tom gave a cry of dismay. "look, sam! we have reached the end of the stream!" sam strained his eyes and went on a few feet further. then he gave a groan. his brother was right, the stream had come to an end in a pond probably a hundred feet in diameter. they had not been following the perch river at all, but merely a brook flowing into that stream! chapter xvii. an unexpected discovery. "tom, we have missed it!" "it looks like it, sam." "what we took for the river wasn't the river at all. we must be a mile or two out of the way." "there is nothing to do but to go back," was the dismal response. "don't you think we might strike the river without going back?" "we might, and then again we might not. i hardly feel like taking the risk--in this blinding snow." with heavy hearts the brothers turned the sled around and proceeded on the back trail, if such the way may be called. as a matter of fact, the snow had covered their footprints completely. the wind was now rising again, and it blew directly into their faces. alarmed more than ever, on this account, they pushed on until poor sam was almost winded. "i--i can't go on so fast, no use in trying!" he panted. "i feel ready to drop!" "i'm fagged out myself," responded tom. "but, sam, we can't afford to rest here." "i know that, but i've got to get my wind back somehow. the wind seems to be awfully strong." they rested for several minutes, and then pushed on again, tom dragging the sled alone. it was a bitter journey, and both would have given a good deal to have been with dick and the guide once more. "we missed it when we didn't keep up with them in the first place," was tom's comment. "however, there's no use in crying over spilt milk, as the saying goes. we must make the best of it." "there isn't any best," grumbled sam. "it's all worst!" and then tom laughed, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. at last they gained the spot where they had first struck the brook, and here they halted again. "the worst of it is, there is no telling how far this brook runs before it empties into the perch river," observed tom. "we may have to go two or three miles out of our way." "we may as well climb up the hill again, tom, and try to follow one of those trails." "perhaps you are right." they talked the matter over and at last began to climb the hill, now more difficult than before, since the snow was several inches deeper. it took a long while to gain the top, and still longer to find the spot where they had left the trail. "here we are," said tom, resting on a fallen tree which marked the locality. "now the all-important question is, which way next?" "tom, i believe we are getting lost," came from sam, in a dismal tone. "i don't think we're getting lost, sam; we _are_ lost, no two ways about it. we've got to keep our eyes open and our wits about us, or we'll be getting into a first-class mess." "it must be almost noon," went on the youngest rover, and pulled out his watch. "phew! half-past twelve!" "thought i was hungry. is there anything in this load good to eat?" "i don't know. let us look and see. we can't go on, hungry." they unstrapped the load and examined it. there were blankets there and some camp utensils, and a box containing crackers, cheese, and chipped beef. "crackers and cheese will do on a pinch," said tom. "come, we mustn't lose more time than is necessary." yet eating and resting was very pleasant, and they spent the best part of half an hour under the sheltering limbs of a big cedar tree. both were dry, but eating snow did not seem to quench their thirst. the wind increased as they ate, but the snow now came down more lightly. they decided to strike out on something of a trail running to the northwest. it was hard work hauling and carrying the sled over the rocks and through the bushes, and they often had to halt for breath. "there goes something!" cried tom presently. "sam, did you see it?" "i saw something, but it disappeared before i could make out what it was." the object had crossed their path a hundred feet ahead of them. now it reappeared somewhat closer, and both boys saw that it was a lean and hungry-looking wolf. "a wolf!" cried sam. "wonder if i hadn't better shoot him," said tom, unslinging his gun. "better save your powder, tom. i don't believe he'll attack us--at least not while it is light." "a shot might bring an answering signal from dick," went on tom suddenly. "what fools we have been, not to think of that before!" the wolf kept hidden and tom did not shoot, expecting to see the beast reappear at any instant. on they went, keeping an eye on the bushes and trees on both sides of them. once they heard the patter of the wolf's feet on a stretch of bare rocks, but that was all. "i'll fire a shot, anyway," said tom at last, and aimed in the direction where they had heard the sounds last. to his intense surprise a yelp and a snarl followed. "great caesar! i hit him after all," began tom, and then leaped back. "look out, sam, he's coming for us!" tom was right. the wolf, wounded in the left flank, had suddenly appeared. his eyes blazed with pain and fury, and he made as if to spring upon the boys. tom was in front of the sled and sam behind it. with a quick leap tom cleared the load and took up a position beside the youngest rover. the wolf made the leap, but stopped short on the top of the load. as he prepared to spring again tom swung his gun around by the barrel and hit the wolf a smart rap on the head. the animal rolled over on the ground. "shoot him, sam!" "i will, if i can!" came from sam, who had now unslung his gun. taking a quick aim, he fired. the shot proved a good one, for it took the wolf directly in the neck, just as he was scrambling to rise. again he gave a yelp, and then began to turn over and over in his intense pain. of a sudden he leaped up and landed on tom's shoulder. for the instant poor tom thought his last moment had come. but as the beast landed sam struck it with his gun, and down it went once more, snarling viciously. then it rolled and tossed until some brush was gained, when it managed to hide itself and crawl away, seriously, if not mortally, wounded. "he's gone!" came from sam. "well, don't go after him," panted tom. "let him go and welcome. i never want to see him again." "nor i." both reloaded with all haste--having learned years before that it is foolish to remain in the wilds with an empty firearm. then they waited, to see if the wolf would return. "hark!" cried sam. "did you hear that shot, tom?" "i did. i think it came from that direction." and tom pointed with his hand. "i think so myself. it must be dick or mr. barrow, firing." "more than likely. let us follow up the shot." they listened, but no more shots followed, and then they went on, over a stretch which was comparatively smooth and free from brushwood. but though they covered a quarter of a mile they saw nothing either of the river or of their lost companions. "we're getting lost more than ever," groaned sam. "i declare i haven't the least idea where we are." "i'm going to fire another shot," answered his brother, and proceeded to do so. both listened with strained ears, and soon an answering shot came back, slightly to the left of the path they had been pursuing. "thank fortune, we are getting closer!" cried sam. "come on!" as worn out as they were, they resumed the dragging of the sled through the snow. once sam had suggested they abandon the load, but tom would not hear of this, for he knew they could not very well do without this portion of the outfit. the wind was blowing heavily, and high overhead they heard the tree-tops creak ominously. once in a while a tree branch would unload itself, sending down a great mass of snow on their heads. but they pushed on, determined to rest no more until the others of the party should be sighted. presently they came to a clearing overlooking a small pond and a stream beyond. at first tom imagined that this was the pond they had left but a short while before, but a second look showed him that the locality was an entirely new one to them. "my gracious, tom! get out of sight!" came in an excited whisper from sam, and he pulled his brother down behind a clump of bushes, and then dragged the sled after him. "what do you see?" demanded tom. "look across the pond. as sure as you are born, there are dan baxter and jasper grinder. we've been following them instead of dick and mr. barrow!" chapter xviii. in the camp of the enemy. what sam said was true. there, gathered around a fire on the opposite side of the pond, were dan baxter, jasper grinder, and a tall, powerfully built fellow whom they easily guessed was bill harney, the guide. they had two sleds with them, and one of these had been unloaded and the camping outfit lay scattered around. "well, this is a surprise and no mistake!" was tom's comment, in a low voice. "if i know anything about it, they must have done some quick traveling." "i believe they followed the river, at least part of the way," returned the youngest rover. "i see a pair of skates lying by one of the sleds." "do you suppose dick and mr. barrow met them?" "i don't believe they did. see, they have some rabbits they are going to cook. that accounts for the shots we heard." crouching down behind the bushes, the two rovers watched the other party with interest. a lively conversation was going oh between dan baxter and the former teacher of putnam hall, but they were too far off to catch anything of what was said. "what do you propose doing next?" asked sam, after a pause of several minutes. "it's mighty cold here." "we may as well retreat, sam. we don't want to expose ourselves, do we?" "i don't suppose it would do any good--although i'm not afraid of baxter, or grinder either." "it isn't that. if they know we have arrived here, they will do all they can to locate that treasure first. we want to keep dark and get ahead of them." "but how shall we turn?" "we'll have to go back to where we found the two trails crossed and then try the other one. i don't know of anything else to do." "wouldn't dan baxter be surprised, if he knew we were so close?" "well, we won't let him know." "why not?" demanded an unexpected voice from the rear. both boys started and turned around, to find themselves confronted by lemuel husty, the man dick had seen in company with baxter at cedarville. "hullo, who are you?" asked tom, as quickly as he could recover from his surprise. "if you want to know real bad, youngster, my name is lemuel husty." "i don't know you." "but i know you--leas'wise i know of you," went on husty, with a frown. "you're down on my friend baxter, aint you?" "if we are, we have a good reason to be," came from sam. "perhaps you have, and then again, perhaps you haven't. it aint no nice thing to be cotched spying, though." "we weren't spying. we came up quite by accident." "you can tell that to the monkeys, but you can't tell it to me," growled lemuel husty. then he raised his voice: "i say, baxter! i say, you fellows! come over here!" the three around the camp-fire looked up in surprise, and were even more surprised when husty waved his hand for them to come to him. "what's wanted?" demanded dan baxter. "i've found two of your very intimate friends spying on you," answered husty. "i guess we had better get out," whispered sam to tom, not liking the turn affairs had taken. "i'm with you," returned tom. "no, you don't!" cried husty, and caught hold of the sled. "you just stay here until we talk this thing over." tom's hands were on his gun, and for the moment he felt like pointing the weapon at the man. but then he concluded that this would do small good, and the weapon remained where it was. in a minute dan baxter came running across the pond, with jasper grinder and bill harney at his heels. each of the advancing party carried some sort of firearms. "tom and sam rover!" ejaculated baxter, and it was easy to see that he was completely surprised. "how did you get here?" "walked and skated," returned tom, as coolly as he could. "you've got a nerve to follow me and my party," went on baxter, with an ugly scowl. "as i just said to this man, baxter, we haven't been following you," put in sam. "we struck your trail by accident. we thought we were following----" "never mind about that, sam," interrupted tom quickly. "who did you think you were following?" demanded dan baxter. "it's none of your business, baxter. we have as much right to be here as you have." "humph! don't you suppose i know why you came?" "more than likely you do, and we know why you came." "have you got another map?" demanded baxter, in curiosity. "it's none of your affair what we have. we stumbled upon you by accident, and if you haven't anything in particular to say to us we'll be going." "you needn't leave so quickly. where is dick?" "he isn't so very far off." "you hired john barrow for a guide, i heard," put in bill harney. "if we did, we had a right to do it," said sam. "he don't know these parts as well as he might. if you don't look out he'll lose you in the mountains, and you'll never get home alive." "let him lose them," put in baxter quickly. "it's what they deserve. but, come, it's cold over here. let's move back to the fire. and i want you two to come along," he added, to the rovers. "we don't propose to come along," replied tom. "and i say you shall come, tom rover. we are four to two, and you had better submit." "yes, make them come," put in jasper grinder. "i want to have a talk with them." and he glared wickedly, first at tom and then at sam. it must be confessed that tom and sam felt in anything but an enviable position. they knew dan baxter thoroughly, and knew he would stop at nothing to accomplish his purpose. "the best thing you can do is to leave us alone," said tom steadily. "you have always got the worst of the bargain, dan baxter, and if you try any game on now, you'll miss it again." "i'll risk it, tom rover. come now, and no more fooling. if you behave yourself, there won't be any trouble." there was, then, nothing to do but to follow, for neither of the rovers wished to lose this portion of the outfit. soon the whole party were gathered around the fire, which husty heaped high with brushwood. back of the fire was a high cliff, topped with cedars, which kept off the wind and made the situation a fairly comfortable one. "now we had better come to an understanding," said dan baxter, as he warmed his hands. "we all know what we are out here for, so there is no use in mincing matters." "i understand all i want to know," answered tom briefly. "so do i," put in sam. "baxter shall settle with you, and then i'll settle," growled jasper grinder. "i have not forgotten how i was treated at putnam hall because of you." "it served you right that you were kicked out," said sam, without stopping to think twice. "ha! you dare to talk to me in this fashion!" roared the former teacher. "i'll teach you a lesson! just wait till i find a good switch!" "hold on grinder! one at a time," put in dan baxter. "i'll settle with them first, if you please." "they deserve a thorough thrashing," grumbled the irate man. "now i want you to tell me the truth," went on dan baxter, addressing tom and sam. "where did you get a map of that treasure? in the cave on that island?" "we haven't said we had a map," returned tom. "but you must have a map--or something like it." "whatever we have, it's none of your business, dan baxter," broke in sam. "shut up, you little imp! don't you know you are in my power!" stormed baxter, in a rage. "i can do as i please out here, and these three men will help me." as he finished he caught sam by the collar and began to shake him. "let my brother alone!" ejaculated tom. "let up, i say!" "i won't, tom rover. he's got to learn that i'm the master here," howled baxter. "if you don't let go, i'll hit you," went on tom, and raised his right fist. but ere he could deliver the blow bill harney rushed behind him, caught him by the waist and threw him flat. "that's right!" shouted dan baxter. "make them both prisoners! i've got a big score to settle with them!" and then all four fell upon sam and tom, and a fierce struggle ensued, the outcome of which was for some time hard to predict. chapter xix. dick and the wildcat. "well, it's mighty funny tom and sam don't come up." it was dick who spoke. he stood in the shelter of a number of walnut trees, and close at hand was john barrow. the pair had missed the others ten minutes before, and were now waiting impatiently for their reappearance. "it can't be as how they missed the trail in this snow," said john barrow soberly. "let us shout for 'em." they set up a shout, and waited impatiently for an answer. but none came, and they called again. "we had better go back for them," said dick, his face full of a troubled look. "i wouldn't have them get lost in this snowstorm for the world." it was decided to leave the sled where it was, and soon they were hurrying along the back trail. but the snow and wind were against them, and they made slow progress. "it will not be necessary to relate all the particulars of the next three hours. in vain they looked for tom and sam. not a trace of the missing lads could be discovered. "this the worst yet!" groaned dick, as he came to a halt, all out of breath. "i thought, all along, that they were keeping close behind us!" "i told them to do so," returned the guide. they had fired several shots, but the reports had failed, as we know, to reach the ears of the missing rovers. they were now at their wits' end regarding what to do next. "i'd give a hundred dollars rather than have this happen," went on dick. "why, they'll starve to death if they really get lost!" "oh, aint you mistaken there, dick? they have the other sled, remember; and each o' 'em has a gun for to bring down any game as is wanted." "that's true, and it's one comfort. but there is no telling when they reach civilization again. why, this forest is about as bad as some places in the far west." "i believe you there, lad. well, they've got to make the best o' it. i reckon they'll strike out for the river and come up that to bear pond, over the rocks an' rapids an' all." supper time found the pair on the river again, four miles below bear pond. it was decided that they should camp at that spot for the night. "we'll build a big camp-fire and keep it a-going," said dick. "perhaps they will see it." "that's an idee," returned john barrow, and before doing anything else the camp-fire was started, in an open spot along the river bank. dick saw to it that it blazed up merrily, and kept piling on all the dry brushwood he could find, until the flames shot up fully twenty feet into the air, making the surroundings as bright as day. for supper they cooked another of the wild turkeys, but it must be confessed that dick had little appetite for eating. john barrow noticed it, and he did his best to cheer up the youth. "don't worry too much, lad," he said. "take my word on it, they'll turn up by morning, sure. you've said yourself they've been through putty tryin' times, in africa and out west." on the way to the river john barrow had brought down several rabbits and some birds, and these were hung up on the low branches of a nearby tree. they proceeded to make themselves comfortable under this tree, cutting down some cedar branches for a flooring, and banking up some other branches and some snow to keep off the wind. "i don't think i'll go to sleep," said dick. "i'm going to keep the fire piled high, so that it will light up as it's doing now." "then i'll turn in right away," answered the guide. "it's eight o'clock. you call me at two, and that will be givin' you a fair nap afore daybreak." and so it was agreed. it did not take john barrow long to settle himself, and soon he was snoring as peacefully as though lying in his bed at home. sitting down close to the fire, dick gave himself up to his thoughts. and what numerous thoughts they were--of home and of school, of his brothers, and of the baxters and their other enemies, and of all that had happened since they had first started to go to putnam hall. and then he thought of the lanings and of the stanhopes, and lingered long over the mental picture of sweet dora and of what she had last said to him. "she's just an all-right girl," he said to himself. "heaven bless her and keep her from any further trouble!" when the fire showed signs of burning low he arose and piled on more brushwood. there was hardly enough at hand to suit him, and, ax in hand, he started back from the river, to cut more. he was within fifteen feet of some dense bushes when of a sudden he came to a halt, as he saw a pair of gleaming eyes glaring at him. as soon as he noticed the eyes they disappeared. "a wild animal," he thought. "can it be a wolf?" retracing his steps to the fire, he caught up his gun and waited. but the animal did not appear, nor did dick hear any sound save the murmur of the wind through the snow-clad trees. the youth wondered if he ought to awaken the guide, but finally resolved to let john barrow sleep. "i ought to be able to take care of one wolf," he reasoned. "i've taken care of worse than that in my time." gun in hand, he advanced upon the bushes once more. he expected to see a wolf slink away at any moment, but no beast came to view, and, after walking completely around the growth, he laid down the gun and went to work vigorously with the ax. bush after bush was brought down in rapid succession, until in ten minutes dick calculated he had cut sufficient to last the camp-fire for the rest of the night. then he lowered the ax and caught up a large bush, to drag it close to the blaze. as he turned around he met a sight that, for the instant, chilled him to the backbone. there, between the blaze and the tree under which john barrow was sleeping, crouched a wildcat, a large, fierce-looking creature, with fire-shot eyes and a stubby tail which was moving noiselessly from side by side, as the creature prepared itself to make a leap. "gracious! he's going to attack mr. barrow!" thought dick, but even as this flashed over his mind the wildcat made a leap into the tree, close to where hung the game the guide had brought down some hours before. "thank goodness, he's only after the meat," thought dick, and the chill he had experienced passed away. then, struck with a new idea, he leaped for his gun. several twigs of the tree were in the way of getting a good aim, and he had to circle around to the other side before he could get another good view of the wildcat. in the meantime the beast had grabbed up the wild turkey that was left, and clutching it tight in its mouth, started to drop to the snow-covered ground. bang! went the gun and the charge of heavy shot took the wildcat in the left flank, making a bad, but not a fatal, wound. the beast dropped the wild turkey and let out a fearful snarl of rage. then it saw dick, gave another snarl, and leaped toward the youth. the gun was double-barreled, and once more dick let drive. but he was not overly cool, and the charge merely nipped the beast in its left front leg. it continued to come on, and as it did so dick commenced to retreat. "hi! what's up?" came from john barrow, and throwing aside his blanket, he leaped to his feet. "a wildcat!" ejaculated dick. "quick! shoot him!" "by gosh!" muttered the guide, and blinking in the bright light of the fire, he reached for his rifle, which he had brought along in addition to his shotgun. by this time the wildcat was close to dick, and now, watching its opportunity, it leaped upon the youth, trying to bury its claws in dick's shoulder. hardly knowing what to do, dick brought around the gun barrel and poked it into the open mouth of the wildcat. with a gurgle of pain the beast fell back, but quickly gathered itself for another leap. "back!" shouted john barrow. "back, and let me git a shot at the critter!" dick was perfectly willing to retreat, and started to do so. but the wildcat was too quick for him, and in a twinkle youth and beast were down on the ground together, and the wildcat was trying to reach the boy's throat with its cruel fangs! chapter xx. bear pond at last. it was indeed a moment of supreme peril, and dick felt very much as if his last moment on earth had come. he put out his hands mechanically and grabbed the wildcat by the throat, but his grip was poor and the beast shook itself clear with ease. it was now that john barrow showed himself to be a master of quick resources. to fire his rifle at the wildcat would have meant taking the risk of hitting dick, and this the guide thought too perilous. leaping to the fire, he caught up a long, burning brand and rushed at the beast with this. to have a part of the fire thrust directly into its eyes was more than the beast had bargained for, and as soon as it felt the flame it gave a cry of alarm and fell back. as it did this dick leaped to his feet and sprang several feet away. [illustration: dick and the wildcat. _rover boys and the mountains_.] john barrow was now free to shoot, and hurling the firebrand at the wildcat, he caught up his rifle and blazed away in short order. the wildcat had turned to retreat, but the guide was too quick for it, and down went the beast with a shot through its head. it gave a shudder or two, and then stretched out, dead. "is he--he dead?" panted dick, when he felt able to speak. "reckon so," responded john barrow. "but i'll make sure." and catching up a club, he aimed a blow which crushed the animal's skull. "that was a narrow escape," went on dick. "if you hadn't come to my aid, i'm afraid he would have done me up." and he shivered from head to foot. "you want to be careful how you attack wildcats around here, lad. it aint likely they'll tech you, if you don't tech them. but if you do, why, look out, that's all." "do you think he would have sneaked off with the turkey? i was thinking first he would attack you." "reckon he was after the game, and nuthin' more, dick. he must have been powerful hungry, or he wouldn't have come so close to us. he's a putty big fellow," went on the guide, as he dragged the carcass closer to the firelight. the fire was burning low, and dick lost no time in heaping on some of the newly cut brushwood, and then he reloaded and the guide did the same. "might have a mate around," suggested john barrow. "we had better keep our eyes peeled, or we may be surprised. wonder what time it is?" by consulting a watch they found it was just midnight. after the excitement dick felt quite sleepy, and inside of half an hour he followed the guide's advice and laid down to rest--not under the tree, however, but as close to the camp-fire as safety permitted. dick had requested john barrow to call him in three hours, so that the guide might get a little more sleep, but the youth was allowed to slumber until he aroused of his own accord, just as day was breaking. "hullo, i've slept all night!" he exclaimed, leaping up with something of a hurt look. "why didn't you call me?" "i thought as how you needed the rest," was the answer from the guide. "aren't you sleepy?" "not very. a sleep early in the night generally does me more good nor hours o' it later on." "you haven't seen or heard anything of tom or sam?" "nary sight or sound, lad. it's too bad, but don't worry too much." "they couldn't have seen the firelight," returned dick, with a sorry shake of his head. "it beats all where they went to, doesn't it?" "i've been a-thinking that maybe they went on ahead, dick." "ahead? that they somehow passed us?" "yes; while we were lookin' for 'em. they may be up at b'ar pond now, waitin' for us." "do you advise going up there?" "we might as well. we can put up a post here, with a message for 'em--in case they do come this way." "that's an idea, and we can put up other posts, too. then, if they strike our trail, they'll be sure to go straight in following us." and dick's face brightened a bit. john barrow was already preparing breakfast, and he agreed with dick to leave some cooked meat in a cloth tied to the top of the pole the youth erected not far from the fire. on the cloth they pinned a note, telling of the direction to bear pond, and asking tom and sam to follow and fire two shots, a minute apart, as a signal. it was a clear day and the sun, shining over the mountain tops, made the snow and ice glitter like pearls and diamonds. there was no wind, so the journey toward bear pond was far from unpleasant. they moved slowly, dragging the sled behind them, and searching to the right and the left for some trace of the missing rovers. "i don't believe they came up here," said dick after half the distance to the pond had been covered, "i don't see the least trace of any human being, although i've seen the footprints of several wild animals." "the wind might have covered the tracks during the night," was john barrow's hopeful response. "i'd rather lose the treasure, even if it is worth thousands, than have anything happen to sam and tom." just before noon they came to a point in the river where it divided into several branches. "we'll stop here and put up another sign pole," said the guide. "remember what i said? all these streams run into the pond and into perch river. now, which one you want, at tudder end, i don't know." "which is the largest branch?" "can't say, exactly. this one an' the one yonder are about the same size, and that one aint much smaller." "well, which do you suppose was the largest years ago?" "can't say that neither, although that one yonder might have been, by the looks o' the banks." "then let us start on that one. and if that fails us, we can then try the others." they skated to the stream in question and erected a pole in the middle of the ice, upon which a second note was posted. having gone to the trouble of chopping a hole for the pole, john barrow suggested they might try their hand at fishing. "might as well stay here a while," he said. "if they are behind us, they may catch up." dick was willing, and soon a line was baited and let down into the hole. it was in the water only a few seconds when the guide felt a bite and drew up a fine fish, weighing at least half a pound. dick was anxious to try it, and took the line from john barrow's hands. he was equally successful, and in a short while they had seven fish to their credit, weighing from a quarter to three-quarters of a pound apiece. "i'm going to tie a fish to the top of the pole," said dick. "they may be hungry when they get here, especially if they miss the pole at our last camping place." "they won't want to eat raw fish, lad." "no, and i'm going to put a few matches in a paper and tie it to the fish, so they can cook it, if they wish." dick's idea was followed out, and once more they went on, up a narrow stream which had many a turn among the cedar brakes and hemlocks which lined either side. rocks were likewise numerous, and the lad came to the conclusion that locating the treasure was going to be no easy task. "it's rather desolate," he remarked. "i wonder what ever possessed that old goupert to come here?" "it's not so desolate in the summer time, dick. but i reckon goupert was a mighty odd stick, as it was." at last they rounded a turn in the stream and came in sight of bear pond, a long and wide stretch of water located in the very midst of two tall mountains. the pond was covered with thick ice, and the snow lay upon it in long drifts and ridges. the ice was blackish and almost as hard as flint. "we may as well go into camp near the mouth of this stream," said dick. "for from this spot we'll make our first hunt for the treasure." "i hope with all my heart that you find it, lad. but if you don't, don't be too disappointed." "i want to find sam and tom first. i shan't hunt for the treasure until i know of them." "that's right. we'll go on a hunt this afternoon, jest as soon as we've had some of these fish broiled for dinner." if there was one thing which john barrow could do to perfection, it was to broil fish, and the meal he set before dick half an hour later was so appetizing the lad could not help enjoy it, in spite of his anxiety over his brothers' prolonged absence. the fish was as sweet as a nut, and both lingered some time over the meal, until all that had been broiled were gone. "and now to find tom and sam," said dick, at last, as he leaped up from the log upon which he had been sitting. "what shall we do with our things?" "here is a hole in the rocks," answered the guide. "we'll hide them there and cover them with stones. i don't think anything will disturb the things between now and nightfall." the stores were placed in the cache and carefully covered, so that the wild animals might not get at them, and then they saw to it that their firearms were ready for use. a minute later they were off, on the hunt for tom and sam. chapter xxi. a pair of prisoners. it is high time that we return to tom and sam, and learn how the two rover boys were faring in their unequal contest with dan baxter and his followers. as we know, it was baxter himself who attacked sam, while big bill harney threw tom to the ground. jasper grinder went to baxter's assistance, while lemuel husty ran to aid harney. "let go of him!" cried sam, and managed to hit baxter a glancing blow on the cheek. "i'll not let go yet," answered baxter, and bore the youngest rover to the earth. over and over they rolled in the snow, until grinder caught sam by the legs and held him still. "that's right, grinder, hold him!" panted dan baxter. "don't let him get up!" but sam was not yet subdued, and getting one foot clear at last, he kicked jasper grinder in the ear. "oh! oh! my ear!" screamed the former teacher. "he has kicked my ear off. you scamp, take that!" and letting out with his foot, he gave sam a vigorous kick on the side. at the same time baxter struck the boy in the head with a stick he had been carrying, and then sam suddenly lost consciousness. in the meantime tom was having a similar struggle with harney and husty. but the boy, though strong, was no match for the two men, and they soon pinned him to the ground and held him there as in a vise, while he was nearly choked by the big guide, who had clutched him by the throat. "let--let go--my--throat!" tom managed to gasp. "will you keep quiet?" demanded harney. "yes--yes." "all right, mind you do." and then the guide released his hold, but continued to sit as he was, astride of poor tom's chest. "have you got him?" came from dan baxter. "yes," returned the big guide. "all right; then hold him." "i will." leaving sam to be watched by jasper grinder, baxter ran over to one of the sleds and procured a long rope. "now then, tom rover, get up," he said sourly. tom was glad to arise. "what are you going to do with me?" he questioned. "you'll see fast enough." "going to try your old tricks of making me a prisoner, i suppose." "you're a prisoner already." "thank you, for nothing," returned tom, as coolly as he could. "don't you get impudent, tom rover. if you try it on, you'll get more than you bargain for, let me tell you that." "you always were a first-class bully, baxter. you like to tackle little boys, or else somebody who is helpless." "shut up! i won't listen to you, now!" roared baxter, and grabbing tom's hands he forced them back and bound them together. then the ropes was passed around tom's waist, so that he could not move his hands to the front. by the time this work was accomplished sam was regaining consciousness. he gave a moan of pain, and then sat up in bewilderment. "who--what's happened?" he stammered. then he looked around. "oh! i remember now!" he was very unsteady when he got on his feet, and it was tom who made the first move toward him. "too bad, sam. they are a set of brutes." "don't call me a brute rover," growled jasper grinder. "neither you nor your brother have all you deserve." sam was bound with a rope, and then both prisoners were told to walk over to the fire. this they did, and were left in charge of husty and jasper grinder, while baxter went off a distance, in company with big bill harney. "well, what do you want to do with 'em?" demanded harney, when he and the bully were out of hearing of the others, "'pears to me you've taken the law in yer own hands." "i'm glad i've caught them," returned dan baxter. "they may help us to find what i am after." "think they've got a better map nor yours?" "they may have." "supposing that brother comes up, with john barrow? they may make it hot for us." "that's what i want to ask you about, harney. isn't there some place around here where we might hide the prisoners? a cave, or something like that?" the big guide scratched his chin thoughtfully. "there's a tolerable place about quarter of a mile from here--the old b'ars' hole, we use ter call it." "of course we don't want to run up against any bears," said baxter, with a show of nervousness. at this the big guide let out a rough laugh. "aint got no use fer them critters, eh?" "i have not." "'taint likely there are any b'ars around. me an jim wister cleaned out the hole last spring--got three on 'em. no new b'ars will take that hole yet awhile." "then we had better make tracks for it at once--before dick rover and the man who is with him get on our trail." they walked back to the camp-fire and, calling jasper grinder and lemuel husty aside, baxter explained the situation. a talk, lasting several minutes, followed. "now then, you come with us," said dan baxter to the rovers. "and see to it that you don't try to get away." "where do you want us to go?" asked tom. "we are going to try to find your brother," was the bully's smooth reply. "humph! do you expect us to believe that?" "you can suit yourself, tom rover. but, just the same, you'll come along." "and if we refuse?" put in sam. "i'll hammer you into submission." "by jinks! but you always were a cheerful brute, baxter," cried sam. "shut up and come along," growled the bully. feeling it would be folly to resist, the two rovers moved off with the party. the big guide led the way and the others followed. "you may as well earn your salt," observed baxter. "here, take hold and pull one of the sleds." he placed the rope in their hands and compelled them to haul the load, which they did unwillingly enough. curious as it may seem, none of the baxter party had given a thought to the sled which sam and tom had had with them, and this had been left under the bushes at the spot where husty had discovered the rovers. at first tom and sam had thought to speak about the matter, but they finally decided it would be better to run the risk of losing that portion of the outfit entirely than to place it in the hands of their enemy. the way was rough, and it was only with the greatest of difficulty that they could drag the sleds along. but less than half an hour brought them to the spot which bill harney had in mind--a grand and wild place, where the mountain appeared to split in two for a distance of several hundred feet. here there was a gorge fifty or sixty feet deep, partly choked with small scrub cedars. "there's the hole," said harney, advancing into the gorge and pointing with his hand. "better go ahead and see if it is free of bears or other wild animals," suggested dan baxter, as he came to a halt. rifle in hand the guide went into the opening, and made a thorough examination of the surroundings. "aint been no b'ars nor nothin' else here," he declared. "you can come right in." the opening on one side of the gully was an irregular one, and beyond this was a large cave having several chambers. all was pitch dark in the inner chambers, and they lit some brushwood to give them light. then a regular fire was started, which did much toward making the surroundings warmer and more cheerful. dan baxter and his friends were hungry, and lost no time in preparing a meal. tom and sam were led to one side of an inner chamber, and the rope fastened to their hands was bound tightly to the protruding roots of a tree. "now, don't you attempt to escape," said baxter. "if you do--well, you'll wish you hadn't, that's all." and then he rejoined his companions in the outer chamber, leaving poor tom and sam to their misery. chapter xxii. jasper grinder tries to make terms. "well, tom, this looks as if we had put our foot into it," was sam's comment, delivered in a whisper. "don't despair, sam," said his brother cheerfully. "we have been in worse holes, remember, and always managed to escape with a whole skin." "that's true, but i don't see how we are going to get away now. i suppose somebody will stand on guard all the time." "perhaps dick and mr. barrow will come to the rescue." "if they can find the way. the wind and snow will cover the trail pretty well." "there's no use of crying over the affair. if we can break away, i'll be for doing so." "so will i." "hi, you stop your talking in there!" shouted dan baxter. "plotting to run away, i reckon. it won't do you any good. if you try it, somebody will get a dose of buckshot in the leg." "you don't mean to say you're going to stop our talking," said tom, in indignation. "that's just what i do mean to say. now stop--or go hungry." as the rovers did not wish to starve, they relapsed into silence. a meal was being prepared by the baxter party, and the appetizing odors floated into the inner chamber, where tom and sam sniffed them eagerly, for the walk and the bracing air had given them an appetite. "smells good, don't it?" remarked dan baxter, as he came in, fire-brand in hand, and confronted tom. "what, the cave?" asked tom carelessly. "no, the grub." "oh, you are cooking something, aren't you?" "you know well enough that we are." "well, i can't stop you, baxter, so cook away." "don't you want something to eat?" "to be sure we do," put in sam. "nobody wants to go hungry." "perhaps you'll have to go hungry," said dan baxter significantly. "it would be just like you to starve us, baxter!" burst out tom. "i know you are as mean as they make them." "no compliments, please. i know my business, tom rover; and let me say i am in this game to win." "i don't see what that has to do with our eating." "you will see presently. i know all about what brought you here." "and we know what brought you here," put in sam. "i suppose you fellows have a map, or something like it," went on baxter, after a pause, during which he gazed curiously first at tom and then at the youngest rover. "a map of what?" demanded tom. "a map whereby to find that treasure." "if we have a map we'll take good care to keep it to ourselves," came from sam, before he had taken time to think twice. "ha! then you have a map!" and now dan baxter's eyes brightened. "where is it?" "i didn't say so." "i'll search you," said the bully, and at once proceeded to turn out one pocket after another. of course the map, being in dick's possession, was not found. "you got it hidden," said baxter sourly. "tell we where it is, or you shall have nothing to eat." "will you give us a good meal if we do tell you?" demanded tom promptly. "yes." "honor bright?" "yes." "well, then, dick has the only map we possess." and tom grinned, while sam had all he could do to keep from laughing outright. instantly dan baxter's face grew dark, and he drew back his hand as if to strike tom. "you're a fresh one!" he burst out. "are you telling me the truth?" "i am. he has the map, and i reckon he'll keep it. now, if it's all the same to you, we'll take that meal. eh, sam?" "i'm hungry enough." "i shan't give you a mouthful!" roared baxter. "you can't play any game on me." "that shows what your promise is worth, baxter," returned tom. "i didn't expect much else, though, for i know you thoroughly. still, we told you nothing but the truth." with a face full of hatred dan baxter turned on his heel and left them. presently they heard him sit down with the others, and all began to eat the food that had been cooking. "i must say we didn't gain much," observed tom gloomily. "i suppose i ought to have humored him, in order to get something. but i despise him so i can't help pitching into him." "i wouldn't humor him--i'd starve first!" returned sam earnestly. "i am glad we weren't carrying the map." "so am i glad. rather than give it to him, i would have chewed it up and swallowed it." half an hour went by, during which both boys said but little, each being busy trying to concoct some scheme by which they might escape. they heard the others talking in low voices, but were unable to catch what was said. presently jasper grinder came in, bringing with him a small portion of food and a kettle of water. setting the things on a rock, he untied one hand of each of the boys, that they might eat and drink. "this is a fine meal," said tom sarcastically. "it is more than you deserve," replied the former teacher of putnam hall. "you always were a hard one, grinder." "mr. grinder, if you please," said the man pointedly. "and if i don't please to call you mister?" "then you will get nothing more from me." "do you know that you are playing a high game here, keeping us prisoners?" asked sam. "what we are doing is our business." jasper grinder paused for a moment. "i want you to tell me something of that treasure for which you are seeking," he went on. "what do you want to know?" asked tom. "what is the treasure worth?" "we can't tell that until it is found." "you are quite sure it has never been removed?" "how can we be sure, when we don't know anything about it." "baxter says your brother dick has a map." "hasn't baxter a map, too?" questioned sam. "something of a map, yes, but it is not very complete." "i'm glad to hear that," said tom quickly. "but baxter claims the treasure for himself." "really?" said sam sarcastically. "well, let him claim what he pleases. if we find it, it will belong to us--don't forget that." again there was a pause. jasper grinder looked anxiously toward the outer cave, to see if baxter or the guide were watching him. but the two were talking earnestly between themselves. "i have a plan," began the former teacher of putnam hall, in a low voice, "a plan to aid you." "what plan?" demanded tom. "hush! not so loud--or they may hear you. i presume you know what sort of a fellow baxter is?" "well, rather," said sam dryly. "he is planning to do you a great deal of harm. now i think i can save you." "then save us," said tom. "or untie us, and we will save ourselves." "you can't save yourselves. baxter is strong, and that guide is a giant in strength." "what do you propose?" "i'm coming to that. but you must make me a promise first." "what promise?" "that half that treasure shall be mine when it is found." "half!" cried tom and sam together. "yes." "we can't promise that," went on tom. "you don't want much," was sam's comment. "isn't it worth something to be saved from baxter's clutches? i overheard him tell the guide what troubles he had had with you in the past, and how you had been the means of sending his father to prison, and all that. why, he would put you out of the way forever, if he could." "and will you stand by, jasper grinder, and see that done?" asked tom. "no! no! but--but--he is his own master. promise what i wish, and i will help you." "we can't promise you half the treasure," said tom flatly. "but if you will really help us, we'll promise that you shall lose nothing by the transaction." at this instant dan baxter leaped to his feet and ran for his gun, while bill harney and lemuel husty did the same. "come out here, grinder!" shouted the bully. "somebody or some wild animal is around!" chapter xxiii. the black bear. "somebody is coming!" ejaculated sam. "i hope it is dick, with mr. barrow!" "so do i," returned tom. without saying a word more, jasper grinder ran from the inner cave and joined baxter and the guide. his face was pale, and he was evidently much disturbed. soon baxter and his party were outside, and the rover boys heard them moving up and down the gully. several minutes passed, and then came a gunshot, followed by another. "i hope they are not firing on dick or mr. barrow," said sam, with something of a shudder. "i guess not," returned his brother. "if they were, we'd probably hear shots in return." an hour went by, and then dan baxter and the others came back, the guide carrying several rabbits and a large fox. the rabbits were skinned and kept for eating, and the fox was skinned and the carcass thrown away. tom and sam had expected jasper grinder to return to them, but if the former teacher desired to do this, he was prevented by dan baxter, who kept his companions close by him, around the fire. slowly the time went by until darkness was upon them. the fire was kept up, but baxter screened it as much as possible, so that the glare might not penetrate to the forest beyond the gully and prove a beacon to guide dick and john barrow to the spot. the boys were tired out, and soon sam sank to sleep, with his hands still tied to the tree roots. tom tried to keep awake, but half an hour later he, too, was in dreamland. when the rovers awoke it was not yet morning. all was dark around them, for the fire had burnt low. sam roused up first, with a severe pain in his wrists and ankles, where his bonds were cutting him. "oh, my wrists!" he groaned, and his voice caused tom to start. "is that you, sam?" "yes. my wrists are almost cut in two!" "the same here. i've slept like a rock, too." "is it morning yet?" "i'm sure i don't know." "what's going on in there?" came from dan baxter, as he leaped to his feet and caught up a gun. "we are suffering from cuts of the ropes," said tom. "it was an outrage to compel us to sleep in this fashion, tied up like mummies!" "oh, shut up!" growled baxter, and then began to poke the fire. soon it was blazing as readily as before, and then the light found its way into the inner cave, so that sam and tom could see each other once more. breakfast for the two prisoners was a slim affair of crackers, rabbits' bones, and water. tom asked for coffee, but baxter would not give it to them. "you'll get no luxuries from me," growled the bully. "be thankful that you aren't being starved." while they were eating, baxter and his companions held a low, but animated, conversation. "we'll try it, anyway," tom heard baxter say, and that was all the rovers heard. as soon as the meal was finished the party took up some of their traps and their firearms. "now, then, we are going out for a while," said dan baxter, coming up to the prisoners. "take my advice and don't try to escape in the meantime. if you do, and we catch you, it will go hard with you; let me tell you that!" "are you going to leave us tied up?" questioned tom dubiously. "certainly." "some wild animal may come in here and chew us up." "we'll leave the fire burning--that will keep 'em away," returned the bully. he would say no more, and in a few minutes he and his companions were gone and the rover boys were left to themselves. "now what?" asked sam, after all had been silent for at least ten minutes. "don't ask me," replied tom disconsolately. "we're in a pickle, and no mistake. are your hands as tight as ever?" "yes, and my wrists hurt so i feel like screaming with pain." "baxter is a brute, if ever there was one. however, i think i can get my left hand free," went on tom suddenly. "good, tom! do so by all means." tom worked away with vigor. the pain was intense, but he bore it manfully. at last his hand was free. "hurrah! so far so good!" he cried lowly. "now for the other hand." but this was not so easy, for the knots were hard ones and broke his finger nails dread-fully. "if only i could get at them with my teeth," he observed, "i'd soon chew them apart." but he could not bend around, and so had to content himself with working away as before. soon his fingers grew numb and he had to desist. "too bad, but i can't make it!" he groaned. "wait a while and give your fingers a rest," returned sam. he had begun work on his own fetters, but try his best could make no material progress. the ropes had cut through the skin in two places and from these spots the blood was flowing freely. two hours went by, and to the boys it seemed an age. tom had tried his best to free himself, and now the cords were gradually loosening up. "i've got it at last!" he cried presently. "just wait." and a little later the bonds dropped to the ground. but the work had caused his finger tips to bleed. with his hands free, tom set to work free his feet, and this was not so difficult, although it also took time. both boys were now hungry once more, and reckoned that it was well past the noon hour. "i'll set you free, and then we'll look around for something to eat," said tom. "hadn't we better get out as soon as we can?" asked his brother. "remember, they may come back at any moment, and we are no match for them." "it will take but a minute to pick up something, if it's around, sam. besides, we have got to have something in our stomachs before we set off to hunt up dick and mr. barrow." as soon as sam was freed they ran to the outer cave. here, on some tree-roots overhead, hung a number of traps, including a knapsack containing crackers and cheese, and close by it was a portion of rabbit, left over from the morning repast. "just what we want!" cried tom. "now, if we only had a gun----" he broke off short, as a crashing outside greeted their ears. the noise continued several seconds, then ceased abruptly. "what do you suppose that was?" questioned sam. "it can't be our enemies returning." "no, i think it was some wild animal--perhaps a wildcat." both looked around for some weapon with which to defend themselves, and sam caught sight of a double-barreled shotgun standing in a corner of the cave. he ran for this, and as he did so the crashing outside was continued. "i see something under the brushwood!" whispered tom, peeping out. "something big and black." "it's a bear!" cried sam, a minute later. "a black bear! and he is coming this way!" both boys were astonished and bewildered, for they had not been looking for such a big beast as this. sam clutched the shotgun tightly, while tom ran to the fire and picked up the biggest brand he could hold. the bear advanced to the center of the gully and looked up and down suspiciously. then he sniffed the air. "he smells the carcass of the fox that lies outside," whispered tom. "well, he must smell us, too, tom. it's a wonder he doesn't run. mr. barrow said bears up here were generally shy." "i reckon he is pretty hungry. here he comes for the fox meat now." tom was right. the bear was advancing with great care, sniffing the snow-covered ground at every step. once or twice he raised his head, as if preparing to run at the first sign of alarm. "i'd like to bring him down!" whispered sam. "you can't do it with the shotgun, sam. be quiet! we can be thankful if he takes the fox meat and leaves us alone." at last the bear reached the carcass. the two boys expected he would snatch it up instantly and run away, but they were mistaken. the bear sniffed it from end to end, and walked all around it. "he's afraid of a trap, or something like that," whispered tom. "they are pretty cute." at last the bear seemed satisfied, and he took the carcass up in his mouth and started to walk off with it. but, instead of turning up or down the gully, he came closer to the cave! "my gracious, he's coming this way!" cried sam. "look out, tom!" his voice was so loud that the black bear heard it plainly. the beast immediately dropped the fox meat and stood up on his hind legs. then he gave a roar of disappointment; thinking, probably, that the boys had set a bait to catch him. "he don't like the situation," began tom, when he gave a yell and clutched his brother by the arm. and small wonder, for with rapid strides the black bear was making for them, as though to chew them both up! chapter xxiv. together again. it must be confessed that both tom and sam were much alarmed by the forward move of the black bear. up to this instant they had trusted the beast would depart with the fox's carcass, without discovering them. now it looked as if they were in for a hot fight, and that without delay. "get behind the fire!" cried tom, as soon as he could collect his thoughts. sam had the shotgun pointed, and as the bear advanced he pulled the trigger. the charge of shot entered the bear's left shoulder, making a number of painful, but not dangerous, wounds. at once the beast let out a snort of commingled pain and rage. "you've done it now," came from tom, and whirled his firebrand, to make it blaze up. "take a stick, quick!" instead of doing this, however, sam fired a second time, this time hitting the bear in the left hind leg. the beast dropped on all fours and came to a halt while yet twenty yards from them. by this time tom had another firebrand, and this he compelled his brother to take, the shotgun being now empty. there was no time to reload the piece, and indeed, neither of the boys knew where to look for ammunition. more enraged than ever, the bear now advanced again, until only the fire was between him and his intended victims. he had now forgotten about the fox meat, and thought only of getting at the human being who had injured him. he arose once more and let out a loud roar, while his small eyes gleamed maliciously. had the fire not been in the way he would have rushed upon sam without further hesitation. the pulling out of the two large firebrands was causing the fire to burn low, something which was in the bear's favor. the boys almost expected to see the beast leap over the spot, but bruin knew better than to attempt this. he began to circle around the flames, and as he did this, the boys did likewise. "shall we run?" panted sam. he was so agitated he could scarcely speak. "no--stick to the fire," returned tom. "bears hate that. look out!" the bear had now started to come around the other way. at once the boys shifted again, until they occupied the position where they had stood when the beast was first discovered. then the bear dropped down once more, and eyed them in a meditative way. "he is making up his mind about the next move," said tom. "i'll try him with something new." and at the risk of burning his hand, he picked up some small brushwood which was blazing fiercely and threw it at their enemy. the effect was as surprising as it was gratifying. the burning brands struck the beast fairly on the nose, causing him to leap back in terror. then he uttered a grunt of dissatisfaction, turned, and sped, with clumsy swiftness, up the gully and into the forest beyond. "he is retreating!" cried sam joyfully. "wait--don't be too sure," returned tom, and, firebrands still in hand, they watched until the bear was out of sight and they could hear nothing more of him. "my, but aint i glad he's gone!" said the youngest rover, with a sigh of relief. "so am i glad, sam. i was almost afraid both of us were doomed to be chewed up." "what shall we do next?" "i guess we had better get out--as soon as you've reloaded the gun. wonder where the ammunition is?" both instituted a search, and soon a box was brought to light, containing not only ammunition, but also a big hunting knife. "i'll appropriate the knife," said tom. "it's not as good as a gun or pistol, but it is better than nothing." thus armed they set forth without further delay, fearful that their enemies might return at any moment to recapture them. as the bear had gone up the gully they went down, and they did not come to a halt until they had placed at least quarter of a mile between themselves and the caves. for some distance they kept on a series of bare rocks, thus leaving no trail behind. "i reckon we are clear of them for the time being," observed tom, as he came to a halt. "and that being so, the next question is where are dick and mr. barrow?" "the best we can do is to try to find perch river, to my way of thinking," came from sam. "if we can find that and we stick to it, we'll be sure to land at bear pond, sooner or later." "it seems to me bear pond ought to be close at hand," said tom. "we've seen the bear anyway, if not the pond." and at this both sam and he gave a short laugh. an hour later found them tramping along the edge of a cliff overlooking a broad valley, in the center of which was a winding stream almost hidden by the woods on either side. "now, if we were only sure that was perch river, we'd be all right," said sam. "but unfortunately all rivers look pretty much alike up here." "we might as well go down to it, anyway," answered his brother. "it's pretty cold up here." finding a break in the cliff they descended, and started through the woods for the watercourse. it was indeed cold, and only their brisk walking kept them warm. a stiff wind was rising, and overhead the branches swayed mournfully. when they reached the river they came to another halt, not knowing which was up and which was down. "guess we had better chop a hole in the ice and see how the water is flowing," suggested sam. "let us walk in this direction," said tom. "i think this is right, and, anyway, we may soon come to an air-hole, which will save us the trouble of cutting an opening." as they advanced they had kept a sharp lookout for the baxter crowd, but so far none of their enemies had put in an appearance. "hurrah!" suddenly shouted tom. "here's a signal of some sort!" he pointed ahead, to where dick and john barrow had planted their first signal pole. both made a rush forward, and soon had the cooked meat which had been tied in a cloth and the note pinned on the outside. "a letter from dick," said tom, and read it aloud. "we are on the right track, sam, and if we only continue to steer clear of dan baxter and his gang we'll be safe." "dick asks us to fire two shots, a minute apart, as a signal," came from sam. "i'll do it at once." and without delay he discharged the shotgun, waited sixty seconds, and then discharged it again. both listened intently, and from a great distance came back two other shots, also a minute apart. "they heard the signal!" ejaculated sam joyfully. "it came from up the river, didn't it?" "yes; come on!" without stopping to eat the food which had been left for them, the boys hurried forward just as rapidly as their now tired legs would carry them. they had brought their skates along and these were put on, after which progress was easier. it was now growing dark, and they began to wonder if they would be able to rejoin dick and mr. barrow before nightfall. "i hope we meet them," said sam. "i've no fancy for remaining in this open, alone." "try another two shots," suggested tom, after an hour had gone by, and sam did so. immediately came answering reports, directly to their left. "hullo!" yelled tom, at the top of his lungs, and sam at once took up the cry. "hullo!" came back faintly. "tom! sam! is that you?" "yes. we are on the river!" "all right!" the yelling now stopped, and tom and sam came to a halt and sat down on a flat rock to wait. ten minutes passed, when they saw dick rush into a clearing, followed by john barrow. as soon as the eldest rover saw them he waved his hand enthusiastically. "where in the world have you been?" came from dick, as soon as he reached them, and saw that neither was injured. "we've been looking high and low for you." "we've been prisoners of the enemy," answered tom. "by the way, have you seen anything of dan baxter and his party?" "no. do you mean to say baxter made you prisoners?" "he and his crowd did." "how many are there with him?" "three men, bill harney the guide, lemuel husty, and jasper grinder." "jasper grinder!" burst out dick. "impossible!" "it is true, dick. i was as much astonished as you." "i suppose baxter promised him a share of the treasure if it was found." "more than likely. but i don't believe they'll find the treasure." tom and sam soon told their story, to which dick and john barrow listened with keen interest. hardly, however, was the tale finished than the guide urged them to move on. "it's quite a few miles to camp," he said. "and, unless i am mistaken, it's getting ready for a big fall o' snow." john barrow was right about the snow. less than quarter of an hour later the thick flakes began to fall. then came a finer snow, which the wind blew around them like so much hard salt. "we are in for a corker!" cried the guide. "the sooner we git back to our supplies the better it will be for us!" chapter xxv. snowed in. with the coming of night the downfall of snow increased until it was impossible to see a dozen feet in any direction. the wind also increased in fury until it blew a regular gale. at first this was in their favor, being directly on their backs and sending them over the ice at a furious pace, but soon it shifted, first to the left and then to in front of them, and now further progress appeared out of the question. "i'm afraid we can't make it!" gasped dick, turning to catch his breath. "i'm almost winded now." "i've got to stop," came from sam. "i'm ready to drop." "i can't see a thing," said tom. "and i'm in mortal terror of skating into some big air-hole." "you are right, lads, we'll have to give up the idea of reaching camp to-night," came from john barrow seriously. "but where to take you to out of this awful storm i scarcely know." "any kind of shelter will do," said sam. "we can rig up a hut under some big cedar tree." "in that case, let us stick as closely to the river as possible." "why?" "we can get fish then, if we need 'em." no more was said, and the guide at once led the way to a thick clump of cedars growing but a rod away from the edge of the river. the cedars formed something of a circle, about fifteen feet in diameter, and by clearing out some brushwood in the center they made quite a cozy resting place. on the outside the cedars were laced together, and the snow was banked up on all sides, leaving but one opening, two feet wide and several feet high, for the purpose of supplying them with fresh air. by the time the shelter was ready for use all the boys were so fagged out they could scarcely stand. dick and the guide had brought blankets with them, and one of these was placed over the opening temporarily, to keep out a large part of the wind. then a candle was lit and john barrow burnt up a little brushwood, "jest to take the chill outer the place," as he explained. they did not dare to let the flames grow too high for fear of setting fire to the cedars themselves. as the boys lay on the brushwood resting, they heard the wind outside increasing in violence, and saw the cedars bend to and fro, and listened to them creak dismally. "mr. barrow, how long do you reckon this storm will last?" questioned tom. "there is no tellin', lad. perhaps through the night, an' perhaps for a couple o' days." "if it lasts two days, we'll be snowed in for keeps!" came from sam. the guide shrugged his shoulders. "true, sam, but we've got to take what comes." "let us take account of our provisions," said dick. "if there is any prospect of our being snowed in we'll have to eat sparingly, or run the risk of being starved to death." there was not much to count up: some meat and crackers dick and the guide had brought along, and the meat, crackers, and the rabbit in tom and sam's store. in his pockets john barrow also carried some coffee, sugar, and some salt. "not such a very small lot," was dick's comment. "but it might be more." a scanty evening meal was quickly disposed of, and then the candle was blown out, and all retired to rest. the boys were soon sound asleep, and presently the guide followed, but with his hand on his gun, ready for any attack by man or beast, should it come. the night passed quietly enough, for presently the wind went down. the snow grew thicker than ever, until it covered the river to a depth of two feet and more. around the cedars there was a huge drift, burying the shelter completely. it was dick who roused up first, to find all pitch-dark around him. bringing out a match, he lit the candle and looked at his watch. "seven o'clock!" he murmured. "guess i'll go out and see what the weather is." stretching himself, he walked to the blanket which had been placed over the opening, and tried to thrust it aside. at once a mass of snow came tumbling down and sifted in all directions, a good share on tom's face. "hi! who's washing my face with snow?" cried tom, as he opened his eyes and sat up. "that's a mean trick, dick, on a fellow who is dead tired out." "i didn't mean to do it, tom. i was going outside, to see how the weather is. i reckon the snow is pretty deep." the talking aroused the guide and sam, and soon all were on their feet. the snow in the opening was pushed back and they forced their way outside, to find themselves in a drift up to their waists. "gosh, but we are right in it!" was tom's comment. "see, the river is completely covered. that settles skating." "and the worst of it is, it is still snowing," came from dick. "with no signs of letting up," finished john barrow. "boys, i am afraid we are snowed in, or snowed up, just as you feel like calling it." "do you mean we'll have to remain here?" questioned sam quickly. "for the present. we are a good four miles from the pond, and we can't tramp that in this storm." the wind was rising again, with a dull moaning through the timber, and sending the flakes whirling in all directions, and they were glad enough to get back to the shelter of the cedars. "we'll clear a space in the snow and start a fire," said the guide. "a hot cup o' coffee will do us all good." "and we can cook that other rabbit tom and i brought along," put in sam. brushwood was handy, and tom helped to cut some of this with the hunting knife he had brought along. soon a lively blaze was warming them up, and water was boiling for the coffee, while the rabbit was cleaned, and broiled on a long fork in the guide's outfit. crackers were running low, and they had but two apiece. "i'll try fishing as soon as i'm done," said john barrow, and was as good as his word. it was no easy task to cut a hole through the ice, but once this was accomplished the fish were found to be lively enough, despite the storm and the cold. inside of an hour they had a mess of nine, sufficient to last them for several meals. and while the others were fishing, dick caught sight of a flock of birds, and brought down three. "there, we won't starve yet awhile," said dick, as he began to clean his game. "that's true," answered tom, "although we may get pretty tired of birds and fish before we get out of here and strike something different." "i wonder how the baxter crowd is faring," said sam. "unless they got back to the cave they can't be having a very good time of it." "they don't deserve a good time of it," grumbled tom. "they deserve to suffer." "bill harney is a good enough guide to know what to do," put in john barrow. "he will pull them through somehow--that is, if he knows enough to remain sober." they had hoped that the storm would let up by noon, but twelve o'clock found the snow coming down as fast as ever, blotting out the landscape on every hand. outside of the moaning of the wind all was as silent as a tomb. there was but a little for the boys to do, and after the fishing was over they were glad enough to take it easy in the shelter and listen to several stories john barrow had to tell. the guide also related what he knew concerning goupert and the various hunts made for the missing treasure. "he must have been a fierce sort of a man in his day," observed dick. "i don't wonder the most of the folks in this region were content to leave him alone." it was almost nightfall when the snow stopped coming down, and then it was too dark to attempt the journey to bear pond. "we'll have to make another night of it here," said john barrow. "then, if it's clear, we can start for the pond early in the morning." "hark!" cried tom, rousing up. "did you hear that?" "hear what?" came from the others. "i thought i heard somebody calling." all listened. for a few seconds silence reigned, then came an uncertain sound from a considerable distance. "there it is!" "that's somebody calling, sure," said the guide. "must be down along the river. i'll go out an' look." "can i go along?" asked dick. "you may want help--if somebody is in trouble." "all right. bring your gun with you." in another minute they had started out, each with his gun, and with his trouser legs tied up with bits of cord, to keep the deep snow from reaching up to their boot-tops. their course was directly for the river. it was so dark they could see little or nothing, saving the whiteness which spread in all directions. "hullo! hullo!" yelled john barrow, when the river was gained. "help!" came back faintly. "help!" "somebody over thar!" said the guide, and pointed a short distance up the stream. "guess he's in a peck o' trouble, too." he started in the direction, and dick came close behind. the party in distress was a man, whose cries for aid were gradually becoming weaker and weaker. before they reached the individual his voice ceased entirely. "he has fainted from exhaustion," said john barrow, as he reached the wayfarer. "why, it's jasper grinder, our old teacher," ejaculated dick. the eldest rover was right. the unfortunate man was indeed the former teacher of putnam hall, but so pinched and haggard as to be scarcely recognized. he had fallen on a bare rock, and this had cut open his left cheek, from which the blood was flowing. chapter xxvi. an unwelcome comrade. "he's in a bad way, that's certain," was dick's comment, as he surveyed the prostrate form. even though jasper grinder was an enemy, he could not help but feel sorry for the man. "we must get him up to our shelter as soon as possible," replied john barrow. "it is easy to see he is half frozen--and maybe starved." "shall we carry him?" "we'll have to; there is no other way." slinging their guns across their backs, they raised up the form of the unconscious man. he was a dead weight, and to carry him through that deep snow was no light task. less than half the distance to the shelter was covered when dick called a halt. "i'll have to rest up!" he gasped. "he weighs a ton." but in a few minutes he resumed the journey, and now they did not stop with their load until the shelter was reached. tom and sam were watching for them. "jasper grinder, by all that's wonderful!" burst out tom. "was he alone?" questioned sam. "he was, so far as we could see," answered dick. "i can tell you, he's almost a case for an undertaker." this remark made everyone feel sober, and while the two younger rovers stirred up the fire, dick and the guide did all in their power to bring the unconscious man to his senses. some hot coffee was poured down his throat, and his hands and back were vigorously rubbed. "oh!" came faintly, at last, and jasper grinder slowly opened his eyes, "oh!" "take it easy, mr. grinder," said dick kindly. "you are safe now." "but the bear! where is the bear?" murmured the dazed man. "there is no bear here." "he is after me! he wants to chew me up!" with this jasper grinder relapsed into unconsciousness once more. "i reckon a b'ar chased him and he lost his reckonin'," was john barrow's comment. "bring him up to the fire. he wants warmin'." yet, with all the care they were able to bestow, it was a good hour before jasper grinder was able to sit up and relate what had occurred to him. he was very hungry, and eagerly disposed of every scrap of food they had to offer him. "i have been lost in the timber since yesterday," he said. "oh, it was awful, the wind and the snow, and the intense cold. sometimes i could not feel my feet, and i knew i was freezing to death. and i hadn't a mouthful to eat!" "but where are the others?" questioned dick. "i don't know--back to that cave, i suppose. we were out looking for some trace of--ahem--of tom and sam, when i became separated from the others. then, in trying to find my way back to the cave, i fell in with a big black bear. the ugly creature came after me, and i ran for my life, through the brushwood and the snow, until i came to a cliff. i fell over this, landed on an icy slope, and rolled and rolled until i struck the river. then i got up and tried to get back to the cave, but it was out of the question. i found an opening in the cliff, on going back, and remained there until morning, when that bear, or another like him, roused me and caused me another roll down to the river." "didn't the bear follow you?" asked tom. "he followed as far as the river. but i ran with all my might through the deep snow, and presently he gave up the pursuit. then i went on and on until i happened to catch a glimpse of your camp-fire, and set up a cry for help. i slipped on a rock and hit my cheek, and the loss of blood and the shock made me dizzy. the next i knew i was here." "you may be thankful that we found you and brought you in," was the remark made by john barrow. "if you had remained out there this night, you'd 'a' been a corpse by mornin', sure!" "i suppose that's true," said jasper grinder, with a thoughtful look. his experience had humbled him greatly. he was so exhausted that he soon fell asleep, breathing heavily. the boys and john barrow gazed at him curiously. "his being with us presents a problem," said dick. "what are we to do with him?" "i'm sure i don't want him along," answered sam promptly. he had hot forgotten the treatment received at putnam hall. "none of us want him, i take it, sam. but we can't leave him behind to starve. and i doubt if he can find his way back to the baxter camp alone." "no, he can't do that," put in the guide. "it is easy to see he knows nothing of the woods and mountains. he was a fool to come here." "if we take him along, we ought to make him do his share of the work," said tom. "but i don't like it. he'll be forever spying on us, and if we find that treasure he'll try to get it away, mark my words." "the only thing we can do is to watch him, and not let him have any gun or pistol," said dick. "he won't dare to leave us, unarmed, especially if we tell him of all the wild animals that are around." the subject was discussed for fully an hour, but no satisfactory conclusion was reached, and presently one after another dropped off to sleep; the guide being the last to lie down, after fixing the camp-fire for the night, so that a share of the warmth might drift into the shelter. on the following day the sun came up bright and clear. it was still bitterly cold, and they were loath to leave the vicinity of the camp-fire. but john barrow urged that they make good use of the clear weather, and so they started up the river as soon as they had disposed of their breakfast of fish and birds. "to be sure i'll go along, if i can walk," was what jasper grinder said on being questioned, "i wouldn't remain behind alone for a fortune, and i am sure i can't find the baxter party now. please don't cast me off! it wouldn't be human!" "i believe you'd cast us off, if we were in a similar situation," was tom's comment. "the way you treated sam at the hall shows that you don't care how some folks suffer. but you can go along, for we are not brutes. but you've got to be careful how you behave, or otherwise out you go, to shift for yourself, no matter how cold it is or how many wild animals are around." "i will do nothing that does not meet with the approval of all of you," answered the former teacher humbly. "and remember, thomas, i was willing to aid you when you were a prisoner in the cave in the gully." "you were--for a big consideration," returned tom dryly. "let me tell you flatly, i don't take much stock in your so-called generosity." they were soon on the way, straight down to the river and then up that stream. john barrow was in the lead, with sam following. jasper came next, and tom and dick brought up the rear. as far as possible the guide sought out a trail along the timber, where the snow was not so deep. here and there were bare spots, but at other places were deep drifts, where they frequently got in up to their armpits. "this is no joke!" gasped sam, after floundering through an extra deep drift. "i thought i was going out of sight that time." "i trust we haven't much further to go," was jasper grinder's comment. "i would give a hundred dollars to be back at timber run." "it's your own fault you are here," retorted sam. "i might say the same of you," returned the former teacher sharply. by noon john barrow calculated they had covered half the distance to bear pond. a sheltered nook was found between some rocks and trees, and here they set fire to a mass of brushwood, that they might get warm while they rested, and ate the last of the food on hand. there was no wind, and the sun, shining as brightly as ever, made the surface of the snow glitter like diamonds. "i hope we find our stores at the cache undisturbed," said dick, while resting. "i am hungry for a change of diet. as soon as we get there i'm going to make some biscuits and boil some beans." "gosh, but a plateful of beans would be fine!" cried tom. "i can tell you what," he added reflectively; "you want to do without things to learn their real value." on they went once more, this time slower than before, because both sam and jasper grinder showed great signs of weariness. they had to move around a long bend of the stream, and for fear of getting into a deep drift the guide did not dare to make a short cut. they passed the pole set up by john barrow and dick at the forks of the stream, and then headed directly for where the cache was located. "when we get settled we can put up a regular hut," said john barrow. "then we can be as comfortable, almost, as at home." "i'm anxious to locate the treasure," said tom, "we can--gracious me! look there!" they had come in sight of the cache, and now beheld two great black bears standing over the loose stones, doing their best to scratch them away and get at the party's stores! chapter xxvii. bringing down two bears. "bears!" burst out sam, and started back in alarm. "bears!" shrieked jasper grinder, and turned as pale as death. "oh, somebody save me!" he wanted to run, but he was in such a tremble he could not, and sank on his knees in the snow in terror. crack! it was the report of john barrow's rifle, and one of the bears was hit full in the left eye. crack! went the piece dick carried, and the other bear was hit in the neck. then tom fired the shotgun which had been found on jasper grinder, and the bear dick had hit was wounded in the side. of course there followed a terrible uproar, and in a twinkle both bears left the pile of rocks and came toward those who had wounded them. the one that had been wounded in the eye was mortally hit, however, and staggered in a heap before he had gone ten paces. but the second bear was full of fight, and his course was directly for tom. before the lad could run the beast was almost on top of him. "dodge him!" called out dick. "dodge him, tom!" "shoot him, somebody!" yelled back tom. "shoot him, quick!" and then he dodged behind some nearby brush. but the bear was almost as quick, and ran directly into the brushwood, to face him on the opposite side. by this time john barrow had the rifle reloaded, and now he skirted the brushwood, followed by dick. crack! went the rifle again, just as bruin was about to pounce upon tom. but the bullet merely clipped the hair on the bear's back, and in a twinkle the beast was on tom and had the lad down. with his heart in his throat, dick made a leap with the shotgun. bang! went the piece, when he was not over three yards from the bear. the charge entered the beast's ear, and with a snort he rolled over and over in the snow, sending it flying in every direction. freed of the bear, tom lost no time in scrambling to his feet. soon the struggles of the beast ceased, and they knew he was either dying or dead. to make sure, john barrow stepped in, hunting knife in hand, and plunged the blade into his throat. then the other bear was served in the same fashion. the fight had been of short duration, yet the peril had been extreme, and after it was over poor tom found he could scarcely stand. dick led him to a rock and set him down, asking him if he was hurt. "i got a scratch on the arm, but i reckon it's not much," was the faint answer. "but it was a close call, wasn't it?" "those bears must have been awfully hungry, or they wouldn't have put up such a fight," said the guide. "their being at the cache proves they wanted food." "well, we've got the food now," returned dick grimly. "we'll have all the bear steaks and roasts anybody wants." "yes, and i can tell you a juicy steak will just be boss!" put in sam enthusiastically. it was seen that tom was hurt more than he cared to admit, and the others lost no time in building a big camp-fire, that they might warm themselves, while dick took off his brother's coat, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and bandaged an ugly scratch with a bit of linen. "you can help here," said john barrow to jasper grinder. "i'll fix it as your duty to keep the fire a-goin'. there is a hatchet and there is the brushwood. don't let the fire go down, or i'm afraid there won't be enough heat for cooking your supper." and the guide smiled grimly. at this indirect threat jasper grinder scowled. but he did not dare to complain, and was soon at work cutting brushwood and dragging it to the spot. "gosh, but he's not used to hard work," was sam's whispered comment. "i'll wager he doesn't like that for a cent." "it's time he was set to work doing something," answered dick. "it will keep him from getting into mischief." as late as it was, and although all were tired out from their long walk through the deep snow, they found it necessary to construct some shelter for the night. the guide located a number of cedars growing close together, and this spot was cleaned out and made as comfortable as circumstances permitted. the fire was shoved over to the new location, and then john barrow cut up one of the bears and procured a big juicy steak for supper. it is needless to say that all enjoyed the treat set before them, even jasper grinder eating his full share. "we'll hang the meat up on a tree," said john barrow. "if we don't some hungry foxes or other wild animals will surely be after it." and procuring the necessary ropes, he flung them over some limbs and all hauled the carcasses up, tom, of course, being excused from the task, because of his wounded arm. the wind had gone down, and when all retired within the shelter not a sound but the merry crackling of the fire broke the stillness around them. in front of the camp was a long stretch of the pond, now thickly covered with snow; in the rear a slope of a mountain, rock-ribbed and covered with cedars and hemlock. to the left was located one of the branches of the river and a hundred yards distant was a second branch. at first john barrow had thought to set a guard for the night, but as the spot seemed free from danger for the time being, this was dispensed with, and all went to bed, to sleep soundly until sunrise. "and now for the treasure hunt!" cried sam, who was among the first to awaken. "it's just a perfect day, and we ought to accomplish a good deal, if we set to work right after breakfast." he talked freely, for jasper grinder was still asleep--snoring lustily in a corner of the shelter. john barrow was already outside, boiling coffee, broiling another bear steak, and preparing a pot of beans for cooking. he had likewise set some bread for raising. "goin' to give you a breakfast as is a breakfast," said the guide; with a broad smile. "reckon all of you are ready for it, eh?" "i am," said dick. "phew! but this mountain air does give one a tremendous appetite!" while jasper grinder still slept dick brought forth the precious map and studied the description, and also the translation of the french text into english, which randolph rover had made for them. "'to find the box of silver and gold, go to where bear pond empties into perch river,'" he read. "well, we are at this spot, or, at least, at one of the spots. it may mean this branch, and it may mean one of several others." "we can try one branch after another," put in sam. "go on with the description." "'ten paces to the west is a large pine tree which was once struck by lightning,'" continued dick. he looked around. "i don't see any tree like that around here." "you must remember, my lad, that that writin' was put down years ago," said john barrow. "more'n likely if the tree was struck an' blasted, it's fallen long ago, and the spring freshets carried it down the river." "that's true," said sam, with a falling look. "but, anyway, we ought to be able to locate the stump." "yes, we ought to be able to do that." "i'm going to locate it now," cried sam, and stalked off to where the pond emptied into the stream. from this spot he stalked ten paces westward, and of a sudden disappeared from view. "help!" he cried. "hullo, sam's disappeared!" cried dick, and ran toward the spot. "look out!" sang out john barrow. "there may be a nasty hole there!" nevertheless, he too went forward, and they soon beheld sam floundering in snow up to his neck. he had stepped into a hollow between the rocks, and it took him some time to extricate himself from the unpleasant position. "oh, my, what a bath!" he exclaimed ruefully, as he tried to get the snow from out of his collar and his coat-sleeves. "i--i didn't think of a pitfall like that!" "you want to be careful how you journey around here," cautioned john barrow. "if that hollow had been twice as deep the snow might have smothered you to death." "i will be careful," answered sam. "i don't want any more snow down my back and up my coat-sleeves," and he hurried back to the camp-fire to warm himself. by this time tom was outside, and he was followed by jasper grinder, and presently all sat down close to the blaze to enjoy the generous breakfast the guide had provided. tom said that his arm was a little stiff, but that otherwise he felt as well as ever. chapter xxviii. two failures. what to do with jasper grinder was a problem which none of the boys knew how to solve. they were exceedingly sorry that he was among them, but as it would be impossible to send him off alone in that deep snow, they felt that they would have to make the best of the situation. "i move we make him stay around the camp," suggested tom. "he can watch our stores, keep the fire furnished with wood, and do some of the cooking." "he may kick at playing servant girl," said sam. "if he kicks, let him clear out." "i think tom is right," put in dick. "we don't want him along while we are trying to locate the treasure." "he may slip away with our things--if he finds any trace of baxter's party," went on sam. "and we can't afford to lose anything more. one sled-load is enough. we'll be wanting some of those other things before long." "i don't believe that other party is around here," said john barrow. "we had better leave the man at the fire. we can keep our eyes open for the enemy--as you call 'em." so it was arranged, and dick told the former teacher. jasper grinder said but little in return, but asked about the possibility of any more wild beasts turning up. "i don't want to be left alone to face another couple of bears," he said. "they would do their best to chew me up!" "we will leave a gun in camp," said dick. "if you see a bear coming, you can climb a tree and keep him off with the gun. if we hear a shot, we'll come back just as quickly as we can. but, grinder, i want you to understand that you aren't to play us false," went on the eldest rover. "if you do we'll have no mercy on you, remember that!" half an hour later the boys and their guide set off on their first hunt for the treasure. with great care john barrow led the way over the rocks and other rough places. he carried a long pole, which he plunged in the snow before him whenever he was afraid there was a hollow ahead. soon they gained the spot where dick thought the blasted tree might be located. the snow was scraped away, first in one direction and then another, until a spot several yards in diameter was cleared. no tree-stump was brought to light, although they found a slight hollow in which were several big roots. "this might have been the tree once," said john barrow meditatively. "years make great changes, you know. the trees fall, rocks and dirt slide down hill, and that makes a big difference in the looks o' things." "all we can do is to follow the directions on the map," said dick. "i think we'll be bound to strike the right clew, sooner or later. let us follow this one and see where it leads to." "what's the next directions?" questioned tom. "'go due southwest from the pine tree sixty-two paces,'" answered dick, reading from the translation given him. "which is southwest, mr. barrow?" "soon tell ye that," answered the guide, and brought forth his pocket compass. "that way." and he pointed with his arm. with the compass to guide them they set off, the guide in the lead once more, and dick counting off the sixty-two paces with great care. the way was up a hillside and over half a dozen rough rocks, and then into a hollow where the snow was up to their waists. "no use of talking, this is treasure-hunting under difficulties," was sam's comment. "perhaps we would have done better had we left the hunt till summer time." "and let baxter get ahead of us?" put in tom. "not much!" he turned to dick. "what's the next directions on the paper?" "there ought to be a flat rock here, backed up by a sharp-pointed one," answered the eldest rover. "i don't see anything of a sharp-pointed rock, do you? the flat rock may be under us." "no sharp-pointed rock within a hundred feet of here," answered sam, gazing around. he began scraping away the snow. "dirt under us, too." "that settles it, then. trial no. 1 is a failure. mr. barrow, we'll have to try the next stream." "so it would seem, dick. well, you boys mustn't expect too easy work o' it. a big treasure aint picked up every day." "the trouble of it is, we don't know how much of a treasure it is," said tom. "for all we know, it may be but a few hundred dollars--not enough to pay us, really, for our trouble." "well, even a few hundred dollars aint to be sneezed at." "we did much better out west, when we located our mining claim," said dick. "but then we came up here for fun as much as for treasure." the tramp to where the next stream leading from bear pond was located was by no means easy. they had to crawl around a tangled mass of brushwood and over more rough rocks, until they gained the bosom of the pond itself. then they skirted the shore for several hundred yards. "hold on!" cried dick suddenly. "rabbits!" and up came his gun, and he blazed away. sam also fired, and between them they brought down four rabbits, which had just run out of a hollow log a short distance ahead. "good shots!" cried the guide enthusiastically. "couldn't have been better. i see you are used to hunting. many a city chap would have missed 'em entirely. i had one feller up here year before last wanted to bring down big game, but when he saw a deer he got the shakes and didn't think of shootin' till the game was out o' sight." the four rabbits were plump and heavy, and the boys shouldered them with much satisfaction. then the onward course was resumed, until dick again called a halt. "here is where we'll make trial no. 2," he said. "now see if any of you can locate the blasted tree in this neighborhood." all began to search around in various directions, and presently sam let out a call. "here's a fallen tree!" "struck by lightning?" queried dick. "i don't know about that. perhaps mr. barrow can tell us." the others walked over, and the guide cleared the snow from the upper end of the fallen timber. "not much signs of being struck by anything but the wind," he announced. "still, i aint sure." "we'll try from this point, anyway," said tom. "no use of missing any chance, however small." and on this the others agreed. once again they began to pace off the ground as before. here the task was as difficult as ever, as they had to pass through some timber thickly intergrown with brush. "i suppose in goupert's time this timber was small," observed the guide. the tramping around was beginning to tire them, and soon sam had to stop to rest and get back his wind. "i feel like a regular snow-plow," he gasped. "tell you what, it takes the wind right out of a chap." "you rest while we go ahead," suggested tom, but sam did not wish to do this. "not much! if the treasure is going to be found, i want to be on deck!" he cried. presently they we're at it again, dick pacing off the steps as carefully as ever. they had still fifteen paces to go when john barrow came to a stop with a sniff of disgust. "wrong ag'in!" "how so?" "this is leadin' us right out on the pond." "i declare, so it is!" murmured dick. "we started due southwest, didn't we?" "to a hair, lad. to tell the truth, i didn't take much to this trail from the start. to my mind this stream is a new one. i think the next outlet is one of the old-timers." once more they held a consultation, and tom asked how far it was to the next stream. "right over yonder rise o' ground," answered the guide. "but hadn't you better wait till after dinner before ye tackle it?" dick consulted his watch. "i declare! quarter to twelve!" he exclaimed. "no wonder i'm feeling hungry." "i was getting hungry myself," said tom "but i wasn't going to be the first to stop. what shall we do--go back to camp?" "yes," said dick. "i don't like the idea of leaving jasper grinder there all day alone." "nor i," came from the other rovers. john barrow was asked to lead them back by the shortest route, and they started quarter of an hour later, after all had had a chance to rest and get back their wind. "i hope we get a chance at some deer while we are up here," remarked dick, as they turned back. "i'll take you to where there are deer, after this hunt is over," replied john barrow. "i know a famous spot, and it's not far, either." "hark!" suddenly cried tom. "what sort of a yelping is that?" all listened. "wolves!" answered john barrow. "there must be quite a pack of 'em, too." "i suppose they get pretty hungry when there is such a deep snow," said tom. "they do. more'n likely some of 'em have scented our b'ar meat and they want some." "if they are heading for camp, they'll give jasper grinder trouble," put in sam. he had scarcely spoken when they heard the report of a gun, followed by a louder yelping than ever. "they've attacked him, true enough!" cried john barrow. "come on," said dick. "the sooner we get back the better. grinder may be having a pile of trouble, and the wolves may tear all our things to pieces if they get the chance." chapter xxix. jasper grinder and the wolves. left to himself, jasper grinder piled the wood on the camp-fire and then sat down to meditate on the turn affairs had taken. he was in a thoroughly sour frame of mind. to his way of thinking everything had gone wrong, and he wondered how matters would terminate. "i was a fool to come out here, in the first place," he told himself. "i ought to have known that baxter had no sure thing of it. if i hadn't fallen in with the rovers, i would have frozen and starved to death. and they don't want me; that's plainly to be seen." had he felt able to do so, he would have packed a knapsack with provisions and started oh his way down the river toward timber run. but he did not know how far the settlement was away, and he was afraid to trust himself alone in such a wilderness as confronted him on every hand. he did not possess much money, but he would have given every dollar to be safe back in the city again. he wondered if the rovers would gain possession of the treasure before the baxter party came up, and also wondered what would happen should the two parties come together. he had not been treated very well by dan baxter, and so he hardly cared who came out on top in the struggle for the treasure. "whoever gets it will try to count me out," was the way he reasoned. "i'm at the bottom of the heap, and likely to stay there for some time to come." the time dragged slowly, and to occupy himself he began to cut more wood for the fire. the task made him grit his teeth. "got to work like a common woodchopper," he muttered. "it's a shame!" he was just dragging the last of the wood up to the fire when a sudden yelping broke upon his ears. looking up, he saw a lone wolf standing at the edge of the timber, gazing fixedly at him. "a wolf!" he muttered, and his face grew pale. "scat!" and he waved his hand threateningly. the wolf disappeared behind some brush, but did not go far. sitting down, it let out the most dismal howls imaginable, which soon brought a dozen or more other wolves to the scene. then all of the pack came into view, much to jasper grinder's horror. "they want to eat me up!" he groaned, and ran for the nearest tree, which was close to the shelter. "oh, i must get away, somehow!" he clutched at the tree and began to climb with all possible-speed. his gun lay close at hand, but in his haste he forgot to pick it up. once in the tree he sat down on a limb, a perfect picture of misery. seeing the man retreat the wolves at once became bolder, and keeping a safe distance from the fire, they drew up in a circle around the tree upon which jasper grinder rested, and from which hung the bear meat. at one point under the tree there was a spot covered with bear's blood, and this blood several of the wolves licked up in a manner to make the former teacher's own blood run cold. "if they get at me they'll chew me up, i know they will," he moaned. "oh, why did i ever come out in this savage waste!" sitting in a circle, the wolves lifted their heads and howled dismally. two came to the tree and scratched the bark, as if to attempt climbing. "go away! go away!" shrieked jasper grinder. "scat! go away!" the wolves left the tree-trunk, but did not go away. instead one after another began to leap up, trying to reach the meat which hung so temptingly above them. one or two prowled among the stores, tearing this and that, and picking up the scraps of the morning meal. in this fashion half an hour went by, and it is safe to state that this was the longest and most trying half hour that jasper grinder experienced in his whole life. he shouted at the wolves and threw bits of sticks at them, but to this they paid no attention. then he cried for help, but the rovers and john barrow were too far off to hear him. "if i only had the gun, i could fire it as a signal," he said to himself. "why did i not bring it up with me?" he wondered if he could pull the gun up by means of a string he found in his pocket, and resolved to try. making a loop in one end of the string he lowered it with care, until it rested close to the gun, and then he did his best to slide the string along under the barrel. this was comparatively easy, for the barrel was tilted up against a rock. the wolves watched the maneuvering with interest, and no sooner did the gun begin to shift than three leaped forward, snarling angrily. one snapped at the barrel of the piece, one at the butt, and a third at the trigger. an instant later came the report heard by the rovers and john barrow. the shot was almost a deadly one, not alone for two of the wolves, but also for jasper grinder, who was not expecting the gun to go off. the piece was loaded with buckshot, which tore through the sides of two of the beasts, and then passed upward into the tree-branches, taking the former school-teacher in the left shoulder. "i'm shot!" gasped jasper grinder, and almost fell from his perch. but he managed to save himself, and hung in a crotch, weak and almost helpless, the blood flowing freely and dripping to the ground, where the wolves licked it up eagerly. a few had retreated at the report of the gun, but now all came back, snarling and yelping more wildly than ever. it must be confessed that jasper grinder's position was truly unfortunate. the loss of blood was fast rendering him unconscious, and he was in mortal terror of dropping down and being devoured. "help!" he called feebly. "help! for the love of heaven, help me!" just as his senses were leaving him he heard a distant cry, and looking in that direction, saw john barrow and dick approaching, followed by tom and sam. "the wolves have grinder treed," cried the guide. "i'll give 'em something to remember us by!" he had a double-barreled shotgun, and he let drive twice in quick succession, firing into two groups of the beasts, and killing two and wounding several others. then dick fired, bringing down another. tom and sam also discharged their pieces, and added three others to the dead or dying. this slaughter was too much for the remaining wolves, hungry as they were, and in a twinkle they ran off into the timber, howling dismally. "they won't come back," was john barrow's comment. "they have learned to respect us." and he was right, the wolves bothered them no more. while the guide was busy finishing the beast which had been too much hurt to retreat, the boys turned their attention to jasper grinder. they saw he had fainted, and noticed the blood dripping from his shoulder. his body was slowly leaving the tree crotch where it had rested. "he's coming! catch him!" cried sam, and as the unconscious man came down they did what they could to break his fall. fortunately he landed in the deep snow, so the fall proved of small consequence. "he's shot, that's what's the matter with him," said dick, after an examination. "who fired at him? i'm certain none of us did." the question could not be answered. bringing out a blanket, they placed jasper grinder upon it, close to the fire, and john barrow made an examination of the wound, picking out a couple of the loose buckshot. "he was probably shot from his own gun," said the guide. "more than likely he dropped the piece from the tree, and it went off when it struck the ground." they bound up the wound carefully, and did all they could for the sufferer. then, while dick watched over jasper grinder, the others got rid of the wolves' carcasses by dragging them into the timber, and then set to work to prepare the midday meal. it was fully an hour before jasper grinder was able to speak, and then he could say but little. but he explained how it was that he had been shot. he wanted to know if the wolves had been driven off, and begged that they would not leave him alone again. "we'll stay by you, now you are down," said dick sympathetically. "we are not brutes, even though we haven't any great love for you." "thank you; i'll not forget your kindness," returned jasper grinder, and for once it must be admitted that he meant what he said. the wounded man could eat no solid food, so they prepared for him some broth made from bear's meat, which was very strengthening. after another examination john barrow was of the opinion that the wound was not a dangerous one, but that the man would have to keep quiet for several days or a week. "we'll have to take turns at watching him," said dick. "it's too bad, but i see no other way out of it." they drew lots, and it fell to sam to remain with the patient during the afternoon. an hour later dick, tom, and the guide set off to look once more for the treasure. "well, i'm tired enough to stay here and rest," said sam. "that walking this morning played me out completely." there was not much to do, since jasper grinder had brought in sufficient wood to last for a day or two. for an hour sam rested and watched the former teacher, who had fallen into a doze. then the youngest rover set to work to improve the shelter, doing several things which the guide had suggested. the youth was hard at work patching up one side of the improvised hut when he heard a movement in the brushwood not far away. fearing some wild animal he ran for his gun, but ere he could reach the firearm a voice arrested him. "stop, sam rover, stop!" the voice was that of dan baxter, and an instant later the bully came into view, rifle in hand, and followed by bill harney. "what do you want here, baxter?" demanded sam, as coolly as he could, although the situation by no means pleased him. "are you alone?" "no." "who is with you?" "what business is that of yours?" "i'm making it my business." "i reckon he's alone, right enough," put in bill harney. "i don't see anybody else around." the big guide rushed forward, and knocking down sam's gun placed his foot upon it. "give me my gun!" "not so fast, my bantam!" cried the guide. "baxter, reckon ye had better look into the shack and see what's there." the bully did as requested. on seeing jasper grinder, he started back. "grinder!" "who calls?" asked the wounded man, and opened his eyes. "so it is you, dan baxter. what do you want?" "what did you desert us for, grinder?" "i didn't desert you. i got lost, and they found me, half starved and frozen. now i am wounded. are you in possession of this camp? where are the rovers?" "sam is here. i don't know anything about the others. have they found that treasure yet?" "no. they went off to look for it." jasper grinder tried to go on, but fell back exhausted and could say no more. "here's a queer go!" muttered the former bully of putnam hall. "i suppose they shot grinder. if they did, they ought to suffer for it. i guess--hullo, what's up out there?" a scuffle outside of the shelter had reached his ears. bill harney had been standing close to some firewood, and without warning sam had rushed at the big guide and sent him sprawling backward. "hi! stop him!" yelled the guide, as he started to struggle to his feet. but before he could get up, sam had taken time by the forelock and disappeared into the timber skirting the pond. chapter xxx. a successful search--conclusion. when sam escaped from big bill harney he had but one purpose in view, and that was to reach dick and the others just as soon as possible and acquaint them with the turn affairs had taken. he had a fairly good idea of the direction the others had taken, and knew that their tracks in the snow would be plain to follow. the main thing at the start was to keep out of sight of the enemy. in doing this, he had not only to avoid harney and baxter, but also husty, providing that individual was anywhere around, which was probable. consequently, although he traveled as fast as the deep snow permitted, he kept a sharp lookout on every side. the youth soon circled the lower shore of bear pond, and he found the trail he was seeking. it led directly to the westward, and he followed it up, almost on a run. in the meantime dick, tom, and john barrow had journeyed to the third outlet of the lake, the stream which the guide thought must be the original of perch river. here, after a good deal of trouble, the party located what looked like the stump of a tree once struck by lightning. "we've found it at last!" cried dick. "i feel it in my bones that we are on the right track!" again they measured off the distance with care, and now came to a large flat rock, behind which was another, unusually sharp. "the flat rock!" muttered tom, and his heart began to thump wildly. "dick, you're right. we are on the right track. if the treasure isn't here, it's been taken away." they had brought along a pick and a crowbar, and now all set to work to clear away the snow, and then the dirt from around the pointed rock. the ground was hard, and at first they made but slow progress. "perhaps we'll have to build a fire, to thaw out the ground," suggested john barrow. "oh, that will take too long," said tom. "i wonder if we can't turn the rock over?" with the crowbar and the pick wedged against the flat rock they pushed upon the pointed rock with all the force at their command. several times the tools slipped, but at last they held, and slowly the pointed rock went up, until with a thud it rolled over and several feet away. "hurrah, a hole full of small stones!" cried dick, and leaped down to pick the stones out. tom followed, and so did the guide. "dick! tom! hullo! hullo!" came the unexpected cry from a short distance away. "who is that calling?" demanded dick. "it's sam," replied the guide, looking up. "he's coming here as fast as he can track it." "then something is wrong," said dick, and for the moment the treasure was forgotten. it did not take sam long to reach them. he was so out of breath that for several minutes he was unable to talk connectedly. at last he gasped out: "dan baxter and that big guide--they attacked me and i ran away. they--they are in possession of our traps." "baxter!" ejaculated dick. "that's the worst yet. they'll steal all our things and leave us to starve!" "we might as well go right after them," put in john barrow. "oh, say, let's unearth this treasure first," pleaded tom. "if we leave that, baxter may follow up our tracks, as sam did, and take it from under our very noses." "tom is right--get the treasure first," said dick. once more they set to work, sam watching them while trying to get back his breath and strength. soon the last of the loose stones were removed from the hole, and they came upon a thin metallic slab having in the center a small ring. they pulled the slab up and disclosed a small square opening, in the middle of which rested a metallic box, about a foot and a half square and a foot in depth. the box was so heavy they could scarcely budge it. "the treasure at last!" came from all of the boys. "putty heavy, no mistake about that," was john barrow's comment. "if it's silver it's wuth considerable!" "we must get it out somehow," said dick, who was as excited as anyone. "let's get the crowbar under it." this suggestion was carried out, and after a good deal of trouble the box was brought up out of the hole. beneath it lay an iron key, which fitted the rusty lock of the treasure casket. soon they had the box open, and all gazed intently inside. "gold and silver!" shouted tom. "see, the gold is on top, and looks as if it had been put in some time after the silver. wonder what the stuff is worth?" "some thousand dollars, that's sure," said dick. now that the treasure was found the boys scarcely knew what to do with it. then the guide came forward with a suggestion. "we'll hide it in the snow for the present. then the baxter crowd won't know where it is. the empty hole will throw 'em off the scent." a nearby place was readily found, and into this the box was placed and the snow was thrown loosely over it. this accomplished, they started back for the camp with all possible speed. it was a long tramp, and although he did his best sam lagged behind. "you go on, don't mind me," said the youngest rover. "only keep them from running off with our goods." it was a good half hour before the camp was reached. when they came in sight of the spot it looked deserted. "we may as well go slow," cautioned john barrow. "there may be some sort of a trap set for us." they advanced with their guns ready for use, but nobody appeared, and presently they stood close to the camp-fire. then dick ran into the shelter, to find jasper grinder lying as sam had left him. "mr. grinder, where is the baxter crowd?" he asked. "gone, half an hour ago," replied the wounded man. "where did they go to?" "i don't know. they said something about following you up and spying on you, to see if you had found the treasure." "creation!" ejaculated dick, and ran outside again. "we've made a mess of it!" he said. "they followed us up, and more than likely they've got the treasure box this minute!" it was found that but little in the camp had been disturbed, excepting that sam's gun had been taken off. what to do was now the question. sam could not walk further. "better stay here," said dick. "if the baxter crowd comes back, you can hide." then he, tom, and john barrow set out to return to where the treasure had been left. they were still some distance away when they discovered dan baxter, bill harney, and lemuel husty making their way along the snow-covered trail. in a few minutes they came up to the party. "baxter, where are you bound?" demanded dick, striding up. "you know well enough." "we are after thet treasure," came from harney, and it was plain to see that he and husty had been drinking heavily. "the treasure is ours, baxter, and you can't touch it." "it will belong to whoever finds it," growled the bully. "that's right," came from husty. "whoever gits it, owns it. eh, harney?" "plain truth, that is," hiccoughed the big guide. "in that case, it is ours for sure," grinned dick. "we have it already." at this announcement dan baxter staggered back. "it--it aint true; you're joking," he faltered. "it is true, baxter. come, i will show you where the treasure was hidden--if that will do you any good. here is the description." and dick brought it forth and let the bully read it. "where's the tree?" demanded baxter. "there is the tree, and over yonder is the rock. we turned it over and found the treasure, just as we anticipated. it's ours, and i am simply telling you this to save you the trouble of looking further for it. dan baxter, you have played this game to a finish with your companions, and you have lost." if ever there was a disappointed and angry individual, it was dan baxter. he raved and said all sorts of uncomplimentary things, and husty and harney joined in, until john barrow told all of them to shut up or he would have the law on them. "you had no right to make prisoners of tom and sam," he said. "but if you'll behave yourselves, and not bother us in the future, we'll let that pass." to this husty, who was a thorough sneak, consented at once, and then bill harney did the same. baxter remained silent. "you've defeated me this time," he said, at last. "but, remember, i am not done with you." a little later baxter moved off, and bill harney and lemuel husty went with him. it was the last that the rovers saw of their enemies for a long while to come. a few words more and we will bring to a close this story of the rover boys' adventures in the mountains. our friends found it no easy matter to get the heavy treasure box safely to camp. in order to move it, they had to construct a drag of a treelimb and hook a rope to this, and then it was all they could do to move it along through the deep snow. when they got the box into camp they lost no time in examining the treasure. the gold and silver amounted to twenty-five hundred dollars, and there were diamonds and other precious stones worth nearly as much more. "about five thousand dollars, all told," announced dick. "that is not such a bad haul, after all." as there was now nothing more to look for, our friends spent ten days in the camp, taking it easy most of the time, and spending a day in getting back the missing sled. they went hunting twice, and the second time out dick got a fine shot at a deer, and brought down the creature without trouble. tom and sam brought down considerable small game, and all voted the outing a complete success, despite the interference occasioned by their enemies. at the end of the ten days jasper grinder was able to walk around, although still weak. in the meantime john barrow had constructed a sled for the former school-teacher to sit upon, and on this he rode when they started on the return to timber run. when the settlement was gained the laning girls, mrs. barrow, and addie were glad to see them back, and delighted to learn of the treasure and its value. they said they had heard of baxter and his followers, but that all of the party had left timber run for parts unknown. "well, we don't want to see them again," said dick. "we've had quite enough of all of them." at timber run jasper grinder left them, and the rovers saw no more of him for many days. the home-coming of the rover boys was a day long to be remembered. there was a regular party given at the country home, at which many of their friends were present. the laning girls were there, and also dora stanhope, and larry, fred, george, and a host of others, not forgetting captain putnam himself, who came upon a special invitation sent by mr. anderson rover. alexander pop waited upon the table as usual, his face beaming with pleasure. "jes tell yo', yo' can't down dem rober boys nohow," said the colored man to captain putnam. "da is jes like apples in a tub--yo' shoves 'em under, an' up da pops, bright as eber." and the owner of putnam hall laughingly agreed with alexander. "i trust that you will never be troubled by dan baxter again," said dora stanhope to dick, after he had told her the story of the treasure hunt. "i trust so myself," replied dick. "but he's like a bad cent, sure to turn up when not wanted." dick told the truth. how dan baxter turned up, and what he did to bring the rovers more trouble, will be told in another volume, to be entitled, "the rover boys on land and sea; or, the crusoes of seven islands," a tale full of happenings far out of the ordinary. but for the time being troubles were of the past, and here let us leave our friends, shouting as did the pupils from the hall when the party broke up: "three cheers for the rover boys! hip, hip, hurrah!" * * * * * the famous rover boys series by arthur w. winfield each volume is hailed with delight by boys and girls everywhere 12mo. cloth. handsomely printed and illustrated. price, 60 cents per volume. postpaid. the rover boys down east or, the struggle for the stanhope fortune. old enemies try again to injure our friends. the rover boys at college or, the right road and the wrong brimming over with good nature and excitement. the rover boys on treasure isle or, the strange cruise of the steam yacht a search for treasure; a particularly fascinating volume. the rover boys on the farm or, the last days at putnam hall the boys find a mysterious cave used by freight thieves. the rover boys in southern waters or, the deserted steam yacht a trip to the coast of florida. the rover boys on the plains or, the mystery of red rock ranch relates adventures on the mighty mississippi river. the rover boys on the river or, the search for the missing houseboat the ohio river is the theme of this spirited story. the rover boys in camp or, the rivals of pine island at the annual school encampment. the rover boys on land and sea or, the crusoes of seven islands full of strange and surprising adventures. the rover boys in the mountains or, a hunt for fame and fortune the boys in the adirondacks at a winter camp. the rover boys on the great lakes or, the secret of the island cave a story of a remarkable summer outing; full of fun. the rover boys out west or, the search for a lost mine a graphic description of the mines of the great rockies. the rover boys in the jungle or, stirring adventures in africa the boys journey to the dark continent in search of their father. the rover boys on the ocean or, a chase for a fortune from school to the atlantic ocean. the rover boys at school or, the cadets of putnam hall the doings of dick, tom, and sam rover. grosset & dunlap--new york * * * * * the putnam hall series companion stories to the famous rover boys series by arthur m. winfield open-air pastimes have always been popular with boys, and should always be encouraged, as they provide healthy recreation both for the body and the mind. these books mingle adventure and fact, and will appeal to every manly boy. 12mo. handsomely printed and illustrated. price, 60 cents per volume, postpaid. the putnam hall encampment or, the secret of the old mill a story full of vim and vigor, telling what the cadets did during the summer encampment. *** and among other things their visit to a mysterious old mill, said to be haunted. the book has a wealth of healthy fun in it. the putnam hall rebellion or, the rival runaways the boys had good reasons for running away during captain putnam's absence. they had plenty of fun, and several queer adventures. the putnam hall champions or, bound to win out in this new tale the putnam hall cadets show what they can do in various keen rivalries on the athletic field and elsewhere. there is one victory which leads to a most unlooked-for discovery. the putnam hall cadets or, good times in school and out the cadets are lively, flesh-and-blood fellows, bound to make friends from the start. there are some keen rivalries, in school and out, and something is told of a remarkable midnight feast and a hazing that had an unlocked for ending. the putnam hall rivals or, fun and sport afloat and ashore it is a lively, rattling, breezy story of school life in this country, written by one who knows all about its ways, its snowball fights, its baseball matches, its pleasures and its perplexities, its glorious excitements its rivalries, and its chilling disappointments. other volumes in preparation. grosset & dunlap--new york * * * * * the rise in life series by horatio alger, jr. these are copyrighted stories which cannot be obtained else where. they are the stories last written by this famous author. 12mo. handsomely printed and illustrated. bound in cloth, stamped in colored inks. price, 60 cents per volume. postpaid, the young book agent or, frank hardy's road to success a plain but uncommonly interesting tale of everyday life, describing the ups and downs of a boy book-agent. from farm to fortune: or, nat nason's strange experience nat was a poor country lad. work on the farm was hard, and after a quarrel with his uncle, with whom he resided, he struck out for himself. out for business: or, robert frost's strange career relates the adventures of a country boy who is compelled to leave home and seek his fortune in the great world at large. how he wins success we must leave to the reader to discover. falling in with fortune or, the experiences of a young secretary this is a companion tale to "out for business," but complete in itself, and tells of the further doings of robert frost as private secretary. young captain jack: or, the son of a soldier the scene is laid in the south during the civil war, and the hero is a waif who was cast up by the sea and adopted by a rich southern planter. nelson the newsboy: or, afloat in new york mr. alger is always at his best in the portrayal of life in new york city, and this story is among the best he has given our young readers. lost at sea: or, robert roscoe's strange cruise a sea story of uncommon interest. the hero falls in with a strange derelict--a ship given over to the wild animals of a menagerie. jerry, the backwoods boy or, the parkhurst treasure depicts life on a farm of new york state. the mystery of the treasure will fascinate every boy. jerry is a character well worth knowing. randy of the river or, the adventures of a young deckhand life on a river steamboat is not so romantic as some young people may imagine. there is hard work, and plenty of it, and the remuneration is not of the best. but randy thompson wanted work and took what was offered. his success in the end was well deserved, and perhaps the lesson his doings teach will not be lost upon those who peruse these pages. grosset & dunlap,--new york * * * * * the flag of freedom series by captain ralph bonehill. a favorite line of american stories for american boys. every volume complete in itself, and handsomely illustrated. 12mo. bound in cloth. stamped in colors. price, 60 cents per volume. postpaid with custer in the black hills or, a young scout among the indians. tells of the remarkable experiences of a youth who, with his parents, goes to the black hills in search of gold. custer's last battle is well described. a volume every lad fond of indian stories should possess. boys of the fort or, a young captain's pluck. this story of stirring doings at one of our well-known forts in the wild west is of more than ordinary interest. the young captain had a difficult task to accomplish, but he had been drilled to do his duty, and does it thoroughly. gives a good insight into army life of to-day. the young bandmaster or, concert, stage, and battlefield. the hero is a youth with a passion for music, who becomes a cornetist in an orchestra, and works his way up to the leadership of a brass band. he is carried off to sea and falls in with a secret service cutter bound for cuba, and while there joins a military band which accompanies our soldiers in the never-to-be-forgotten attack on santiago. off for hawaii or, the mystery of a great volcano. here we have fact and romance cleverly interwoven. several boys start on a tour of the hawaiian islands. they have heard that there is a treasure located in the vicinity of kilauea, the largest active volcano in the world, and go in search of it. their numerous adventures will be followed with much interest. a sailor boy with dewey or, afloat in the philippines. the story of dewey's victory in manila bay will never grow old, but i here we have it told in a new form--as it appeared to a real, live american youth who was in the navy at the time. many adventures in manila and in the interior follow, give true-to-life scenes from this portion of the globe. when santiago fell or, the war adventures of two chums. two boys, an american and his cuban chum, leave new york to join their parents in the interior of cuba. the war between spain and the cubans is on, and the boys are detained at santiago, but escape by crossing the bay at night. many adventures between the lines follow, and a good pen-picture of general garcia is given. grosset & dunlap,--new york * * * * * the frontier series stories of early american exploration and adventure for boys. by captain ralph bonehill the historical background is absolutely correct. 12 mo. well printed and well illustrated. handsomely bound in cloth, stamped in colors. price, 60 cents per volume. postpaid. pioneer boys of the gold fields or, the nugget hunters of '49 a tale complete in itself, giving the particulars of the great rush of the gold seekers to california in 1849. in the party making its way across the continent are three boys, one from the country, another from the city, and a third just home from a long voyage on a whaling ship. they become chums, and share in no end of adventures. pioneer boys of the great northwest or, with lewis and clark across the rockies a splendid story describing in detail the great expedition formed under the leadership of lewis and clark, and telling what was done by the pioneer boys who were first to penetrate the wilderness of the northwest and push over the rocky mountains. the book possesses a permanent historical value and the story should be known by every bright american boy. with boone on the frontier or, the pioneer boys of old kentucky relates the true-to-life adventures of two boys who, in company with their folks, move westward with daniel boone. contains many thrilling scenes among the indians and encounters with wild animals. it is excellently told. grosset & dunlap,--new york * * * * * the great newspaper series by howard r. garis the author is a practiced journalist, and these stories convey a true picture of the workings of a great newspaper. 12mo. well printed and finely illustrated. price, 60 cents per volume. postpaid, from office boy to reporter or, the first step in journalism larry dexter, reporter or, strange adventures in a great city larry dexter's great search or, the hunt for a missing millionaire * * * * * the deep sea series by roy rockwood no manly boy ever grew tired of sea stories--there is a fascination about them, and they area recreation to the mind. 12mo. handsomely printed and illustrated. price, 60 cents per volume. postpaid. adrift on the pacific or, the secret of the island cave the cruise of the treasure ship or, the castaways of floating island the rival ocean divers or, the search for a sunken treasure * * * * * the railroad series by allen chapman ralph is determined to be a "railroad man." he starts in at the foot of the ladder; but is full of manly pluck and "wins out." boys will be greatly interested in his career. 12mo. handsomely printed and illustrated. price, 60 cents per volume. postpaid. ralph on the overland express or, the trials and triumphs of a young engineer a clean cut picture of railroading of to-day. ralph of the round house or, bound to become a railroad man ralph in the switch tower or, clearing the track grosset & dunlap--new york [illustration: "thus they started in a line, yhon leading" ... page 182] girl scouts in the adirondacks by lillian elizabeth roy author of the polly brewster books, the little washingtons books illustrated grosset & dunlap publishers new york made in the united states of america copyright, 1921, by george sully & company _the girl scouts in the adirondacks_ _printed in the u. s. a._ contents chapter page i. the friday jinx 1 ii. another day of troubles 24 iii. in the mountains at last 41 iv. a visit to grey fox camp 60 v. a story of creation 72 vi. lost on the trail 91 vii. a little business 106 viii. jake's interview with a skunk 127 ix. lessons in tracking 139 x. the girl scouts entertain 157 xi. a canoe trip 179 xii. first aid 190 xiii. shooting the rapids--and other things 204 xiv. the grand surprise 214 illustrations "thus they started in a line, yhon leading" (page 182) _frontispiece_ page "would you prefer to sit here and dream, betzy, or go back with me and eat sandwiches" 16 "we are lost, come find us" 98 "where--which way did you hear them?" questioned joan 211 girl scouts in the adirondacks chapter one the friday jinx "are we ready to start, girls?" called mrs. vernon, the captain of dandelion troop of girl scouts, as she glanced at her protegées seated in two large touring cars. "ready! why, verny, we've been waiting for you these ten minutes," retorted juliet lee, one of the original members of the troop. "and we're just crazy to be off before that black cloud overhead adds to mother's fear lest i never come home again," added ruth bentley, another of the first four girl scouts of elmertown. "well, then, it seems that all the baggage and outfit we need with us on the trip is safely stowed away, eh, jim?" said mrs. vernon, looking at the driver of the other car. "everything that i found waiting to be packed when i drove up to the side door," replied the chauffeur. "all right! then we're off, folkses, but we'll send you word the moment we arrive at old forge in the adirondacks," called mrs. vernon, to the crowd of relatives of the various girls, all gathered to watch the scouts drive away. "good-by! good-by!" now shouted many girlish voices, and "good-by! good-by!" was shouted back as the two seven-passenger cars started on the long journey. mrs. vernon led the way in her luxurious automobile, and as they turned the bend of the road, where the last of the group still watching on the vernon lawn was lost to sight, she laughingly remarked: "i never thought a crowd of girls could get ready for such a long outing in so short a time." "it all depends on how badly the girls _want_ to be ready, captain," retorted joan allison, the fourth girl of the number who founded dandelion camp of girl scouts the summer before. "say, girls! i just felt a drop of rain from that inky cloud!" betty lee warned. she was julie's sister, and they were two who had first suggested a scout organization. mrs. vernon slowed down and turned to the scouts. "shall we stop to put on the rain-curtains?" "mercy, no! it's only a sprinkle, and we're not sugar," exclaimed joan, glancing at the sky. the other girls followed her gaze, and julie said: "see all the blue sky! enough to make the proverbial 'night-cap'." in case the reader has not yet met the four girls who had such a thrilling time while at camp the previous summer, it will be best to make their acquaintance now. as stated before, juliet and elizabeth lee were the two sisters who planned having a scout troop for girls in elmertown. joan allison and ruth bentley, both schoolmates of the lee girls, eagerly agreed to add their efforts to the others' and secure the interest of enough girls for them to be able to apply for a charter from the girl scout headquarters in new york city. before they closed their camp on "verny's mountain" that summer, five other girls had been admitted to membership in the young patrol, namely: hester wynant, fourteen; anne bailey, fourteen; judith blake, thirteen; her sister, edith blake, twelve; and amy ward, thirteen. then during the winter, other girls who had heard of the good times the scouts had had in camp that past summer became so insistent to mothers at home that permission to join the organization was granted them. having nine girls in their original patrol, with julie as leader, and joan for corporal, the scouts now felt experienced enough to pass all the tests required to apply for a troop charter. the young scouts were an active group and when the charter arrived from national headquarters the same day the girls had planned to start for camp, there was great rejoicing. true to his promise given the girl scouts the summer previous, mr. gilroy had sent word to mrs. vernon when the camp in the adirondacks was ready for them. when the girls found that mrs. vernon planned to use her large touring car for half of the number in the troop to go in, and ruth bentley's father had offered his car for the other half, thus saving them great expense for railroad tickets, and giving them the pleasure of autoing the whole long distance, the excitement rose and would not be calmed down again. so it was not only a happy troop that shouted good-by to relatives, but also a flushed, merry group of nine girls who could not keep silent for long. ruth was in the rear seat of her father's car, which jim was driving, when she suddenly sat up and called out to the chauffeur: "i'm sure one of our suitcases on the trunk-rack at the back must be loose, jim. i hear it bump about every time you go over a rough place in the road." "it can't be, miss ruth," returned jim, trying to peer out and see the baggage; "i strapped 'em on good and tight before we left." "well, it happens to be my suitcase that's on top, and i'm sure i don't want to lose it," declared ruth. "maybe we'd better stop and make sure about it; we can soon catch up with verny again," suggested judith. so jim sprang out to investigate. "the suitcases are all right, miss ruth, but somethin's wrong in the back all right." at that ruth jumped out and joined the man. "what is it?" asked she, anxiously. "the sag in that spring 'pears to me to say it is about done for. we'll have to travel slow till we find a garage." "for mercy's sake! didn't you and pa's chauffeur overhaul both the cars thoroughly when you knew we were going on this trip?" "your father sent this machine to the garage in elmertown, 'cause he said they'd know how to do the job up better'n us," explained jim. "then it serves dad right if he has to pay for a new spring! the idea of trusting strangers with his car at this important time! but here we are with a wornout old spring on our hands!" cried ruth, stamping her foot impatiently. "oh no, ruth, not on our hands--but what is ten times worse--on the rear end of the car," laughed hester. "well, we've got to go slow, i suppose, and stop somewhere to replace the old thing," grumbled ruth, climbing back in the car. "if 'liza knew of this mischance, wouldn't she gloat over her 'friday bad luck' prophecy?" laughed ann. jim started again, but carefully avoided the ruts and bumps in the road until he came to a large garage. fortunately for all, they found a new spring in stock and the men were soon at work replacing the bad one. "hurrah for us jinx-breakers! this bit of luck in finding a new spring on hand more than offsets a friday curse," gleefully cried ruth. "you young ladies sure are lucky, but it will take some time to do the work, an' you may as well take a walk and see our nice jersey town," suggested the proprietor of the garage. the scouts followed this sensible advice and stopped at a shop where they treated each other to soda, candy, and peanuts. there being nothing more thrilling to do, they sat down in the park and ate the plebeian delicacy and talked. "i love peanuts, don't you?" anne asked of the girls. "yes, but they have to be enjoyed away from home, or folks will make fun of you," added ruth. "not any more, ruth. when a five-cent bag of peanuts, these days, only contains ten nuts that lifts them out of the cheap class," laughed hester. "and makes them a luxury, eh?" added judith. by the time the peanuts were gone, jim signaled the girls and they hurried back to the garage. it took but a moment for them to jump in and urge jim to hurry after verny's car, somewhere in the lead. mile after mile of beautiful woodland, with now and then a small town, but with many flourishing farms along the way, were reeled off rapidly as the machine sped along as if on wings. finally they reached a crossroad where the signboard warned them: "all travel limited to eight miles per hour." "slow down, jim, or you'll land us in a county jail," called ruth. "then mrs. vernon must be in jail--'cause she ain't in sight along the road, and to get as far as this she _had_ to speed," declared jim. "it's funny she wouldn't stop to find out what became of us, when we dropped so far behind," ventured hester. "they'll look us up at mealtime, never fear," laughed anne. "we've got the hamper with us, you know." the others laughed at this remark, but they had not gone much farther along the road before they spied the vernon automobile waiting under a great oak tree. when the tardy car came up, both parties began to shout, some asking where the delinquents had been, and the unfortunates to demand why folks wouldn't look behind once in a while! finally jim could make himself heard, and he explained about the spring and where they had to stop to replace the old one. "well, _we_ stopped to discuss ways. we ought to decide the route we want to take before we reach jersey city," said mrs. vernon. "which is the route you'd chose, verny?" added ruth. "well, we can save a lot of time by going along to edgewater and cross on the fort lee boat. that takes us right to 130th street and broadway, new york. we avoid all crowds and city streets, but you will not see anything of the life and bustle of new york city." "how much time will we save?" asked julie. "because we've lost so much over that old spring," added ruth. mrs. vernon smiled. "from upper new york we can drive right onto the state road that runs direct to albany. by selecting that way we will save a great deal of time, because traffic in the city is so congested that every driver has to travel slow and fall in line back of endless cars. at every corner when the signal holds up the entire line one has to stop to permit crosstown traffic a chance." "then for goodness' sake, let's go through the country on this side of the hudson, and cross where you said--fort lee ferry," declared julie. every one agreeing to this decision, the plan was carried out as outlined by the captain. once on broadway, where it passes van cortlandt park, the girls called to mrs. vernon. "how about lunch--we're famished?" "oh, don't let's stop here for lunch. let's go on till we find a nicer spot in the country," returned joan. "maybe there won't be any better place," demurred judith. "oh, yes, there is. after we leave yonkers we will find lots of spots, verny says," called julie, from the first car. "we need a shady place where a spring will give us water," said betty. "a spring failing to bubble up at the proper place, we may have to be satisfied with a pump at some farmhouse," retorted her sister. the two cars sped swiftly along broadway, through yonkers, hastings-on-hudson, and dobb's ferry. at this last place the captain pointed out the famous old headquarters used by general washington at the close of the revolution. "girls, there doesn't seem to be any picnic grounds for us along this state road," remarked mrs. vernon. "suppose we take a bite as we travel along, and cook a regular dinner when we are out in the country somewhere?" "we're willing, in fact, i am more than willing to eat," called anne, the scout with the healthy appetite. so they drove on while refreshments were passed around, and every one admired the river scenes of the ever-changing panorama of the hudson. just beyond peekskill the road ran under a culvert and a sharp turn on the other side made it impossible to see what was on the road ahead. the captain made the turn very neatly and jim was about to follow the leading car, when several shrill cries from the girls ahead caused him to put on the emergency brakes. the passengers in the second car could just see what had caused the frightened shouts from their friends in the first car. a gaunt farm horse was standing on his hind legs pawing the air madly, while a rickety old spring wagon seesawed uncertainly on the edge of a deep ditch beside the road. but the driver of the horse was on the road, hanging on to the bridle while plying a stout hickory stick freely over the animal's back. "git down! will yuh come to arth, yuh rascal?" shouted the irate woman who was garbed in a man's farm hat and a long duster. "do you need any assistance?" called mrs. vernon, anxiously. "not ef i kin git him to plant his feet on arth agin. he ain't got no spunk left to run away, 'cause he's ben out plowing all day, and it w'ar a shame to drive him to the store. but it hed to be, 'cuz the ole man tuk t'other hoss to go to a meetin'." as the unusual character talked, she tugged at the bridle until she finally had the horse quieted down again. then he allowed his long ears to droop lazily, his spine to sag in the middle, and his erstwhile springy legs to bend as if he felt too weary to stand up. the woman with the weather-beaten face and toughened hands was a fluent speaker, even though she paid little attention to the latest style in dress for women. she leaned against the shaft of the wagon and plied her questions to the tourists as freely as she had plied the hickory stick to the horse. "be you-all out fer a lark?" asked she, eyeing the number of girls in both cars. jim thought to move his car gradually along the road so the scouts in his charge could join in the conversation with the woman. but the moment the horse saw the automobile crawling towards him, he jumped aside. the wagon-wheel turned suddenly and the unexpected happened; the woman who had been leaning heavily on the wheel was unceremoniously dropped to a sitting posture in the dusty road. several of the scouts had to smother with handkerchiefs, a keen desire to laugh, but the owner of the horse seemed to take the situation good-naturedly. "wal, ef that ain't jus' like samson! he does the mos' onexpected tricks, so's that he keeps us guessin' what next." jim sprang out of the car when he saw the result of his innocent action with the engine, but the agile woman was up before he could reach her side. she brushed the dust from her long coat and chuckled aloud: "i allus said that animal oughter be called delilah 'cuz _she_ was so sly, but my ole man says 'samson' was close enough to that critter, and this animal hez such long hair that it suits with the name." "you've just had him clipped, i see," ventured mrs. vernon. "not clipped, captain--but shorn of his locks like samson," laughed julie. "maybe that's why he feels so tired," added joan, quickly. every one but the farmer's wife laughed. she seemed very serious over the conversation, and nodded her head affirmatively. "well, we have to drive on, madam, but we're sorry to have frightened samson," said mrs. vernon, in order to make an end to the scene. "say, couldn't you tell us where there is a nice picnic place near here?" called jim, as the first car started. "yeh--a few miles furder on. you'll find a nice little brook in a grove of sugar-maples, with green grass on all sides." jim thanked the woman, and started his car. mrs. vernon was informed of the grove which was to be a stopping place for dinner, and all were eagerly on the lookout for the spot that would offer such an ideal resting place. but it was the longest "few miles" any of the scouts had traveled, for the meter showed many, many miles before any grove was seen. there was no brook in it, but the grass was very green, and the maple grove, which crowded a knoll a short distance from the road, looked cool and inviting. as usual, julie was the first one out of the cars and over the fence. she started to cross the very green grass, but instantly sank into the water that was hidden under the green blades. "help! oh, i'm drowning!" shouted she, struggling to pull her feet clear of the bog. but she would free one foot, and instantly the other would sink. then she tried to drag that one out, but the first one would go down again. both together she could not get out. "oh, oh! see the mess poor julie's in!" called one of the girls. mrs. vernon was gazing quickly around for some sort of help to get the scout out, but the girls stood about the place sympathizing with the furious scout. "is it like that all over there, julie?" called betty, anxiously. "how do i know? come over and find out for yourself!" snapped her sister. the girls laughed at the retort, but betty added: "i only wanted to know if it was safe for me to come over and help you out." julie straightened up and glared at her soft-hearted sister. "you sound just like our sunday school teacher when she reads: 'come over into macedonia and help.'" again the audience of girls laughed appreciatively, but julie was too busy keeping her feet "treading water" to pay any attention to their enjoyment. meantime, jim had removed some rails from the fence and was bringing them to the scout's aid. "now, miss julie, when i shove these over, you manage to work an arm over each one, and sort of lift yourself out that way. i'll shove others over for you to step on next, and in that way you can get out and across to us," advised jim, working as he spoke. finally julie was rescued from the mire, and then the captain said: "every one walk along that elevated bank, over there, to reach the grove, as this entire area may be a boggy spring." but the grass under the trees in the grove was found to be hard and dry, and they soon began to prepare luncheon. while mrs. vernon unpacked the hamper, the scouts were detailed on various duties: some to build a fire, some to hunt spring water, some to set table on the grass. but julie was excused from all these tasks, as she had more than enough work to do in cleaning the mud from her boots and stockings. when luncheon was almost ready, judith and amy, who had been sent to find the spring and bring back drinking water, reported: "we couldn't find any spring." julie looked up and jeered: "you are fine scouts! couldn't find a spring when all you have to do is to find the source of all that water where i went down!" "water! that looked like mud," retorted judith. "we'll go for the water," volunteered joan, catching hold of betty's sleeve to take her along. so they started, and as julie had said, the spring that fed the boggy spot was not far back in the grove. the water gurgled down from a cleft in a huge rock, and on either side of the small pool wood violets dipped their fragrant petals into the sparkling mirror. betty sat down upon a flat rock beside the pool to enjoy the scene. but practical joan filled the pail with cold water and then laughed at poetical betty. "would you prefer to sit here and dream, betty--or go back with me and eat ham sandwiches?" "oh, i forgot where i was," laughed betty, rising reluctantly to help carry the pail of water. "that's what i thought," tittered joan, "but the rest of the girls prefer something more solid than dreams." during the luncheon the captain said: "wouldn't it be splendid if each one of us kept a diary of what happens during this summer's camp? then we can rewrite the facts when we go home and make a good story of it. perhaps a real publisher will buy it from us and thus give us a fund for next year's outing--if we have one." "oh, that is great!" exclaimed several voices with girlish enthusiasm. "well then, when we camp to-night, we'll jot down the episodes of the day's trip--not forgetting to dwell at length on 'samson,' and julie's side-plays," remarked the captain, smilingly. "has any one thought of a stopping place for the night?" asked jim. "not definitely, jim; but i hope to cross the river at poughkeepsie and drive along the west shore as far as possible. then we can pitch camp at any good place we find," replied the captain. they had not gone much farther before ruth called: "it looks as if the rear tire on verny's car was flat!" the captain slowed up, and every one tried to see the tire. "that's what it is, all right, captain!" ejaculated jim, impatiently. "dear me! that means another delay!" sighed several girls. the car had to be jacked up and jim went to work to mend the puncture in the tube, then pumped and pumped until the tire was properly inflated once more. as the tourists climbed into their respective seats in the automobiles, joan said: "well, captain, this wasn't such a bad day after all--in spite of being a friday." "i'm thankful for it, too," sighed betty, fervently. the cars made good time after that and passed over the ferry at poughkeepsie, to travel northward on the road that ran along the west shore. they pitched camp in some woods and soon had a fire started to heat the canned soup they had brought. when all else was ready, the captain banged upon a tin pan to call the scouts to dine. "um! that tomato soup smells good!" exclaimed joan, sniffing audibly, as she saw the contents of the pan that stood over the fire. "will you serve it, jo--you are nearest the pan?" said mrs. vernon, passing the basket that held the tin cups. "here! everybody hold up a mug to fill, while i come around with the pan!" ordered joan, taking hold of the pan-handle that had been over the fire a long time. "oo-oouch!" cried the girl, whipping her hand up and down as she danced wildly about. "you didn't spill the soup, i hope!" exclaimed anne, with deep concern. "what difference would that make--a little cheap soup? but my hand--oh, it's got a trail blazed clean across the palm!" wailed joan, showing her red-skinned hand to sympathizing friends. "poor old scout! we have to learn all kinds of blazing, i suppose," murmured julie. "and the soup _is_ all safe--jo never dropped the pan!" declared anne, with gratification in her tones. "here, miss jo," said jim, who had gone for a bottle kept in the kit. "pour this olive oil all over the hand and the smart will soon stop." he hurried to give the bottle to joan but his toe caught in a bramble and tripped him. the bottle flew from his hand and struck the root where joan sat. the glass shattered and the oil ran out the grass at the scout's feet. [illustration: "would you prefer to sit here and dream, betzy, or go back with me and eat sandwiches" ... page 16] "well, well! it must be the friday jinx that still pursues us," remarked jim, gazing regretfully at the glistening oil that formed beads on the blades of grass. the girls laughed merrily, but mrs. vernon seemed serious. she was about to speak, when amy asked joan to pass the crackers. she picked up the box that was nearest her, and turned to hand them to her next neighbor, when her foot slipped on the oily grass and she sat down suddenly upon the stump. the box fell in hester's lap, but joan clapped a hand over her mouth and smothered a howl. "goodness me! what's the matter now, jo!" cried ruth, seeing the girl's convulsed face. joan shook her head helplessly, but her eyes were filled with tears. every one wondered what could have happened, and when the scout could speak she said thickly: "oh, that oil! i slipped and bit the end of my tongue clear off--i'm sure of it!" "stick it out and let's see," demanded ruth. "that's what comes of having too much of a good thing!" declared julie, teasingly. every one but the captain laughed, and she said seriously: "do you know, girls, that i've had an idea about all this talk over friday being a 'bad luck' day. of course it is perfectly absurd to intelligent people, but there are enough superstitious folk left in the world who actually think friday has some power to bring ill luck with it. "now i believe that it is the _fear_ and general belief in the superstition that carries any weight with it. if we, as good intelligent scouts, will try to break this silly fear for others, we shall have to begin with ourselves, by not referring to the superstition with the sense of its having _any_ power to act." the girls listened seriously, as they always did when their captain started one of her "sermonettes" as julie called them; and when she had concluded, joan said: "in other words, you want us to starve the poor wraith still more by withdrawing any thoughts from the matter whatever?" "exactly! you've worded it better than i could have done myself," responded the captain, emphatically. when supper was over and everything about camp had been prepared for the night, joan suggested taking a stroll down the picturesque country road. the gloaming was so inviting that the scouts decided to saunter down the woodsy road. they continued along the inviting footpath for more than a mile before they noticed a heavy fog settling upon everything. "better turn and go back, girls. this fog is obscuring everything along the way," suggested mrs. vernon. "b-r-r-r! isn't it damp!" shivered joan. "yes, and it will be worse before we get home," added judith. they retraced their steps, but the fog came thicker and heavier all the time, and before they had gone more than half the way back, it was necessary for the scouts to go single file in order to keep in the footpath that ran along the top of a high grassy bank beside the narrow road. "it would be so much simpler to hike along the road, verny," suggested hester. "but there are so many machines traveling back and forth, and we'd have to scramble up this wet slippery bank to get out of the way every time one rushed past," explained julie. julie was in front, heading the line. being scout leader of the troop, she naturally led in most things. suddenly she stopped short and warned those back of her: "look out for this big boulder right in the pathway--have to detour towards the fence!" "boulder! why, there wasn't any boulder here on our way over," argued ruth. "the fog's in julie's eyes," laughed joan. "maybe we didn't notice a rock before," ventured amy. "maybe we are on the wrong road," said anne. "we're right, all right, but i see a boulder in the way. if you don't believe me, come here and sprain your toe kicking it!" a few of the scouts crowded in front to peer through the puzzling fog to see the questionable boulder, but it unexpectedly got upon its clumsy feet and started for the girls. in the fog it loomed up as big as an elephant. "murder! fire! help! help!!" came in confused screams from the scouts in front, as they turned precipitously to flee from this unknown danger. the confusion, as they fell back upon the scouts behind, while the great "boulder" still advanced slowly, was awful! but the soft earth of the bank had been washed out from under the top layer of roots and grass, and when so many stamping, crowding girls brought their weight upon the crumbling ground, it caved in with them. jumping, screaming, tumbling scouts now went headlong down the slide of five feet into the roadway. the captain and betty had been far enough in the rear to escape this general stampede, but they, too, saw the dark object trying to skirt the newly broken-down embankment, and they slid quickly down the wet weedy bank to get away from this ghostlike creature that crept towards them. while brave scouts were getting up from the little ditch where they had rolled, a plaintive call from the "boulder" above identified the creature as belonging to the bovine kingdom. a second "moo-oo," as the cow passed slowly down the bank to the road, where she hoped to find some one to lead her home, created a wild laugh from every one. chapter two another day of troubles early in the morning the scouts heard jim rattling the pans while he essayed to cook breakfast. they were soon up and dressed, and being ready for another day's adventuring, they offered their services to the cook. "last night after you-all went for that hike, i mooned around some myself. i saw a little farmhouse over that hill, and i think a couple of girls might try to get some milk for breakfast," suggested jim, pointing over the brow of a slight grade. "all right, hester and i will go for it, verny!" exclaimed amy. "very well, girls; the rest of us will do what we can to help jim. breakfast will be all ready by the time you return, so don't dawdle on the way, will you?" replied the captain. "take the big thermos bottle that will keep the milk cold all day, and bring the breakfast milk in this pail," suggested julie, handing the girls both articles as she spoke. hester and amy disappeared over the brow of the hill where jim said the farm was located, but breakfast was ready and waiting a long time before a sight of the girls was had again. hester carried the pail very carefully, and amy held the bottle, so it was evident that they had milk, but why should they seem to laugh so merrily over something, as they drew near the scouts? "what do you think happened to us?" called amy. "you'll never guess--we got chased by a bull!" added hester. "oh, never!" cried the scouts who had been waiting anxiously. "yes, sir! we heard a cow and knew there must be a farm," began amy excitedly, but her companion interrupted her and said: "that wasn't a cow we heard, but the bellow of this bull!" "do tell us all about how you escaped," chorused the eager voices of many girls. every one was anxious to wait on the heroines, and after they had been served everything at one time, they began to munch and talk. "well, first we left here and thrashed through those bushes back there," said hester, nodding her head towards the alder bushes, "to reach the place where we heard the cow--as we thought." here hester choked over the egg, and amy quickly took up the story: "and we were halfway across a pasture lot when hester, who was first, yelled wildly and waved her arms. i looked up, 'cause i was watching where i walked, the lot was pawed up into such hummocks, and saw hester racing for the low boughs of an apple-tree. then i heard a thumping, and saw a big bull charging across the meadow, making straight for us!" amy gasped and needed a drink of water, then hester continued the tale: "oh, girls, it was thrilling! i managed to scramble up in the apple-tree, and turned to see what had become of amy. there she was, sprinting like a marathoner for the barbed-wire fence that enclosed the lot. she back-trailed over to it, and up over it she went, just like a swallow flies, but look at her stockings and skirt!" every one looked at amy's apparel and sympathized with her, yet every scout wished she had had such an exciting time. "now they can win a badge for story-telling, can't they, verny?" said betty, glad for her two pals. "and another one for mending," laughed julie, vindictively. "poor julie's awful sore about that mud," murmured amy, winking an eye at the others. every one laughed, but the captain said: "go on and finish the yarn." "well, i left hester in the tree--safety first, you know--with the bull standing under it, waiting for her, while i skirted the lot and reached the house. when i told the old lady how we happened to be in such a fix, she threw her gingham apron over her head and sat down on the doorstep to laugh. "i was beginning to feel offended, when she glanced up. she understood, and said: 'deary, that ole bull has to be helped to his stall every night after a day in the pastoor. he oughter been butchered years an' years ago, but you see he saved me from a wicked tramp one day, an' father sayed bill had earned his life-pension fer that. so bill's safe from the slaughter-house, but he sure is a nuisance these days. why, this mad run of his'n will keep him wheezin' fer a hull week. now come with me an' i'll show you how he's payin' the price fer actin' like a three-year-old!" "i followed the old lady to the fence, and there, sure enough! bill was sprawled out under the tree, puffing for breath, but poor hester sat in the branches wailing because she dared not come down while the bull was making such a snorting noise!" the scouts laughed heartily at the graphic picture of hester crying up in the tree, but the girl retorted, "well, isn't 'discretion the better part of valor'?" "of course it is! we'd have done the same thing," agreed mrs. vernon, still laughing at amy's story. then she suggested breaking camp. after cleaning away all signs of camping, the scouts climbed into the cars which were soon speeding along. they were keen, now, for something new that they could write in their diaries, and many interesting things were seen and dilated upon as they rode past. as the autos neared schenectady, one of the scouts began singing; in a few moments all the girls were singing with her. but a hound ran out of the gate of a farmhouse and barked at the oncoming singers. then the distracted dog sat down and lifted his snout high in the air. his dismal prolonged howl of protest at such singing effectually ended the song, and julie called to the animal, "wise doggy--to be able to tell singing from _singing_!" the weather was all that could be desired, and the two cars were in fine shape for the run. after they left amsterdam, where the large carpet-mills would have offered interesting entertainment had not the scouts a greater ambition in view, that of reaching camp--they voted to stop for no sightseeing along the way. so they kept along the road to fonda. here they left the railroad turnpike and went northward to johnstown. at this place mrs. vernon made an error in judgment. she should have gone westerly, through rockwood, lascelville, oppenheim, and so on to delgeville. but she took the northward road, which looked better and was more traveled. not until she came to gloversville did she realize the mistake. then she stopped and questioned a policeman how to reach her destination. and he explained about the country road she must follow due west in order to reach rockwood, where the state roads would be picked up again. this advice was followed, and they traveled over the bad road until a crossroad was reached. there was no mention made of this spot on the road-map, and there was no signpost to direct a lost tourist. so the captain said, "we'll take the right-hand turn, it looks best." further on, the road descended and ran close to a river. "dear me, i hope we didn't take the wrong turn, anyway!" cried mrs. vernon. "that officer never told me about a crossroad." "and it's going to pour, too. just look at that black cloud," said joan. "it hasn't thundered yet," hester said, trying to be cheerful. at the same moment a flash satisfied every one that a shower was imminent, and jim failed to relieve their fears when he said, "we don't want to get caught on this low land when it rains. the road is lower than the river and will soon be flooded over." that spurred on the captain, and she made the car fairly fly, in order to reach higher ground before the shower came. but the storm won out. "i felt a drop of rain!" called julie. "so did i--two drops more!" seconded ruth. "we'd better stop to button down the rain-curtains, captain," advised jim. "maybe we can reach high ground soon, jim!" called back mrs. vernon, still speeding along the marshy road. a loud peal of thunder and inky clouds warned her, however, that this would be no trifling shower, so she stopped reluctantly for the curtains to be fastened down over the sides of the cars. the girls got out while the rain-curtains were sought in the box under the seat, and jim removed numerous items before he reached them in the bottom. "gee! everything under the sun was piled in here!" growled he. and by the time he did get the covers out, the rain was falling hard. while jim and mrs. vernon secured the curtains on the buttons, the scouts transferred the pyramid of camping necessities back into the boxes under the seats. then when all were snugly sheltered from the rain, the captain proceeded to start her car. it failed to respond, however. she tried again, with no success. then she turned and called to jim. "something must be wrong, jim!" "mebbe it's 'cause the wheels is sunk so deep in that soft mud," said he. "it's 'most up to the hubs." "no--something is wrong with the engine," returned she. "i'll slip on my oilskin and see," said jim, finally. "oh, jim! don't slip on it--just _put_ it on," giggled julie, the irrepressible. "humph!" was all the reply she got at the stale joke. "jim, i'll help you," now offered betty, willingly. "you gals just sit still, will you?" growled jim impatiently, as he jumped out into the muddy road. the wind came tearing down the valley that lay between the mountains, driving shreds of storm-clouds before it. gusts of rain dashed against jim's face as he peered and poked about the stubborn engine, but still the obstinate machine refused to budge. "i can't see a durn thing that's the matter with it!" shouted he, trying to make himself heard above the whistling of the wind. "better get back in your car until the worst is over," called back mrs. vernon. so they all waited patiently for the rain to cease, but the storm grew worse, while the clouds seemed to fairly empty themselves right over the stalled cars. suddenly jim gave a frightened cry: "great scott, captain! the river's overflowin' her banks, and this road's gettin' under water!" "then we've just _got_ to get out of this fix somehow!" wailed mrs. vernon, gazing helplessly around for aid. "i'll try to work my car close up to the other and see if i can't push you ahead," suggested jim, starting his engine as he spoke. but this idea failed to render the assistance they looked for. "i think you need a good hard impact to send you out of that mud. the wheels are stuck," called julie, who had been considering the plight. "but how can we _get_ an impact? jim can't crush in the radiator on his car, you know! and the fender won't do it," said ruth. "let a few of us get some of those stout rails from that fence and shove them under the back of the machine. the rest of the girls can tie a rope to the front and pull. then when we give a signal, jim can push with his machine, while verny throws hers into high--something ought to happen with all that!" suggested julie. anything seemed better than sitting helplessly while seeing the water slowly rising in the roadway. so the plan proposed by julie was put into operation. two long rails were shoved, one under each side of the back of the car, with two scouts ready to apply all their youthful muscle up on each rail. four scouts stood in front holding to a rope, ready to pull. the captain sat at the wheel ready to speed, and jim waited in his car behind, ready to drive on. "now, when i yell 'go,' every one strain your muscles fit to crack. it's the only way we'll get out of this," ordered julie. "tell us when you're going to say 'go'!" begged ruth. "i'll shout 'one, two, three--go'--then _go_!" julie braced herself, took a deep breath, and cried, "all ready--one, two, three--go!" four in front pulled with might and main. mrs. vernon's engine chugged ready to break. jim almost pushed the radiator in, and the four scouts pushing on the rails--well, "they were not." jim was heard roaring unrestrainedly, while four girls in front were standing and staring as if at an apparition. all the time, the rain fell in a deluge, but mrs. vernon jumped out into the mud to see what had happened at the rear. then she, too, gasped. both the rails were completely worm-eaten, but how should girls have known that? they were placed under the car at a dangerous angle for their future use in the fence, and when the good strong muscles of four scouts brought their weight upon the rails to lift the car somewhat, the timber quickly split up and precipitated the four boosters, face downward, in the mud. "oh, dear me! this is the last straw!" moaned mrs. vernon. "no--the last rails!" sputtered julie, trying to laugh. "girls--hold your faces up to the rain and it will wash the mud from your eyes!" yelled judith, who waited on the running board for further developments. she had hardly spoken when a swift shaft of blinding light and a deafening crack of thunder sent a panic into every one. they were stunned for a moment, and then such a howl as went up from nine lusty throats! "we're struck!" yelled some. "oh, we're killed!" added others, but it took only a second after they had caught their breaths to pile, willy-nilly, into the cars, where they huddled until the fright had subsided. shortly after the lightning had struck a large tree further up the road, the rain suddenly stopped and the sun shone out as hot and bright as ever. "my! i feel like pollyanna would," sighed julie. "'i'm glad, _glad_, glad' we weren't standing under that tree!" "we can only die once," responded ruth, sighing as she gazed down at the flooded road. "ruth thinks she'd rather die quickly, than by slow degrees in being choked in this mud," laughed julie, catching ruth's thought. every one laughed and that made them feel more cheerful. then just back of them came the sound of horses' hoofs and a kindly voice called out, "well, well, this is some plight you-all are in, eh?" they turned and beheld a nice old man sitting astride one plow-horse and leading a second. "reckon you didn't know this was one of the worst roads in the county when it rains." mrs. vernon explained how it came about that they were there, and the old man said, "fortunately, i cut across that field in order to reach home. i was late and, as this is meeting night, i have to leave home earlier than usual. now i can help you pull out, 'cause my team is pretty powerful." he hitched his horses to the front of the stalled car, and it was soon pulled up on higher ground where jim could crawl under and see what was wrong with the works. "we are most grateful to you, sir, for your timely help," said mrs. vernon. "how much do we owe you for this great service?" "i'm glad i could help, madam. i am the parson of the district, hereabouts, and i try to do good by the wayside as i walk this life-road." "then, if you will not accept a gift for yourself, you cannot refuse it for your flock. we will give to any needy one in your parish," said mrs. vernon, handing him a folded bill. being sent along the right road with the minister's directions and blessing, the cars soon reached rockwood, and from there, followed the usual route to delgeville. the highway now ended, and a pretty country road took its place as far as salisbury, where a turnpike road began and continued as far as middleville. from the latter town onward, the roads were indifferent or bad as far as gravesville. there were many interesting experiences for the scouts to write up in their books later on, such as running into a balky herd of cows and being threatened for damages by the farmer; holding their breaths when mrs. vernon ran over a lot of broken glass sprinkled across the road--but the tires held and no damage was done; stopping to bargain for a string of fish that a little freckled-face boy had for sale; and last, but not least, just before reaching gravesville, being warned by a girl of twelve of a masquerading constable, further up the road, who arrested more speeding drivers than any other constable in the county. when asked why she showed the scouts this partiality, the girl said: "because i'm going to be a scout myself, as soon as that new manual gets here. i wrote fer it t'other day, and i've got five schoolgirls ready to start with me. maw says she will ask the teacher to be our captain." thereupon followed a good scout talk by mrs. vernon, the country girl listening with all her wits alert. "how'd you know we were scouts?" asked julie, curiously. "by that pennant flyin' in front, of course!" retorted the girl. as the scouts drove away, mrs. vernon said, "she'll make a first-class scout, because she uses her eyes and other faculties." after leaving the town of gravesville, the scouts took a short cut to prospect, but the roads were steep and rough, and it was all the engines could do to mount the grades. then the opposite down slopes were so steep and sudden that it was necessary to put on all brakes and shut off the engines. one of these down grades had a sharp turn at the bottom, with a purling stream running under a rustic bridge immediately at the base of the mountain. on the other side of the bridge, the road rose abruptly up the side of another mountain. the descent was made nicely and the captain's car crossed the bridge, but jim's car stopped unexpectedly just as it reached the bridge at the foot of the mountain. "another case of push!" laughed julie. "all out!" ordered jim. "what now?" called mrs. vernon, as she also stopped her car to ask what was wrong. "if only your car was behind, you could shove us across the bridge, but there isn't enough room in this trap to do anything." "every one will have to help, jim; the girls can push and pull the car back to the grade, while you work the engine. maybe it will start that way," suggested mrs. vernon, waving her passengers out to help the stranded car. after half an hour's work, jim suddenly called, "my! what a lot of cotton-heads we are! here, captain, just back up and give us a tow across the bridge--that's all!" at this simple remedy every one laughed. the steep climb of the mountain was accomplished without trouble, and there the road wound back and forth like a serpent's trail. rocks, weighing tons, overhung with lovely vines, jutted out from the sides of the cut-out road that edged the cliff. again, mossy dells where maidenhair fern waved fragile fronds at the girls, nestled under giant groups of pines. the chorus of wild birds mingled with the subdued music of falling water, to the keen appreciation of the tourists who delighted in this impressive scene as only scouts can. the cars continued slowly through this peaceful place, but jim's engine suddenly stopped short again. he frowned and got out to examine it. "gee, captain! the tank needs gas and no place at hand to buy the feed. what shall i do?" "we didn't cross that other bridge until we came to it," giggled julie, quickly. "i suppose i've got to tow you along until we find gas, somewhere," said mrs. vernon. so the second car was harnessed to the leader and they started again. in this manner they traveled until they came to a small settlement that boasted an "emporium" where all the "latest styles and goods were sold." on the front porch of this store, in a low rocking-chair, sat the owner, a lady of doubtful years. she jumped up spryly when the cars stopped at the steps, and smiled invitingly. "do you sell gasoline?" asked mrs. vernon, politely. "i guess i kin oblige you," replied the lady, going indoors. jim jumped out and began to unscrew the plug on the tank. "now who'd a thought we could get gas in this little shop?" declared ruth, surprised. "you never can tell! i s'pose she wants to make all she can in every way," added hester. meantime the lady returned to the door and called out, "won't you please step this way?" jim thought she had to fill a measure from some barrel in the back, so he went in. but the lady was searching diligently along a shelf of bottles until she saw the one she wanted. "here they be--i knew i had 'em somewhere. one's ten cents, and the other's a twenty-five cent bottle. but you have to take keer of fire, you know." jim scratched his head, as he said, "i'll take a five-gallon can, please, ma'am." for a second, the old lady was amazed, but she rose to the occasion and showed herself a true business woman, "oh, i'm sorry, i'm just out of that size to-day, but can't you come back to-morrow--i'll have it then?" jim laughed. "i need it for the tank. the car won't go on nor come back, unless i get some gas for it." "oh! i thought you wanted some to clean gloves, or shoes. that's the only kind i keep on hand." "maybe you can tell us where we can get a gallon or so," said jim, trying hard to keep a straight face. "if you kin wait until jed gits back i kin send him to prospeck junction for a gallin. he can't carry five gallins, i fear." jim started out and the shopkeeper followed as she spoke. so mrs. vernon asked, "where is prospect junction?" "jus' over yander, a bit of ways. it's quite a gay resort, i've hear'd jed say, where they sells gas to riders what come through. but i hain't never gone there, 'cause i don't mingle with society. i am a church member and 'tends to my business." the lady tossed her head with a self-righteous air as she said the last words. jim said: "i'm sorry that four-ounce bottle wouldn't do, missus." and the scouts bowed as they left her standing on the "stoop." chapter three in the mountains at last the scouts finally reached old forge, where they had been due a full day sooner. mr. gilroy was worried at their non-appearance and had telephoned to their homes to learn that they had left on time. then he followed them along their route and at some places he heard they had stopped and gone again, and at others that they had not yet arrived. but the moment the girls saw him and heard his complaint, they laughed at his concern. "nice way to treat your adopted father--laugh at him, because he worried over his girls!" said he in pretended grievance. "but what could possibly happen when we had jim and verny at the wheels?" asked ruth. "that's just it! with the captain leading, i was sure you would be jailed for speeding, and would need me to bail you out," teased he. "we needed baling out when we got in the river-flood, but not in jail!" laughed julie. "if we had dreamed you had a 'phone way up here, we would have called you to help us, that time," added joan. then the story of the mud and flood had to be told, while mr. gilroy sat on the side-door of the car and directed the captain which road to take to reach his bungalow. "did our outfits get here all right, mr. gilroy?" asked ruth. "yes, and they have been down at your camp several days now," replied their host. "how far is our camp from your bungalow, mr. gilroy?" asked betty. "not very far--just a nice walk. your camp is right on the shore of one lake, while my bungalow is on the shore of first lake, one of the fulton chain, you know." the scouts then learned that mr. gilroy's estate extended from first lake, where his bungalow was built, across country to little moose lake where their camp was to be. this was a distance of about three-quarters of a mile between the two places. "we'll stop at the bungalow first and give you a good square meal after all your experiences; then we'll go on over to camp. when your baggage is all out of the cars, jim and i will drive back to my garage where the machines can stand." "oh, jim is going back home with dad's car, to-morrow," said ruth. "and verny is going to keep hers here for the summer," added julie. the cold luncheon had been waiting a long time, and when the scouts finally arrived they did justice to the viands. then, every one being eager to see the new camp-site, they started for the lake. here everything was in order to receive the tenants. three fine tents, fully equipped with every possible comfort for the campers, were waiting for the girls, and a smaller tent for the captain. "oh, how wonderful! why, this won't be like roughing it," declared several of the girls as they inspected their camp. "everything is ready but the fancy touches. you girls will have to add them as your experiences pile up," said mr. gilroy. "what do you mean?" asked julie. "oh, collections of butterflies, flower-prints, willow-work, and birchbark articles--all these are fancy touches." it was late in the afternoon when the scouts arrived at the bungalow, and it was twilight before they had their baggage all unpacked and in their individual tents. then when the cars were emptied and it was time to drive them back to the garage, mr. gilroy said: "as this is your first night, and everything is strange, you'd better come back to the house for a light supper. get your beds all ready to turn into, and then let everything else go until morning." mrs. vernon approved of this plan, so they finished their tasks and jumped in the cars to drive back to the bungalow for the evening. darkness crept into the woods and everything was silent as they reached the house. while jim followed the host to the garage with the cars, the scouts sat on the verandah and enjoyed the quiet of the woods. the stars now began to peep out of the deep blue that could be seen here and there through the trees, and the captain reminded the girls: "now that we are here for the summer, you must resume your study of the stars. you dropped that, you know, when schoolwork took so much of your time." "most of us know all the stars by heart, verny," said betty. "the names of them, yes, but how many of you can find them as they are placed in the sky?" returned mrs. vernon. "i can show you where the pole star is. look there!" replied joan, running out on the grass to find the bright point of light. "and i can find great bear and the pointers," added ruth, joining her friend on the grass. the other scouts now jumped up from the verandah and ran to join the first two, so the captain followed, also. "i know alcor, mizor, and the square of pegasus," said amy. "that panlike group of stars is known as andromeda," added julie, not to be outdone by her chums. "and those three little stars are called the kids. off to the left of perseus--oh, i forgot to say that perseus is a group of stars at the end of the pan-handle,--well, to the left of them are the bright stars known as capella." "bravo! you scouts are going to be marvelous astronomers some day," came the approving voice of mr. gilroy, as he joined them. "i was just telling the girls they would have to take up the study of the heavens again," mentioned mrs. vernon. "and we were showing off to let the captain hear how much we know," laughed julie. "who can find the lady in the chair or the guards?" asked mr. gilroy of the scouts. the girls eagerly sought for and described these groups, then their host asked for the seven sisters and demon's eye. when they had answered these, ruth said: "if the trees were not so thick i could show you orion, taurus, and lots more, like the lion, the sickle, canis major, etc." "hoh! some of those--and the clown, the ox-driver, the southern cross, and the northern cross--can't be seen at this time of year, ruth," said julie. ruth frowned at the correction, but mr. gilroy quickly calmed the troubled waters with praise for the girls. "you scouts certainly know the stars better than the boys of grey fox troop. i should like to have the two troops have a match game about the stars, some time." "who are the grey fox boys, mr. gilroy?" asked julie. "do you remember i told you, last summer, of some boy scouts who camped in my woods every year? well, four of those boys are here now. the rest of the troop are coming up in august, but these four have all summer to camp in. i'm going to introduce you, soon." "verny, why can't we see all the stars all the year?" now asked ruth. "because the earth turns on its axis, you know, so that certain planets are out of sight for us, and are seen on the other side of the globe. then when the earth turns fully around we see them again." "and the pole star is reckoned to be the center of the star-sky for all the others to move about it. the pole star is always in the same fixed place, so we can always locate it. but not so with the other stars," added mr. gilroy. "i wish some one would tell us a story about the stars," hester now said. "who will tell one?" asked mrs. vernon. "i know that mizor and alcor were used by the turks in past days as a test for eyesight. soldiers who could not sight those two stars were disqualified for fighting. but in these times i don't believe a little thing like bad eyes will hold up a turk from fighting!" said julie, comically. then joan added: "the pole star and ursa major, or the great bear as it is also called, form a shape like a wagon; so in olden times it was called king charles' wain. each star in this constellation is known by a greek letter. the two stars 'a' and 'b' are called the 'pointers' because they point to the pole star." "oh, i didn't mean lesson stuff, like this," complained hester. "i meant a real live legend!" "you tell one, verny," begged betty, sweetly. "mr. gilroy is better able to do it. besides he is the host and is supposed to entertain us," returned mrs. vernon, glancing at mr. gilroy, who was stretched out comfortably upon the short grass. "your host claims to be completely disabled for the time being, captain. pray proceed with the legend yourself," laughed mr. gilroy. then mrs. vernon said: "i never could see why cassiopeia, or the lady in the chair, should be named that. to me, the stars look more like a tipped-over letter 'w' than a lady in a chair." "don't you know the story, verny?" asked julie, eagerly. "you do, so why not tell us?" retorted the captain. "oh, well, then, all right!" said julie. so she began: "once there was an ethiopian queen, the wife of cepheus, who was very proud of their only child, a daughter named andromeda. they were always praising her and speaking of her beauty to every one, so that after a time folks who also had lovely daughters felt jealous of the princess. "in the depths of the inner sea, which is now the mediterranean, lived old nereus and a number of charming daughters. they heard of the queen's bragging about andromeda, and they made up their minds to stop it. so they got their father to help them. "then nereus and the nymphs sent a flood of water over all the country of which cepheus was king, and devastated the kingdom. this caused famine and pestilence, and in the wake of these awful plagues came a sea-monster in the form of a dragon. this fearful beast bellowed----" at that moment a deep thrilling call from some creature close by in the forest-edge caused every one to jump, and they all huddled together. they turned and stared apprehensively at the darkness behind them, but mr. gilroy instantly whispered, "s-sh! don't breathe, and you will see a sight worth watching for." the moon now sailed from back of the cloud that had obscured it for a time, and its cold white light etched everything it touched. again the strange whistling call sounded directly back of the group, and a crashing and tearing of underbrush ended with the sudden spring of a fine buck, that landed him out on the grass not twenty feet from the scouts. at the same moment, a plaintive call came from the direction of silver falls, which was up on the mountainside in front of the bungalow. the buck lifted his gigantic antlers in the moonlight, and his sensitive snout sniffed angrily as he sensed the invaders of his range; but another imperative call from his mate at the falls compelled him to leave these usurpers; so he wheeled gracefully and, with an answering call to let his doe know he was coming, trotted down the trail until he reached the stream that came from silver falls, and there he disappeared in the forest. "what a wonderful sight!" breathed mrs. vernon, when the buck was gone. the girls listened to the dying echoes of those pounding hoofs, and sighed. mr. gilroy sat up and spoke eagerly, "that is the first buck i've ever seen near my bungalow. there are deer in the adirondacks, but they seldom come near a habitation. it is said that they feed in the barnyards in winter, looking for stray grain, but i am not here in winter, you see." "how i would have loved to have had a snapshot of him," said julie, sighing. "you've all got it in your memory--the best place to frame a picture for all time," replied mrs. vernon. "you know, girls, there is an old hunter's saying, that goes: 'a deer to welcome you on your first night will bring luck to you all that year,'" said mr. gilroy, as he turned to lead the way into the bungalow. "wait, mr. gilroy; julie never finished her story. she broke off just where the beast bellowed--then came the buck!" said joan. "the deer finished the story better than we ever could," laughed the captain, as she followed mr. gilroy. "but, at least, tell us what happened to those nerieds?" asked betty, who wished to see the wicked punished. so mrs. vernon had to end the story, although it was condensed in the telling. but betty persisted, "you haven't told us yet what the nerieds did when they found the wonderful prince perseus saved and married to the princess." every one laughed, but julie replied, "why, like most jealous people, the nerieds had to move away from town when every one found out how it all had happened!" the "bite" they had before leaving for camp would have been classed as a first-class supper in the city restaurants, and then, when good-nights were being said, the host gave jim a laden basket to carry for the scouts. "you'll be glad of this in the morning, for breakfast. if you need anything else, run over here and get it from my man who cooks," explained mr. gilroy. but next morning, the contents of that basket were found to be more than enough for any one breakfast. the fruit, cereal, biscuits, and ham to broil, were highly appreciated by the hungry girls. this was soon gone, and then mrs. vernon said they must buckle down to genuine camp life. "i'd rather sleep out under the trees, verny, when the weather is so fine," suggested julie. "so would we," agreed the other scouts, and the captain said, "well, we might make willow beds for out-of-doors, and keep the cots as they are." "how do we know we can find any willows around here?" asked ruth. "i saw some early this morning when i was snooping about. i got up at dawn and left you girls sleeping, while i investigated the premises. girls, the place is simply perfect for _anything_ we might choose to do this summer," declared the captain, enthusiastically. "tell us where the reeds are, and we will get them," said betty. "they grow about a spring not far from here. we must follow a wild-animal trail along the lake to reach the spot." so the scouts each took an axe and knife and followed the guide to the willow-brook where the reeds grew. mrs. vernon showed the girls how to select the wands, and then began to cut down her own. she took about six dozen reeds as thick as a lead-pencil, and many smaller ones; these were bundled together, and then she was ready to start back to camp. finally the girls were ready, also, and they trailed back. "now girls, each one must cut notches about three-fourths of an inch from the butt-ends of the reeds. then peel the sticks carefully--do not crack or break them while doing it." mrs. vernon did hers as she advised. "now come with me, and select your posts for the beds. i take four young birch saplings for the bed-frame," announced mrs. vernon, as she chopped down the required birches, "and stout birches about four inches thick for my bedposts." each scout cut hers and then went back to the camp-ground to begin work on the indian beds. "every one measure the birch saplings and have two of them seven feet long, and two shorter ones three or four feet long," instructed mrs. vernon. "lop off all the twigs, and place the two long ones for sides, and the two short ones for top and bottom of the bed-frame. "now, this done, watch me carefully, girls. this is the important part of making the bed," advised the captain. mrs. vernon took a ball of heavy twine and doubled a long strand so that it was half-length. this was twisted into one strand, and a loop tied in the middle. many of these strands were stretched across the frame at equal distances apart, until the entire frame had a warp across it. "now i'll weave in the reeds," said the captain, taking one of the thin willows and weaving it in and out of the cords. at the loop, the rod was thrust through it to hold it centrally in place, then the weaving process went on until the end of the frame was reached. the weaving of each reed was done the same way until the whole frame was crossed with willows held firmly in the middle by the loops in the cords. "next thing, girls, i will cut the posts as i need them. i want them about three feet high. one end of each post must be sharpened so it will go down into the ground." this was done and the four stout birch posts were driven firmly into the ground where mrs. vernon wanted her willow bed to stand. "and next, i tie a loop of heavy cord, or rope, about the top of each post, in which i can hang my willow-frame." this was also done, and the scouts helped place the woven mat in position. "well, isn't that simple, when you know how!" said julie. "everything is, my dear," laughed mrs. vernon. "your bed is too wide for me. i don't want one four feet wide," said ruth. "you can make it as wide, or as narrow, as you like. i think three feet is wide enough for each girl," returned the captain. "but the best of these beds is, that when one is invited to visit, one can roll up the mat easily and carry it along to sleep on. they are very light and not cumbersome to roll and carry." all that day was given to weaving the beds, and the scouts not only enjoyed the novel employment, but had great fun in joking each other over the work. about four o'clock that afternoon a shrill whistle was heard from the trail that ran to the bungalow and soon thereafter mr. gilroy was seen coming down towards camp. "hullo, there! i waited all morning for visitors, but at last decided to come and see if my tenants had abandoned the premises!" explained he, as he went over to the weavers to watch them. "now you understand why we couldn't visit," said joan. "i came over to ask how many of you have been fishing? and what did you catch?" said he. "no, we haven't fished yet. we planned to try it the very moment we are through with these beds," replied joan. "then perhaps you have not been near the lake-cove since you went hunting for willows this morning," remarked mr. gilroy. "the cove? i saw two boats there early this morning," said the captain. "and now there are two canoes there, also," added mr. gilroy. "oh, really! but how did you manage to get them there--by paddling in from the lake?" asked mrs. vernon. "no, i had them brought from my boathouse this morning. while jim was here, i made use of him by having him help hiram carry two canoes over to the boat-wagon, and then drive down here. not a soul nor a sound was seen or heard about the camp, so i surmised you had all gone on a lark. then we launched the canoes and tied them to a stump to surprise you when you should go for the boats. we never dreamed you could keep away from temptation so long as this." "goody! then the first scout that finishes her bed can go and catch fish for supper," declared amy, who was the slowest of the weavers. they all laughed teasingly, and soon afterwards, julie cried, "i'm done! now for the fish!" joan and ruth soon completed their beds, too, so mr. gilroy went out with them to fish. that evening he was invited to sup with the scouts, and a jolly time they had. in the evening, while sitting about the dying campfire, he said to the girls: "the first rainy day that comes along i want you all to come to the bungalow and see my collection of moths, flowers, birds, and butterflies. i have a fine exhibit of butterflies, among them are rare specimens that have seldom been found in these mountains. you scouts will want to start collecting after you see what i have done." "i shall be delighted to look at them, as i have always wanted my girls to do something along those lines," said mrs. vernon. "if you know anything about butterflies, you will prize the specimen of swallow-tail i found in these woods," said mr. gilroy. "really! but i've heard they were never found in america, mr. gilroy," exclaimed julie. "i know that is a common belief, but i have one, nevertheless, and a friend who devotes his time to studying insect-life assured me that the one i caught was genuine. then, the very next day this friend caught one quite near the place where mine was taken. this led us to investigate, and we reached the conclusion that there are rare butterflies hatched out in isolated sections of this land, but are not found; so, of course, no mention is made of them. "even if the farmers see a swallow-tail, or any other rare butterfly hovering over their gardens, they don't know the difference, and it passes safely. if that same farmer knew the value of the specimen he would leave all else to chase the gauzy flutterer." when it came time for the visitor to say good-night, he said, "oh, i forgot all about the very object of my visit!" "it must have been awfully important," laughed julie. "well, _we_ think it is," chuckled mr. gilroy. "the boys of grey fox camp sent me to invite you to have dinner with them to-morrow, if it is clear." "why, mr. gilroy!" exclaimed julie, scarcely believing her idol could forget such an important matter. every one laughed at his guilty look, and judith teasingly said, "we ought to call him 'the man who lost his memory,' for that!" "all fooling aside, scouts, i have a suggestion to make on that very remark. i've wanted to mention it before, but always there was some exciting or important matter that could not be interrupted. now i wish you girls would stop 'mistering' me! i am such an old friend by this time, i should think i could be to you as much as the captain is. she is 'verny' instead of 'mrs. vernon.'" julie was ready with an answer before he had quite finished his complaint. "oh, we would love to give you a pet name, gilly, because you do mean as much to us as our best friends anywhere. by taking a few letters away from your proper name and adding a little 'nick' to the syllable, we have one ready-made." "fine! 'gilly' it shall be henceforth!" laughed mr. gilroy. "but it is so disrespectful, i think," remonstrated mrs. vernon. "couldn't we find some other affectionate term that will do without impressing strangers with our lack of courtesy to our friend?" "why do you object to 'gilly?'" asked mr. gilroy, quizzically. "i can't really find any tangible excuse, except that it makes me think of gilly-flowers, you know," laughed mrs. vernon. every one joined in the laughter, but mr. gilroy said seriously, "well, i am not old enough to be 'granny' to the girls and i dare not request to be called 'daddy' by them, or their rightful parents will call me out to fight a duel, so do let us leave it 'gilly.' the boys of grey fox always wanted to use a friendlier name than a 'mr.' but they never came to it. now we will begin the habit." before mr. gilroy left the camp, the name was established. they were to meet at mr. gilroy's bungalow early in the morning, so he could start them on the right trail. he was going over in the car with supplies for the boys, but the hikers preferred the novelty of adventuring on foot. early the following morning, breakfast being cleared away, each scout was advised to take an axe, a clasp-knife, a bit of twine, a tin cup, and some waterproof matches. "but why should we bother with such stuff?" asked amy. "one never knows whether one will arrive at the right destination or not. should we get lost, we at least have something with which to get a meal," said the captain. "are you going to carry that little bag of flour?" asked hester, curiously. "yes, and a strip of bacon that is wrapped in the paper. i'm not going to starve, if worst comes to worst," laughed mrs. vernon. "a lot of good a strip of bacon will do for ten of us!" said judith. but she had not been with the scouts when they camped at verny's mountain the foregoing summer. when mr. gilroy heard about the bacon and flour, he laughed. "why, it is only two or three hours' tramp over the ridge, and a big dinner will be waiting when you get there." mrs. vernon held her peace, but carried the bacon and flour just the same. she was not to be jeered out of what she knew to be a wise act, whether the food would be needed or not. chapter four a visit to grey fox camp each girl wore hiking boots, her camp uniform, and carried a light pack containing the ax, cup, knife and matches. a few of the girls, secretly following the captain's example, packed a strip of bacon and crackers, or other eatables in their packs. mr. gilroy saw them safely started on the right trail, and then drove away in his car. he followed a woodcutters' road that wound around the mountain, but the scouts were to use the trail that ran over the crest to the boys' camp. the scouts were brimming over with spirits (julie said, "not the kind made in the moonshine, either"), and spent so much time examining flowers or watching wonderful birds that the time sped by unawares. the trail led through small clearings where a brook or waterfall made life worth living. but the higher they climbed the more rugged grew the trail, until there were long stretches that seemed to be sheer wilderness. at such places, the scouts had to hunt about and find a blaze to guide them further. in this way, the hours passed and noon came; still the hikers were far from grey fox camp. "and i'm starved to pieces!" joan assured them all. "so'm i!" admitted ruth. then it was learned that every one present would appreciate something to eat. "but what? we only brought flour and bacon," laughed amy. "how would a fine juicy steak taste about this time?" asked mrs. vernon, winking at her old scouts. they knew what she meant. "oh, 'home and mother'!" sighed judith, rolling her eyes heavenward. every one laughed, but the captain added: "i really mean it! we may as well stop now to cook that steak as to keep on in a half-fainting condition." "but, verny! we didn't bring one bit of meat to camp, and the butcher drives his rounds once a week," cried amy. "we'll just hunt around and chop down a steak," suggested mrs. vernon. "who wants to go with me to find the wooden animal that grows a steak ready-made?" of course, they all went, except julie and joan who remained to build a fire and start the bacon sizzling in the tiny pan. a scout-twist of flour and water was kneaded by joan and put to bake near the fire, and then the girls sat and waited for the others to return. the captain blazed a way slowly into the forest wilderness, peering under bushes and wherever a tree had been cut down--on its stump of a trunk she always looked eagerly. after about ten minutes' search she saw what she wanted. "ah! here it is--a porterhouse, this time." the new members saw a great chestnut stump, its jagged spears of wood protesting against its untimely end. but all over the trunk grew fungi--some larger, some smaller, and all of the same flat horizontal shape, like a huge palm-leaf. these were carefully removed and handed to the girls to carry. "what are they for?" asked judith, looking at the red juice that ran over her fingers when she took the fungus. "that's your steak--think it is too big for one?" "the what?" exclaimed the other new members, skeptically. "beefsteak mushroom--finest steaks ever tasted," came reassuringly from the captain. "the ones growing on a chestnut stump are always the sweetest, but the chestnut trees are disappearing so fast that soon we will have no such mushrooms from them." when they had gathered enough steaks for that meal, they returned to the clearing where julie and joan awaited them. on the way back, mrs. vernon showed the scouts the earmarks of the beefsteak mushroom. "when i cut these from the tree they bled exactly as flesh will bleed when it is cut. now turn them over and you will see on the under side that they have veins of red. that is the life-sap. we will broil or cook them exactly as if they were steaks and then you shall judge of their flavor." "isn't it thrilling to think that man can go right into any wilderness and, without carrying food, clothing, or shelter, live with what nature provides," remarked judith. "yes, and without paying the outrageous prices charged at the present time for actual necessities," replied the captain. the bread-twist was baked, and when the steaks were washed and sliced, mrs. vernon dropped them into the hot fat tried out from the bacon. immediately the smell of frying steak made every scout smack her lips in anticipation. "if we weren't sure of such a fine dinner awaiting us, i would have had a few of you girls gather young bracken for a fresh green vegetable to eat with our steak. but we must not stop and enjoy too much by the wayside," said the captain. there was a liberal slice of steak for each one and the girls pronounced the taste of it delicious. "and so tender, too! i never had such a juicy bit of meat," said hester. having refreshed themselves considerably, with the fun of finding the mushrooms and cooking them, to say nothing of eating them, also, the scouts continued the hike along the trail. just as they reached the crest of the mountain, julie came suddenly upon a fawn, standing in the shadow of a tree; it was watching these queer two-legged creatures. it is hard to say which was most surprised, julie or the deer, but the fawn recovered first and bounded away through the forest. "oh, shucks! there we've gone and left that camera home again!" cried julie, stamping her foot angrily. "wouldn't that have made the most wonderful picture!" added judith. "no use crying now, but, for goodness sake! julie, remember to bring it next time," said joan. "let _every one_ remember--the last thing to do when we start anywhere, every one is to say to herself: 'remember the _maine_!' then we will surely take the camera," giggled julie. the scouts now began descending the other side of the crest, and found a better trail than on the side they came up. so, being able to go faster, they soon reached a lovely camp-site, where the voices of several boys announced that grey fox camp was reached. "we were just being sworn in as deputies to go out and hunt for strayed or stolen scouts," called mr. gilroy, jocularly, as the girls picked their way down from the great rocks that formed a wall back of the camp-ground; then he introduced the two troops to each other. "you told us it was about a two-hours' hike!" said ruth, shaking her head at mr. gilroy, as if in despair of saving his soul. "well, so it is, when the boys are in a hurry to get to the bungalow." "we've been five hours coming, and had to stop for lunch along the way, too," said judith, eager to talk about the beefsteak. the boys stared. "why, you were to have dinner with us! didn't mr. gilroy tell you that?" "yes, but we couldn't wait so long. we're ready for more dinner, now," said joan. "what did you cook for luncheon?" asked alec, the oldest boy in the troop. "oh, only a beefsteak-mushroom and a scout-twist," returned julie, nonchalantly. the boys exchanged glances. "did you find the mushrooms along the way?" asked another boy named bob. "sure! did you think they came preserved?" laughed joan. "no, but _we_ have never found any on this side of the hill. bob often goes out to hunt, but so far we've never seen any," explained another boy, ned thompson. "when we go back, you can go with us a ways, and we will show you where we found the ones we had for luncheon," said betty. "is dinner ready, boys, or will there be time to show the girls about the camp?" asked mr. gilroy. "show them about, as it will take us ten minutes more to finish everything in style," replied alec. so the girl scouts were invited to pass judgment on the fine camp the boy scouts had made. everything was neat as wax, and the boys had constructed many convenient articles from wildwood material only. "last year we had eight boys in camp, but this season only four could come in the beginning; so they have lots of room in their big tee pee. when the other boys come out, they will have to make another tent. they made and water-proofed this one themselves," explained mr. gilroy, showing the visitors the fine big tent. "they built this dining-room, too, to use if the weather is very bad. i told the boys about your corduroy floor that you made in your huts last summer, so they tried it here with very good result." the girl scouts now saw their own idea put into use in a different manner. the log floor was hard and dry, but at each corner rose a stout pole, and upon the tops of the four pole ends was stretched a canvas roof, making a shelter underneath. "girls, we ought to do the same thing, to use for meal time when it rains, or if the rays of the sun are too hot," observed mrs. vernon. mr. gilroy then pointed out to the girls how careful the boys had been in selecting this camp-site. they had high, dry ground, near plenty of fine spring water, on the same lake where the girl scouts camped, but an arm of high land extended out into the water and separated the two camps. "you see, they have ample firewood about without cutting down any trees; they get the early morning sun, and shade all the rest of the day. they ditched the entire place to carry off all the rainwater that might wash down from the crest during a heavy storm. and they built a refrigerator to keep things cold; and over there they have a chicken-coop." "a chicken coop! where did they get the chickens?" asked julie. "ned had some at home and he crated them and brought them along. the boys get fresh eggs in this way, and when the season is over, they will kill the hens for a special occasion and eat them." "verny, that's what we need, a few chickens in camp," was joan's decision, the moment she saw the hens scratching. "i noticed gilly had a lot of chickens running about the barnyard. maybe he will loan us a few, just to provide us with eggs this summer. we can return them in the fall, you know," ventured julie, daringly. "who will buy their corn?" asked he, laughingly. "no one. we will feed them scraps and they can scratch!" promptly replied julie. "you'll starve them and then they won't lay any eggs," now said alec, joining the party. "we'll smile on hiram and get him to bring us some corn from the barn, now and then," said ruth. "i came over to tell you dinner was ready to serve. we had better go now, and eat it while it's good," said alec. the boys had various things hanging over the fire, but the great novelty that caught the girl scouts' attention, at once, was the roaster upon which a nice brown chicken was swinging before the fire. "there! that's a fine idea. how did you make it?" asked mrs. vernon, looking closely at the contraption. alec described to the captain the method of making the roaster. "we took a forked stick, as you see there, of about a two-foot length. we drove that down into the ground about six inches. next we took a long pole, six or eight feet long, and drove the end down into the ground just back of the short stick with the forks. it rested in the crotch made by the forks so that its tapering end slanted upward at an angle, as you see here. "from the end of this long pole we hung the cord that holds the chicken. wire is just as good to use. then we arranged that flat, paddle-like fan halfway between the top and the rope end where the roast will hang. as your chicken roasts before the fire, that mill-fan keeps it perpetually turning about so it browns alike all over." julie wanted to make one like it as soon as they went back to their own camp, so she hastily sketched a model. "it is a great stunt, all right, and we've cooked many dandy roasts this way, and never scorched any," said bob, when alec concluded his description. the dinner began with oyster-mushroom stew, then they had roast chicken, baked wild-potatoes, stewed bracken that tasted exactly like young spinach, dandelion salad, and scout cakes for dessert. it was mid-afternoon when the girls finally said good-by to their hosts, and invited them soon to visit dandelion camp. they started on the return hike, but when they reached the highest boulder back of the camp, the scouts stood and waved good-by again. "come as soon as you can, but give us a whole day's warning, first!" shouted julie, to the four smiling boys below. they made much better time going back, as the trail from grey fox camp was plain, and going down the other side of the crest was much simpler than climbing up. they got back to their own camp by seven o'clock, and were surprised to find mr. gilroy there before them, with supper all ready to eat. "well, this sure is good of you!" sighed julie, dropping upon the grass with healthy fatigue. "i thought you'd appreciate it; i had no exercise to-day, except what i got running the car, so i decided to 'do a good turn' and digest that dinner at the same time," said he. after supper, which was unusually late that night, the tired scouts and their visitor were sitting about the campfire hoping some one would tell a story, when julie spoke: "last summer, gilly said he would tell us all sorts of indian legends when we visited camp in the adirondacks. now we're here and this is the right sort of an evening to tell them." the other scouts seconded the suggestion, but mr. gilroy said: "funny, but i don't remember that promise." "i told you you've got an awful memory--didn't i want to dub you 'the man-with-a-poor-memory?'" teased judith. the guest sat gazing silently into the fire for a few minutes, then he began: "i'm going to tell you a story that is told by the alaskan indians. these ancient legends have been handed down from one generation to another, but the original goes back before the days of moses. i was deeply interested in a few of these tales because they sounded so much like our story of creation as told in genesis, that i wondered if a white missionary had sown his seeds of christianity in the fertile soil of the alaskan esquimaux' mind. "but as far as i could ascertain this legend was told many hundreds of years before white man ever stepped on alaskan ground. recently i learned that iceland has similar legends, and it may be that the alaskan esquimaux are descended from those of iceland. it is well known that iceland is the oldest civilized land in the world--that it was famous for its learning before the days of solomon the wise." chapter five a story of creation* a legend of raven *this legend, given in various ways by different tribes of the icelandic and alaskan indians, each with its own variations, but all with one thread of similarity woven through the tales--was partly interpreted and grouped by the author into the legend that appears in this book. it is said to date back thousands of years before abraham and our bible. acknowledgments for original texts and tales are due the smithsonian institute. "no one knows just how raven first came to be, and we have many different beginnings to start from, but in sitka we know that raven never had beginning nor will he have an ending. "raven was always the all-in-all, and, as he knew all things and made all, he began to wish to have a form of his wisdom that, too, would live on with him forever. so it was that he made him a son to help in the creation. and the son's name, also, was raven. and now it is of raven, son of raven, that we speak. "raven was instructed in every form of knowledge and he was trained in every wise thing, so that when he grew up he would have everything necessary to make a glorious world, where all beautiful wishes and every good idea would be objectified, and would remain forever a praise and prayer to raven, the father creator. "so raven made the world, but he found there was no light with which to show the beauty and form of what he had created. then, after deep thinking, he remembered his father to have said that there was a large lodge far up the nass where one kept all the light that ever could be found. "raven tried many ways in which to reach this house on the nass, but the way was unknown to every one, so he wandered afar, seeking for the true trail. one day he helped an old lame man along the path and, for gratitude, the old man said: 'you seek the one of nass who keeps the light?' "raven replied, 'yea, for many days have i sought him.' "then the lame old man smiled a strange smile, and said, 'i know of but one way to bring this great light into the world you made, and that way is to send forth that light through the daughter of the one with the light.' "'but, brother, how do i know there is such a daughter? and if there be, how shall i receive the light through her?' "'o raven, thou art a great creator! thy father is all-in-all of the north, and the daughter of light will joyously send forth this light you need to show the beauties of your world,' said the old wayfarer. "'then tell me this, o brother, for i seem not to know how to reach the virgin of the light, despite all the wisdom i have been taught,' anxiously begged raven. "'then hark to my words, o son of raven: i will turn you into a small drop of water, and fly with you over the house of light. as i pass the pool whence comes the water for drink, i will drop you into a glass the virgin holds ready to quaff. then you will know what to do.' "raven showed his surprise, for he had believed the old man to be lame and helpless, and now he found he was a wise man who could find his way wheresoever he would go. "then the old man, with the wonderful drop of water held carefully in his palm, flew over the house of light, and passed low down over the pool where the virgin stood ready to drink. "as she raised the cup to her lips, the drop of pure water which had been raven, fell into the liquid, and she drank all that the vessel held. "now this drop of clear water grew and became a man-child, and the virgin knew she was to bring forth the light unto the world, that all might enjoy the beauties of creation. so she was happy and praised raven and the father of raven, day and night, for having given himself to become a little drop of water that the light might be born. "when the time came for the light to be revealed, the virgin prepared a royal bed of furs of great value for the man of light to be born on. but the babe struggled and refused to be born in a state of riches, and he whispered to the virgin: 'the world of joy and riches needs me not, but the world of sorrow and darkness needs me. i will shed this light on such as are heavyladen and weary.' so the virgin knew the light must be born in meekness and humility, that all brothers could find raven without pomp or pay. "so the birthplace was lined with common iceland moss, and the child of light was born thereon. the moss-bed was made up in a room that had been used for the humblest things in the great house of light: that is, for the storing of queer bundles, some large, some small, and all of various shapes and colors. and when the babe looked around at the walls of his birthplace, his eyes shone like stars and a heavenly smile beamed from his face, for _he_ knew what those bundles contained! "as the child waxed strong and beautiful, the mother saw that it yearned for something she had not hitherto given him, so a servant was ordered to seek everywhere and find what it was the babe craved. "finally, the attendant moved a bundle that hung at the farthest end of the room. and as he did so, the child laughed and his eyes shone brightly. "'bring that bundle here--it is what the babe wanted!' declared the mother. so the unwieldy bundle was placed upon the bed. "the mother carefully removed a wrapper, but found still others to undo. finally all the wrappers were taken away and but one remained. this was of a wonderful shimmering material such as no one had ever beheld before. the mother reverently opened this cover, and lo! there lay revealed all the stars of heaven! "the child gurgled with joy, and took the corner of the shimmering cover and drew it, with the contents, over to himself. he looked upwards, and with a wonderful expression in his sweet face, suddenly flung the bright cover and all the stars it held, up through the smoke-hole of the lodge. "with a happy, joyous laugh, he watched the stars scatter far and wide to rest finally in the firmament, and there they shine to this very day! "the virgin mother then knew that this child truly was raven, the son of raven, and she commanded every one to bow down in worship, for he had been given the power to bring light to the world of darkness, and no more would darkness cover the people. "soon after the stars were fixed in the firmament of heaven, the child again yearned and seemed to pine for something. but now the mother knew what had to be done, so she commanded an attendant to take down the bundle that hung in the corner whence the stars came. "this bundle was brought over to the mother, but it was smaller than the first bundle that had held all the stars. the mother carefully undid the many wrappings of this bundle, and found the last covering was made of a filmy frosty texture which had no opening or end that might be unrolled. "but the child held out his hands eagerly for the bundle, and the moment it had been given him, he found the secret opening and then unrolled the cover. when the last frosty bit of gauzy cloud fell away from the contents so carefully preserved, every one exclaimed in wonder at the beauty they beheld. there was a big moon, cool and shining, then as now! "the child clapped his hands with delight, and wafted the moon with its frosty gauze covering up through the smoke-hole of the room and it became fixed as the stars, to give light through the hours of darkness, that the earth need not stumble and fall upon a black pathway. "the third bundle was great and difficult to reach, but the child cried for it and the servants had to work and struggle to reach it, until finally, down it came. and as it fell, it sent forth sparks of strange fire that consumed not a thing, yet prevented any servant from handling the bundle. "the child laughed and clapped his hands, but finding no one could hold the flaming bundle, he crept over and took it. the mother stood affrighted lest the child of light be consumed. but he unwrapped each covering himself, and when the last dazzling wrapper was revealed, no human being durst gaze upon that light. but he who was born of light looked upon what was hidden in that covering and flung all up through the smoke-hole to take its place in the firmament of heaven, where it shines like unto a sun--to-day, as in those days. and it was given the world to shed its rays of light upon the earth by day, even as the moon shines for light by night, and the stars sing for joy and gladness that light came to the world. "after the sun, and moon, and stars were made, this man-child did many wonderful things that astonished all who came to the house of light to hear and see such a marvelous being. but there was still one bundle left hanging in a very gloomy corner of the birth-chamber, and this bundle was left until the child grew to the stature of a man. then he demanded that it be given him. "'no, no, my son,' wept the mother, 'do not ask for that--it contains death.' "'know then that _i_ know it,' returned the young man, seriously. 'knowest thou not why i came to be born of the light? not only that the world might have eternal light, but also to dispel all darkness that eternal life might come through the overcoming of this death. "'the light i had, and the light i gave, but through forever closing the gates of death to the world i forever fix this light of life in the heavens that no one can darken it more.' "the mother wept for she knew her son must die if he took down that bundle, but he replied: 'for this great mission was i sent to you that, through you, should be given birth to light, and thus establish for all time the light for the world.' "sorrowing, the mother herself took down the bundle and brought it to her son, and no servant might remain in the room when raven, son of raven, removed the coverings of death. as the last wrapper was removed and the mother saw the heavy shroud that folded itself clingingly about the ghastly contents of that bundle, she ran weeping from the room, for she dared not watch her son accept it. "so the birth-room remained closed while raven fought with death, but after three shinings of the sun, and three shinings of the moon, and with the shining of the stars as they sang softly, a blinding light shone through all the walls of the house of light, and the mother with her attendants ran to open the door of the birth-chamber, now called the room of death. but behold! the man raven himself was revealed in shining raiments, shining like the sun, and he smiled upon those who fell down in awe at sight of him. "'i have destroyed death for all, and now i go to shine in the heavens with this light of life that was given me. all who will may follow where i go,' said raven. "'and at that, he rose through the smoke-hole and took his place in heaven, but his light shone then and shines now into every corner of darkness in the world. and the day is come when there is no more darkness, for rich and poor, good and bad, and every created thing made by raven, see the light that transforms everything into lights that find their places in the firmament of heaven.' "raven, son of raven, sat hidden in the great light that he received when death was overcome, but he saw that the earth was without form. then he desired to create seas and mountains upon the face of the void, and he sat thinking and thinking for many a time. "suddenly he remembered that in the house of light there was a wonderful pool of clear water. so he sent a ray from the sun down through the clouds and thereby drew up enough water to drink. but he did not swallow the cooling water. he held it in his mouth and flew with it over the whole earth which was void of form. "he spat forth a drop of this water and it became the source of the river nass. another drop from his mouth became the stikine river, and the third drop became the taku river. then followed the chilkat, the alsek, and finally, all the great rivers of the north. "but raven found he would need more water for seas and oceans and lakes, so he sat again, and by thinking and thinking he received the idea. "it was not according to his wish to send a sunbeam to the pool of eternal water in the house of light, to bring up more of that pure water to him, and he was happy when he conceived the idea that came to him. and this it was: "'if the rivers i made, run on eternally because their source came from the house of light, why shall i not guide them all to one great meeting-place and call that the ocean? but as they run to this one rest, even so will i give them smaller rests along the way, and at these resting-places they may spread out upon the bosom of the earth. these rests will i call lakes. then there will come times when the ocean, which is continually filled from the eternal source of the rivers, must needs overflow its boundaries. and these overflows will fill up the great holes in the earth. so these i will call seas. "'even as the sun sent his ray to carry me the drink from the pool that is in the house of light, so will i command the sun and the moon and the stars to govern the waters of the earth, and thus the lights in the firmament of the heavens will draw up any surplus overflows, that these may turn to moisture in the cloudy coverings that wrapped the lights before they became fixed in the firmament. the clouds will rain down refreshing drink upon all lands on the earth, that all things may replenish themselves and so live eternally, in one grand bond of brotherhood, loving and helping each other, from the great to the small, and from small to great.' "and it was as raven desired. so to this day, the sun and moon and all the stars work together in harmony to keep the rivers and lakes, and seas, and ocean within their bounds and to replenish all things. "but raven found afterwhile that so much water flowing ceaselessly from the source, and the rain that fell from the clouds upon the land, made the earth so wet that it was not a good place to dwell upon. then he began to think and think again, of how he might create something to dry up the surplus moisture. "now he was walking by a great ocean, one day, still thinking of plans to dry away any unpleasant dampness, when he saw a petrel sitting on a rocky promontory. "'brother,' called raven to the bird, 'how came you here?' "'i? oh, i was born when the waters were sent to earth. how came you here--and where were you born?' asked the petrel. "'i? oh, i was born before the world was thought of, so i have no beginning and no end,' replied raven. "'ha! tis well said, but rings not true,' the petrel jeered. 'no one ever was before this world was created, and no one ever shall remain when this world ends.' "'i am raven, son of raven, and because you know not the truth of creation, but believe the lie, you shall henceforth go about in a fog. your name shall be earth-made, and you shall dream dreams in this fog, but you may not see the light until that day when the whole world shall be freed from all forms of darkness!' "and instantly, a fog-cover fell over petrel, because he knew not the truth told by raven, son of raven. and the fog so hid from the eyes of petrel the sun and moon and stars that came from the house of light, that he believed _them_ to be controlled by a lie, also. "but raven learned that the fog he had called forth from the waters on the earth made the place still more moist and not good for a place of sojourn. then he planned to dry it away quickly. "petrel, the earth-bound, was left groping in the fog for the truth he had scorned and now could not find, and raven passed to a place where he saw something floating on the wave not far from shore. he failed to recognize it as of his creating, so he wished to reach it. "while looking about for something to use to reach it, he saw a bird with a very long bill, watching him. this bird was not like anything he had created so he knew it must be an offspring of the fog, mist-made, and related to petrel. "raven then commanded this bird, 'fly out over the water and bring back yon floating object.' "the bird with a long bill was a chicken-hawk, and it lived by killing weaker and smaller birds than itself. raven knew this was its way the moment he saw it was mist-made, and so he sent it on this errand. "the chicken-hawk dared not refuse to go after the bright object floating on the wave, but he said to himself, 'i'll drop it if it is not good for me to carry!' "raven knew this evil intent, and said, 'when you have taken hold of the object, do not drop it till you have brought it ashore.' "so the chicken-hawk left in no good humor, and flew out to the wave, where he found a mass of fire floating there. he was a coward, such as all mist-made creatures are, and he feared to bring in the great ball of fire, yet he dared not disobey the command of a superior being like raven. so he tore off a mouthful only, and that is how he came to be so badly burned. had he caught hold of the whole mass of flame, the outside of which really had been cooled as it rolled about upon the waves, he could have escaped without an injury. "he brought the piece of fire to shore, and raven said, 'because you were cowardly and obeyed me only through fear, your beak shall remain forever burned off and short as it now is.' "and so it is to this day, and shall be until light redeems all things. "raven then took some chips of red cedar and some white stones, and mixed them in the fire. these were distributed over all the earth, so that many great forests grew up from the cedar shavings, and thus absorbed the surplus moisture on the land. and mighty volcanoes were formed of the red-hot stones, and these, in consuming the water under the surface, steamed and spewed forth the massive rocks and varied-hued stones that gave peaks and cliffs as pleasant places for deer and sheep to roam upon. "thus, with the face of the earth so beauteous, raven sat down and rejoiced. but petrel and chicken-hawk were left to wander in the fog. "finally, raven's mother died, and he sorrowed greatly, for she saw not the great light that he had established to overcome the darkness of death. still, because she had always dwelt in the house of light and had given birth to raven, son of raven, she was given an honorable place in the firmament of heaven. "and raven, as the custom was in the realm where his mother had lived, prepared a great feast in honor of his mother. but he began thinking how he might honor her in a different way. so he cut a witch-hazel wand with which to point at anything he wished to use in the preparation of this feast. thus he collected wood and stones and many things on the face of the earth. and when all this was assembled he built him a great house. "then he called the rain and sunshine to hide the house until he was ready for the feast. he then sat down to think and think, and this is what he thought, and what came of it. "'i want fish to swim in the waters, and birds to fly in the skies, and creatures to live in the forests, and beings to live on the land, to be found in this house when it is opened. and they will all be perfect, lovely, and good, to live with this creation i have made.' "thus, having thought all these things, raven stood up and stretched out his hand that held the wand, and pointed it over the house that was hidden as yet by rain and clouds. "and, suddenly, the rain ceased its downpour, the sun smiled, and the house stood revealed in all its beauty. then raven sang: "'this made i for an honor to my mother!' "and as he sang his song of honor and praise, the house opened and all manner of living creatures came forth--beautiful, perfect, and an honor to the earth upon which they would dwell. "so it is that even to this day, when one makes a feast to honor a dead person who will sit in a place in the firmament, the house of the living is opened to all, from the greatest to the least of the earth. "when the feast was over raven wished to leave an eternal monument to his mother, the virgin who gave birth to the light, so he called to him the four winds to help. "'south wind, in the spring and summer when all the sun's rays are warm, blow gently upon the earth and sing of my mother.' "'north wind, sit on top of the ice-mountain yonder, and when the earth is chill and sorrowing for my mother, blow fiercely from your snow-laden hills and sing over her grave.' "'east wind, when the earth-people weep salt-water over the biers of their dead, and sigh because of their loss, sing to them of my mother.' "'west wind, when you blow gently, and tell the earth that storms and cold and sorrow may come but light shines in the end to bring them joy and peace, sing low and sweetly of my mother.' "thus the four winds came to earth to sing to the peoples dwelling here, and every one heard of the mother who gave birth to light--raven, son of raven. "but after all these things were done, raven sat down and thought and thought deeply, and as he thought he called upon his father, the great raven, the all-in-all, for advice. "and having received advice, raven stood up and lifted his hands to the heavens, and sang with a loud voice: "'i shall make men in my image and likeness, and they shall dwell in the light and be given dominion over all this earth i have made for my joy and pleasure. thus we shall be happy and live forever!' "so raven made all men like unto himself. they were good and perfect and beautiful and they all dwelt in love in the light. and thus they dwelt many, many days, and were happy. "but the fog which had been called out for petrel's error harbored many birds of evil omen, and these, guided by petrel, swept through the fog and attacked the men of the light. the fog covered all things and caused every one to grope about, seeking to find one another and escape from the mist that hid the shining light. "and thus any one who had the slightest degree of fear or greed or malice or lying in his heart, breathed in the fog and thenceforth lived in a dream. they were thenceforth born of the fire of wrath that the chicken-hawk tore apart from the floating mass, and were consumed with fear. they lived their days in the fog that came upon petrel when he believed a lie, and they suffered and sorrowed and died, all in a dream caused by the fog; and afterwhile these mist-men forgot there ever had been a perfect earth created by raven, son of raven, where love and beauty and joy rule everything. "so petrel ruled his world of fog, where hate and sin and death were his servants, and thus it happened that a petrel is the sign of storm and trouble and blinding mist, but the raven is known to be wise and patient for it knows where its light dwells. "so raven sits, and patiently waits for petrel's dreams to lose themselves in the fog, for such will surely come about. and as the lights ruled by raven shine stronger, the fog grows fainter and still lighter, until breaks the day when all mist vanishes and raven's creation is seen forever beautiful and perfect." when mr. gilroy concluded his beautiful legend, the scouts were silent. it was the greatest praise they could bestow at the moment, for the story was not one to call forth applause and noise. then they began to speak, but in soft voices. "and to think that this story of creation, so similar in many ways to our bible stories, was handed down from ancient days," remarked mrs. vernon, thrilled by the realization. "i find many interesting similarities between our bible and the holy legends reverently told by the esquimaux. but this one always struck me as being as fine as any. that is why i told it," explained mr. gilroy. then their camp entertainer, as julie now named mr. gilroy, bid them all good-night and went up the trail. and the scouts were soon in bed, their last waking thoughts being of raven, son of raven, the all-in-all of creation. chapter six lost on the trail a few days after the girl scouts' visit to grey fox camp, they were agreeably surprised by having the boys visit them. mr. gilroy was with them, and as each boy carried an ax and a woodman's knife, the girls knew they came to work. "we decided to cut a shorter trail over the crest, and as to-day is so cool, we thought it would be a fine time for work," explained alec, the leader in the boys' camp. "one day's as good as another! we're ready to help any time," replied julie, as leader of the girl scouts' troop. "why didn't you let us know, then we might have blazed the trail up our side of the mountain, and you boys would have worked from your side. when we met on top, we might have celebrated with a feast," ventured mrs. vernon. so the girls ran for axes and knives, and all began work together, back of dandelion camp. they cut and chopped, and blazed a fine trail up past silver falls, where the doe had called to her mate the first night the girls were at camp, and so on to the top of the mountain. but it took the greater part of that morning to go as far as they did. "we'd better stop here, and go back to see how the trail seems," suggested mr. gilroy. "why not finish the job, now that we're on top?" asked alec. "because you boys can easily blaze from here on to your camp, and i am beginning to worry lest my dinner is burning," laughed mr. gilroy. "_your_ dinner! where's the indian cook?" asked alec. "he's cooking for fifteen! i have invited guests coming to dine at the bungalow this evening," returned mr. gilroy, meaningly. "oh, hurrah! isn't that fine? now we won't have to wash any supper-dishes!" exclaimed ruth, who still disliked doing dishes. the girls laughed, for they understood, but alec said, "why talk about a supper so distant! i'd rather plan about something to eat this minute." "so would we all. i guess we are nearly starved," said ned. "why not stop work and cook a few steaks?" suggested bob. "you boys have done all the talking about something to eat, but the girls said nothing. maybe they are not hungry!" ventured mr. gilroy. "hungry! we're too _weak_ to speak," sighed julie, rubbing the spot under her belt. "i can eat reindeer moss without its being cooked," said amy. "that settles it! cook we must, but what?" declared joan. "well, some of us will hunt up the mushrooms; some must gather bracken, some, the lichen; and gilly can hunt up the coffee beans, _alias_ roots and acorns," said alec. "what will _you_ be doing, meantime?" retorted mr. gilroy. "oh, i'll just remove that package of flour from your pocket and use this strip of bacon that i lifted from dandelion larder; and when the steaks come back, i'll have bread and fat ready over a fine fire." "bacon! when did you manage to steal that?" demanded the captain, amazed. the boys laughed, for alec's clever sleight-of-hand was an endless source of fun for them. "don't all hunt together. divide your strength and see that results come back with you," advised alec, rolling up his sleeves preparatory to starting his fire. "i can't fish like the other boys, so i'll go with the girls who are going for the beefsteaks," said dick. "all right. and where will you go, captain?" asked alec. "if gilly is sent for coffee, i shall hunt for tea. i do not care for his brand of coffee, but i _do_ know where to find the ingredients for a nice fragrant cup of tea." a laugh circled the group, and mr. gilroy said, "all right. now see to it that you don't ask for a drop of my coffee, hereafter." so they separated, some of the scouts going with mrs. vernon; bob and ned going for trout; hester and amy with mr. gilroy; and julie, joan and judith with dick, for mushrooms. after breaking a way through a dense jungle, the latter four scouts came out to a small clearing, but they had not seen any mushrooms. "what a fine baseball diamond this clearing would make!" said julie, as they looked around. "and there are some chestnut stumps--on the far side of the clearing!" exclaimed dick, crossing to the spot. but they found no mushrooms on the stumps, much to their chagrin. "there'll be other trees about here, where we're sure to find what we need," said dick, eagerly. so into the woods they plunged, winding about here and there, but not finding what they sought. none of them thought to blaze a trail as they wandered, consequently had no means of telling how far or in what direction they had gone before dick found a few small mushrooms. "only enough for a few of us. we need more than these," he remarked. "there's sure to be more where these are. let's keep on hunting," urged julie. so they kept on winding through the underbrush, but with no good results. finally dick found a plant that he believed to be a wild potato. "no, it is not. it hasn't the leaves or blossom of the indian potato," declared joan. "that may be, but when it grows old it dries up, you know," argued dick, beginning to dig at the root. the girls wandered about seeking for signs of more mushrooms, but could find none. then dick stood up and stretched his back-muscles. "my that was tough digging when you have no tool. and it wasn't a potato after all." "well, we've been gone a long time now. suppose we go back with what we have," said joan. "yes; even if we can't fill up on steaks to-day, let us eat more of the greens," added judith. so they turned to go back to camp. they climbed over the boulders similar to those over which they had already climbed, over similar fallen timber, and finally came to a stream. "i don't remember a brook when we came," remarked julie. "neither do i," added judith. "all places look alike when you're hunting anything. we may have crossed a bog or a brook and never have noticed it," said dick. "oh, i would have noticed it! i wouldn't be such a poor scout as not to know where i was going," returned julie, defensively. "now, dick, i'm sure there was no bog where we came through, but here's one right ahead of us," called joan, who was a few paces ahead. "no, there was no bog!" affirmed julie. "did you bring a compass?" now asked dick. "no, we never thought of being lost," murmured julie. "we're not lost, just strayed a bit," dick assured them. "'lost, strayed or stolen'--it's all the same if we have to miss our dinner," sighed joan. they managed to cross the boggy spot and then trailed to a place that dick claimed was the clearing. but it turned out to be a little fen made by a tiny spring. "what we should have done was to leave our marks as we came through--broken twigs, or trampled grass, or some such signs," said julie. "but we didn't, and now is no time to talk of it!" dick said impatiently, for he began to realize that they really were lost. "we can begin right now, however, and then not keep circling around without recognizing that we were there before!" snapped julie. so the girls began, then and there, to leave their signs as they followed after dick, who really knew not where he was leading. "had we better separate and go in different directions to hunt the camp?" asked dick finally. "mercy, no! better be lost together than get lost each one alone!" exclaimed joan. "sort of 'united we stand,' etc.," chuckled julie, in spite of her concern over not finding the way. they kept on forcing a way through the thick bush and resting now and then when they found a little clearing; but finally judith cried: "you'll have to go without me! i'm so weak from hunger i can't walk another step." "girls, suppose we stop and cook the steaks?" asked dick. "i say so, too," agreed julie. so they cleared a little space in the woods and with two rubbing-sticks soon produced fire. while two of the girls were doing this, dick washed the mushrooms in the little spring they had seen, and then sliced them with his knife. "we haven't any salt or bacon, but they'll taste good to starved wanderers," said dick, holding one over the fire to cook. each girl spiked one on a sharpened stick and held it out to broil. when the mushrooms were cooked they each ate until they felt better. then dick made a suggestion. "making this fire gave me an idea. why not make 'two smokes' for signals. if alec or any one else is looking for us, they can see them." "why didn't we think of that before! fine idea, dick," said joan. "what will 'two smokes' mean?" asked judith. "means 'we are lost,' come find us," said dick, busy with two heaps of firewood. "but you can't signal here under these trees, dick! we've got to find an open place where the smoke can rise up above the tree-tops, you know," advised julie. dick realized he had been caught napping by a girl, and he didn't like it very much but he could not show his annoyance, for julie was right. so he stood up and said: "i'll shout as loud as possible,--maybe they will hear us." so he shouted until he was hoarse. "in this dense forest, where the trees break every sound, the smoke signal is as good as any other. let us find a clearing," suggested julie. so they sought again, and soon found an open spot where the sky was visible without any obstructing tree-branches overhead. "why, this looks like the same clearing that i said would make a fine baseball diamond," declared julie. "so it does! and here is a broken twig where we went out," said joan. [illustration: "we are lost, come find us" ... page 98] "then we can't be many miles from home," laughed julie, her spirits rising again at the slightest encouragement. they made two smokes, however, and waited to watch the thin spirals rise above the trees, side by side, until they dispersed in the blue ether far overhead. but no sound came in answer to the signals. "maybe no one remembered the smoke idea," ventured judith. "and they'd have to be in the open, or climb a tree, to see it," asserted joan. "maybe they made signals, too, and are waiting for us to answer them. did you bring a rifle, dick?" said julie. "no, none of us did. but i can climb one of these trees and see if the others made any smokes." "choose that towering pine,--you ought to be able to see everything from that high top," advised julie. so dick climbed the tall pine, but after he had reached the top he saw nothing that might lead him to find the other campers. he shouted and whistled as shrilly as he could from the lofty perch, but no answering sound came to his ears, so he slid down again. "see anything at all, dick?" asked julie, the moment he came down. "a great sea of waving green tops, one wave back of the other, without a break," said he. "well, what now? shall we keep on hunting for the way back from this clearing, or just sit and let them find us?" asked joan, despondently. "you know they say a flock of ducks will always fly towards water. now, i saw some ducks flying in one direction when i sat up in that tree," remarked dick. "then you _did_ see something other than waves of green! why didn't you say so!" snapped julie, impatient with his poor scouting sense. "i thought they might be flying down towards little moose lake, where dandelion camp is, and we want to find our party," said dick, in justification. "anything to get out of this tangle. we'd just as lief wind up at dandelion camp as elsewhere," said joan. "all right then, follow me and we will go in the direction the birds flew," said dick, and he started down hill. down and down they tramped, chopping away smaller obstructions, until they were stopped by a wide fen that belted the section. advance was impossible, for every time one tried to step upon the ooze the foot would begin to sink in. "oh, how awful!" wailed judith, ready to cry. "how can we cross? if only we could find a fallen tree that happened to fall right across," sighed joan. "if only we had a drink of cold water i'd be thankful," declared julie, mopping her warm face. "that's the easiest part of the whole trouble," quickly said dick. "what do you mean? i wouldn't drink that slimy liquid for anything," said julie, frowning at the water. "now, just wait a second and you'll see what i can do with that water!" bragged dick, glad to redeem his reputation as a scout. with hands and a stick he quickly dug a hole to the depth of the marsh. then he squinted carefully at his well, then at the marsh, and back again. the girls watched him curiously. "guess i can go a few inches deeper,--the well has to be about six inches below the surface of the nearby pool, you know." he dug deeper and soon the well began filling with muddy water. "there, now i've got it!" said dick. "do you expect us to drink _that_!" scorned joan. "no, but wait." dick hurriedly baled out the well until it was almost emptied. then he allowed it to fill again. he baled it out a second time, and permitted it to fill again. the third time the water was almost clear, so he baled once more, and this time the water filtered in as clear as crystal. he stooped, drank from it, and said: "it's cold and pure!" then the girls drank, and found it most refreshing to their parched tongues and throats. "well, i never knew that before! we've learned two things by being lost with dick as guide," said julie frankly, and dick was delighted to hear such nice things about himself. "shall we try to circle this fen and get across, or go back again?" now asked dick. "it's hard to tell just what is best to do," murmured julie, puckering her brow in thought. suddenly two shots echoed down the mountainside, and after an interval of six seconds a third shot rang out. "there! alec's seen our smoke. his signal means 'where are you?' what shall we do?" cried dick, excitedly. "how can we answer them?" wondered the girls. "we'll have to back-trail to our clearing. that's where the shots sounded from," said dick. "dear me, if only we had waited there, they would have found us," complained judith. "but we didn't, so the next best thing to do is to get back as soon as we can, or they'll go away again," declared julie. they climbed, scrambled and tumbled up the rugged slope, keeping as far as they could to the rough trail they had made in coming down. when they thought they were near the clearing, they shouted with all their lung-power, and the welcome sound of answering calls soon greeted their ears. "oh, dick, give that cat-call again so they will know we're on our way," asked julie, anxiously. so dick gave his ear-splitting whistle by placing his fingers between his lips and blowing through the crevices. in less than ten seconds afterwards, two shots sounded in quick succession. "that means they've heard us and are waiting," cried dick. "come this way,--that echo is misleading." so the girls followed their young guide, and soon they broke through the fringe of great trees into the clearing where the rest of the party stood. alec gave them no time to explain. he was angry, and no mistaking it! "dick, can you tell me of any concession made to you that allows you to start two fires and then go away and leave them to work their will in these forests? if we had not found the fires you left, what might have resulted to this area of mountain land?" the girls and dick stood amazed, for they had forgotten all about the fires started as smoke signals. "when i broke through the underbrush into this clearing, the fires were blazing away like fury. they had encroached upon all the brush and handy leaves, and were eating a way to the timber-line. in half an hour more those same _little_ fires would be raging over the crest and destroying acres and acres of forest-trees, to say nothing of causing the work all the farmers and forest-rangers would have in trying to control it. just because a brainless scout _forgot_ his duty!" the scorn in alec's last words was cutting. dick began to apologize, but alec held up a hand. "no apology will answer for such a thing." then he turned to ned and said: "put dick down for penance at camp." "we ought to be punished as well as dick," said julie. "we never remembered the fires, either." "that's up to your captain,--i am merely doing my duty to _my_ troop," returned alec. "had anything to eat?" asked anne, who always felt sorry for any one who was hungry. "we ate the mushrooms we found," meekly replied joan. "then come back and eat what we left for you. we had fish and greens and biscuit," said hester. while they were munching the cold food, alec questioned them further. "why didn't you use what scout-sense you had? you know you could have found the way you came through those woods by looking for broken cobwebs across the bushes; by overturned stones with the damp under side showing; or by broken twigs and crushed blades of grass; and last, but hardest, you might have looked to see where leaves on trees and bushes were turned awry from your brushing against them. they do not right themselves immediately, you know." "we never heard of that before," admitted julie. "but dick has, even though he has forgotten it," said alec. "he had to learn it from the manual--what he would do in case of being lost in a forest." "but even if you knew nothing about that, you all knew it would simplify things for us if you were to blaze a way to guide us the way you went. you could easily have broken twigs and left them hanging, or piled little heaps of stones along the trail you took." "oh, for goodness sake! let up on us now, and wait until _you_ are lost, will you?" cried julie, placing her palms over her ears. "yes, it's so easy to tell the other feller what to do!" was all the retort dick made. "well, children, after all i have my inning!" declared mr. gilroy, chuckling. "what's that?" demanded every one. "i wanted you to come home and dine with me, but no! you must stop to cook in the woods. now you'll all be glad enough to hurry home and come to my party. and the dinner won't be slighted, either, from so much overeating up here!" chapter seven a little business at breakfast the day following the "lost scouts'" adventure, mrs. vernon remarked: "girls, yesterday's experience taught me an important thing, and that is, we need a set of rules for camp, so that every member of dandelion troop will have her proper share of work and duty to perform. "we have been keeping house in a haphazard way, with no responsibility attached to any one but julie and me. now, each day there must be some sort of regulations and punishments, if duties are neglected. the fire yesterday showed me that that system was good." "your idea is all right, verny, but what will the rules cover, and why have punishments?" asked julie. "because every day will probably bring new problems to us, so that set rules will not do, but each day must have added rules. if these rules are not obeyed, the scout who is negligent ought to be made to pay for her lack of obedience." "have you formulated any plan to begin with?" asked joan. "i thought that julie, as scout leader, could consult with me about that. although i think we ought to select a new orderly for each day, to see that the other scouts do what is required of them. if we begin with ruth, betty next day, and so on through the new membership, one each day, it brings us to the eighth day. of course julie, joan and i will not be orderlies. but the leader and corporal are over the orderly, and the captain over all of you." "what do you expect the orderly to do, verny?" asked joan. "she will read the rules for the day immediately after breakfast. every scout must take turns in being cook for camp one day. one must be wood-gatherer, one must see that food supplies are on hand, some must do the fishing, and so on through the entire housekeeping list. this trains every one alike, and no partiality will be shown one who is a fine cook or one who is an awful one!" the girls laughed, and the captain continued: "then, we don't expect one to do all the heavy work while another goes free, and by partitioning the work and control each one does her bit. in case of any gross negligence or breaking of rules, the officer of the day, the corporal and the leader will decide the punishment. should need arise, the whole troop may act as a jury to judge the matter." after the captain had finished speaking, the scouts sat down and compiled a set of camp rules, and ruth was asked to print them neatly on cardboard, because ruth was the artistic scout of the group. this business disposed of, julie said: "now what shall we do to-day, girls?" "but you haven't chosen an orderly for the day!" called judith. "oh, that's so! well, it lies between ruth and amy, as they are the more experienced scouts, to act the first day." "don't choose me. i've got my work cut out already, if you expect these rules nicely printed," declared ruth. "all right, then; it's amy. no partiality meant, girls," julie reminded them. "more like 'malice aforethought,'" giggled joan. "why? isn't it an honor to be the orderly?" demanded julie. "it may _seem_ like an honor, but when it is thoroughly investigated it turns out to be just plain old hard work!" "sure, julie! don't you see, all the other scouts go scot free for the day, while the orderly has to see that everything is done properly and then take the blame if nothing is right," laughed judith. "well, amy is able to carry the burden, and it is only for a day; then another one has to do it," said the captain. when the weighty business of selecting rules and deciding on a recreation for the day was over, mrs. vernon said, "which did you decide to do first, hike or swim?" "is mr. gilroy coming over to visit us to-day?" asked ruth. "he invited himself to supper to-night, but i doubt if we see him before that time. why?" answered the captain. "because if he was coming, he would hike with us, and we'd rather wait for him, and swim first. but it doesn't matter now." "we'll go for the hike first, and when we get back a fine, cool swim will feel good," suggested the orderly for the day. "verny, do you know of any places one might choose for an objective on a hike?" asked joan. "yes, mr. gilroy gave me a county map that shows every good trail within twenty miles of here. i'll get it and we'll look it over." so saying, the captain went to her tent for the paper. they all sat about mrs. vernon as she studied the map and read aloud of various trails that sounded interesting. at last she said: "here's one that seems inviting. it is named 'river bend,' and the trail winds along one of the streams that is an outlet of our lake. the description says the blazes are old but distinct, and no one can miss the may. shall we try that trail?" "where does it end?" questioned hester. "how long is it to anywhere?" asked anne. "it's seven miles, and forks when one reaches the hut of an indian canoe-builder. one fork runs to river bend village, and the other to a ravine that is said to be most picturesque." "we'll take that trail and decide which place we prefer to see, the village or the ravine, after we have hiked a while," said the orderly. "why not take a little flour and fat and catch some fish at noon, and sup while on the trail?" asked julie. "why not carry our dinner stuff and have a _regular_ meal while we are about it," said anne, who could not forego a dinner. the other scouts laughed, and mrs. vernon replied, "all right, it sounds inviting." so each scout carried a tin cup and platter, while the orderly saw to it that each one carried part of the dinner material. it fell to the captain's lot to carry the frying-pan, and to anne to carry the two-quart pail; the others had the flour, bacon, potatoes, etc. river bend trail led down to the end of the lake, where the stream started. it wound in and out, as it followed the uneven edges of little moose lake, running over mossy knolls, through rivulets, past waterfalls, and around impassable obstructions. thus the detouring added greatly to the distance the map had vouched for. the scouts had paper and pencils in case they wished to sketch anything interesting, but most of the paper was used in writing notes along the way, to be entered later in their records. they had gone about two miles when julie stopped short and held up a warning hand. "verny, listen! i heard a baby crying pitifully over in those high bushes." "mercy me! do you suppose there can be any gypsies here?" cried amy, the timid. "gypsies--nothing! but how could a baby get in that jungle?" retorted joan. then they distinctly heard the plaintive wail, as of a very young child in fear and distress. even mrs. vernon turned pale at the picture that presented itself to her thought. "girls, we've got to investigate this. it doesn't seem plausible that any one would bring a kidnapped child to this wilderness to lose it, but one can never tell!" declared julie. "it's a baby, that we know, so it's up to us to save it," added ruth. "the poor little dear!" wept betty, the tender-hearted. so the scouts began cutting a way through the almost impenetrable growth that divided the trail from the place whence came the cries. but as they went deeper in the jungle and got nearer the spot they were aiming for, the cries ceased. "dear, dear! i hope the little thing isn't past aid?" murmured the captain, anxiously. that urged the scouts to greater endeavor, and finally julie broke into a tiny clearing of about three feet across, and saw a little grey rabbit, which had been caught in an old mesh-wire trap set by some one long before and forgotten. "oh, you poor little creature!" cried julie, falling upon her knees to rescue the soft little thing. "is it alive, jule?" asked a chorus of anxious voices. "yes, but it is awfully afraid of me. i can't do anything for it." "maybe it will bite you--do be careful, jule!" called amy, deliciously thrilled at this fearful risk her friend was taking. "bite!" scorned julie. "it's starved, and too weak to even nibble." "wait, julie! let me throw my hat over it so it won't see what we are doing. then it won't feel so frightened. remember the 'boulder' we all saw, and when it moved we had a panic? well, our sense of sight was all that caused that fear. it is the same now--what the rabbit doesn't see it won't fear," explained mrs. vernon. while it was hidden under the broad-brimmed scout hat, the rabbit was not aware of the willing rescuers, and soon julie had the snare open, and mrs. vernon held the little creature in her hat. "shall we let it go now?" asked some of the girls. "it may have an injured leg where the trap caught it. i think we will carry it home and feed it well, and then if it is all right, it can run away. it is sure to be caught by some larger animal if it is unable to jump or run," said the captain. "this will make a dandy story to write down in our record book, verny, won't it?" asked ruth, eagerly. "yes, but it will also show how inexperienced we are in wildwood sounds,--to mistake the rabbit's cry for a child's wail." "but it _did_ sound exactly like a baby, there's no denying that!" exclaimed julie, frowning as she realized how they all were caught napping. "this reminds me of a story alec told us yesterday when we were waiting at the campfire for you lost scouts," said hester. "he and his troop went on a three days' hike in the country last year, and at night they found an old abandoned barn where they decided to sleep. the floor was in good condition, with a bit of hay piled up in one corner. but the loft overhead was in such bad condition that in many places the flooring was broken down completely. as there was no ladder or stairway to reach it, the boys concluded there was no use in examining it--no one would be up there! "so they stretched out on the hay and were soon sound asleep. but some time after that--no one knew how long they had been asleep--ned nudged alec and whispered: 'some one's in the loft!' "alec sat up and listened. sure enough, he could hear a man snoring as distinctly as he could hear dick breathe. "so he roused the other scouts, and they very quietly crept over to the side where they could get a grip on the joists to help themselves up. each scout had armed himself in some way. one had an old pitchfork with but one prong. another had a rake handle, one found the curved handle of a feed-grinder, and so on. "when they got to the shaky, decayed floor above, the snoring had stopped, so they knew the tramp was aware of their approach. they had to be awfully careful, too, so as not to fall through any of the broken places in the floor. but they each had their lanterns, and used them before they took a step. alec went first, and threw the light back and forth to avoid a sudden surprise from the tramp. "'there's something moving over on that pile of old burlap sacks!' whispered alec, the instant he saw a creeping movement there. "several of the boys then jumped and began beating up the sacks violently. but as suddenly, a pair of wings flapped up in their faces with a whirring sound, and a barn-owl began to screech madly as she rose and flew through a hole in the roof." hester laughed as she reached this part of the story, and all the scouts joined in. julie, who had not heard it before, said: "thank goodness, we girls are not the only ones to be taken in, then!" "alec said there are lots of wild creatures that make sounds exactly like human beings. and that owl snored just like a man." by this time they had regained the trail, and mrs. vernon tenderly adjusted the trembling rabbit. the hat so covered it that it could curl inside and not see a thing to cause it any fear, and thus it was carried along, to be cared for later on and then regain its freedom. the scouts found many interesting subjects for discussion along the trail, until they reached a wide shallow stream that came down the steep mountainside and emptied into the river. "it's not on the map, and it sure cuts off further progress," said the captain. "it's shallow--we can wade it," suggested julie. "let us go upstream and find a narrow ford, or some rocks that we can cross on," added mrs. vernon. they went up on the near side of the stream, but the banks became so rocky and impassable that they found it was useless to try to climb them. the scenery was wild and wonderful, so several good pictures were taken of the tumbling waters and rocks, and then they all retraced their steps. "now, it's wade or go back," declared joan. "stuff your stockings down in your boots and sling them about your necks by the strings," advised julie. this was done, and one after another the scouts waded through the stream, shouting, screaming if one slipped on a stone, laughing when one stepped in a hole and got wet to the waist, but having plenty of fun. "how did bunny stand the voyage?" called julie, the moment the captain stepped up on the bank. "bunny is curled up fast asleep, i guess," said she. "i wish it was noon. did any one hear the twelve o'clock whistle blow?" laughed joan. "why--are you hungry?" questioned anne. "aren't you?" retorted the orderly. "sure! i always am," laughed anne, frankly. "then why not say it is dinner-time, verny?" asked ruth. "you must be hungry, too!" declared judith. "i bet we all are, if verny will take the count," asserted hester. "well, we may as well stop here beside this stream and eat, as to go on and fare worse," admitted the captain. "some one's got to fish," said judith. "why not all fish and the sooner catch what is needed?" advised mrs. vernon. so this suggestion was followed out. four goodly sized fish rewarded the combined efforts of the fishermen that time, and then two scouts were detailed to clean them, while two went to build a fire. others were tolled off to attend to other work, and in half an hour a savory meal was ready. when all signs of cooking and eating were cleaned away, mrs. vernon took the bunny again and said they had best go on. "outdoor cooking and eating always makes me feel fine. i can walk a hundred miles now, and feel it no more than if it were a trifle," said julie, taking a deep breath. "all the same, we haven't gone five miles yet, according to verny's map, and there is still that walk home, so don't brag too much, julie," advised betty, seriously. "we haven't voted yet whether we want to go on to the village or to the ravine," now said ruth. "i'd like to visit the old indian canoe-maker, and have a chat with him," said joan. "his time is money, so he will charge us for chatting," returned julie, grinning. "i think joan's idea of visiting the indian a good one, girls; why not go there instead of to either of the other places?" the captain's suggestion was agreed upon, and the scouts turned in at the willow-arched walk that led to the indian's hut. a wide brook ran under the willows, and here they saw several canoes waiting to be used. the pathway that ran alongside the brook was littered with rubbish of all kinds,--the accumulation of years of slovenly housekeeping and lazy carpenter work out of doors. but it was evident that the indian was neither slovenly nor lazy when it pertained to making canoes. every canoe there was a splendid example of workmanship. when the scouts reached the door, the owner came out to see them. "morn'," said he, bowing seriously to his visitors. "are you mike, the indian?" asked mrs. vernon, after acknowledging the salutation. "me mike--wan'da canoe?" "no, we came to visit you. we are friends of mr. gilroy's," explained the captain. "huh! mees'er gilloy use mike's canoes." "so he told us. he says they are the finest anywhere," said julie, ingratiatingly. "bedder buy one," came from the indian. "verny, we might _rent_ another one--we only have two in the lake, you know, and we all prefer canoes to boats," whispered joan. "we can't afford any added expense," replied mrs. vernon. but mike understood the meaning of that whisper, so he wisely said: "come see fine canoes." he led the way to his shop on the banks of the little stream and displayed the various methods of his trade. the girls found it all very instructive and interesting. then he said: "mike take canoe to lake fer leddy--no charge." "what do you mean by that?" wondered julie. "mike give fine canoe--one week try; leddy not like, mike come take him home. no pay." "but we don't want any more canoes. we have two now," asserted mrs. vernon. mike shrugged his shoulders silently. "how much you rent canoe for?" asked julie, believing the indian could comprehend better if she used bad english. "mike no rent his canoe--sell him cheap." "we can't afford to buy one, but we might rent it if you make a low price," bargained julie. mike shook his head decidedly. "no rent--onny buy." "come, girls! we must start on, now that we've had our visit," said the captain, turning to go. the scouts reluctantly turned also, but mike saw their faces, and also knew that the lady was boss. so he seemed to reconsider. "mike got good fren' by mees'er gilloy. mebbe fren's of him be fren's of mike. how much you give for rent canoe?" every one turned suddenly at that hope held forth. "what do you ask?" countered mrs. vernon. "got money now to pay?" asked mike, cutely. julie exclaimed, "certainly!" but the captain saw through the shrewd bargainer, and said: "we'll have mr. gilroy do this business for us." now mike had no idea of losing these customers, nor of having to deal with a good business man like mr. gilroy, so he said guilelessly: "solly dese gals no paddle home in dis canoe." several of the scouts instantly wished to do so, but the captain said: "corporal, see that your troop does not fall for this enticing snare." the scouts laughed when they comprehended mike's intentions, and mrs. vernon courageously walked away. but mike followed. "canoe rent for four dollah week." "what! that's sixteen a month! i guess not!" cried julie. "fren's of mees'er gilloy get him fer tree dollah week." "no sir-ee!" retorted julie. "mike, i'll pay you two dollah week--or six dollah mont--or feefteen dollah season. what you take?" all the scouts laughed, but mike frowned. "me tak feefteen dollah now to augus' furst," said he. every one hushed to get every word of this bargaining. "we want him in augus', too. him worth feefteen dollah, no more, till september ten," declared julie, slapping her palms together to emphasize her words. mike sighed audibly. "all light. but mike no carry him an' lose day. gals mus' tak now an' pay down." then every one turned to every one else, and word ran round: "who's got any money?" "i've got three dollars--that's all," said mrs. vernon. "mike, we got tree dollahs only. come to camp and get rest," said julie. "you tak him along?" asked mike, anxiously. "are you 'fraid to trust us?" countered julie. "oh, no! mike no wan' trouble carry him so far, da's all." so the three dollars was paid down, balance to be paid when mike called for it; canoe to be taken along with no added work expected of mike. mike launched the canoe in the stream that passed his shop, and several of the girls squatted in the bottom. but it proved overweighted for such a shallow stream, and two had to get out again. julie and joan then paddled it safely to the deeper river, where amy and judith, being lightest of the scouts, got in and sat in the bottom. mrs. vernon and the rest of the troop stood watching eagerly while the two girls paddled silently and swiftly up the river to the place where the tumbling stream joined river bend. here they halted to allow their other friends to catch up with them. julie and joan were complimented upon their prowess, and when ruth and betty exchanged places with amy and judith, the canoe went on its way up the river, while the other scouts continued hiking back towards camp. "it wouldn't take us long to reach home if we were all in canoes," said anne. "it would if _you_ were in one--you are so heavy!" laughed hester. a titter sounded from the girls, but mrs. vernon held up a hand for silence. "was that thunder i heard from over the mountain?" "no, that was only julie's paddle echoing down the stream," giggled judith. but a louder rumble told the captain she was right in her surmise. "dear me! i hope we won't be caught in another thunder-storm," said she, holding the bunny closer to her side. but in answer to her fear, a sudden flash and a nearer peal of thunder warned them all to seek shelter if possible. "if it rains we're bound to be soaked!" sighed anne. "you big silly! did any of us think water was dry?" asked hester, scornfully. "i do wish those girls hadn't left us in the canoe! if it rains they may upset," worried the captain. "they didn't leave _us_ in the canoe, captain. and we are just as likely to meet with mishap as they," laughed judith, to cheer every one up. "well, it's going to break mighty quick! see that inky cloud scudding across there?" exclaimed amy, pointing at the sky. "verny, why not make a quick shelter to crawl under?" suggested anne. "think you can do it?" answered the captain. "hester's got the rubber cover that mike gave us for the canoe when it is not in use, and we might stretch that between four trees," added anne. "that's so. let's try it!" agreed hester, eagerly. quickly, then, the scouts chopped down the scrub bush where four young trees were found for the corners, and then, while anne and hester secured the four corners of the cover, the other girls ditched around the spot so the rain would run off and not soak their camping place. anne and hester completed their work before the others, and then hastily bunched a mass of chopped-down bushes all around the temporary tent to break the driving rain when it came. the spot thus enclosed was not large, but by huddling together they managed to keep dry. "how nice it is to sit in a dry place and watch everything else gradually soak with the rain," ventured amy, comfortably. "no one would have dreamed that a shower would come up to-day, the weather was so perfect when we left camp," said judith. "do any of you girls understand weather-lore?" asked mrs. vernon. no one did, so the captain continued: "if you study wind and cloud, wildwood creatures and other animals, you will find much to interest you in the weather. "when rain is coming you will see the sheep turn their tails to windward, but if the day is to be fine the sheep will graze with faces to the wind. "cows always gather and huddle together at a sheltered end of the pasture lot when a storm is approaching. cattle are restless and uneasy before a storm breaks. and cows will fling up their heels, or sheep will gambol as if to make the most of the sunshine just before a prolonged spell of bad weather. pigs, too, will grunt loudly and cavort about uneasily in their pens, carrying bits of straw from their bedding in their mouths, before a heavy rainstorm. "with wild creatures you will find partridges sitting in the fields when thunder is in the air. but the moment the storm blows over, the birds are alive with energy again. rabbits and other night-feeders can be found out hunting on a sunny day, but that means there will be a wet night. "most of our birds in field and forest know when a storm is brewing, and they can be seen seeking for extra food to carry home, or, perhaps, devouring it quickly, storing it up against the time everything is soaked with the rain. "bees seldom fly far from the hive when rain is threatening; flies are annoying and sting sharply before rain, and many times they cling tenaciously to wall or furniture,--that is to keep flat to a surface, so their bodies will not become damp. "a large ring can be found to encircle the moon the night preceding a rainstorm. should the storm be two or three days off, the ring is wider and you will find fainter shadows inside the main circle,--one for each day. "mountain moss is found to be soft and limp, and smoke generally beats downward when the east wind presages rain. callouses on the feet will ache painfully; spiders will be seen strengthening their webs against moisture-weight; morning-glories will close up tightly; mushrooms are found to be numerous; and there are a dozen other weather-signs that i forget now." the scouts had listened with interest, for this was new to them, although hester added: "i've heard the saying, 'mackerel sky, twelve hours dry.'" "yes, and another one goes, 'rain before seven, fine before eleven,'" said judith. "you will find in summer that heavy dews in the night mean fine weather the following day," added mrs. vernon. "also any thunder-storm that comes with the wind soon passes away, but let it come against the wind, and it is apt to last." "this one came with the wind and is blowing away already. see!" exclaimed amy, eagerly. "yes, girls, now we can do as the arabs--fold our tent and steal away," said mrs. vernon, rising carefully so as not to jar the bunny which had remained very quiet all this time. "i wonder what the girls in the canoe did while the rain was falling," said judith. "leave it to julie to find a way. i'll say she landed them all on the bank and then turned the canoe upside down over their heads," laughed hester. when the canoeists arrived at camp, sometime after the hikers got there, they exchanged experiences. hester's surmise turned out to be exactly right, and the girls in the canoe were as dry as those who sat under the rubber cover. chapter eight jake's interview with a skunk "gilly, do you know of any vegetable dye we can find in the woods to dye some burlap for decorations?" asked julie one day. "yes, you can take the berries and leaves of red or staghorn sumac and boil them together to make a black dye, or ink. if you need ink in a hurry, you can take the _genus coprinus_, commonly known as the ink mushroom, and pluck it at the end of its first day. the spores are black, and the gills turn into a black fluid at the last. this produces a splendid writing ink, or will dye grass, quills, and other wildwood stuffs." "speaking of quills, gilly--why can't we have chickens as the grey fox boys have?" asked joan. "what would you do if they got the gapes, and no one would feed them chopped onions?" laughed mr. gilroy. "i'm not looking for trouble, but for pets to have about camp," retorted joan. "i'd hardly call a chicken a pet!" laughed julie. "even so, julie, it would cluck and _appear_ to be friendly, even it wasn't." "what you scouts need is a good frisky dog for a pet. you can have chickens, if you like, but they are a nuisance. they stray away to lay their eggs, and if they were kept cooped you'd have to spend valuable time making a suitable inclosure. but a dog will go hiking with you, guard you at night from elephants and other prowling animals of the jungle, and be a fine old pal to boot," said mr. gilroy. "oh, why didn't we think to bring jippy," exclaimed amy. jip was a little poodle of about fifteen years and had had the rickets for the past five years, so he had to be carried about. the moment the scouts saw that amy was in earnest they fairly roared, and judith finally said: "oh, amy's catching the _ingénue_ habit from betty! what shall we do with two of them on hand?" "had we but known of this dire need of a dog, we would have brought towser--had he lived. he was only twenty-two this march, and had full use of his bark even though he had no teeth or eyesight. but, alas! alas! towser is no more!" sighed julie, rolling her eyes. as towser had been one of the "old settlers" in elmertown, he was known to every man, woman and child there. many a time, because he was stone-deaf and had not heard the blast from the horn, some one would have to rush out to rescue him from a passing automobile. so julie's lament caused a new burst of merriment. "stop all fooling now, scouts, and listen to me," said mr. gilroy. "i mean a regular dog--an irish terrier, or a bulldog, to chum with and be of some good to you. how'd you like it?" "there ain't no sech critter in camp," retorted julie. "but i know where to get one! his name is jake, and he is very fond of the ladies, i'm told." "his name sounds dreadfully rakish, gilly," teased joan. "if jacob is as faithful as his name would imply, we'd like to meet him," added mrs. vernon, smiling. "you shall. he lives at the farm where my overseer is, and the next time mr. benson is due here, i'll see that jake accompanies him. if both sides are mutually attracted, the dog shall stay to give you scouts something to do," declared mr. gilroy. "what kind of a dog is he, gilly?" asked betty, eagerly. "he is a prize airedale. but he is so clever that he tries to run everything on the farm, consequently mr. benson always has to separate jake from the other dogs in the neighborhood." for the next two days the scouts were kept busy constructing a fine kennel for jake to live in when he joined their camp. everything imaginable was done to add to the comfort and luxury of this "dog's life"; and the third day they started for the bungalow to be introduced to jake, who was expected to arrive that morning. it was a warm, drowsy day, and the wildwood creatures seemed to be keeping quiet. even the bees hummed less noisily over the flowers they were robbing of nectar. the girls strolled slowly along the pathway, stopping now and then to watch a bird or examine a flower. they were just passing the bend where the tumbling brook could be plainly seen from the trail when, suddenly, julie held up a warning hand for quiet. every one stopped short and waited. she pointed silently across the bushes in the direction of a long fallen tree that lay on the bank of the stream. the scouts looked, but saw nothing to cause this interest. then she whispered warily, "i saw a big creature creeping along that log!" "really!" "what did it look like? which way did it go?" were questions hoarsely whispered. "it crawled on that log and suddenly disappeared. maybe it jumped into the water when it saw us. i am thinking it was a beaver," returned julie. "oh, how wonderful! if we could only see it at work," cried some of the scouts. "how big was it, julie?" now asked mrs. vernon. "it went so fast that i couldn't see well, but i should say it was about as big as a very large cat,--maybe larger if we were closer," said julie. "dear me, if we didn't have to go for jake we might sit and wait for it to appear again. if it is a beaver, i'd love to watch it build a dam," sighed ruth. "i hope jake won't want to chase it, on our way back," betty worried, as the thought struck her. "we'll hold jake on a leash. and if he doesn't make a fuss we might creep over and watch for the animal's appearance again," added julie. "then the sooner we go and get jake, the sooner we'll be back here," was the sensible remark of joan. the scouts now hurried along the trail and soon reached the bungalow, where a splendid airedale was sleeping in the sunshine. he was stretched out full length right in the way where one would have to pass to go up the steps to the verandah. "oh, are you jake?" called julie quickly, when she saw the dog. "isn't he a beaut?" cried joan, admiring the shapely form as it jumped up to growl at the visitors. "why, jake, don't begin our relations with a growl! don't you know we have to keep the peace all summer?" laughed julie, snapping her fingers to the dog. mr. gilroy heard voices and came out on the verandah. the moment he greeted the scouts familiarly, jake wagged his stump of a tail and ran up to show his friendship for his master's friends. the girls fussed over the dog immediately, and mr. gilroy smiled. "well, what do you think of him, scouts? is he homely enough to win your pity? you know it is said, 'pity is akin to love.'" "he's a regular peach, gilly!" exclaimed joan. "just what we need at camp," added judith. and in the next ten minutes the dog had won high favor with his future companions. then the scouts told about the animal they believed to be a beaver, so they wanted to hurry back and watch. "but hold to the leash if you go near the log. jake is a born hunter," advised mr. benson. "oh, he is very obedient if you speak sternly to him," added mr. gilroy. "if he tugs or wants to run, just command in severe tones, 'to heel, jake,' and he will obey like a lamb." jake wagged his tail as he watched mr. gilroy, and when the order was given, 'to heel, jake,' he crept behind his master. "oh, the darling! doesn't he mind splendidly!" cried several of the scouts. "i'll come along pretty soon. wait for me near the log where you saw the beaver. i'll finish up with benson and then join you there," said mr. gilroy, as the scouts started down the trail again, leading jake by the leash. every one was delighted with the meek and obedient dog, and the fussing was accepted by him as his due, but he paid no attention to the numerous pats and endearing names given him as they walked along. then they reached the open space where the log bounded the edge of the running water. it was about a hundred yards from the trail and distinctly visible because the brook was lower than the footpath where the scouts stood. "there it is! i saw it!" exclaimed joan, excitedly. at the same moment jake also saw something doubtful moving swiftly out of sight back of the log. the girls ran over to the bushes to see the better, and julie's hold on the leash relaxed unconsciously. in that same second, jake took mean advantage of her inattention to him and darted away. "oh, oh! come back here, jake!" yelled julie instantly. but the dog stood upon a rock, his ears erect, his nose sniffing as he pointed it in the direction of the log. his tail trembled spasmodically and the hair along his spine stood up stiffly. "i say, to heel, jake. come back, to heel!" shouted every scout in the group. but jake was deaf to their calls. then the captain called to him, but he bounded from the rock and managed to force his way through the bushes, the leash catching here and there on stumps, on sharp rocks, or on bushes. "what shall we do? now he'll kill the little beaver!" wailed betty, wringing her hands. "some one run back and get gilly! _he'll_ make him mind," ordered julie. "who's orderly for the day? i want to wait and watch what he does," said joan. "oh, pshaw! i'm orderly, and i s'pose i've got to go," declared judith, impatiently. "i'll go for you, judy, 'cause i can't bear to wait here and see jake kill anything," said betty, deeply distressed. "all right, judy,--let betty go instead, if she likes," agreed the corporal. so betty ran swiftly away while the other scouts resumed their coaxings to draw jake away from the log. julie now started to break away through the bush to get the dog, and several of the girls followed closely at her heels. when they reached the place where they had seen something move, they also saw tracks in the soft soil. "it really is a wild animal," said julie, excited at sight of the footprints. "but what? do you know?" asked judith. "no, but it must be a beaver--or a fox. i don't know which," confessed julie. but they couldn't get at jake. he was racing excitedly up and down on the log, his nose close to the strangely odorous scent, and all the commands and persuasions from the scouts failed to make the least impression on him. his nervous short yelps showed how keen he was to have a face-to-face bout with the animal. julie tried to step on the leash, but he dragged her foot so that she suddenly sat down violently on the ground. then he nosed under the grass that hung over the brook, and finally swam over to the other side. there he stood and watched nervously, but the girls could not get him back again. "talk about his minding! why, he's the cussedest dog i ever saw!" complained julie, as she got up and shook her clothes free of the briars. "there's no use standing in this baking sun to look at jake standing on the other bank!" exclaimed joan, angrily eying the disobedient dog. "we'll go back to the shady trail and watch for gilly," said julie, starting back to join the captain. but they kept calling to jake as they retraced their steps. when they got back to the slight elevation where mrs. vernon and amy had waited, anxiously watching results, they saw jake make a leap and swim quickly back across the brook to the log. "he must have seen or heard something that time," whispered hester. "yes, 'cause he's stretched out on that log nervously wagging his tail with his eyes glued on something," admitted amy. then they caught their breath. the scouts saw a movement in the green leaves at the end of the log and then--jake was creeping stealthily across that log, as if he also saw what he wanted to pounce upon. "oh, oh! jake's got it! he's jumped upon it!" screamed julie, frantically. "why, it's a great big tomcat! they're fighting!" cried hester, too excited to stand still, but jumping up and down. "a cat! gilly hasn't a cat that color!" declared joan. "girls!" fairly hissed julie. "i bet it's a wildcat--and it will kill jake as sure as anything!" "no, no! oh, girls, i just saw it, too! it's a skunk! run, run--for your lives!" cried mrs. vernon, turning to run up the trail towards the bungalow. but several of the scouts would not desert the dog. he had carried the skunk off its feet with his unexpected leap upon it, and the two rolled and fought madly for supremacy. the leash, instead of tripping jake, got tangled in the skunk's legs, and both animals rolled back and forth. the enraged beast fired the deadly fluid to blind her antagonist, but it drenched the fallen tree only. then jake caught a grip on her throat and shook her head; still she was game and kept on struggling. again they rolled over together, the skunk trying to get to the brink of the water, where she would manage to roll them both in. but jake understood that motive, too, and braced his feet against the stones in their way. a second volley of the ill-smelling spray from the skunk struck at random, and then jake gave her neck another sudden shake. this time it was effective, and the head suddenly hung limp. jake had broken her neck, and was the victor! he now took great pains to drag the trophy through the brush to present to his friends in the roadway. the leash caught several times and almost snapped his own neck, and the skunk was heavy, but he managed to drag it along. when julie saw his intent she screamed and warned the girls to flee! and in running up the trail they met mr. gilroy, who had been summoned by half-crazed betty's crying, "jake and the beaver are killing each other!" mr. gilroy did not stop to hear what julie tried to gasp, but he ran down and saw jake bringing the skunk out into the pathway. "to heel! to heel, jake!" shouted mr. gilroy, holding his nose when the dog tried to jump upon him in the ecstasy of having achieved such a great deed. "what shall we do with him? he can't sleep at dandelion camp to-night," wailed the girls, as they, too, held their noses. "i'll have to take him back to the barn and have hiram turn the hose on him for twenty-four hours." "isn't there a reward for skunks in the country?" now asked the captain. "not only a reward, but the pelts are valuable since they became so fashionable," remarked mr. gilroy, complacently. "well, jake's earned his keep to-day, then," declared judith. "but it will cost more than the skunk brings to pay for the nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of _fleur-de-lis_ toilet water gilly will have to use to change jake's scent!" laughed julie. chapter nine lessons in tracking "well, scouts! that shows us how little we know about wild animal's tracks," remarked mrs. vernon, after jake had been made to go back to the bungalow, and the troop went on to camp. "i could have sworn that skunk's footprints were a coon's or a fox's,--or something big!" exclaimed julie, trying to justify her mistake. "to me, the tracks in the soil looked like a lynx's, or something," added joan, hoping to cover the ignominy of having unearthed a skunk without knowing the animal. "isn't there some sort of book that will teach us how to recognize tracks, girls?" asked hester. "is there, verny? maybe we can get one at the bungalow," added julie. "i don't know of any at this moment, but mr. gilroy surely will know," replied the captain. so they all went to the bungalow the next morning to inquire after jake's scent, and also to borrow any books on the subject they had discussed. "yes, i have several books, and let me tell you they are precious, too. there are but few on this subject, and the one i consider the best was compiled by ernest seton-thompson under great difficulties. he had to gather all information from plaster casts made in the tracks themselves, or from sketches, or from camera pictures taken on the spot. "as every different animal leaves a different track, there are many illustrations necessary in such a work, and that makes the book most desirable and also very expensive. but it is great fun to study the pictures and then try to recognize the tracks in the woods." "we haven't found any about camp," said judith, regretfully. "there must be all sorts of tracks there, but you don't know how to find them. now, if you want to study this book and then practice early some morning, i'll come down and help find the tracks," mr. gilroy said. "oh, great! will you come to-morrow morning?" asked the girls. "hadn't we better study the book first, scouts, and let gilly know when we are ready to go tracking?" suggested the captain. so for a time every one was busy reading the book and trying to discover a track in the woods near camp. but julie laughed as she said, "it isn't likely that a wild animal will prowl close to our camp at night. we'll have to hunt one some distance away." mr. gilroy overheard the remark as he came down the trail. "sometimes the animals will come quite close to camp just to find out what it is that is intruding on their forest domain." "well, then, i wish they'd hurry and come here!" declared judith. "when you are ready to hunt tracks, i'll arrange some baits around your camp grounds; and the next morning i'll vow you'll see that you've had callers while you slept. so quiet are they that you won't hear them, either," said mr. gilroy. "we are ready to hunt now, gilly. we know everything in the book and are crazy to test it," said joan, eagerly. "then i'll tell you what we might do. i was going over to grey fox camp, but if you girls will deliver a message for me, i will go home and attend to the bait i spoke of. hiram and i will do the rest." "all right--what do you want us to say to the boys?" agreed the scouts. "now, listen! tell them that i want them to start out at dawn in the morning and hunt up all the tracks they can trace about their camp. then to-morrow afternoon they are to come over here with their reports and have a match with you girls. the side showing the best results and most interesting experience shall have a prize. how does it strike you?" mr. gilroy glanced at the pleased faces as he concluded. "fine! do they know much about tracks?" returned julie. "oh, yes, but then you must understand that they have been scouting for more than four years. tell them that this is your first summer in a genuine forest camp, and they need not expect you to accomplish wonders. then you girls must turn in and do your best!" laughed mr. gilroy. the scouts were most enthusiastic, and gaily agreed to follow mr. gilroy's suggestions. when they were ready to hike over the crest, the captain said, "we may as well invite the boys to supper to-morrow and make a party of it." "that will be splendid. and i'll contribute my quota to the dinner instead of eating it at home," added mr. gilroy. "we may have quail or partridge for dinner if we track the birds carefully," suggested joan, giggling. "venison steaks are better," hinted mrs. vernon. "what's the matter with bear steaks, while we're about it? they're said to be gamier in flavor," laughed julie. "we'll have all three, and serve a ten-course dinner to the boys," added ruth. with light banter the scouts left mr. gilroy where the trails diverged,--they to cross the crest and invite the boys over for supper the next day, and mr. gilroy to go home to find the "bait." dandelion camp was abandoned for a long time that day, and it was too late in the afternoon when the scouts returned, to ask what had been done in the woods during their absence; but a great deal had taken place there, as hiram and his master could have told had they been so inclined. even jake could have testified to mysterious actions, and many queer maneuvers of familiar animals from the barnyard, but the girls never asked _him_. their faith in mr. gilroy was sublime! while the dandelioners sat eating their camp supper, they discussed the boys they had visited that day. "i declare! i wonder if we ever _will_ know as much about the woods as those grey fox boys do," sighed hester, taking a bite of baked potato. "sure! we know almost as much as they do already," bragged joan. "they gave us a lovely luncheon--and all with nothing to do it with," added judith. "and it's up to us, girls, to give them a dinner that will make their eyes pop out to-morrow!" declared ruth. "let's plan it now, and do as much towards it as possible, then we can give that much extra time to tracking," suggested julie. "and, scouts! i want you to display every bit of fine work you have done since we've been in camp, and all the work we did at camp last summer, as well, and brought with us this year," advised the captain. "yes, we don't want those boys to think we don't know a thing! the stuff we've made is so different from what they have, too," admitted the leader. so the evening was employed in arranging many exhibits to impress the visitors the following afternoon. then the scouts rolled into bed. "verny, you'd better set the alarm clock for four in the morning," called julie, the last thing. "yes, we want to be up and ready to start when gilly comes for us," added joan, the corporal. "all right. go to sleep now, or you'll all over-sleep," laughed the captain from her tent. but there was no need of an alarm clock. the girls were up half an hour before it rang, and were impatiently waiting for the arrival of their instructor in tracking. some of the scouts had gone into the bushes to begin a search, but had found nothing. it took but a few moments after mr. gilroy arrived to outline his plans for the work and fun. "we will scatter in couples to hunt for any sort of track whatever. the first couple that discovers any genuine track must call out, then we all will run and study it for what it is, or where it leads to. now, pair off, scouts, but the captain and i will follow at a distance and hurry to the first pair who find a track." "there are nine of us--how about the odd one?" asked julie. "let the three youngest go together," returned the captain. so amy, betty and judith hunted in trio. it was a "still hunt" for a time, since every one was too intent on finding a track to speak. most of the scouts took to the dense bushes and woods, but the leader sought in a clearing and was the first to summon the others. "oh, come, every one! we've found a great big track!" called julie, as she and her companion knelt to inspect the prints. every one raced wildly to the clearing, and, sure enough, there were hoof prints distinctly marked in the soil. the trail led across the clearing into the dense forest. "aren't they big?" excitedly asked joan. "they're made by a deer!" said julie, boastfully. "are they, gilly?" asked the girls as the judge came up. he pretended to study them carefully, and then said: "i shall have to wait and compare them with those in the book." "maybe it is a reindeer?" suggested betty, eagerly. "mercy no! we don't have reindeers south of the pole!" declared her sister. "look here, girls! this creature only had two legs--it left only two hoofmarks, one for each side," cried judith now. "then i know what it was! it was that familiar animal that carries a pitchfork, smells of sulphur and is known to have hoofs," retorted julie, making them all laugh merrily. "i'm sure i have no desire to trail _him_!" said the captain, holding up both hands as if to ward off such a danger. "let him go to his lair in peace!" "all joking aside, girls, this is a queer track--only two feet instead of four. let's follow and see where it goes," suggested mr. gilroy. so they trailed the plainly visible tracks, and after a distance, julie said: "whatever it is, it couldn't have traveled so far as this if it was a cripple. it just _couldn't_ walk on two hind legs all this way." mr. gilroy had to laugh loudly at this, but he said, "no, but don't give up hope! you may stumble right over the prostrate buck." but the trail now crossed itself several times, and the scouts wondered which way the two-legged creature finally went, for all tracks were obliterated after that criss-cross place in a tiny clearing. the corporal was determined to pick it up again somewhere, so she finally came out to the trail that ran from the camp to the bungalow. here she wandered up and down for a short distance, and then spied the tracks again. "oh, i've got him again. he goes right up this trail," so she followed. the others followed at a distance, and then she shouted, "he prowled around gilly's house, too, last night, for i see the hoofmarks here." julie would have gone after the tracks to the right "lair," but hiram came forward from the barnyard to meet her. he had heard her call to the others, and offered a solution to the problem. "i seen them tracks this mornin', too, miss julie, and i'm sure that animal come to the barnyard las' night to feed offen the hay and corn he could find around there." "oh, really! would one do that?" asked julie, amazed. "sure he would, if he was a deer. an' them tracks ain't no grizzly, er fox, er other critter, you know." "no; of course, it is a deer, as one can see by the tracks. but i'm sorry we have to end in such an ordinary place as the barnyard," sighed julie. "i see'd some queer tracks down by that log where jake caught the skunk," now hinted hiram. that was enough! in another moment every scout was bounding down the trail in order to reach the spot first and win honor by knowing the track correctly. hester found these tracks first, and shouted to her friends, "this has small cloven feet, but there are only two legs, also! now and then you can see where one track looks as if a hind foot had broken in on another one!" "oh, girls! that explains that other two-footed animal!" now exclaimed julie, quickly. "what, what?" demanded every one eagerly. "most likely the deer stepped daintily with its hind feet directly in the same track made by its forefeet. it said something about that in the book, you know." "do you think that is it, gilly?" now asked several anxious voices. "exactly! i was hoping you'd find that out," agreed he. "well, does this creature show any unusual tendencies, girls, by which you can recognize it?" laughed mrs. vernon. "not a thing! it starts from the trail and goes right through the brush where we broke a way that day the skunk was killed, and it stopped to question nothing. it must have been in a hurry to get a drink," explained joan. the trail plainly led to the brook, and ended there. no sign of anything going back again could be found, although the girls looked carefully over the entire place. then julie thought she saw something in the soft soil upon the opposite bank. to make sure, she waded through the shallow but swiftly running water, and there, on the steep bank, she saw the tracks again. "ha! i found 'em! plain as day. come and follow!" called she. and off she started. not more than a dozen yards along the top of the bank she found the tracks go down again; and through the brook she went, up the other side, and back to the brush-clearing on a new trail, following the cloven-footed tracks. out on the hard trail they were lost. "now, that makes two i've trailed and lost. it's a shame!" cried julie, stamping her foot. "'better to have trailed and lost than never to have found at all,'" misquoted mrs. vernon, laughingly. "if the first one was a deer, this second one must have been a little fawn," said judith. "is there any other animal that wears hoofs?" asked ruth, of no one in particular. now, mr. gilroy must have dreaded the reply, for he quickly changed the subject. "how many of you brought the plaster and bottle of water?" every one had. "well, why not make a little cast of both the tracks you do not recognize and then compare them with those in the book when we go back to camp?" this sounded fine, so the scouts were soon busy making casts of the tracks. when hard, they were handed to the captain and mr. gilroy to carry carefully until they all reached camp. quite near the camp ground hester made a discovery. "oh, come and see! here is something with toes. as big as a wildcat, or maybe a little bear!" yes, there were toes in this animal's tracks--as plain as could be. so the scouts guessed every animal known, excepting the coyote and water-loving creatures. after many futile suggestions, they made a plaster cast of these tracks also. "i'm going to carry this load back to camp, girls, and be ready for the next one you give me," announced mr. gilroy, starting to go down the trail. the next two tracks, one that of a large-toed animal and the other of one whose tracks showed how the hair grew down low on the hind legs,--for the hair showed in several of the imprints made of plaster,--strangely ended near the bungalow, and on the other side of the hard trail again, they ran as far as the barnyard. "i never saw the beat of it! any one would think gilly hung the bait on the barn door to entice the animals here," said julie, who was angry at winding up at such a place three times running. mr. gilroy had to laugh in spite of himself. "say, where did you put that bait, anyway, gilly?" demanded the scout leader, watching the man skeptically. "where we knew it would attract the best results." "gilly, i verily believe you are hoaxing us!" cried julie. mrs. vernon smiled at her bright scout, but mr. gilroy shook his head protestingly. "why should i hoax any one? i was laughing at the way you brave scouts dodged when joan said the animal they lost might be crouching on a bough of the trees." "no, that wasn't what made you laugh." then julie went over and held a secret conference with her corporal and ruth, and they, grinning, urged her to do as she suggested. so julie took a sample of the different casts made in the tracks, and left the others engaged in finding new and intricate tracks. mr. gilroy and the captain were not taken into the three scouts' confidence, but they must have suspected where julie proposed going, for soon after she had gone mrs. vernon said: "girls, if we expect to entertain the grey fox boys at dinner this afternoon, we'd better go back now and begin work." "without a clue to any wild animal we tracked?" sighed judith. "oh, yes, judy--we've got some fine clues, and by the time we're at camp and have our books out, julie will be back with proofs! come on," was joan's assurance to the girls. on the way, the scouts discussed the last track they had discovered. "i was sure it was a crow's," asserted amy. "no, it was more like a chicken-hawk's," hester added. "there wouldn't be any chicken-hawk around here in these woods," said joan. "maybe it was the american eagle," laughed mr. gilroy. "yes, it got tired of sitting on the flagpole where the colors have hung for four days without being taken in at night, as they should be," remarked the captain. "dear me, verny, there is so much to remember in camp. we always remember the flag after we are in bed at night," complained ruth. "the orderly will have to appoint a flagman for each day after this," said mrs. vernon. they finally reached camp, and had a light luncheon ready before julie returned. she came down the trail sprightly, with one hand holding something behind her, and singing as she came. "where have you been, julie?" asked several of the scouts. "did you find out what you went for?" asked others. "yep! i learned that we have among us the queerest sort of creature, girls. it really walks on two legs, holds its head upright, and belongs to the fox class. i tracked it right to our midst," laughed julie. the scouts seemed perplexed, and julie, too full of her discoveries to tease very long, said, "his name is 'foxy grandpa,' and you all know him well!" every eye glanced at mr. gilroy, and he laughingly replied, "why do you all seem to think i am that animal?" "because you are, gilly!" retorted julie. "and i'll prove it now, to every one's satisfaction." "first, then: did hiram miss any calves or pigs or other domestic animals from his barnyard yesterday?" mr. gilroy threw up both hands in submission when he saw the knowing look in the leader's eyes. "because here are the molds we made of the tracks found in the forest, girls. and here are molds i made of the heifer, a pig, the great dane, and a chicken, at the bungalow. can you find any difference?" both the captain and mr. gilroy laughed, but the scouts gasped in unbelief, "would gilly do such a thing?" not one bit of difference was found when comparing the molds of each animal, and then mr. gilroy had to tell how he did it. of course, the scouts laughed mirthlessly, for they were thinking of how those grey fox boys would jeer at their woodcraft. but julie now brought out in front, the hand which had held something behind her. "here is the hawk--or american eaglet. i brought it with me for dinner to-night. to gilly it will be crow-pie, but to us it will be spring chicken." and the leader tossed a dead chicken upon the grass. then she added: "that's what happens to all 'critters' that trespass on our land. hiram tells me that when a farmer catches an animal on his land, he generally holds it for ransom, or for food for himself, so we have not fared so badly, scouts, in this day's work! "behold the other trophies coming! i took them because they broke the law and trespassed on our estates last night." julie waved a hand dramatically towards the trail, and every one turned to look. hiram was slowly advancing toward camp, leading with one hand a fractious pig, and with the other hand dragging an unwilling half-grown heifer on a chain. jake was jumping about and barking excitedly as they came over and stood like prisoners at the bar. "mr. foxy grandpa," began julie, as severely as she could, "because of your crime of misleading trusting scouts into a snare, i pronounce this judgment upon you, and therefore levy upon your property to satisfy the judgment. "this wild deer and its little fawn shall henceforth be the property of the injured ones--insulted past all forgiveness by your fraud. and the innocent victims used to perpetrate your schemes, being as free from guile as the scouts themselves, shall dwell henceforth together in peace and tranquillity!" every one laughed heartily at the dénouement for it was so like julie; but mrs. vernon added, "julie you speak exactly like the millennial times, when the lion and the lamb shall dwell in love and peace together." "the lion will dwell with the lamb, all right, but the lamb will be the _piece_ inside the lion," added mr. gilroy; "just as this pig will live in camp! such a life as it will lead you!" "no good talking 'sour grapes', now, gilly," advised julie, wisely. "the calf and the pig remain, no matter what sort of life they lead us." "what can you expect to do with two such pets?" asked mr. gilroy, who was honestly amazed at the scouts' unexpected appropriation. "first, build a pen for them, and second, have veal and pork before we leave for home!" retorted julie. she then ordered all the scouts to fall to work and construct a temporary shelter for the two creatures. mr. gilroy seemed too surprised to comment, and when hiram finally delivered the calf and pig into julie's custody, mr. gilroy turned to her and said, "do you _really_ mean to keep the beasts, here in camp?" "why, of course! why should we go to all this fuss for nothing?" "well, i can't see, yet, why you should?" when the calf and pig were temporarily tied to a tree, where they seemed as much at home as back in the barnyard, julie said, "by the way, gilly, what did you call the pets when they were yours?" "they have never been christened, because i waited for an opportune time. it is here now!" returned mr. gilroy, picking up one of the bottles of water that had done duty to make plaster casts that morning. he held it over the calf's head and poured half of its contents out while he said solemnly: "dear little deer, henceforth you shall be known as julia, in honor of the intrepid scout that captured you, single-handed. "likewise, this sweet little fawn, known by its tracks through the wilderness, shall be named ant-and-ett because of its peculiar habits,--busy as an ant and eats all that comes its way!" then the rest of the water was emptied over the pig's head. "_antoinette_ it shall be, now and forever," declared julie, while the other scouts laughed uproariously. but the two names stuck, and thereafter the calf was "julia" and the pig was generally called by the name of "anty." after the christening mr. gilroy beckoned for the captain to join him where the girls could not over-hear his conversation. "you don't suppose the girls are in earnest about keeping the pig and calf at camp, do you?" asked he, anxiously. "yes, certainly," laughed mrs. vernon. "you don't know girls of this age, or you'd understand that they enjoy all these silly pranks thoroughly, and really, they act as safety-valves." chapter ten the girl scouts entertain "now, gilly, you've got to help us build the sheds for julia and anty, or go home until its time for the party," exclaimed the leader, calling to the still-wondering man. "if we're to have any dinner ready for the grey foxes; i think hiram and gilly ought to do the building of the sheds, and let us get busy with the cooking," added the corporal. "yes, that's a better plan," admitted julie. "come on, now, gilly, don't shirk your duty!" so mr. gilroy and his man were set to do construction work, while the scouts ran to and fro, fetching and carrying, arranging exhibits, baking, cooking, and what-not, that dandelion troop need not take a "back seat" in comparison with the grey foxes. "verny," whispered julie, soon after the two men were sawing and nailing at the sheds, "it's as plain as the nose on my face, that gilly thinks those boys are far cleverer than we girls." "what makes you think so, julie?" asked joan, who was passing at the time. "never mind, now, jo, but we've just got to show him, as well as his boys, that girl scouts know a heap more than they talk about. that's why i'm anxious to make a 'ten-strike' with dinner!" "it is too bad we were tricked with false tracks," said mrs. vernon. "i don't believe those boys would have known any better, under the circumstances, but of course, they won't admit it." "forget it!" said julie, shortly. "and listen to me. take all the contents of our boxes out upon the cots, and call upon all the girls you need to help in the work. turn the packing cases upside down and cover them with some of our embroidered covers; then arrange to the best advantage, everything we can show for our past year in scoutdom. "try to group our exhibits according to their relationship with each other, but leave all the indian pots and dishes scattered about carelessly as if we were accustomed to using them daily. the birchbark baskets and articles can be hung about on tents or trees where they will show off best,--but don't let it look as if the stunt was done on purpose for this occasion--see?" joan smiled. "yes, i see! leave it to the girl scouts!" so, although there was plenty of activity before, now there was no end of rushing and laughing and planning between the scouts. the pots and dishes julie spoke of were left to mrs. vernon to place, and she accomplished the task of studying carefully the apparent carelessness of leaving the vessels about. these indian pots and dishes were the most interesting things the scouts had made. it was simple work, and took but little time and no cost to produce the results. and most effective they were. they took a lump of clay and worked out all the hard bits, and sticks or stones, then shaped it for the bottom of a bowl or pot. in its first step it looked like a flat saucer, then it was left an hour or two, according to the thickness of the clay, to dry well. after that the sides were built up on this saucerlike bottom. it was shaped the desired form, and patted into the thickness required, then smoothed out nicely, both inside and out, and again dried as before. now it was baked in a hot fire for several hours, so that when it was cool it was a fireproof bowl. the only trouble the girls had had with this interesting art was the carelessness of a few of them in cooling the dishes too quickly. they found the clay invariably cracked when the pots were too quickly cooled after taking them from the fire. but by slow degrees of cooling, which took about three hours, they came out perfect. the scouts had decorated their pots as they felt inclined, so that they presented a varied and pleasing array as they stood about camp, in places where the eye would see them to their best advantage. some were painted with wood-dyes, and others were etched in relief patterns. when the captain had finished her task, she silently drew the attention of the scouts to the groups, and they all stood and smiled proudly at their handiwork. "we didn't see anything like that at grey fox camp," bragged judith to joan. "no sir! nor did they have a cookstove like ours! alec may have made a roasting-fan such as we never heard of before, but we can show him a thing or two when he comes over!" exclaimed joan. at this moment julie was heard calling the orderly. "how about that chicken? some one's got to draw it so it can be cooked. it ought to go on the fire in another half hour." at this mr. gilroy called out, "you're not going to eat my chicken, are you?" "sure! that's why i had hiram wring its neck. i knew the poor thing wouldn't object to being cooked if once its breath was gone," laughed julie. "dear me! it's my turn to draw the fowl and i hate it!" complained ruth. "s-sh!" warned julie, waving a frying-pan at ruth, "it is for the cause of woman this time, so don't cry, ruthy!" "i'll help do it, ruth," betty now offered kindly. "i know how you dislike the work, but 'liza showed me how to do it so that it really isn't half bad." betty poured scalding water over the chicken, and the feathers came off easily. then she slit the throat and breast and removed the entrails without causing any repulsion in ruth. when it was ready, ruth admitted that she knew she could do the work the next time without a qualm. the cookstove the scouts were so proud of was a remarkable affair--even mr. gilroy admitted that. mrs. vernon had discovered a heap of fine flat stones, such as a surveyor uses for his "corners," and these were used. the largest stones were placed against a tree that would act as draught to the fire, and the mound was built up until it was a convenient height to use without bending uncomfortably low, as is necessary with campfires. through the center of this mound was a well, and on four sides of the rounded mound were windowlike openings backed with tin; in these niches various pots or pans could be kept hot while other viands were cooking on top of the stove. the top was made of a sheet of thin stove-iron which the captain had brought from home, and near the bottom of the mound was a tipping-stone upon which the fire was laid. when the fire was out, its ashes could be removed by tipping the flat stone over and letting the cinders fall to the bottom, where they could be raked away quite easily. this opening provided draught for the fire, and at the back, from the fire-stone, an opening had been left, and here to several feet above the top of the stove, a length of stove-pipe carried all smoke out and above the heads of the scouts. the girls had also built a fireless cooker in the ground just beside their stove, where fish, or any article needing steady heat, could be placed. this cooking-pit was constructed after the plan adopted by most scouts, and described fully in the manual. while ruth and betty were busy preparing the chicken, mrs. vernon built a good fire in the stove, and had several of the girls heat the stones in the fireless cooker, to be ready for use. mr. gilroy had donated several fine lake trout that day, so these were cleaned and washed and placed in the cooker-pit, where they would need no watching but be done to a turn when wanted. the chicken was cut up for a fricasee, and diced onions and potatoes were prepared to add to the boiling liquid about an hour before serving. this would provide not only soup for the first course, but chicken with dumplings for a third course. they proposed having the fish with butter sauce for the second course. just as julie added the diced potatoes, hester exclaimed, "oh, jule! what did you do that for? those duck-potatoes were meant to make the boys' eyes bulge!" "what duck-potatoes? i never touched them!" declared julie, defensively. "didn't you cut them up and use them just now?" "i should say not! after all the work we had in finding and digging them! why, they ought to be preserved--not eaten," laughed the leader. "thank goodness!" sighed hester, in such evident relief that every one laughed sympathetically. "who's doing the indian cucumbers?" called the corporal. "i am!" answered judith. "they're all peeled and sliced ready to serve. and amy gathered the dandelion greens to go with them." "fine! verny is making a mayonnaise to use with the salad. my! won't those boys have the wind taken out of their sails when they see the duck potatoes and indian cucumbers!" giggled joan. mr. gilroy had not missed much of all this whispering and joyous confusion, and he chuckled to himself as he and hiram finished nailing the last boards on the sheds and turned julia into her new home. the small pigsty was soon completed, and then a fence was built about it, but it was not calculated to keep a full-grown pig in bounds; it was strong enough for antoinette, however, at that time. before the pig-pen was quite finished, the scouts heard the whistles and calls from the grey fox boys, as they hiked over the crest trail. so they fluttered about anxiously to see that not an item on the programme was forgotten. hiram was on his way to the bungalow, and mr. gilroy had hurried down to the lake to wash up and make his dinner toilet, when the boys came gaily into camp. after greeting their hostesses, the grey fox scouts looked around. "well, guess you girls are planning to spread yourselves for dinner, eh?" asked alec, jocularly. "oh, nothing more than usual; we live high every day," returned julie, tossing her head. nothing more was said about dinner just then, but a loud call from "julia" drew all attention to her shed. the boys stared in surprise at the two buildings they had never noticed before. "isn't that a pig--in that pen?" asked ned, amazedly. "no, it's antoinette--our latest girl scout!" giggled amy. the boys laughed, for the name struck them as awfully funny for a pig. then they walked from anty's pen to the shed, which had a door swung on leather hinges, but it was closed. "and what sort of scout do you lock up in here?" asked bob, condescendingly. "bob veal!" retorted julie, causing every one to roar at the questioner. bob flushed, but walked over to the stove where the captain stood stirring the dumplings in the chicken soup. "that's a fine stove, captain," ventured he. "yes, it is something like the one we built last year in camp. that was so convenient we decided to have another this summer. wouldn't you boys like to examine it closely?" thereupon the grey foxes did examine it closely, much to their advantage on useful ideas of kitchen equipment. then they saw the fireless cooker that was in use for the time being; so they passed on to inspect the various birchbark hanging-baskets filled with flowers; the rustic fern-boxes, and all the useful articles the scouts had manufactured of birchbark and acorns. "it takes a girl to do fancywork, all right. now, we boys are not gifted that way, you see, but we can make other things, instead," remarked alec, bestowing a male's compliments on feminine accomplishments. "just what can you make, or have done, that we girls are not able to do?" demanded julie. "oh, i wasn't personal in any way,--i just meant that it is quite natural for women to do the light things while men have to look after the business of life!" "well, the quicker you open your eyes to facts, and see that we women of the present age are fast outstripping the men in _every_ calling, the better it will be for your own good!" said julie. "just glance around, boys, and tell us if you can make a better showing for _your_ four years," added joan, waving her hand at the various exhibits. it happened that the girls had each been given a cue by julie, so that when the grey fox boys came into camp, judith was found sweeping carefully with a camp-made broom, amy and betty were placing a tabletop upon its legs and then starting to set the table, and the other scouts were busy with other unusual things. now dick walked over to judith. "how did you know you could make a broom like this?" said he. "why, this is an old one made the first day we came to camp. you ought to see our new ones. they are fine!" dick examined the broom, and called alec over. "they can make brooms, all right, alec!" said he, showing the article in question. it was made of long hickory shavings, well bound about a good handle, and promised to outlast any dozen store brooms. "but why sweep this grass,--that's foolish," said alec. "no, because this is where we will sit about the table. we always sweep away the crumbs or trash that fall during mealtime, so the ants and other insects won't annoy us. this morning, however, we were in such a hurry to get out with gilly, that we forgot the usual routine work in camp," explained judith. the two boys exchanged glances, but judith saw them. alec then said, smilingly, "oh, yes! how did that track-hunt come off? i suppose you scouts knew every animal, eh?" judith now realized that mr. gilroy had had the whole joke planned out with the grey fox boys, and that the boys were only waiting to have a good old laugh on the girls. so she deliberately told a lie,--fervently praying that it be forgiven for the "cause of women." she glanced roguishly up at alec, and winked one eye. "wasn't it too funny for anything,--the way we led gilly about by the nose?" the boys stared in surprise for a moment, then dick said, "what do you mean? didn't you scouts go out at dawn with gilly to study tracks?" "sure! but didn't you boys know about the joke we made up on him about those tracks? that's why he is so late to dinner." "tell us about it?" eagerly begged both boys. "oh! i can't. i thought you knew something about it or you wouldn't have grinned the way you did. i'm so sorry i let the cat out of the bag, for likely, our leader wants to tell you the story while we all are at dinner," cried judith, the picture of regret. "oh, come on and tell! now that you've said so much!" coaxed dick. "well, you boys walk around and look over our work and i'll run and ask julie if i may tell you the story," whispered judith, giggling, and running over to the leader's side. when julie heard the truth from judith, she was furious, but she soon saw that she must thrust anger behind her, and plan some clever way to reverse the joke and make it fall upon the originator. in fact, at that moment, the scouts wished all kinds of dreadful things upon their benefactor, mr. gilroy. he, however, unaware of their ire, was walking up the trail from the lake to the camp-site. and the boys, who were told to amuse themselves for a time, were certainly finding more good ideas put into useful form at that camp than they ever dreamed of. the large square table was constructed of the boards removed from a piano-case which gilly had at the barn. these were all nailed to a frame and furnished a strong, heavy top that could be placed, at will, on the four sturdy posts that were driven into the ground. these table-legs were only fifteen inches above the ground, so one could sit on the grass and conveniently use the top. the four boys met at a large rustic shelf-cupboard, constructed of short-length boards taken from a cereal box, and placed so as to make four shelves. two sides were made of boards that came from one of the packing-cases from the city. this cupboard stood against a great pine tree that furnished the backing, and on the shelves were the array of lanterns and candlesticks made and used in camp. "gee! they've got the bottle-neck holder, the tin-can lantern, and all the rest. it seems they know the scout stunts, all right," whispered ned. "yes, and look at these candles! do you suppose they made them in camp? they look like hand-dipped products," added alec, examining the tallow candles. "we won't let on that we're curious, but we'll find out from gilly just how they made these candles," suggested bob. from the shelves that held candles and some clay ornaments the boys wandered over to the sun-dial. "it's better than the one we made," admitted ned. "humph! so it is," said alec, reluctantly, but willing to be just. "whoever did that burnt-wood etching around the edge sure made a fine job of it. and the numerals are very good," added bob. "gilly said ruth is the artist of the troop," said dick. but the grey foxes never found out that the indian clock had been made during the previous winter when there was ample time to spend over such a work. the large wooden slab was sent to camp with many other highly decorative things made the same winter. mr. gilroy now joined the boys and offered to act as official guide in viewing everything. so interested were the boys in all they saw that they temporarily forgot about the joke of the tracking. "come and see the indian willow beds the scouts made the first day in camp," said mr. gilroy, boastfully, now that he wanted to impress the boys. so the beds, the weaving looms, the birdhouses here and there, and other things were duly seen and admired. but the exhibit that interested the boys as much as anything that day was the neat and beautiful work done with wild flowers and a deal of patience. there were blue-prints of delicate flowers, as well as shadow-work and pressed and mounted flower-groups. alec recognized the three-leaved arrow-head, and showed it to the other boys who had never seen it before. this particular specimen was white and waxen in contrast to the indigo-hued paper. the spiderwort was a rich blue with its two large petals rounded, while the third one was tiny and colorless. there was also a purple variety known as "job's tears." the wild leek and garlic flowers made dainty blue-prints, scarcely recognizable as coming from such humble family trees as the despised onion. wild spikenard, with its crown of tiny white flowers, also reproduced beautifully in the blue-print. the seal of solomon and purple twisted stalk made scraggy pictures easy to identify. betty had pressed a white trillium that made an imposing picture, retaining all its beauty and lines. the boys had the painted trillium in their collection but had never seen the white one. in the flower collection made by the other scouts were many orchids,--fringed-purple, ragged-fringed, yellow-fringed, and others. also the indian pink, the rattlesnake plantain, the pink snake-mouth, monkshood, bloodroot, pitcher plant, and numerous others that formed a wonderful exhibit which it would take a long time to do justice to. while the grey foxes were poring over the flower books, mrs. vernon came up beside them. "when you boys are through here, we will sit down to dinner, as everything is ready to serve." "oh, we'll look at the rest of these another time," said bob, quickly. so the captain led them over to the table, where the appearance of the festive board caused them to smack their lips. mr. gilroy and the grey fox boys were seated according to julie's directions, then the girls all went over to the cookstove. at each place on the table sat a flat clay-made plate that was to do service for many needs. beside the plate were the birchbark cup to drink water from, a birchbark napkin ring that held a paper napkin, and the usual knife, fork and spoon. in the center of the table stood a lovely fern centerpiece, the holder woven of split willows, and the fern dug up in the woods and transplanted into a tin pail that did not show inside the basket. the fernery was flanked by two other handwoven baskets of sweet-grass. one held the scout-biscuits just baked, while the other was piled high with light little puff-cakes. on either side of the centerpiece stood two large flat clay platters,--one held the indian cucumber salad, and the other a dandelion salad. "aren't the girls going to sit down, too?" called alec. "yes, but each girl has to serve a boy's soup as well as her own. then we will sit down," answered julie. meantime joan was whispering anxiously, as each girl held out the clay bowls for soup, "now remember! leave the tracking tale to julie, and agree with her everytime! don't you dare be caught napping this time!" and as each scout left the stove with her two bowls of soup, she whispered. "no, leave it to me! we'll get the best of gilly for this joke." the chicken soup was highly praised, and truly it was a good broth and deserved all praise. then came the fish,--all done to a turn and served piping hot with butter sauce. the indian cucumber went well with the lake trout, and here the boys had another surprise. "indian cucumbers! we never knew they grew around here," ventured alec, but delighting in the salad just the same. "oh, didn't you? well, you see, it takes a girl's fancy touches to secure these sort of things. you boys, of course, have to give your time to doing big things," was julie's sarcastic reply. the third course consisted of the chicken and dumplings, stewed bracken, and a side dish of vegetable that looked for all the world like small potatoes. the boys studied these curiously. "it's quite digestible," laughed mrs. vernon. "but be sure to appreciate them,--they are the only wapitos we've ever found!" declared joan, proudly. "wapitos! you don't mean it!" exclaimed alec, eagerly. "why, where did you find them?" asked the other boys. "one morning when we were out tracking," said julie, with a careless manner. then quickly added, "oh, captain, where are the brussels sprouts? we almost forgot that vegetable." the orderly jumped up and ran to the stove where, in one of the niches, stood the bowl of charlock hearts, a wild green that tastes exactly like tender sprouts. these are easy to cultivate in a garden, too, and are not as expensive as brussels sprouts. "my, what a spread this is!" sighed bob, ecstatically. every one laughed, for bob and anne were the gourmands of the two troops, and were never ashamed to admit when they enjoyed a thing. "yes, it's some dinner, all right. made a lot of work, didn't it?" added alec. "oh, not so much as usual," returned julie. "we really had planned a more elaborate affair, but the joke we played on gilly took longer than we allowed for it, and so we had to scramble the dinner." julie smiled benignly upon the guests, but they exchanged looks with mr. gilroy at the mention of a joke. so she continued: "because of that joke, you have ordinary chicken for a meat course, whereas i had hoped to give you a real dainty, stewed wild rabbit. but our snares were left unbaited while we planned to come in first on gilly and his proposed prank. i don't suppose you know a thing about it, do you?" the girls gasped at their leader's mention of a rabbit snare,--this was the first they knew of such a thing! and since bunty grey had taken up his residence nearby their camp, after his recovery from the old trap down on river bend, not one scout girl could be made to taste rabbit. the boys were keen to hear about the joke on their friend gilroy, but _he_ wanted to know about rabbits. so he asked: "where did you set any snares? this is news to me!" "is it? why we caught a rabbit in a snare set down by river bend, but we haven't stewed it yet," returned julie, smiling angelically at mr. gilroy. "never mind snares, but tell us about the tracking," now urged alec. "there isn't much to tell--excepting that we let him indulge himself in the belief that he was fooling us," began julie. "while we were at your camp, to invite you here to-day, gilly had all his hands turn the barnyard beasts out and led them a dance about our campgrounds, believing we would fall for his little game. "he took so much pains and trouble over the joke, that we hadn't the heart to undeceive him, so we played the game through. "but it was hard work to keep straight faces, wasn't it, girls?" julie appealed to her companions. "yes, indeed! and when julie left us to bring back the proof of his joking, that was best of all," added joan. "yes, you see i got him to say that hunters who found a wild animal could claim it, if it was in season, so i went to the barn where i _knew_ our 'wild animals' would be, and not only found them, but caught them, also. being in season, we claimed them. thus we turned gilly's joke on himself, as he sure was amazed to find that we took him at his word, and kept the 'ferocious' beasts!" julie laughed so heartily that every one joined in, never doubting but that the merriment was natural and genuine. "so that is how we became owners of the calf, the pig, and the nice spring chicken you just finished," added julie. mr. gilroy now cleared his throat to say something in self-defence, but every one laughed loudly again, the boys believing julie's tale, and the girls hoping to keep up the deception. "poor dear old gilly! we renamed him this morning. he is to be foxy grandpa hereafter, you know; not alone because he told the grey foxes what he was going to do, but because he planned such a beautiful snare and ran into it himself," said joan. "as if you boys would believe we were 'greenies' in camplife! why, just look around and see our work! is there anything here to prove we are such ignoramuses as to believe a calf-track could possibly be a deer-print?" asked julie, scornfully. "you're right, you girls sure can do scout things," said alec, admiringly. "this dinner alone would prove it!" exclaimed bob. "any one who can find indian cucumbers and wapitos, when we boys have hunted and hunted, and never succeeded, is a first-class scout, and no mistake about it!" declared dick, enthusiastically. so mr. gilroy decided not to speak in self-defence any more. the dinner wound up with wild-current tarts, puff-cakes, and coffee made from roots and roasted acorns, pulverized. "lady scouts, let me toast you for this wonderful success, not only in culinary art, but also in founding a curious menagerie," said mr. gilroy, standing and holding up his coffee before drinking it. "before we adjourn from this feast, let me ask one question," said alec, as they prepared to get up from the table. "what was it in that salad dressing that gave such a palatable flavor? i never tasted anything like it before." the scouts smiled with pleasure, and mrs. vernon said, "that taste was given by adding a few leaves of burnet to the salad. it was not the dressing; but few people know what a wonderful flavor burnet gives to salad. it would be used more often did chefs know this simple little wildwood fact." while the girls were clearing away the dishes, mrs. vernon spoke very seriously to julie about the tale she told. "you did not tell an absolute untruth, yet you did not voice the truth, because we all _were_ taken in by those tracks!" "but, verny! surely you wouldn't have these mere males _think_ we were such gullible scouts, would you? it would be a disgrace for the whole organization!" cried julie. "i never advocate self-righteousness in covering up an error of judgment or knowledge. the scout committee on ideals would not approve of the tale you told to vindicate the 'cause of women,' as you claim." "i suppose you are right in your viewpoint, verny, but it wasn't fair of gilly to play that prank on us, and tell those boys beforehand, too," pouted julie. "well, let it pass this time, verny, and we'll promise never to be guilty of misappropriating the truth again," said joan. "and don't give us away to the grey foxes!" added judith. the captain shook her head in disapproval, but she said nothing more, so the girls ran off to whisper to mr. gilroy that he was the cause of a dreadful quarrel! chapter eleven a canoe trip the scouts were so busy with canoeing, swimming, and hiking, during the week following the dinner-party that they saw very little of mr. gilroy, although they knew whenever he called at the camp, because he generally brought feed for the calf and pig. these two unusual pets were becoming quite sociable, and would follow the girls around the clearing when meals were being prepared. jake always went wherever the scouts went, and he particularly enjoyed the long walks. but he ignored the calf and pig completely when in camp. about a week after the grey fox boys had visited dandelion camp, mr. gilroy came down early in the morning. "i have to get up at dawn if i want a word with you scouts, these times," laughed he, as he caught them eating breakfast. "sit down and have some," julie invited, making room for him beside her. "can't--haven't time. i've got an important engagement with the grey fox boys, but you were first on my calling list." the girls all halted further progress on the breakfast and listened intently. "what have you plotted, now?" asked julie. mr. gilroy laughed as he remembered the tracking joke. "i'm almost afraid to tell you." but after much coaxing he spoke. "well, then, i am going on a little fishing trip to racquette lake, so i wondered if you scouts wouldn't like to canoe with the party and spend a few days that way?" the girls gave such a chorus of approval that mr. gilroy pretended to stop both ears. "oh, do tell them all about it, gilly, or we'll be deaf!" begged mrs. vernon, laughing at the commotion. so mr. gilroy described the itinerary to the great delight of his hearers. "but remember, girls, no extra baggage is allowed. you wear your uniforms, take bathing suits, and sandals, a wide soft hat that will stick to your head, as few toilet requisites as possible; individual eating outfit, blanket and sleeping-bag, fishing tackle, and your powder puffs." the last item caused a jeer, for the girls hadn't thought of beautifiers, other than those nature presented, since they joined the scout organization. nor did they need any,--they were all fine and rosy, with perfect complexions and good health. "my indian, yhon, is going in a canoe with the cooking outfit and other necessities for so large a party. he is a splendid guide, you know, and knows the country like a book." "what can we do about our pets?" betty asked, concernedly. "oh, jake will go with us, of course, and julia and anty will have to depend on gilly's man for meals. they will learn to appreciate us if we are absent a few days," replied julie, audaciously. "when did you plan to start?" now asked the captain. "day after to-morrow, as early in the morning as we can. that gives you all day to-morrow to get ready and come up to the bungalow for supper at night. yhon will be ready with the canoes at dawn in the morning, and we start from our boathouse. the canoe-wagon is coming here to-day to carry your three canoes over to first lake so as to be in good shape for the trip. yhon will overhaul them all, and look after any caulking or repairs." "dear me, i can't wait for the time to come!" exclaimed several of the scouts. "and if you become seasick on the voyage, you'll be just as anxious to get back," laughed mr. gilroy, causing the girls to giggle in chorus at his ridiculous speech. so on the morning mentioned, a merry crowd of girls and boys followed the captain and mr. gilroy to the boathouse on the lake. yhon was waiting with everything ready, but it was still dim and misty over the water, as the daylight was not yet strong. jake instantly jumped into yhon's canoe as if he knew it paid to be near the larder. mr. gilroy arranged the party so that one lightweight member was in each canoe with one of the heavier girls, and one of the boys. he took charge of another canoe with two girls in it, while the captain managed still another one with two in it. thus they started in a line, yhon leading. as they moved noiselessly out from the shadow of the overhanging rocks and foliage, the dew sparkled like silver drops on all the leaves; every now and then a hungry fish would leap up to bite the paddles, and then whisk its tail angrily as it flashed away again. the newly awakened sun had not yet risen high enough to cast its rays upon the lake, and the mountain that threw somber shadows over the face of the lake, still hid the shining of the orb of day. the expectancy and hush that always precedes the bursting forth of shining light, enthralled all the wild creatures in the woods. yhon had been silently guiding his flock over the water, closely hugging the shore all the way, when the high treble call of a young fawn echoed far over the lake. it was so unexpected that the scouts were startled, but the indian called over his shoulder, "li'l deer lose mammy--call her back!" then, not twenty yards further on, yhon stopped paddling, and pointed with a long finger towards the shore. there stood the fawn on a rock near the water's edge, its head held high as it gazed with consternation at so many queer things floating on the lake. mrs. vernon took a splendid picture of the deer, before a crashing of branches and the rattle of pebbles announced that the doe was leaping to the rescue of her little one. but she could not be seen, as she was wise in woodlore and remained safely screened from men. possibly she knew that a human carried a death-dealing weapon when he sought her in the forests. the canoes passed through first lake, then through second lake, and at last through third lake--all of which were really one large continuous sheet of water. where third lake creek emptied into the large body of water, yhon led the canoes close to shore. he knew that the best lake trout were to be caught where the creek emptied, and here he proposed to fish for the dinner supply. "but we don't want dinner, yet, yhon," called mrs. vernon. "we eat on cedar islan' but him got no fish dere. get my fish here," explained yhon, as he jumped ashore. all were glad of an opportunity to stretch their legs, and then they tried their luck at fishing, also. after a time this became monotonous for the active young ones, and they started up the creek to adventure. the third lake creek came down over moss-covered rocks, which were held in place by gnarled roots of giant trees. these ancient foresters stood looking benignly down upon the placid waters of the lake, as if watching the play of a little child. where the creek swirled out to join third lake, the purplish circles made there gradually lost their foaming haste and gently merged into the wavelets of clear cold water. as the scouts climbed up the rugged bank of the creek, the towering trees were not the only things that watched silently. although the happy young mortals were deaf and blind to the many alert curious eyes that followed their movements, still those eyes were there, wondering at this daring trespass over their domains. some of these wildwood inhabitants were furtively anxious, some hostile, but all were curious to follow the movements of these queer creatures. finally the scouts could not penetrate further, and they retraced their steps. yhon had caught enough fish for the day's needs, and was ready to continue the trip. from third lake creek he paddled across to the opposite shore and thence through fourth lake. they stopped at skensowane to purchase crackers, candy, and other sweets, while yhon took on a supply of staples. cedar island was at the extreme upper end of fourth lake, and long before the scouts saw the green knob standing plainly up from the water, they were hungry enough to eat the grass on the island. so every one assisted with the dinner to facilitate the eating of it. yhon was one of the best guides in the mountains, and his experience in cooking was unsurpassed; hence the scouts enjoyed an exceptional dinner. when all were ready to continue the trip, yhon led across from cedar island to inlet, where there was a "carry" of a mile to reach sixth lake. "phew! carry the canoes a mile in the hot sun!" cried bob. "that's part of the fun in canoeing," remarked mr. gilroy, as they disembarked and prepared to carry. "i'm glad of the change," said judith. "my knees are all out of joint from sitting with them doubled under me." thereupon every one declared it a relief to walk and get the kinks out of the leg-muscles. but after a mile in the heat, with canoe and outfit to carry, every one was just as glad to get back and sit down in the canoes. the trip through sixth and seventh lakes was wonderful. the grandeur of the mountains and the marvelous greens of their verdure reflected in the narrow lakes, made the water seem a dark emerald green as clear and transparent as a perfect jewel. occasionally, faint shadows of birds flying overhead, or deer leaping on the rocks on the banks were reflected in the water as the canoeists silently paddled along, and such entrancing pictures seen in the placid lake thrilled the scouts with delight. here and there, where a stream rushed down into the lake, the scouts could look up through the wide rifts cleft between the forest-trees, and the eye could follow up where falls tumbled over boulders; or to the higher view, where the blue sky showed a tiny streak between the pines. once a flight of wild ducks suddenly rose from the lake, quacking noisily. the boys called to yhon to shoot, but he held up a warning hand to show that this was no season for duck-hunting. in nearing the upper end of seventh lake where the inlet empties into it, yhon called out, "nudder carry--mile to eight lake." but before they reached land, the captain called for a halt. she wanted to take a snapshot of the picture made by the inlet, seemingly in such a hurry to reach the lake, yet making no noise nor showing any froth in its haste. the lake seemed to draw its shores close together to hug the inlet, just as a mother draws her babe to her bosom in love. in small coves on either side of the inlet were patches of green marsh grass and cattails, the home of the wild ducks which rose to escape the coming of the canoeists. as the faint odorous whiff of marshgrass reached the nostrils of the scouts, they wanted to paddle in and cut cattails, but yhon said there was no time then. "plenty time on home trip." through eighth lake to brown's inlet carry was a distance of about two miles, and when they reached shore on brown's inlet, yhon called out, "nudder carry--mile-half dis time to brown tract inlet." the command to carry began to sound tiresome to the scouts, and they were glad to hear mr. gilroy say that this carry would be the last one, as brown's tract inlet brought them right to racquette lake where they planned to camp for the night. it was quite late when they reached the lower end of racquette lake, because the progress had been slow and safe. mr. gilroy had not telephoned for accommodations at any hotel, as they planned to camp at night. but the wind that came with the setting of the sun also threatened a storm during the night, and mr. gilroy thought it best to find a place near a large hotel, in case they had to seek shelter. so they paddled to find a grove quite near one of the larger hotels. the scouts were eager to land and get their camp ready before darkness handicapped them, so when within a few yards of land, hester turned to pull out her blankets. the sudden motion overturned the canoe, and all three occupants went headlong into the water. the frightened screams of the three scouts caused consternation in the others, and many turned around quickly to see what had happened behind them. thus, two more canoe-loads were unexpectedly emptied into the lake. they were soon out on shore, but drenched and shivering from the cold water. "now, isn't that the worst thing that could happen to us, at night!" sighed mrs. vernon. "we'll have to stop at a hotel, now, and let the scouts get in bed while their clothing dries," said mr. gilroy. so the wet ones were advised to dance about to keep warm, while alec and mr. gilroy hurried over to the hotel to engage rooms. but they soon came back with surprised looks. "not a corner to be had, and the manager called up other large places along the shore only to get the same answer--no room. he said there was a family boarding-house some distance along, where we might get in. the woman, a mrs. dickens, was a nice landlady and might tuck us in somewhere. shall we try it?" said mr. gilroy. "it is so dark now, and we haven't started supper or found a spot to camp, so i think we had best try mrs. dickens," replied the captain. in chilly silence the entire party got back into its canoes and skirted the shore until mr. gilroy called out to yhon, "this must be the spot where i was told to land. the house is back from the lake, a bit." the canoeists had no difficulty in locating the boarding-house, but they were too late for a hot dinner, although the cold supper served was very good, especially to hungry young people. "i haven't any rooms left in the main house," explained mrs. dickens, "but i can give you several rooms in the annex. that used to be the help's cottage, but i had it done over to rent this season." "'any port in a storm,' madam, and our 'storm' consists of several soaking suits that have to be dried," returned mr. gilroy. "the cottage has a small kitchen where you can quickly light a fire in the stove and dry everything. i think you will be very comfortable there," said mrs. dickens. so arrangements were made for the use of the cottage for that night. as they planned to start early in the morning again, the entire party retired soon after supper. the wet clothing had been hung on lines about the kitchen, where a servant had built a roaring fire. although they had to "double up" in bed, or sleep on the floor, they were too healthily sleepy to mind such little things, and before ten o'clock every one was asleep. chapter twelve first aid mrs. vernon was a very light sleeper, consequently she was aroused a short time after midnight by cries and calls for help. she sprang from the bed and ran to a side window that opened towards the kitchen side of the boarding-house. all she could see was a dull glare that filled the kitchen windows. but she understood. instantly, she ran to mr. gilroy's room and knocked loudly while she cried, "get up--everybody--the boarding-house, next door, is on fire!" in a moment mr. gilroy jumped up and shouted, "all right--we'll be out in a jiffy!" then mrs. vernon ran back to pull the girls out of bed and have them dress as speedily as possible. the clothing in the kitchen was dry, and soon the girls were dressing and, at the same time, talking excitedly of the fire. "i'm sorry mrs. dickens has had this misfortune, but as long as it happens while we are here, we must try to earn a medal," said mrs. vernon, as she breathlessly pulled a middy-blouse over her head. "what can girls do?" asked amy, eagerly. "i don't know yet, but every little thing helps in a time like this. just obey orders from mr. gilroy or me, and follow the example julie is sure to give you," said mrs. vernon, glancing at the scout she mentioned, because julie might run unnecessary risks for herself, but if she thought she was responsible for the other girls her zeal would be tempered wisely. "what do they give scouts a medal for, verny?" now asked judith, as she twisted her long hair up in a tight coil on her head. "if occasion arises for a scout to display great heroism, or if she faces extreme danger in trying to save a life, she can have the bronze medal--the highest award given. if she does a brave deed with considerable danger to herself, she wins a silver cross. but no scout is to run needless risk just to win a medal of any kind." while the captain spoke, the scouts finished their hurried dressing and now followed her out to the lawn in front of the large house. here the scene was one of great confusion and panic. men were hastily moving articles of furniture and boarders' personal effects out of the three-storied building. smoke poured from all the rear windows, and the roof seemed enveloped in heavy smoke-clouds. "isn't there any volunteer fire department?" called julie, to every one in general and no one in particular. "where is it?" asked alec of a man standing next to him. "we got a ring and hammer up yonder, and a hand-engine, but i hain't hear'n no one strike the signal," said he. "come along, show me where it is," ordered alec, catching hold of the man's sleeve and pulling him away from the staring crowd. once the man had broken away from the mesmeric influence of the fire-watchers, he ran quickly with alec to the knoll where a metal hoop and hammer were kept for the purpose of alarm in case of fire. almost before the two reached the spot, alec caught the hammer and was striking the metal at regular intervals. the man then offered to remain and send the volunteer firemen to the place where they were needed, so alec ran back to help as best he could. meantime, the girl scouts realized there was much to do to help others, and the captain ordered every one to use the utmost presence of mind in doing anything they were called upon to do. julie hastily whispered to joan, "i'm going to run to the cottage and get that coil of rope we brought from the canoe last night, we may need it." "i'll run with you, julie, for we must tie wet towels over our mouths, if we have to go inside there," added joan. both girls raced to their room, and when they came out they were provided with the rope, and the dripping towels were tied across their nostrils and mouths. as they stood momentarily on the little porch of the cottage to see where they might render the best service, the uproar from the upper stories in the rear was awful. "there may be some people trapped in their rooms up there!" exclaimed julie to her companion. "we can climb up this rose-trellis quite easily, jule, and get in at the windows of the second story where the piazza roof gives us a foothold," hastily returned joan. in another moment both girls were quickly climbing up the strong trellis, and as soon as they reached the tin roof they ran to the window. here they found a young mother sitting on the floor, rocking a baby back and forth while she cried wildly with hysteria. the child was held so tightly that it, too, was screaming. while julie uncoiled the rope, joan ran to the washstand and dipped a towel in the pitcher. but julie called to her, "bring the jug of water here, we've got to break this hysteric spell!" joan carried the towel in one hand and the pitcher in the other, so julie caught the jug from her, and dashed the water in the woman's face. the sudden choking and shock broke the spell. then the towel was hastily pinned over the lower part of her face and she was hurried to the door. but the smoke and heat caused the girls to slam the door to again and run to the window. "hey--down there!" yelled julie, to a group of men on the flower-bed. "hold out a blanket while we drop the baby down." "no--no!" screamed the mother, trying to get away from the grasp of strong young joan. "you'll kill it!" "give me the child, i'll carry it down the trellis," said julie, but the mother would not relax her grip on her baby. "where's that rope, jo?" now asked julie. "over by the window we went in at," cried joan, having all she could do to restrain the woman from throwing herself and babe down from the roof. so in another moment, julie had the rope tied to a window shutter, and with the other end in hand was over by the woman. "here--stand still, will you, while we fix this and let you down to the ground!" commanded she, and the woman instantly obeyed. then both girls lowered the two slowly over the edge of the roof, down to where willing hands were raised to catch them. there was a wild acclaim as mother and child were saved, but the two scouts were not aware of it, as they were back inside the room again, taking their precious rope with them. before they could determine what to do next, a queer form burst into the room. "where's the rope you've been using, girls?" demanded the voice of alec. but he was completely covered by his rubber sleeping-bag, in which he had slit holes for his feet and arms. had it been any other time than such a moment, both girls must have doubled over in merriment at his appearance. "here it is, alec. where did you come from?" cried both scouts in one voice. "upstairs. i got up on the roof by climbing the water-spout, and in a dormer-room up there i found an old crippled woman, crying for help, but with no one to hear her until i climbed in from the scuttle-hole. a little old-fashioned stairway runs from the third floor down into the closet in this room. but i can't get her down those narrow stairs, and the other stairway and halls are a mass of fire. i've got to lower her from the roof, but i need help." "we'll help!" eagerly offered both the girls. so, with the coil of rope, they followed alec through the smoke-filled room into the large dark closet, and thus, up the scuttle-hole stairs that had been abandoned for many years,--perhaps forgotten entirely, until this need. in the front end of the third story there was not much smoke as yet, so the three could see their way plainly. and in a small gable-room having a small window high from the floor moaned an old woman of more than seventy years. the moment she saw alec return with two girls to help, she stopped wailing and tried to be courageous. "now we may hurt you some when you are being moved, but you must bear it, gran'ma," said alec, gently. the old lady smiled reassuringly. "children, anything is better than being roasted up in this little room. don't worry over hurting me but do whatever is necessary," quavered the sweet old voice. "now, girls, i'm going to shinny up the scuttle-hole in the roof and carry the rope with me. i'll tie it securely to the chimney on the roof and let down the other end. fasten this about grandma's waist and we'll try to lift her out that way. you two must help by holding her as much as possible, and by boosting from below." while alec climbed up the wall-ladder and got out to the roof, julie and joan made a roll of blankets and placed it about the old lady's form under the arms. then they looped the rope over this and secured it also under her arms. "all ready, alec!" called julie, holding her charge by one arm while joan held her by the other. as alec hauled, hand over hand on the rope, the two scouts beneath lifted and then boosted the old lady until she was safely through the opening in the roof. then alec leaned over and called to them: "if you can manage to run down and get through that room again, escape by way of the piazza-roof and send the firemen up from the outside with their ladders. i'll wait on the front roof with grandma." so julie and joan rushed down the little attic-stairs, back through the smoke-filled room which was now dreadfully hot from the fire, and out of the other room window to the piazza roof. once on the ground, a curious mob tried to surround them to ask all sorts of foolish questions, but julie was equal to two mobs. with muscular arms and fists striking right and left, she quickly forced a passage and made her way to the spot where the fire-chief was ordering the men about. "mr. chief, run a ladder up to the roof where you see that scout standing. he's got an old crippled woman to save. maybe the rope will reach and maybe it won't, so use your own judgment," called julie, pointing up to where alec could be dimly seen through the smoke. "hoist a ladder, boys! see that scout up on the roof with mrs. dickens' mother?" shouted the chief, anxiously watching the roof. while every one stood and in breathless suspense watched the firemen run up a long ladder and assist alec in saving the poor helpless woman, mrs. dickens came distractedly from the rear of the house and ran about seeking for her mother. when she learned that it was her mother they were trying to save, she fainted with fright. but the old lady was safely brought to the ground, and a great fuss was made over alec. then mrs. dickens was revived, and when she found her aged mother beside her on the grass, she almost fainted again from joy and gratitude. the house was doomed even before the firemen reached the scene, for it was constructed, as so many summer boarding-houses are at seashore and mountain resorts, of thin novelty-siding outside and oil-stained ceiling boards inside; these act like kindling wood once they are ignited. the crowd stood, now, and watched the flames lick up everything in sight, but every one was thankful that no lives were lost. the scouts, both girls and boys, had worked so faithfully that all the silver and linen were saved, and the men had removed much of the best furniture in the ground-floor rooms. the sun, that morning, rose on a scene of confusion and pathos. guests who had been able to save most of their effects were assisting less fortunate ones to dress in all kinds of apparel. neighbors from nearby cottages were caring for the homeless boarders, until order could be brought out of the chaotic condition. but the cottages were few, and the guests many, so some one must suggest a plan to meet the immediate needs. it was mr. gilroy who thought of a way. "we all sympathize with mrs. dickens in her distress, but it might have been worse, friends,--we all realize that,--and so we feel grateful that no lives were lost. but here it is breakfast-time, and there are many hungry mouths to fill, and i would suggest that you accept a scout breakfast with us as soon as it is ready." every one responded to such a hearty invitation, and mr. gilroy added, "then we'll show you how to prepare a good meal with no stove or kitchen, and with but few pots or pans." the boys were sent out on the lake to get the fish; the girls were told to knead the dough for scout-twists, and place them at the fire mr. gilroy was building. to interest the weary boarders, mr. gilroy had started his campfire with rubbing-sticks and had arranged the bread-sticks upon which the dough was twined, to the best advantage for all to watch while the twists baked. most of the dishes had been saved from the fire, and these were now used for breakfast. several large tablecloths had been spread out upon the smooth grass, and plates set around on the squares of linen. the fish had been cleaned by yhon when caught, and now the boys returned with a nice mess--enough for every one that morning. mrs. dickens kept all her extra stock of food in the little loft of the cottage, and as this annex was spared any damage by the fire, there was a supply of cereals, flour, bacon, and other necessities for meals. with the thrift of a good housekeeper, mrs. dickens had laid in a stock of purchases when the army supply had been sold off at auction in the city. so mrs. vernon found gallon cans of stewed prunes and other food-products on hand. in spite of all trouble and perplexities that morning, breakfast was a cheerful meal. prunes for fruit; hominy and other prepared cereals for a second course; then fresh fish, fried in corn-meal jackets and browned in bacon-fat, furnished a delicious third course with the hot scout-bread. and all this was topped off with fragrant coffee. naturally, the conversation was about one thing--the fire and the courage shown by the three scouts. the equally helpful work done by mrs. vernon and the other scouts in caring for those who were rescued, received but small notice. but they never as much as thought of it--with julie and joan in a fair way to win a medal that would lift the entire troop to recognition at headquarters in new york. when breakfast was over, mr. gilroy expressed his other idea. "i have a plan that may meet with general approval, but that remains to be seen. now listen carefully, while i speak, and then do as you like afterwards. my boys and these girls are willing to teach you how to do what i am about to propose, and help in any way we can to make every one comfortable for the time being. "you have no house to sleep in, and mrs. dickens will have no boarders to help her meet her expenses and loss, unless we immediately find some way to change all this seeming trouble. so this is my suggestion: "we scouts are accustomed to sleeping out-of-doors and thus we know how to make the finest beds out of the material nature provides. we will show every one how to weave these balsam beds that are superior to any handmade spring and hair mattress. "while you people are completing your beds, we will paddle up to a place yhon told me about, where a number of indians camp. they make and sell tents to parties coming to the adirondacks for the summer. then at the end of the season they will buy them back and pay prices according to the condition the tents are in. perhaps we can rent a number of tents, as the summer is now half over. "if enough boarders agree to this plan, and will insure the risk to mrs. dickens by advancing the money necessary to pay for the tents, we scouts will go after the tents for you and bring them back in our canoes. "mrs. dickens says she can quickly have a pavilion built that will answer for a dining-room, but any one who does not care for 'roughing' it in tent-life must find other accommodations. all such can have meals in the pavilion, but must take second table as boarders remaining in camp will naturally have first claim on the hostess' service." after a noisy debate, in which most of the ousted guests found these plans and future delights pleasant to discuss, the majority voted to remain and take up tent-life. thus it happened that mrs. dickens was helped out of the financial ruin that had stared her in the face a few hours before, and the guests were treated to a rare experience,--living in the open in the wonderful woods. the scouts started every one cutting the young tips of the balsams for their bedding, then paddled after yhon in the canoes, up the marion river to bear creek, where the guide knew several of his friends to have camps for the summer. they had tents to hire or for sale, and were only too glad to furnish all that were needed for the houseless boarders at dickens' landing. the tent-outfits were carefully packed inside the canoes, and the scouts joyfully paddled back, realizing that "what blesses one, blesses all" in this working out of a good idea. when the scouts landed with the tents and found that enough balsam had been stripped for the beds, they began to weave the tips as all scouts know how to do. meantime, mr. gilroy, yhon, and several of the men raised the tents and secured them in such places as mrs. dickens selected. the balsam beds were then made up in the tents, and before evening, every one was provided with room and beds, thanks to the scouts. as the canoes left that shore, they were sped with many blessings, for they had done a great thing for those standing on the rocks, watching them depart. chapter thirteen shooting the rapids--and other things "well, 'where do we go from here, boys?'" called mr. gilroy, laughingly, as he looked back over his shoulder at the scouts. "anywhere but home!" exclaimed julie. "why not there? don't you like my camp-ground?" asked mr. gilroy, teasingly. "of course, but after such a night and day we won't want to settle down again into quiet life. we have to let ourselves down gradually," laughed alec. "well, then, we'll ask yhon where to go to-day," agreed mr. gilroy. "ride the rapids," returned yhon, as if that was enough said. such a shout that greeted this suggestion proved he was right in his surmise. finally, when mrs. vernon could be heard, she asked, "where are they--far from raquette lake?" "yhon, i suppose you mean those on the route to forked lake, through raquette river to long lake, eh?" said mr. gilroy. "um! up raquette fall to corey an' 'en to sar'nac." "saranac lake! oh, i've always wanted to see it!" cried julie. "do let's go, gilly!" begged other voices. "shall we take a vote on it?" laughed mr. gilroy. "why waste time--it is unanimously decided already," retorted alec for the boys. "yhon, i'm afraid you've let me in for trouble!" cried mr. gilroy, but he turned his canoe just the same, and led the way. the scouts now followed mr. gilroy and yhon across the mouth of the marion river, and rounded woods' point. across boulder bay, to bluff point, they paddled, and carefully rounding this point they entered outlet bay. then the usual route was taken up the bay until they reached forked lake carry. they were all in high spirits and the short carry only added to their enjoyment. the canoes were launched again in forked lake waters and they paddled until the end of the lake was reached. where it joins raquette river was a carry of a mile and a half, and seeing that it was noon and time for luncheon, mr. gilroy said: "why not have something to eat first, and carry afterwards?" "oh, that will add to the work of carrying," retorted julie. "not only canoes but food!" but the boys were for eating, so they scanned the shore carefully as they slowly moved through the water, until yhon saw a place he considered suitable for camp. here a fire was soon started, and the four boys were sent out to fish. the girls were left to bake the bread and prepare the rest of the meal. in spite of their most skillful efforts, the boys did not have good luck, and returned with but a small catch of fish. hilarity due to the way the boys told how they had to fish made up for the lack and for everything else. when everything was packed neatly again, and all were ready to start, jake gave a wild leap and landed too near the edge of yhon's canoe. over it went, staples and outfits all going down into the water. "oh, all our sugar and salt--and everything!" cried julie. yhon never changed a muscle of his face, although he must have been taken by surprise when he was precipitated into the water. the outfits, hampers, and other things were quickly salvaged and restored to the canoe, but jake sat in disgrace on the bank, and hung his head as if he understood just what he had done. so much time had been used in rescuing yhon, in fishing their food-stock out of the water, and coaxing jake back into the canoe, that it was late when the scouts reached deerland lodge. "what say you, scouts,--shall we stop at the lodge, or take a chance up long lake until we reach a point where we can strike off to reach hendrick spring, the fountainhead of the hudson river?" asked mr. gilroy. "and where shall we camp?" asked mrs. vernon. "it might be nice to camp at the spring," suggested alec. "oh, yes, let's do that, gilly!" cried several voices. so they kept right on, paddling swiftly along until they reached a place on the shore where yhon said they must land if they proposed going to hendrick spring. "oh, i thought we could canoe there," ventured julie. "no, we must leave yhon here to watch the canoes while we hike along the trail that goes there. we can carry our sleeping-bags and take enough food for supper, then come back early in the morning for a good breakfast with yhon," explained mr. gilroy. "is there no way we might take to return to fulton chain lakes other than going back the same route?" questioned mrs. vernon. "no, we shall have to go the way we come, or be willing to _carry_ overland for many miles, from one water to the other." "oh, no, that is out of the question," said the captain. so each scout took a sleeping-bag and cup and plate, while the boys carried the extra cooking outfit, and alec his rifle. the trail led through a most wonderful primeval forest where lichened stones, moss-clothed fallen trees and luxuriant foliage of standing timber furnished homes for countless wild creatures. they had not gone far before a ruddy-hued fox tried to back out of their way on the trail, and managed successfully to merge his color with that of the yellow-brown verdure about him. further on, alec suddenly lifted his rifle and aimed, but the furtive mottled animal that had been crouching along the mottled limb of a tree leaped back with the least possible noise or disturbance of the foliage, and was gone! "that was _some_ wildcat, but she was too slick for me!" said alec, when questioned about missing it. the scouts saw so many unfamiliar birds that they wished they had carried a bird book on the trip to help them identify all they now saw. notes were taken, however, to help them look up and catalogue the varieties, later, in camp. there were many other interesting living creatures, also; some half-hid under leaves or twigs, others squatting daringly in the open, with questioning eyes fixed on these clumsy intruders. finally the scouts reached hendrick springs, but to their consternation the place was already tenanted with undesirable tramps. mr. gilroy politely questioned the three men who claimed to be timber-jacks, but their empty package that had contained food and the quart bottle that had once been filled with whiskey, now also empty, belied their story. their hardened faces, unkempt appearance, and other earmarks caused a little apprehension in the hearts of the girls and mrs. vernon; but soon after the new arrivals started their fire to cook supper, the three tramps got up and quietly left. scanty beds of balsam were soon made for the night for the girls, but the boys preferred to sleep upon the grass. after a few campfire tales, they decided who was to keep the fire burning all night to ward off any wild animals, and also to guard against the return of the evil-looking tramps. "we girls want to take our turn in watching, as well as the boys, gilly!" declared joan, when she heard how the guard was to be divided up for the night. "oh, you girls need sleep, but we don't," said bob. "we are just as hale as any of you boys, and we want to do our bit!" exclaimed julie, decidedly. "well, then, if you must, you will!" sighed mr. gilroy, comically. "now i have to begin all over again and figure out this problem. let's see: "first, alec and bob mount guard two hours; then dick and ned guard for two more; then julie and joan; and lastly, all the other girls and myself. how is that?" every one laughed, for julie and joan were now getting all they bargained for. so alec and bob went on duty, while the rest stretched out and fell asleep. at eleven o'clock the next two boys were called; but at one o'clock, when it was time to rouse julie and joan, mr. gilroy crept over and motioned the boys to let him mount duty for a time. it was nearly three when julie woke up and rubbed her eyes. she instantly realized that no one had called her, so she nudged joan and got her up. then they crept over to the campfire and scolded mr. gilroy for breaking faith with them. he laughed and gladly went back to finish his night's repose. having been so sound asleep just before going on duty, and being utterly tired out with the day's experiences, the two girls sat by the fire endeavoring to keep each other fully awake. but the sand man was too powerful for them to resist his dreamy influence, and soon joan dozed while julie yawned and did her best to keep her eyelids open. an hour passed and joan was sweetly sleeping, while julie was nodding, heavy with sleep. suddenly a crackling of branches behind them caused julie to start wide awake. "joan, are you awake?" whispered julie fearfully, shaking her friend. "sure--why?" mumbled joan, sitting up to rub her eyes. [illustration: "where--which way did you hear them?" questioned joan ... page 211] "i heard some one--maybe those tramps are back to do something," whispered julie, trying to peer through the misty night. "where--which way did you hear them?" questioned joan, now fully awake, too. "see those long shadows by the trees, over there?" returned julie. "i'll pile a lot more wood on the fire and make it blaze so we can see them if they come nearer." so saying, she threw so much wood on the fire that it instantly smothered the red glow and began smoking like a chimney. the smoke drove the girls from that side of the fire and caused them to cough violently, while there was a lively scrambling of feet over by the trees, and both girls began calling: "gilly! gilly, wake up! the tramps are here!" that cry brought every one to his feet, and the moment all heads got the benefit of the smoke, every one began coughing. but they managed to creep along the ground to the side of the fire, where the two girls stood gazing at the trees in question. just as alec crept up beside the scouts with rifle up ready to aim at whatever he found skulking about them, there sounded a frightful screeching, and hoarse calls came from the lower branches of the tree. "i knew it! i saw them creep over and heard them climb," cried julie, quaking with excitement. "they planned to drop something on our heads, i guess," added joan, her eyes bulging as she tried to see into the foliage. just as alec decided to take aim and fire haphazardly, knowing that he could not see in the dark but could frighten the tramps, bob caught hold of his arm. he was unaware that it held a gun that was cocked ready to fire. the rifle went off prematurely, the shot hit the mark without alec's trying for it, and a heavy thud informed the scouts that the bullet was fatal! instantly, however, there was such a commotion in the leaves, and such a bedlam of screeching! finally a great flock of crows swept out of the high tree and flew away to find a less dangerous roost. the first streaks of dawn were penetrating the forest's darkness when the offended crows left their ancestral tree; and the scouts looked at each other in surprise. but alec was sure it was not a crow he had downed--it was too heavy for that! so the boys crept carefully over to the place where they thought to find the body of a tramp, while the girls followed at a respectful distance. then the relieved cry from alec, and the laughing calls from the other boys, hurried the girls to join their friends. there they saw a dead wildcat of truly awesome size. in its clenched teeth it still held the young nestling--the object of its nocturnal climb into the tree. alec's unexpected shot had hit true and had done for the crafty animal. "well, this is some trophy to carry back home, eh?" cried alec delightedly, as he turned the cat over with his foot. "i'm glad you didn't kill anything more than the wildcat," added mrs. vernon. "if you boys intend carrying that back to camp, you'll have to skin it now and take only the pelt. you can't be bothered with the heavy beast itself. leave the carcass for the wild denizens that will be glad to feed on this, their enemy," advised mr. gilroy. "and do give us the crow! if it hadn't been for joan and me you wouldn't have had the wildcat!" exclaimed julie. "if it hadn't been for you two imaginative scouts we all would still be snoozing peacefully beside the fire," laughed alec. chapter fourteen the grand surprise when the scouts returned to their camp beside little moose lake, they were impressed anew with the peace and beauty of the spot. the canoe trip had been delightful and exciting, but all were glad to get back to a simple life once more. having seen the scout girls safely back home, and their canoes in the lake for future use, mr. gilroy sighed and said, "now i shall take a long rest and recover from the past few days' work!" a few days after their return from the "voyage," as they called it, the scout girls received a bundle of mail. in it were newspapers, many letters, and other interesting items. the papers were all "marked copies," and the mail proved to be letters filled with congratulations and words of praise for the brave girls. "why, they must be crazy! every one's writing about what we did at the fire!" laughed julie. "yes, just listen to this from 'liza, every one!" called out betty. and she read: "'so i sez to yer pa, yu've got two fine scouts in them girls, mister lee, and this proves it. any girl what will climb the side of a house to save folkses from burning, is wuth a lot of lazy, good-fer-nothin' boys, i sez.'" every one laughed heartily at the praise thus bestowed upon them; but betty said regretfully, "it's too bad i didn't do as much as julie did at that fire. daddy won't feel very proud of me, i'm afraid!" "oh, but you did, betty! you ran for the captain and did all sorts of stunts we couldn't have done. but not every one could climb like jo and i do!" said julie, soothingly. "oh, girls!" exclaimed the captain, who had been hurriedly glancing over one of the papers received. "listen to this from a new york paper. oh, i am so proud of you all!" then she read: "'at a recent fire that destroyed dickens' hotel at raquette lake, adirondacks, a group of girl scouts known as the dandelion troop saved many lives and did heroic work in saving property. one of the hotel guests told our local reporter the story and we print his own words.'" then followed an account of the fire, and how it started because of a defective flue in the kitchen chimney. it told in detail all that the girls did, but the story merely mentioned alec and _his_ courageous act. at the last of the story, a full description was given of how the balsam beds were made, and how the boarders were now enjoying themselves in tent-life and out-of-door camp cooking. and all this was due, it said, to the girl scouts being able to teach the homeless boarders how to help themselves with the bountiful supply from nature. that morning, mr. gilroy came down to the camp to hear the news, for he also had received several papers with the story of the fire in them. after the excitement of reading it all over again to him, the girls quieted down to hear what he wished to say. "i came to see about your plans for next summer's outing," said he. the girls looked at him quizzically, for they thought he was joking. mrs. vernon gasped, "next summer! we're not through with this year yet!" "i know that, but 'in times of peace prepare for war,' you know," laughed he. "tell us why you asked?" demanded julie. "because i am planning a trip for my next outing, and i am debating whether to invite any girl scouts to go with me." "where? aren't you going to stay here next summer?" was the answer from several girls. "no, i have had an important letter to-day. and i am going to accept the offer made me by the government, but it will cost any girl scout more to go with _me_ than it did to come to the adirondacks." "then that settles our going! we haven't a cent left over after this outing. if it hadn't been for those escaped felons last year we wouldn't have been here, i suppose!" sighed julie. "if it had not been the reward for the capture of the two felons that proved to be the means to bring you to the adirondacks, there would have been some other way of finding the supply for you. you see, girls, there is always plenty of everything for you when the source is unlimited," said mr. gilroy. "not one of us in dandelion troop have such a banker," laughed judith. "then, if this is so, why need we worry about expenses for next summer's outing with you?" added joan, in response to his remark. "i didn't ask you to worry," retorted mr. gilroy. "i only asked you to remember that you have the invitation, but it is up to you to find the channel of supply and break down the dam, so the supply will run smoothly and continuously for your needs." "how much shall we need, gilly?" asked julie, deeply interested in his words. "more than a thousand dollars for you all, i know that! but how much more depends upon our itinerary, and that depends on the captain." "oh, does she know about it?" chorused the girls. "not yet, but she will, shortly," laughed mr. gilroy. all the coaxings from nine persuasive girls failed to move mr. gilroy from the stand he had taken--not to tell about the next summer's plans. but a week later, when the scouts were well nigh forgetting all about his conversation, he brought a pleasant-faced gentleman to the camp to visit the girls. "this is mr. everard, scouts. he is anxious to meet julia and antoinette, since i told him what clever rascals they are. do you think they will do their tricks for company?" mr. everard laughed merrily, and it was readily seen that he had not come to see the calf and pig do the little tricks which the scouts had taught them. however, the calf and pig were brought out, and they performed as they had been trained to do, during many strenuous hours, and they won the applause of the stranger. then he spoke of the real cause of his visit. "i am one of the investigators of the carnegie reward society, and having heard of your bravery in the recent fire at raquette lake, i was sent here to ascertain various facts. from all accounts, the rescues you made were not only courageous and daring, but spectacular as well. it made a fine tale for the newspapers. one of the leading men on a metropolitan daily sent us a note asking whether such deeds were not rewarded by us." the scouts were too amazed to speak, but mrs. vernon spoke for them. she thanked mr. everard for coming, and said how pleased they all were that others appreciated the deeds performed by the dandelion scouts. "the medal will be given at the same time the reward of money is presented. so i need the names of the girls who took an active part in the rescues. those who rendered first aid to the sufferers may be awarded minor medals--i am not sure of that yet," explained mr. everard. "but alec did as much as jo and i, gilly," said julie, "although they didn't say much about him in the papers." "that has been corrected, but you didn't see the papers of the following day. and alec is to receive exactly the same reward as you girls," returned mr. gilroy. mr. everard did not mention the amount of money that was likely to arrive with the medals, but mrs. vernon spoke of it later. the two men left camp, and mr. everard was taken over to grey fox camp to meet the boys. "verny, maybe that reward will be the nest-egg of the supply we must have to go with gilly next summer!" declared julie excitedly, after both men had disappeared from view. "i was thinking of that when mr. everard spoke," said mrs. vernon. "i wonder how much they give to one--about a hundred dollars, i suppose," ventured joan. "oh, no! i've heard their cash rewards range from a thousand and down to five hundred dollars, according to the valor of the deed," replied the captain. "a thousand!" chorused the scouts in amazement. "why, that would take us all on gilly's trip," said julie. "maybe; but we don't know where he plans to go. if it is around the world, i fear the reward will not carry you all that far," rejoined mrs. vernon, smilingly. a few days after mr. everard's visit at camp, mr. gilroy came again. "well, scouts! was i right when i told you not to limit your supply to any old-fashioned mill-pond?" "you're always right--how could you _ever_ be mistaken?" was julie's retort. he laughed. "now, this flow of supply from the boundless source i preached about will give you the means to accept my invitation for next year." "we have already accepted, and are arranging to be absent from home for the length of time it takes to go to jericho and back again," answered julie. "not to the far east," laughed mr. gilroy, "but to the most wonderful mountains on earth, though the public has not realized that fact, because they are not yet the fashion. they are fast reaching that recognition, however. at present one can go there without being pestered by souvenir peddlers." "do tell us where it is, now that you've told us this much," begged the girls. but mr. gilroy shook his head and left them guessing. the last of august was passing quickly, and the scouts sighed whenever they remembered that they must close the wonderful camp the first week of september. there was still, however, one delight in store for them. that was the county fair, held the first three days of september. they had entered julia and antoinette to compete for prizes in their individual classes. the boys, as well as the girls, spent those days at the fair grounds, showing the tricks julia and the pig could do, and also going about seeking votes for their pets. the result of this faithful work was seen when the prizes were awarded. dandelion scout camp won first prize of a hundred dollars for having the heaviest and finest pig exhibited that year. another fifty dollars came for antoinette's being the best amateur trick animal shown that year. julia won second prize of fifty dollars for having the required number of points in breeding and development. then, after the fair closed, an animal trainer who made his living going about giving shows of trick animals made an offer for the two pets, saying he had seen them perform at the fair. "what shall we do? suppose the man is cruel to them?" asked julie, worried over the disposal of julia and anty. "it can't be much worse than sending them to a butcher," remarked mr. gilroy. "oh, mercy! we never could sell them for meat!" cried joan. "i shall never eat another mouthful of veal or pork," added betty, fervently. "none of us will ever eat meat again!" declared the others. "but that doesn't answer this letter," the captain reminded them. "the man offers a good price, girls, and having so much capital invested, he will surely take care of the investment," said mr. gilroy. "y-e-s, that's so! well, i'll tell you what, girls," said julie. "let's make him double his offer, and that will make him still more appreciative of julia and anty. if he takes it, all right. if he doesn't, we can write to some other zoo trainer, now that we know we have two fine trained pets." but the animal trainer expected a "come-back," and was only too glad to secure julia and anty at the price the scouts mentioned. and that added materially to the fund for the next summer's outing--wherever it was to be. the day the trainer came to take possession of his newly acquired pets, the girls felt blue over saying good-by to them. anty had been so thoroughly scrubbed that she glistened, and julia had been brushed and currycombed until she looked like satin. "oh, anty! shake hands just once more," wailed judith, as she held out her hand to the pig. anty immediately stood upon her hind legs and held out a hoof that had made such distracting imprints for the scouts early in the summer. "i'll buy the little bark shed, too. i know that all pets love their own little sleeping-places and get so used to them they never feel at home in new quarters. i'll take the pen with me," said the trainer. so anty was the means of adding to the coffer of gold the scouts were now dreaming of. and the artistic little bark house was taken away for anty's especial use thereafter. after the departure of julia and antoinette, the scouts felt lonely, and the camp was soon dismantled of all the exhibits that had been used for decorations that summer. everything was packed and shipped back home, and then came the day when mr. bentley came in his touring car to assist in the transportation of the campers to their old homes and families. as they all stood on the verandah of the bungalow shaking hands with mr. gilroy and telling him what a precious old dear he was to have bothered with them all summer, he said: "but you haven't asked me for the itinerary for next year." "we have, again and again, but you said it was not yet time for that!" exclaimed julie. "well, it _is_ time now. i have to spend all next summer in the rocky mountains collecting specimens of glacial deposits, so i need your company to keep me cheerful. it is up to you to win the consent of your people and save the money for the trip." such a chorus of youthful voices as greeted that wondrous prospect made the adults laugh. "you seem to welcome the idea of camping in the rockies?" suggested mr. gilroy, as the scouts piled into the cars ready to go home. "do we! well, gilly, just you wait and see if we are not with you next year in those rockies!" laughed julie. * * * * * _this isn't all!_ would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in this book? would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author? on the _reverse side_ of the wrapper which comes with this book, you will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same store where you got this book. _don't throw away the wrapper_ _use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. but in case you do mislay it, write to the publishers for a complete catalog._ girl scouts series by lillian elizabeth roy author of the "polly brewster books" handsomely bound. colored wrappers. illustrated. each volume complete in itself. here is a series that holds the same position for girls that the tom slade and roy blakeley books hold for boys. they are delightful stories of girl scout camp life amid beautiful surroundings and are filled with stirring adventures. girl scouts at dandelion camp this is a story which centers around the making and the enjoying of a mountain camp, spiced with the fun of a lively troop of girl scouts. the charm of living in the woods, of learning woodcraft of all sorts, of adventuring into the unknown, combine to make a busy and an exciting summer for the girls. girl scouts in the adirondacks new scenery, new problems of camping, association with a neighboring camp of boy scouts, and a long canoe trip with them through the fulton chain, all in the setting of the marvelous adirondacks, bring to the girls enlargement of horizon, new development, and new joys. girl scouts in the rockies on horseback from denver through estes park as far as the continental divide, climbing peaks, riding wild trails, canoeing through canyons, shooting rapids, encountering a landslide, a summer blizzard, a sand storm, wild animals, and forest fires, the girls pack the days full with unforgettable experiences. girl scouts in arizona and new mexico the girl scouts visit the mountains and deserts of arizona and new mexico. they travel over the old santa fe trail, cross the painted desert, and visit the grand canyon. their exciting adventures form a most interesting story. girl scouts in the redwoods the girls spend their summer in the redwoods of california and incidentally find a way to induce a famous motion picture director in hollywood to offer to produce a film that stars the girl scouts of america. the lilian garis books attractively bound. illustrated. individual colored wrappers. every volume complete in itself. lilian garis is one of the writers who always wrote. she expressed herself in verse from early school days and it was then predicted that lilian mack would one day become a writer. justifying this sentiment, while still at high school, she took charge of the woman's page for a city paper and her work there attracted such favorable attention that she left school to take entire charge of the woman's page for the largest daily in an important eastern city. mrs. garis turned to girls' books directly after her marriage, and of these she has written many. she believes in girls, studies them and depicts them with pen both skilled and sympathetic. barbara hale: a doctor's daughter barbara hale and cozette gloria: a girl and her dad gloria at boarding school joan: just girl joan's garden of adventure connie loring's ambition connie loring's dilemma amy bell marlowe's books for girls charming, fresh and original stories illustrated. wrappers printed in colors with individual design for each story miss marlowe's books for girls are somewhat of the type of miss alcott and also mrs. meade; but all are thoroughly up-to-date and wholly american in scene and action. good, clean absorbing tales that all girls thoroughly enjoy. the oldest of four; or, natalie's way out. a sweet story of the struggles of a live girl to keep a family from want. the girls at hillcrest farm; or, the secret of the rocks. relating the trials of two girls who take boarders on an old farm. a little miss nobody; or, with the girls of pinewood hall. tells of a schoolgirl who was literally a nobody until she solved the mystery of her identity. the girl from sunset ranch; or, alone in a great city. a ranch girl comes to new york to meet relatives she has never seen. her adventures make unusually good reading. wyn's camping days; or, the outing of the go-ahead club. a tale of happy days on the water and under canvas, with a touch of mystery and considerable excitement. francis of the ranges: or, the old ranchman's treasure. a vivid picture of life on the great cattle ranges of the west. the girls of rivercliff school; or, beth baldwin's resolve. this is one of the most entertaining stories centering about a girl's school that has ever been written. when oriole came to harbor light. the story of a young girl, cast up by the sea, and rescued by an old lighthouse keeper. when oriole traveled westward. oriole visits the family of a rich ranchman and enjoys herself immensely. the outdoor girls series by laura lee hope author of the "bobbsey twins," "bunny brown" series, etc. uniform style of binding. individual colored wrappers. every volume complete in itself. these tales take in the various adventures participated in by several bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. the outdoor girls of deepdale; or, camping and tramping for fun and health. the outdoor girls at rainbow lake; or, the stirring cruise of the motor boat gem. the outdoor girls in a motor car; or, the haunted mansion of shadow valley. the outdoor girls in a winter camp; or, glorious days on skates and ice boats. the outdoor girls in florida; or, wintering in the sunny south. the outdoor girls at ocean view; or, the box that was found in the sand. the outdoor girls on pine island; or, a cave and what it contained. the outdoor girls in army service; or, doing their bit for uncle sam. the outdoor girls at the hostess house; or, doing their best for the soldiers. the outdoor girls at bluff point; or, a wreck and a rescue. the outdoor girls at wild rose lodge; or, the hermit of moonlight falls. the outdoor girls in the saddle; or, the girl miner of gold run. the outdoor girls around the campfire; or, the old maid of the mountains. the outdoor girls on cape cod; or, sally ann of lighthouse rock. the blythe girls books by laura lee hope individual colored wrappers and text illustrations by thelma gooch every volume complete in itself the blythe girls, three in number, were left alone in new york city. helen, who went in for art and music, kept the little flat uptown, while margy just out of a business school, obtained a position as a private secretary and rose, plain-spoken and businesslike, took what she called a "job" in a department store. the blythe girls: helen, margy and rose; or, facing the great world. a fascinating tale of real happenings in the great metropolis. the blythe girls: margy's queer inheritance; or, the worth of a name. the girls had a peculiar old aunt and when she died she left an unusual inheritance. this tale continues the struggles of all the girls for existence. the blythe girls: rose's great problem; or, face to face with a crisis. rose still at work in the big department store, is one day faced with the greatest problem of her life. a tale of mystery as well as exciting girlish happenings. the blythe girls: helen's strange boarder; or, the girl from bronx park. helen, out sketching, goes to the assistance of a strange girl, whose real identity is a puzzle to all the blythe girls. who the girl really was comes as a tremendous surprise. the blythe girls: three on a vacation; or, the mystery at peach farm. the girls close their flat and go to the country for two weeks--and fall in with all sorts of curious and exciting happenings. how they came to the assistance of joe morris, and solved a queer mystery, is well related. carolyn wells books attractively bound. illustrated. colored wrappers. the marjorie books marjorie is a happy little girl of twelve, up to mischief, but full of goodness and sincerity. in her and her friends every girl reader will see much of her own love of fun, play and adventure. marjorie's vacation marjorie's busy days marjorie's new friend marjorie in command marjorie's maytime marjorie at seacote * * * * * the two little women series introducing dorinda fayre--a pretty blonde, sweet, serious, timid and a little slow, and dorothy rose--a sparkling brunette, quick, elf-like, high tempered, full of mischief and always getting into scrapes. two little women two little women and treasure house two little women on a holiday * * * * * the dick and dolly books dick and dolly are brother and sister, and their games, their pranks, their joys and sorrows, are told in a manner which makes the stories "really true" to young readers. dick and dolly dick and dolly's adventures the bobbsey twins books for little men and women by laura lee hope author of "the bunny brown series," etc. durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding. every volume complete in itself. these books for boys and girls between the ages of three and ten stand among children and their parents of this generation where the books of louisa may alcott stood in former days. the haps and mishaps of this inimitable pair of twins, their many adventures and experiences are a source of keen delight to imaginative children everywhere. the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the bobbsey twins at home the bobbsey twins in a great city the bobbsey twins on blueberry island the bobbsey twins on the deep blue sea the bobbsey twins in the great west the bobbsey twins at cedar camp the bobbsey twins at the county fair the bobbsey twins camping out the bobbsey twins and baby may the bobbsey twins keeping house the bobbsey twins at cloverbank the bunny brown series by laura lee hope author of the popular "bobbsey twins" books, etc. durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding. every volume complete in itself. these stories by the author of the "bobbsey twins" books are eagerly welcomed by the little folks from about five to ten years of age. their eyes fairly dance with delight at the lively doings of inquisitive little bunny brown and his cunning, trustful sister sue. bunny brown and his sister sue bunny brown and his sister sue on grandpa's farm bunny brown and his sister sue playing circus bunny brown and his sister sue at camp rest-a-while bunny brown and his sister sue at aunt lu's city home bunny brown and his sister sue in the big woods bunny brown and his sister sue on an auto tour bunny brown and his sister sue and their shetland pony bunny brown and his sister sue giving a show bunny brown and his sister sue at christmas tree cove bunny brown and his sister sue in the sunny south bunny brown and his sister sue keeping store bunny brown and his sister sue and their trick dog bunny brown and his sister sue at a sugar camp six little bunkers series by laura lee hope author of the bobbsey twins books, the bunny brown series, the blythe girls books, etc. durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding. every volume complete in itself. delightful stories for little boys and girls which sprung into immediate popularity. to know the six little bunkers is to take them at once to your heart, they are so intensely human, so full of fun and cute sayings. each story has a little plot of its own--one that can be easily followed--and all are written in miss hope's most entertaining manner. clean, wholesome volumes which ought to be on the bookshelf of every child in the land. six little bunkers at grandma bell's six little bunkers at aunt jo's six little bunkers at cousin tom's six little bunkers at grandpa ford's six little bunkers at uncle fred's six little bunkers at captain ben's six little bunkers at cowboy jack's six little bunkers at mammy june's six little bunkers at farmer joel's six little bunkers at miller ned's six little bunkers at indian john's grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york +-----------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |the word catalogue appears in the main text, but is | |catalog in the advertisements at the end of the book.| |raquette lake is also shown as racquette lake. | +-----------------------------------------------------+ scanned images of public domain material from the google print archive. the seven darlings [illustration: she stood stock-still, in plain view if they had looked her way] the seven darlings * * * * * by gouverneur morris * * * * * [illustration] with frontispiece by howard chandler christy * * * * * a. l. burt company publishers new york published by arrangements with charles scribner's sons copyright, 1915, by charles scribner's sons to hope davis the seven darlings i six of the darlings were girls. the seventh was a young man who looked like galahad and took exquisite photographs. their father had died within the month, and mr. gilpin, the lawyer, had just faced them, in family assembled, with the lamentable fact that they, who had been so very, very rich, were now astonishingly poor. "my dears," he said, "your poor father made a dreadful botch of his affairs. i cannot understand how some men----" "please!" said mary, who was the oldest. "it can't be any satisfaction to know why we are poor. tell us just how poor we are, and we'll make the best of it. i understand that the camp isn't involved in the general wreck." "it isn't," said mr. gilpin, "but you will have to sell it, or at least, rent it. outside the camp, when all the estate debts are paid, there will be thirty or forty thousand dollars to be divided among you." "in other words--_nothing_," said mary; "i have known my father to spend more in a month." "income--" began mr. gilpin. "_dear_ mr. gilpin," said gay, who was the youngest by twenty minutes; "don't." "forty thousand dollars," said mary, "at four per cent is sixteen hundred. sixteen hundred divided by seven is how much?" "nothing," said gay promptly. and all the family laughed, except arthur, who was trying to balance a quill pen on his thumb. "i might," said mr. gilpin helplessly, "be able to get you five per cent or even five and a half." "you forget," said maud, the second in age, and by some thought the first in beauty, "that we are father's children. do you think _he_ ever troubled his head about five and a half per cent, or even," she finished mischievously, "six?" arthur, having succeeded in balancing the quill for a few moments, laid it down and entered the discussion. "what has been decided?" he asked. his voice was very gentle and uninterested. "it's an awful pity mamma isn't in a position to help us," said eve. eve was the third. after her, arthur had been born; and then, all on a bright summer's morning, the triplets, lee, phyllis, and gay. "that old scalawag mamma married," said lee, "spends all her money on his old hunting trips." "where is the princess at the moment?" asked mr. gilpin. "they're in somaliland," said lee. "they almost took me. if they had, i shouldn't have called oducalchi an old scalawag. you know the most dismal thing, when mamma and papa separated and _she_ married _him_, was his turning out to be a regular old-fashioned brick. he can throw a fly yards further and lighter than any man _i_ ever saw." "and if you are bored," said phyllis, "you say to him, 'say something funny, prince,' and he always can, instantly, without hesitation." "all things considered," said gay, "mamma's been a very lucky girl." "still," said mary, "the fact remains that she's in no position to support us in the lap of luxury." "our kid brother," said gay, "the future prince oducalchi, will need all she's got. when you realize that that child will have something like fifty acres of slate roofs to keep in order, it sets you thinking." "one thing i insist on," said maud, "mamma shan't be bothered by a lot of hard-luck stories----" "did it ever occur to you, mr. gilpin," said arthur, in his gentle voice, "that my sisters are the six sandiest and most beautiful girls in the world? i've been watching them out of the corner of my eye, and wishing to heaven that i were romney or gainsborough. i'd give a million dollars, if i had them, for their six profiles, immortally painted in a row. but nowadays if a boy has the impulse to be a painter, he is given a camera; or if he wishes to be a musician, he is presented with a pianola. luxury is the executioner of art. personally i am so glad that i am going to be poor that i don't know what to do." "aren't you sorry for us, artie?" asked gay. "very," said he; "and i don't like to be called artie." * * * * * immediately after their father's funeral the darlings had hurried off to their camp on new moon lake. an adirondack "camp" has much in common with a newport "cottage." the darlings' was no exception. there was nothing camp-like about it except its situation and the rough bark slats with which the sides of its buildings were covered. there were very many buildings. there was darling house, in which the family had their sleeping-rooms and bathrooms and dressing-rooms. there was guide's house, where the guides, engineers, and handy men slept and cooked, and loafed in rainy weather. a passageway, roofed but open at the sides, led from darling house to dining house--one vast room, in the midst of which an oval table which could be extended to seat twenty was almost lost. heads of moose, caribou, and elk (not "caught" in the adirondacks) looked down from the walls. another room equally large adjoined this. it contained tables covered with periodicals; two grand pianos (so that mary and arthur could play duets without "bumping"); many deep and easy chairs, and a fireplace so large that when it was half filled with roaring logs it looked like the gates of hell, and was so called. pantry house and bar house led from dining house to smoke house, where an olive-faced chef, all in white, was surrounded by burnished copper and a wonderful collection of blue and white. there was work house with its bench, forge, and lathe for working wood and iron; power house adjoining; and on the slopes of the mountain back of the camp, spring house, from which water, ice-cold, at high pressure descended to circulate in the elaborate plumbing of the camp. for guests, there were little houses apart--rest house, two sleeping-rooms, a bath and a sitting-room; lone house, in which one person could sleep, keep clean, write letters, or bask on a tiny balcony thrust out between the stems of two pine-trees and overhanging deep water; bachelor house, to accommodate six of that questionable species. and placed here and there among pines that had escaped the attacks of nature and the greed of man were half a dozen other diminutive houses, accommodating from two to four persons. the camp was laid out like a little village. it had its streets, paved with pine-needles, its street lamps. it had grown from simple beginnings with the darling fortune; with the passing of this, it remained, in all its vast and intricate elaboration, like a white elephant upon the family's hands. from time to time they had tried the effect of giving the place a name, but had always come back to "the camp." as such it was known the length and breadth of the north woods. it was _the_ camp, par excellence, in a region devoted to camps and camping. "other people," the late mr. darling once remarked, "have more land, but nobody else has quite as much camp." the property itself consisted of a long, narrow peninsula thrust far out into new moon lake, with half a mountain rising from its base. with the exception of a small village at the outlet of the lake, all the remaining lands belonged to the state, and since the state had no immediate use for them and since the average two weeks' campers could not get at them without much portage and expense, they were regarded by the darlings as their own private preserves. "the camp," said mr. gilpin, "is, of course, a big asset. it is unique, and it is celebrated, at least among the people who might have the means to purchase it and open it. you could ask, and in time, i think, get a very large price." they were gathered in the playroom. mary, very tall and beautiful, was standing with her back to the fireplace. "mr. gilpin," she said, "i have been coming to the camp off and on for twenty-eight years. i will never consent to its being sold." "nor i," said maud. "though i've only been coming for twenty-six." "in twenty-four years," said eve, "i have formed an attachment to the place which nothing can break." "arthur," appealed mr. gilpin, "perhaps you have some sense." "i?" said arthur. "why? twenty-two years ago i was born here." "good old arthur!" exclaimed the triplets. "we were born here, too--just nineteen years ago." "but," objected mr. gilpin, "you can't run the place--you can't live here. confound it, you young geese, you can't even pay the taxes." lee whispered to gay. "look at mary!" "why?" "she's got a look of father in her eyes--father going down to wall street to raise cain." mary spoke very slowly. "mr. gilpin," she said, "you are an excellent estate lawyer, and i am very fond of you. but you know nothing about finance. we are going to live here whenever we please. we are going to run it wide open, as father did. we are even going to pay the taxes." mr. gilpin was exasperated. "then you'll have to take boarders," he flung at her. "exactly," said mary. there was a short silence. "how do you know," said gay, "that they won't pick their teeth in public? i couldn't stand that." "they won't be that kind," said mary grimly. "and they will be so busy paying their bills that they won't have time." "seriously," said arthur, "are you going to turn the camp into an inn?" "no," said mary, "not into an inn. it has always been _the_ camp. we shall turn it into _the_ inn." ii mr. gilpin had departed in what had perhaps been the late mr. darling's last extravagant purchase, a motor-boat which at rest was a streak of polished mahogany, and at full speed, a streak of foam. the reluctant lawyer carried with him instructions to collect as much cash as possible and place it to the credit of the equally reluctant arthur darling. "arthur," mary had agreed, "is perhaps the only one of us who could be made to understand that a bank account in his name is not necessarily at his own personal disposal. arthur is altruistically and don quixotically honest." it was necessary to warm the playroom with a tremendous fire, as october had changed suddenly from autumn to winter. there was a gusty grayness in the heavens that promised flurries of snow. since mary's proposal of the day before to turn the expensive camp into a profitable inn, the family had talked of little else, and a number of ways and means had already been chosen from the innumerable ones proposed. in almost every instance arthur had found himself an amused minority. his platform had been: "make them comfortable at a fair price." but mary, who knew the world, had retorted: "we are not appealing to people who consider what they pay but to people who only consider what they get. make them luxurious; and they will pay anything we choose to ask." after mr. gilpin's chillsome departure in the _streak_, the family resumed the discussion in front of the great fire in the playroom. wow, the dog, who had been running a deer for twenty-four hours in defiance of all game-laws, was present in the flesh, but his weary spirit was in the land of dreams, as an occasional barking and bristling of his mane testified. uncas, the chipmunk, had also demanded and received admittance to the council. for a time he had sat on arthur's shoulder, puffing his cheeks with inconceivable rapidity, then, soporifically inclined by the warmth of the fire and the constant strain incident to his attempts to understand the ins and outs of the english language when rapidly and even slangily spoken, he dropped into arthur's breast-pocket and went to sleep. arthur sighed. he was feeling immensely fidgety; but he knew that any sudden, irritable shifting of position would disturb the slumbers of uncas, and so for nearly an hour he held himself heroically, almost uncannily, still. two years ago, dating from his graduation, arthur had had a change of heart. he had been so dissipated as to give his family cause for the utmost anxiety. he had squandered money with both hands. he had had a regular time for lighting a cigarette, namely, when the one which he had been smoking was ready to be thrown away. he had been a keen hunter and fisherman. his chief use for domestic animals was to tease them and play tricks upon them. then suddenly, out of this murky sky, had shone the clear light of all his subsequent behavior. he neither drank nor smoked; he neither slaughtered deer nor caught fish. he was never quarrelsome. he went much into the woods to photograph and observe. he became almost too quiet and self-effacing for a young man. he asked nothing of the world--not even to be let alone. he was patient under the fiendish ministrations of bores. he tamed birds and animals, spoiling them, as grandparents spoil grandchildren, until they gave him no peace, and were always running to him at inconvenient times because they were hungry, because they were sleepy, because they thought somebody had been abusing them, or because they wished to be tickled and amused. "he's like a peaceful lake," maud had once said, "deep in the woods, where the wind never blows," and eve had nodded and said: "true. and there's a woman at the bottom of it." the sisters all believed that arthur's change of heart could be traced to a woman. they differed only as to the kind. "one of our kind," mary thought, "who wouldn't have him." "one of our kind," thought maud, "who couldn't have him." and the triplets thought differently every day. all except gay, who happened to know. "but," said maud, "if we are to appeal to people of our own class, all mamma's and papa's old friends and our own will come to us, and that will be much, too much, like charity." "right," said mary. "don't tell _me_ i haven't thought of that. i have. applications from old friends will be politely refused." "we can say," said eve, "that we are very sorry, but every room is taken." "but suppose they aren't?" objected arthur. eve retorted sharply. "what is that to do with it? we are running a business, not a bible class." but phyllis was pulling a long face. "aren't we ever to see any of our old friends any more?" lee and gay nudged each other and began to tease her. "dearest pill," they said, "all will yet be well. there is more than one geoffrey plantagenet in the world. you shall have the pick of all the handsome strangers." "oh, come, now!" said arthur, "phyllis is right. now and then we must have guests--who don't pay." "not until we can afford them," said mary. "has anybody seen the sketch-map that papa made of the buildings?" "i know where it is," said arthur, "but i can't get it now; because wow needs my feet for a pillow and at the moment uncas is very sound asleep." "can't you _tell_ us where it is?" "certainly," he said; "it's in the safe. the safe is locked." "and where is the key?" "just under uncas." "very well, then," said mary, "important business must wait until stripes wakes up. meanwhile, i think we ought to make up our minds how and how much to advertise." "there are papers," said eve, "that all wealthy americans always see, and then there's that english paper with all the wonderful advertisements of country places for sale or to let. i vote for a full-page ad in that. people will say, 'jove, this must be a wonderful proposition if it pays 'em to advertise it in an english paper.'" everybody agreed with eve except arthur. he merely smiled with and at her. "we can say," said eve, "shooting and fishing over a hundred thousand acres. does the state own as much as that, arthur?" he nodded, knowing the futility of arguing with the feminine conscience. "two hundred thousand?" he nodded again. "then," said eve, "make a note of this, somebody." maud went to the writing-table. "shooting and fishing over hundreds of thousands of acres." "there must be pictures," said maud, "in the text of the ad--the place is full of them; and if they won't do, arthur can take others--when wow and uncas wake up." "there must be that picture after the opening of the season," said mary, "the year the party got nine bucks--somebody make a point of finding that picture." "there are some good strings of trout and bass photographically preserved," said gay. "a picture of chef in his kitchen will appeal," said lee. "so will interiors," said maud. "bedrooms with vistas of plumbing. let's be honestly grateful to papa for all the money he spent on porcelain and silver plate." "oh, come," said mary, "we must advertise in the american papers, too. i think we should spend a good many thousand dollars. and of course we must do away with the big table in the dining-house and substitute little tables. i propose that we ransack the place for photographs, and that maud try her hand at composing full-page ads. and, arthur, please don't forget the sketch plan of the buildings--we'll have to make quite a lot of alterations." "i've thought of something," said maud. "just a line. part of the ad, of course, mentions prices. now i think if we say prices from so and so up--it looks cheap and commonplace. at the bottom of the ad, then, after we've described all the domestic comforts of the camp and its sporting opportunities, let's see if we can't catch the _clientã¨le_ we are after with this: "'prices rather high.'" "maud," said mary, after swift thought, "your mind is as clear as a gem. just think how that line would have appealed to papa if he'd been looking into summer or winter resorts. make a note of it-what are you two whispering about?" lee and gay looked up guiltily. they had not only been whispering but giggling. they said: "nothing. absolutely nothing." but presently they put on sweaters and rowed off in a guide boat, so that they might converse without fear of being observed. "sure you've got it?" asked lee. "umm," said gay, "sure." they giggled. "and you think we're not just plain conceited?" "my dear lee," said gay, "mary, maud, and eve are famous for their faces and their figgers--have been for years, poor old things. well, in my candid opinion, you and phyllis are better-looking in every way. i look at you two from the cool standpoint of a stranger, and i tell you that you are incomparably good-looking." lee laughed with mischievous delight. "and you look so exactly like us," she said, "that strangers can't tell us apart." "for myself," said gay demurely, "i claim nothing. absolutely nothing. but you and pill are certainly as beautiful as you are young." "for the sake of argument, then," said lee, "let's admit that we six sisters considered as a collection are somewhat alluring to the eye. well--when the mail goes with the ads maud is making up, we'll go with it, and make such changes in the choice of photographs as we see fit." "that won't do," said gay. "there will be proofs to correct." "then we'll wait till the proofs are corrected and sent off." "yes. that will be the way. it would be a pity for the whole scheme to fall through for lack of brains. i suppose the others would never agree?" "the girls _might_," said lee, "but arthur never. he would rise up like a lion. you know, deep down in his heart he's a frightful stickler for the proprieties." "we shall get ourselves into trouble." "it will not be the first or the last time. and besides, we can escape to the woods if necessary, like bessie belle and mary grey." "who were they?" "'they were two bonnie lassies. they built a house on yon burn brae and thecht it o'er wi' rashes.'" iii if we except arthur, whose knowledge of the adirondack woods and waters was that of a naturalist, lee and gay were the sportsmen of the family. they had begun to learn the arts of fishing and hunting from excellent masters at the tender age of five. they knew the deeps and shallows of every lake and brook within many miles as intimately as a good housewife knows the shelves in her linen closet. they talked in terms of blazes, snags, spring holes, and runways. each owned a guide boat, incomparably light, which she could swing to her shoulders and carry for a quarter of a mile without blowing. if lee was the better shot, gay could throw the more seductive fly. there had been a guide in the girls' extreme youth, a frenchman, pierre amadis de troissac, who had perhaps begun life as a gentleman. whatever his history, he had taught the precious pair the rudiments of french and the higher mysteries of fishing. he had made a special study of spring holes, an essential in adirondack trout-fishing, and whenever the darlings wanted trout, it had only been necessary to tell de troissac how many they wanted and to wait a few hours. on those occasions when he went fishing for the larder, lee and gay, two little roly-polies with round, innocent eyes, often accompanied him. it never occurred to de troissac that the children could mark down the exact places from which he took fish, and, one by one and quite unintentionally, he revealed to them the hard-won secrets of his spring holes. the knowledge, however, went no further. they would have told phyllis, of course, if she had been a sport. but she wasn't. she resembled lee and gay almost exactly in all other ways; but the spirit of pursuit and capture was left out of her. twice she had upset a boat because a newly landed bass had suddenly begun to flop in the bottom of it, and once, coming accidentally upon a guide in the act of disembowelling a deer, she had gone into hysterics. she could row, carry a boat, swim, and find the more travelled trails; but, as lee and gay said: "pill would starve in the woods directly the season was over." she couldn't discharge even a twenty-two calibre rifle without shutting her eyes; she couldn't throw a fly twenty feet without snarling her leader. the more peaceful arts of out-of-doors had excited her imagination and latent skill. in the heart of the woods, back of the camp, not to be seen or even suspected until you came suddenly upon it, she had an acre of gardens under exquisite cultivation, and not a little glass. she specialized in nectarines, white muscats of alexandria, new peas, and heaven-blue larkspur. but, for the sake of others, she grew to perfection beets, sweet corn, the lilies in variety, and immense japanese iris. as the camp was to be turned into an inn which should serve its guests with delicious food, phyllis and her garden became of immense importance and she began to sit much apart, marking seed catalogues with one end of a pencil and drumming on her beautiful teeth with the other. negotiations had been undertaken with a number of periodicals devoted to outdoor life, and a hundred schemes for advertising had been boiled down to one, which even arthur was willing to let stand. to embody mary's ideas of a profitable proposition into a page of advertising without being too absurd or too "cheap," had proved extremely difficult. "we will run the inn," she said, "so that rich people will live very much as they would if they were doing the running. one big price must cover all the luxuries of home. we must eliminate all extras--everything which is a nuisance or a trouble. except for the trifling fact that we receive pay for it, we must treat them exactly as papa used to treat his guests. he gave his guests splendid food of his own ordering. when they wanted cigars or cigarettes, they helped themselves. there was always champagne for dinner, but if men preferred whiskey and soda, they told the butler, and he saw that they got it. what i'm driving at is this: there must be no difference in price for a guest who drinks champagne and one who doesn't drink anything. and more important still, we must do all the laundering without extra charge; guides, guide boats, guns, and fishing-tackle must be on tap--just as papa had everything for his guests. the one big price must include absolutely everything." added to this general idea, it was further conveyed in the final advertisement that the shooting was over hundreds of thousands of acres and the fishing in countless lakes and streams. and the last line of the ad, as had been previously agreed, was this: "prices rather high." and, as gay said to lee: "if that doesn't fetch 'em--you and i know something that maybe will." the full-page ad began and ended with a portrait of uncas, the chipmunk, front view, sitting up, his cheeks puffed to the bursting point. the centre of the page was occupied by a rather large view of the camp and many of the charming little buildings which composed it, taken from the lake. throughout the text were scattered reproductions--strings of trout, a black bear, nine deer hanging in a row, and other seductions to an out-of-door life. for lovers of good food there was a tiny portrait of the chef and adjoining it a photograph of the largest bunch of white muscats that had ever matured in phyllis's vinery. a few days before the final proofs began to come in from the advertising managers, there arrived, addressed to gay, a package from a firm in new york which makes a specialty of developing and printing photographs for amateurs. gay concealed the package, but lee had noted its existence, and sighed with relief. a little later she found occasion to take gay aside. "was the old film all right? did they print well?" gay nodded. "it always was a wonderful picture," she said. "us for the tall timber," she said--"when they come out." the final proofs being corrected and enveloped, gay and lee, innocent and bored of face, announced that, as there was nothing to do, they thought they would row the mail down to the village. it was a seven-mile row, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for them and it was arranged that the _streak_ should be sent after them in case they showed signs of being late for lunch. gay rowed with leisurely strokes, while lee, seated in the stern, busied herself with a pair of scissors and a pot of paste. she was giving the finally corrected proofs that still more final correcting which she and gay had agreed to be necessary. they had decided that the centrepiece of the advertisement--a mere general view of the camp--though very charming in its way, "meant nothing," and they had made up their unhallowed minds to substitute in its place one of those "fortunate snap-shots," the film of which gay had--happened to preserve. in this photograph the six darling sisters were seated in a row, on the edge of the camp float. their feet and ankles were immersed. they wore black bathing-dresses, exactly alike, and the bathing-dresses were of rather thin material--and very, very wet. the six exquisite heads perched on the six exquisite figures proved a picture which, as lee and gay admitted, might cause even a worthy young man to leave home and mother. it was not until they were half-way home that lee suddenly cried aloud and hid her face in her hands. "for heaven's sake," exclaimed gay, "trim boat, and what's the matter anyway?" "matter?" exclaimed lee; "that picture of us sits right on top of the line _prices rather high_. and it's too late to do anything about it!" gay turned white and then red, and then she burst out laughing. "'tis awful," she said, "but it will certainly fetch 'em." iv the camp itself underwent numerous changes during the winter; and even the strong-hearted mary was appalled by the amount of money which it had been found necessary to expend. the playroom would, of course, be reserved for the use of guests, and a similar though smaller and inferior room had been thrust out from the west face of darling house for the use of the family. then maud, who had volunteered to take charge of all correspondence and accounts, had insisted that an office be built for her near the dock. this was mostly shelves, a big fireplace, and a table. here guests would register upon arrival; here the incoming mail would be sorted and the outgoing weighed and stamped. it had also been found necessary, in view of the very large prospective wash, to enlarge and renovate laundry house and provide sleeping quarters for a couple of extra laundresses. those who are familiar with the scarcity and reluctance of labor in the adirondacks will best understand how these trifling matters bit into the darling capital. sometimes mary, who held herself responsible for the possible failure of the projected inn, could not sleep at night. suppose that the advertising, which would cost thousands of dollars, should fall flat? suppose that not a single solitary person should even nibble at the high prices? the darlings might even find themselves dreadfully in debt. the camp would have to go. she suffered from nightmares, which are bad, and from daymares, which are worse. then one day, brought across the ice from the village of carrytown at the lower end of the lake, she received the following letter: miss darling, the camp, new moon lake in the adirondacks, new york. dear madam:--yesterday morning, quite by accident, i saw the prospectus of your inn on the desk of mr. burns, the advertising manager of _the four seasons_. i note with regret that you are not opening until the first of july. would it not be possible for you to receive myself and a party of guests very much earlier, say just when the ice has gone out of the lake and the trout are in the warm shallows along the shores? personally, it is my plan to stay on with you for the balance of the season, provided, of course, that all your accommodations have not been previously taken. with regard to prices, i note only that they are "rather high." i would suggest that, as it would probably inconvenience you to receive guests prior to the date set for the formal opening of your camp, you name a rate for three early weeks which would be profitable to you. there will be six men in my party, including myself. very truly yours, samuel langham. mary, her face flushed with the bright colors of triumph, read this letter aloud to the assembled family. "does anybody," she asked, "know anything about samuel langham? is he a suitable person?" "i know of him," said arthur, smiling at some recollection or other. "he is what the newspapers call a 'well-known clubman.' he is rich, fat, good-natured, and not old. it is that part of your prospectus which touches upon the _cuisine_ that has probably affected him. his father was a large holder of standard oil securities." "as for me," said gay, "i've seen him. do you remember, phyllis, being asked to a most 'normous dinner dance at the redburns' the year we came out? at the last minute you caught cold and wanted to back out, but mary said _that_ wasn't done, and so i went in your place, and, as usual, nobody knew the difference. well, mr. langham was there. i didn't meet him, but i remember i watched him eat. he is very smug-looking. he didn't like the champagne. i remember that. he lifted his glass hopefully, took one swallow, put his glass down, and never touched it again. his face for the rest of dinner had the expression of one who has been deeply wronged. i thought of louis xvi mounting the scaffold." "i do wish," said mary, "that we knew what kind of wine the creature likes." "father left a splendid collection," said arthur. "take mr. langham into the cellar. he'll enjoy that. let him pick his own bottle." in the event, maud sat down in her new office and wrote mr. langham that he and his five guests could be received earlier in the season. and then, with fear and trembling, she named a price _per diem_ that amounted to highway robbery. mr. langham's answer was prompt and cheerful. he asked merely to be notified when the ice had gone out of the lake. "well," said mary, with a long-drawn sigh of relief, "the prices don't seem to have frightened him nearly as much as they frightened us. but, after all, the prospectus was alluring--though we say it that shouldn't." lee and gay were troubled by qualms of conscience. the advertisements of the camp were to appear in the february number of some of the more important periodicals, and the two scapegraces were beginning to be horribly alarmed. magazines have a way of being received last by those most interested in seeing them. and before even a copy of _the four seasons_ reached the darlings, there came a number of letters from people who had already seen the advertisement in it. one letter was from a very old friend of the family, and ran as follows: my dear mary: how could you! i have seen your advertisement of the camp in _the four seasons_. it is earning much talk and criticism. i don't know what you could have been thinking of. i have always regarded you as one of the sanest and best-bred women i know. but it seems that you are not above sacrificing your own dignity to financial gain---"well, in the name of all that's ridiculous," exclaimed mary; "of all that's impertinent!--will somebody kindly tell me what my personality has to do with our prospectus of the camp?" those who could have told her held their tongues and quaked inwardly. the others joined in mary's surprise and indignation. even arthur, who hated the whole innkeeping scheme, was roused out of his ordinary placidity. "i shall write to the horrid old woman," said mary, "and tell her to mind her own business. i shall also tell her that we are receiving so many applications for accommodations that we don't know how to choose. that isn't quite true, of course; but we have received some. since i am not above sacrificing my dignity"--she went on angrily--"to financial gain, i may as well throw a few lies into the bargain." the next day, addressed to "the camp," came the long-expected number of _the four seasons_. arthur opened it and began to turn the leaves. presently, from the centre of a page, he saw his six beautiful sisters looking him in the face. "mary!" he called, in such a voice that she came running. she looked and turned white. eve came, and maud and phyllis. "who is responsible for this--" cried arthur, "for this sickening--this degraded piece of mischief?" "you corrected the final proofs yourself," said maud. "and sealed them up. if i find that some mischief-maker in the office of _the four seasons_ has been playing tricks----" "the mischief-makers are to be found nearer home," said mary. "don't you remember that lee and gay took the proofs to the post-office. they said they were bored and could think of nothing to do. _this_ is what they were thinking of doing!" "where are they?" he said in a grim voice. "now, arthur," said maud, "think before you say anything to them that you may regret. as for the picture of us in our bathing-suits--well, i, for one, don't see anything dreadful about it. in fact, i think we look rather lovely." arthur groaned. "i want to talk to lee and gay," he said. "my sisters--an advertisement in a magazine--for drummers and newsboys to make jokes about----" he grew white and whiter, until his innocent sisters were thoroughly frightened. then he started out of the playroom in search of lee and gay. in or about the camp they were not to be found. nobody had seen them since breakfast. with this information, he returned to the playroom. "they've run away," he said, "and i'm going after them." "i wouldn't," said mary. "the harm's been done. you can't very well spank them. i wish you could. you can only scold--and what earthly good will that do them, or you?" "i don't know that anything i may say," said arthur, "_will_ do them any good. i live in hopes." "have you any idea where they've gone?" "i'll cast about in a big circle and find their tracks." when arthur, mittened and snow-shoed, had departed in search of lee and gay, the remaining sisters gathered about the full-page advertisement in _the four seasons_, and passed rapidly from anger to mild hysterics. mary was the last to laugh. and she said: "girls, i will tell you an awful secret. i never would have consented to this, but as long as lee and gay have gone and done it, i'm--_glad_." "the only thing _i_ mind," said eve, "is arthur. he'll take it hard." "we can't help that," said maud. "business is business. and this wretched, shocking piece of mischief spells success. i feel it in my bones. there's no use being silly about ourselves. we've got our way to make in the world--and, as a sextet----" she lingered over the picture. "as a sextet, there's no use denying that we are rather lovely to look at." phyllis put in a word blindly. "maud," she said, "among the applications you have received, how many are from women?" maud laughed aloud. "none," she said. "there wouldn't be," said eve. "well," said mary, "compared to the rest of you, i'm quite an old woman, and i say--so much the better." v even on going into the open air from a warmed room, it would not have struck you as a cold day. but thermometers marked a number of degrees worse than zero. the sky was bright and blue. not a breath of wind stirred. in the woods the underbrush was hidden by the smooth accumulations of snow, so that the going was open. the adirondack winter climate is such that a man runs less risk of getting too cold than of getting too warm. arthur, moving swiftly in a great circle so that at some point he should come upon the tracks of his culprit sisters, shed first his mittens and then his coat. the former he thrust into his trousers pocket, and he hung the latter to a broken limb where he could easily find it on his return. "there would be some sense in running away in summer," he thought. "it would take an indian or a dog to track them then, but in winter--i gave them credit for more sense." he came upon the outgoing marks of their snow-shoes presently, just beyond phyllis's garden, to the north of the camp. in imagination he saw the two lithe young beauties striding sturdily and tirelessly over the snow, and then and there the extreme pinnacles of his anger toppled and fell. there is no occupation to which a maiden may lend herself so virginal as woodmanship. and he fell to thinking less of his young sisters' indiscretion than of the extreme and unsophisticated innocence which had led them into it. what could girls know of men, anyway? what did his sisters know of him? that he had been extravagant and rather fast. had they an inkling of what being rather fast meant? his smooth forehead contracted with painful thoughts. even mary's indignation upon the discovery of the photograph in _the four seasons_ had not matched his own. she had been angry because she was a gentlewoman, and gentlewomen shun publicity. she had not even guessed at the degradation to which broadcast pictures of beautiful women are subjected. his anger turned from his sisters presently and glowered upon the whole world of men; his hands closed to strike, and opened to clutch and choke. that lee and gay had done such a thing was earnest only of innocence coupled with mischief. they must know that what they had done was wrong, since they had fled from any immediate consequences, but how wrong it was they could never dream, even in nightmares. nor was it possible for him to explain. how, then, could any anger which he might visit upon them benefit? and who was he, when it came to that, to assume the unassailable morality of a parent? it came to this: that arthur followed the marks of lee's and gay's snow-shoes mechanically, and raged, not against them, not against the world of men, but against himself. he had said once in jest that many an artistic impulse had been crushed by the camera and the pianola. but how pitifully true this had been in his own case! if he had been born into less indulgence, he might have painted, he might have played. the only son in a large family of daughters, his father and mother had worshipped the ground upon which his infant feet had trod. he had never known what it was to want anything. he had never been allowed to turn a hand to his own honest advantage. he was the kind of boy who, under less golden circumstances, would have saved his pocket-money and built with his own hands a boat or whatever he needed. there is a song: "i want what i want when i want it." arthur might have sung: "i get what i'm going to want and then i don't want it." his contemporaries had greatly envied him, when, as a mere matter of justice, they should have pitied him. all his better impulses had been gnarled by indulgence. he had done things that showed natural ability; but of what use was that? he was too old now to learn to draw. he played rather delightfully upon the piano, or any other instrument, for that matter. to what end? he could not read a note. there was nothing that arthur could not have done, if he had been let alone. there were many things that he would have done. at college he had seen in one smouldering flash of intuition how badly he had started in the race of life. when others were admiring his many brilliancies, he was mourning for the lost years when, under almost any guidance save that of his beloved father, he might have laid such sturdy foundations to future achievements--pedestals on which to erect statues. self-knowledge had made him hard for a season and cynical. as a tired sea-gull miscalculates distance and dips his wings into the sea, so arthur, when he thought that he was merely flying low the better to see and to observe, had alighted without much struggling in a pool of dissipation and vice. the memory was more of a weariness to him than a sharp regret. of what use is remorse--after the fact? let it come before and all will be well. at last, more by accident than design, he drew out of the muddy ways into which he had fallen and limped off--not so much toward better things as away from worse. then it was that romance had come for him, and carried him on strong wings upward toward the empyrean. even now, she was only twenty. she had married a man more than twice her age. he had been her guardian, and she had felt that it was her duty. her marriage proved desperately unhappy. she and arthur met, and, as upon a signal, loved. for a few weeks of one golden summer, they had known the ethereal bliss of seeing each other every day. they met as little children, and so parted. they accepted the law and convention which stood between them, not as a barrier to be crossed or circumvented but with childlike faith as a something absolutely impassable--like the space which separates the earth and the moon. they remained utterly innocent in thought and deed, merely loved and longed and renounced so very hard that their poor young hearts almost broke. not so the "old man." it happened, in the autumn of that year, that he brought his wife to new york, in whose wall street he had intricate interests. he learned that she was by way of seeing more of arthur than a girl of eighteen married to a man of nearly fifty ought to see. he did not at once burst into coarse abuse of her, but, worldly-wise, set detectives to watch her. he had, you may say, set his heart upon her guilt. to learn that she was utterly innocent enraged him. one day he had the following conversation with a mr. may, of a private detective bureau: "you followed them?" "to the park." "well?" "they bought a bag of peanuts and fed the squirrels." "go on." "then they rode in a swan-boat. then they walked up to the reservoir and around it. then they came back to the hotel." "did they separate in the office?" "on the sidewalk." "but last night? she said she was dining with her sister and going to the play. what did she do last night?" "she did what she said. believe me, sir--if i know anything of men and women, you're paying me to run fool's errands for you. _they_ don't need any watching." "you have seen them--kiss?" "never." "hold hands?" "i haven't seen any physical demonstration. i guess they like each other a lot. and that's all there is to it." but the "old man" made a scene with her, just such a scene as he would have made if the detective's report had been, in effect, the opposite of what it was. he assumed that she was guilty; but, for dread of scandal, he would not seek a divorce. he exacted a promise that she would not see arthur, or write to him, or receive letters from him. then, having agreed with certain magnates to go out to china upon the question of a great railroad and a great loan, he carried her off with him, then and there. so that when arthur called at the hotel, he was told that they had gone but that there was a note for him. if it was from the wife, the husband had dictated it: don't try to see me ever any more. if you do, it will only make my life a hell on earth. that had been the tangible end of arthur's romance. but the intangible ends were infinite and not yet. his whole nature had changed. he had suffered and could no longer bear to inflict pain. he lifted his head and looked up a little slope of snow. near the top, wonderfully rosy and smiling, sat his culprit sisters. he had forgotten why he had come. he smiled in his sudden embarrassment. "don't shoot, colonel," called gay, "and we'll come down." "promise, then," he said, "that you'll never be naughty again." "we promise," they said. and they trudged back to camp, with jokes and laughter and three very sharp appetites. vi beyond seeing to it that the alluring picture of his sisters should not appear in any future issues of the magazines, arthur did not refer to the matter again. the girls, more particularly lee and gay, always attributed the instant success of the camp to the picture; but it is sanely possible that an inn run upon such very extravagant principles was bound to be a success anyway. america is full of people who will pay anything for the comforts of home with the cares and exasperations left out. a majority of the early applications received at the camp office, and politely rejected by maud, were from old friends of the family, who were eagerly willing to give its fallen finances a boost. but the girls were determined that their scheme should stand upon its own meritorious feet or not at all. * * * * * when samuel langham learned that the ice was going out of new moon lake, he wrote that he would arrive at carrytown at such and such an hour, and begged that a boat of some sort might be there to meet him. his guests, he explained, would follow in a few days. "dear me," said maud, "it will be very trying to have him alone--just like a real guest. if he'd only bring his friends with him, why, they could entertain him. as it is, we'll have to. because, even if we are innkeepers now, we belong to the same station in life that he does, and he knows it and we know it. i don't see how we can ever have the face to send in a bill afterward." "i don't either," said mary, "but we must." "i've never pictured him," said arthur, "as a man who would brave early spring in the adirondacks for the sake of a few trout." "i bet you my first dividend," said lee, "that his coat is lined with sable." it was. as the _streak_, which had gone to carrytown to meet him, slid for the dock (his luggage was to follow in the _tortoise_, a fatter, slower power-boat), there might have been seen standing amidships a tall, stout gentleman of about thirty-six or more, enveloped in a handsome overcoat lined with sable. he wore thick eye-glasses which the swiftness of the _streak_'s going had opaqued with icy mist, so that for the moment mr. samuel langham was blind as a mole. nevertheless, determined to enjoy whatever the experience had in store for him, he beamed from right to left, as if a pair of keen eyes were revealing to him unexpected beauties and delights. arthur, loathing the rã´le, was on the float to meet him. on hearing himself addressed by name, mr. samuel langham removed one of his fur-lined gloves and thrust forward a plump, well-groomed hand. "i believe that i am shaking hands with mr. darling," he said in a slow, cultivated voice; "but my glasses are blurred and i cannot see anything. is my foot going for the float--or the water?" "step boldly," said arthur; and, in a hurried aside, as he perceived the corner of a neatly folded greenback protruding between two of mr. langham's still-gloved fingers: "you are not to be subjected to the annoyance of the tipping system. we pay our servants extra to make the loss up to them." mr. langham's mouth, which was rather like a cupid's bow, tightened. and he handed the greenback to the engineer of the _streak_, just as if arthur's remonstrance had not been spoken. on the way to the office he explained. "whenever i go anywhere," he said, "i find persons in humble situations who smile at me and wish me well. i smile back and wish them well. it is because, at some time or other, i have tipped them. to me the system has never been an annoyance but a delightful opportunity for the exercise of tact and judgment." he came to a dead halt, planting his feet firmly. "i shall be allowed to tip whomsoever i like," he said flatly, "or i shan't stay." "our ambition," said arthur stiffly, "is to make our guests comfortable. our rule against tipping is therefore abolished." they entered the office. mr. langham could now see, having wiped the fog from his glasses. he saw a lovely girl in black, seated at a table facing him. beyond her was a roaring fire of backlogs. arthur presented mr. langham. "are you frozen?" asked maud. "too cold to write your name in our brand-new register?" he took the pen which she offered him and wrote his name in a large, clear hand, worthy of john hancock. "it's the first name in the book," he said. "it's always been a very lucky name for me. i hope it will be for you." arthur had escaped. "there is one more formality," said maud: "breakfast." "i had a little something in my car," said mr. langham; "but if it wouldn't be too much trouble--er--just a few little eggs and things." "how would it be," said maud, "if i took you straight to the kitchen? my sister mary presides there, and you shall tell her exactly what you want, and she will see that you get it." a rosy blush mounted mr. langham's good-natured face. "oh," he said, with the deepest sincerity, "if i am to have the _entrã©e_ to the kitchen, i shall be happy. i will tell you a secret. at my club i always breakfast in the kitchen. it's against the rules, but i do it. a friendly chef--beds of glowing charcoal--burnished copper--piping-hot tidbits." it was up-hill to smoke house, and mr. langham, in his burdensome overcoat, grew warm on the way, and was puffing slightly when he got there. "mary," maud called--"mr. langham!" "the kitchen is the foundation of all domestic happiness," said he. "i have come to yours as fast as i could. i think--i _know_, that i never saw a brighter, happier-looking kitchen." he knew also that he had never seen so beautiful a presiding deity. "your sister," he said, "told me that i could have a little breakfast right here." and he repeated the statement concerning his club kitchen. "of course, you can!" said mary. "just a few eggs," he said, "and if there's anything green----" they called the chef. he was very happy because the season had begun. he assigned mr. langham a seat from which to see and at which to be served, then with the wrist-and-finger elegance of a prestidigitator, he began to prepare a few eggs and something green. "the trout--" mary began dutifully, as it was for the sake of these that mr. langham had ostensibly come so early in the season. "trout?" he said. "the fishing--" she made a new beginning. "the fishing, miss darling," he said, "will be of interest to my friends. for my part, i don't fish. i have, in common with the kind of boat from which fishing is done, nothing but the fact that we are both ticklish. i saw your prospectus. i said: 'i shall be happy there, and well taken care of.' something told me that i should be allowed to breakfast in the kitchen. the more i thought about it the less i felt that i could wait for the somewhat late opening of your season, so i pretended to be a fisher of trout. and here i am. but, mark you," he added, "a few trout on the table now and then--i like that!" "you shall have them," said mary, "and you shall breakfast in the kitchen. i do--always." "do you?" he exclaimed. "why not together, then?" his eyes shone with pleasure. "i should be too early for you," she said. "you don't know me. is it ever too early to eat? because i am stout, people think i have all the moribund qualities that go with it. as a matter of fact, i rise whenever, in my judgment, the cook is dressed and down. is it gross to be fond of food? so many people think so. i differ with them. not to care what you eat is gross--in my way of thinking. is there anything, for instance, more fresh in coloring, more adequate in line, than a delicately poached egg on a blue-and-white plate? you call this building smoke house? i shall always be looking in. do you mind?" "indeed we don't," said mary. "do we, chef?" chef laid a finger to his lips. it was no time for talk. "never disturb a sleeping child or a cooking egg," was one of his maxims. "i knew that i should be happy here," said mr. langham. "i am." whenever he had a chance he gazed at mary. it was her face in the row of six that had lured him out of all his habits and made him feel that the camp offered him a genuine chance for happiness. to find that she presided over the kitchen had filled his cup to the brim. but when he remembered that he was fat and fond of good things to eat and drink, his heart sank. he determined that he would eat but three eggs. they were, however, prepared in a way that was quite new to him, and in the determined effort to discern the ingredients and the method he ate five. "there is something very keen about your adirondack air," he explained guiltily. but mary had warmed to him. her heart and her reputation were involved in the _cuisine_. she knew that the better you feed people the more they love you. she was not revolted by mr. langham's appetite. she felt that even a canary of a man must have fallen before the temptation of those eggs. they were her own invention. and chef had executed them to the very turn of perfection. almost from the moment of his arrival, then, mr. samuel langham began to eat his way into the heart of the eldest miss darling. in culinary matters a genuine intimacy sprang up between them. they exchanged ideas. they consulted. they compared menus. they mastered the contents of the late mr. darling's cellars. mr. langham chose lone house for his habitation. he liked the little balcony that thrust out over the lake between the two pine-trees. and by the time that his guests were due to arrive, he had established himself, almost, in the affections of the entire family. "he may be greedy," said arthur, "but he's the most courteous man that ever 'sat at meat among ladies'!" "he's got the kindest heart," said mary, "that ever beat." vii mr. langham's five guests arrived somewhat noisily, smoking five long cigars. lee and gay, watching the float from a point of vantage, where they themselves were free from observation, observed that three of the trout fishermen were far older than they had led themselves to expect. "that leaves only one for us," said gay. "why?" "can't you see from here that the fifth is an englishman?" "yes," said lee. "his clothes don't fit, and yet he feels perfectly comfortable in them." "it isn't so much the clothes," said gay, "as the face. the other faces are excited because they have ridden fast in a fast boat, though they've probably often done it before. now he's probably never been in a fast boat in his life till to-day, and yet he looks thoroughly bored." the englishman without changing his expression made some remark to the other five. they roared. the englishman blushed, and looked vaguely toward a dark-blue mountain that rose with some grandeur beyond the farther shore of the lake. "do you suppose," said lee, "that what he said was funny or just dumb?" "i think it was funny," said gay, "but purely accidental." "i think i know the other youth," said lee; "i think i have danced with him. didn't mr. langham say there was a renier among his guests?" "h. l.," gay assented. "that's the one," lee remembered. "harry larkins renier. we have danced. if he doesn't remember, he shall be snubbed. i like the old guy with the mark twain hair." "don't you know _him_? i do. i have seen his picture often. he's the editor of the _evening star_. won't arthur be glad!" "what's his name?" "walter leyden o'malley. he's the literary descendant of the great dana. don't talk to me, child; i know a great deal." gay endeavored to assume the look of an encyclopã¦dia and failed. "mr. langham," said lee, "mentioned three other names, alston, pritchard, and cox. which do you suppose is which?" "i think that pritchard is the very tall one who looks like a kentucky colonel; cox is the one with the very large face; of course, the englishman is alston." "i don't." "we can find out from maud." when the new arrivals, escorted by arthur and mr. langham, had left the office, lee and gay hurried in to look at their signatures and to consult maud as to identities. the kentucky-colonel-looking man proved to be alston. cox had the large face, and the englishman--john arthur merrivale pritchard, as was to be expected--wrote the best hand. mr. o'malley, the famous editor, wrote the worst. his signature looked as if it had been traced by an inky worm writhing in agony. "tell us at once," gay demanded, "what they are like." maud regarded her frolicsome sisters with inscrutable eyes, and said: "at first, you think that mr. cox is a heartless old cynic, but when you get to know him really well--i remember an instance that occurred in the early sixties----" "oh, dry up!" said lee. "are they nice and presentable, like fat old sam langham?" "the three old ones," said maud, "made me think of three very young boys just loose from school. messrs. renier and pritchard, however, seem more used to holidays. there is, however, a complication. all five wish to go fishing as soon as they can change into fishing clothes, and there aren't enough guides to go around." "what's the trouble?" asked gay eagerly. "bullard," maud explained, "has sent word that his wife is having a baby, and benton has gone up to crotched lake west to see if the ice is out of it. that leaves only three guides to go around. benton oughtn't to have gone. nobody told him to. but he once read the declaration of independence, and every now and then the feeling comes over him that he must act accordingly." "but," exclaimed lee, "what's the matter with gay and me?" "nothing, i hope," said maud; "you look well. i trust you feel well." "we want to be guides," said gay; "we want to be useful. hitherto we've done nothing to help. mary works like a slave in the kitchen; you here. eve will never leave the laundry once the wash gets big. phyllis has her garden, in which things will begin to grow by and by, but we--we have no excuse for existence--none whatever. now, i could show mr. renier where the chances of taking fish are the best." "no," said lee firmly; "i ought to guide him. it's only fair. he once guided me--i've always remembered--bang into a couple who outweighed us two to one, and down we went." "mary will hardly approve of you youngsters going on long expeditions with strange young men," maud was quite sure; "and, of course, arthur won't." lee and gay began to sulk. at that moment arthur came into the office. "halloo, you two!" he said. "been looking for you, and even shouting. the fact is, we're short of guides, and mary and i think----" lee and gay burst into smiles. "what did we tell you, maud? of course, we will. there are no wiser guides in this part of the woods." "that," said arthur, "is a fact. the older men looked alarmed when i suggested that two of my sisters--you see, they've always had native-born woodsmen and even indians----" "then," said lee, "we are to have the guileless youths. i speak for renier." "meanie," said gay. "lee ought to have first choice," said arthur. "it's always been supposed that lee is your senior by a matter of twenty minutes." "true or not," said gay, "she looks it. then i'm to guide the englishman." "if you don't mind." arthur regarded her, smiling. he couldn't help it. she was _so_ pretty. "and i'd advise you not to be too eager to show off. mr. pritchard has hunted and fished more than all of us put together." "that little pink-faced snip!" exclaimed gay. "i'll sure see how much he knows." half an hour later she was rowing him leisurely in the direction of placid brook, and examining his somewhat remarkable outfit with wondering eyes. this was not difficult, since his own eyes, which were clear brown, and very shy, were very much occupied in looking over the contents of the large-tackle box. "if you care to rig your rod," said gay presently, "and cast about as we go, you might take something between here and the brook." "do you mean," he said, "that you merely throw about you at random, and that it is possible to take fish?" "of course," said she--"when they are rising." "but then the best one could hope for," he drawled, "would be indiscriminate fish." "just what do you mean by that?" "why!"--and this time he looked up and smiled very shyly--"if you were after elephant and came across a herd, would you pick out a bull with a fine pair of tusks, or would you fire indiscriminately into the thick of them, and perhaps bring down the merest baby?" "i never heard of picking your fish," said gay. "dear me," he commented, "then you have nearly a whole lifetime of delightful study before you!" he unslung a pair of field-glasses, focussed them, and began to study the surface of the placid lake, not the far-off surface but the surface within twenty or thirty feet. then he remarked: "your flies aren't greatly different from ours. i think we shall find something nearly right. one can never tell. the proclivities of trout and char differ somewhat. i have never taken char." "you don't think you are after char now, do you?" exclaimed gay. "because, if so--this lake contains bass, trout, lake-trout, sunfish, shiners, and bullheads, but no char." pritchard smiled a little sadly and blushed. he hated to put people right. "your brook-trout," he said, "your _salmo fontinalis_, isn't a trout at all. he's a char." gay put her back into the rowing with some temper. she felt that the englishman had insulted the greatest of all american institutions. the repartee which sprang to her lips was somewhat feeble. "if a trout is a char," she said angrily, "then an onion is a fruit." to her astonishment, mr. pritchard began to laugh. he dropped everything and gave his whole attention to it. he laughed till the tears came and the delicate guide boat shook from stem to stern. presently the germ of his laughing spread, and gay came down with a sharp attack of it herself. she stopped rowing. two miles off, a loon, that most exclusive laugher of the north woods, took fright, dove, and remained under for ten minutes. the young people in the guide boat looked at each other through smarting tears. "i am learning fast," said gay, "that you count your fish before you catch them, that trout are char, and that englishmen laugh at other people's jokes." she rowed on. "don't forget to tell me when you've chosen your fish," she remarked. "you shall help me choose," he said; "i insist. i speak for a three-pounder." "the event of a lifetime!" "why, miss gay," he said, "it's all the event of a lifetime. the camp, the ride in the motor-boat, the wonderful, wonderful breakfast, water teeming with fish, the woods, and the mountains--millions of years ago it was decreed that you and i should rock a boat with laughter in the midst of new moon lake. and yet you speak of a three-pounder as the event of a lifetime! my answer is a defiance. we shall take one _salmo fontinalis_--one wily char. he shall not weigh three pounds; he shall weigh a trifle more. then we shall put up our tackle and go home to a merry dinner." "mr. pritchard," said gay, "i'll bet you anything you like that you don't take a trout--or a char, if you like--that will weigh three pounds or over. i'll bet you ten to one." "don't do that," he said; "it's an even shot. what will you bet?" "i'll bet you my prospective dividends for the year," she said, "against----" "my prospective title?" he looked rather solemn, but laughter bubbled from gay. "it's a good sporting proposition," said pritchard. "it's a very sound title--old, resonant--and unless you upset us and we drown, tolerably certain to be mine to pay--in case i lose." "i don't bet blindly," said gay. "what is the title?" "i shall be the earl of merrivale," said he; "and if i fail this day to take a char weighing three pounds or over, you will be the countess of merrivale." "dear me!" said gay, "who ever heard of so much depending on a mere fish? but i don't like my side of the bet. it's all so sudden. i don't know you well enough, and you're sure to lose." "i'll take either end of the bet you don't like," said mr. pritchard gravely. "if i land the three-pounder, you become the countess; if i don't, i pay you the amount of your dividends for the year. is that better?" "much," smiled gay; "because, with the bet in this form, there is practically no danger that either of us will lose anything. my dividends probably won't amount to a row of pins, and you most certainly will not land so big a fish." meanwhile they had entered the mouth of placid brook. the surface was dimpling--rings became, spread, merged in one another, and were not. the fish were feeding. "let us land in the meadow," said mr. pritchard, his brown eyes clear and sparkling, "and spy upon the enemy." "are you going to leave your rod and things in the boat?" "for the present--until we have located our fish." they landed, and he advanced upon the brook by a detour, stealthily, crouching, his field-glasses at attention. once he turned and spoke to gay in an authoritative whisper: "try not to show above the bushes." viii the sun was warm on the meadow, and although the bushes along its margin were leafless, the meadow itself had a greenish look, and the feel of the air was such that gay, upon whom silence and invisibility had been enjoined, longed to dance in full sight of the trout and to sing at the top of her voice: "oh, that we two were maying!" instead, she crouched humbly and in silence at pritchard's side, while he studied the dimpling brook through his powerful field-glasses. gay had never seen red indians except in buffalo bill's show, where it is made worth their while to be very noisy. but she had read her cooper and her ballantyne, "ballantyne, the brave, and cooper of the wood and wave," and she knew of the early christian patience with which they are supposed to go about the business of hunting and fishing. pritchard, she observed, had a weather-red face and high cheek-bones. he was smooth-shaved. he wore no hat. but for his miraculously short-cut hair, his field-glasses, his suit of coarse scotch wool, whose colors blended so well with the meadow upon which he crouched, he might have been an indian. his head, the field-glasses, the hands which clasped them, moved--nothing else. "is it a bluff?" thought gay. "is he just posing, or is there something in it?" half an hour passed--three quarters. gay was pale and grimly smiling. her legs had gone to sleep. but she would not give in. if an englishman could fish so patiently, why, so could she. she was fighting her own private battle of bunker hill--of new orleans. pritchard lowered his glasses, handed them to gay, and pointed up the brook and across, to where a triangular point of granite peered a few inches above the surface. gay looked through the glasses, and pritchard began to whisper in her ear: "northwest of that point of rock, about two feet--keep looking just there, and i'll try to tell you what to see." "there's a fish feeding," she answered; "but he must be a baby, he just makes a bubble on the surface." "there are three types of insect floating over him," said pritchard; "i don't know your american beasts by name, but there is a black, a brown, and a grayish spiderlike thing. he's taking the last. if you see one of the gray ones floating where he made his last bubble, watch it." gay presently discerned such an insect so floating, and watched it. it passed within a few inches of where the feeding trout had last risen and disappeared, and a tiny ring gently marked the spot where it had been sucked under. gay saw a black insect pass over the fatal spot unscathed, then browns; and then, once more, a gray, very tiny in the body but with longish legs, approached and was engulfed. "now for the tackle box," pritchard whispered. they withdrew from the margin of the brook, gay in that curious ecstasy, half joy, half sorrow, induced by sleepy legs. she lurched and almost fell. pritchard caught her. "was the vigil too long?" he asked. "i liked it," she said. "but my legs went to sleep and are just waking up. tell me things. there were fish rising bold--jumping clean out--making the water boil. but you weren't interested in them." "it was noticeable," said pritchard, "and perhaps you noticed that one fish was feeding alone. he blew his little rings--without fear or hurry--none of the other fishes dared come anywhere near him. he lives in the vicinity of that pointed rock. the water there is probably deep and, in the depths, very cold. who knows but a spring bubbles into a brook at the base of that rock? the fish lives there and rules the water around him for five or six yards. he is selfish, fat, and old. he feeds quietly because nobody dares dispute his food with him. he is the biggest fish in this reach of the brook. at least, he is the biggest that is feeding this morning. now we know what kind of a fly he is taking. probably i have a close imitation of it in my fly box. if not, we shall have to make one. then we must try to throw it just above him--very lightly--float it into his range of vision, and when he sucks it into his mouth, strike--and if we are lucky we shall then proceed to take him." gay, passionately fond of woodcraft, listened with a kind of awe. "but," she said, seeing an objection, "how do you know he weighs three pounds and over?" "frankly," said pritchard, "i don't. i am gambling on _that_." he shot her a shy look. "just hoping. i know that he is big. i believe we shall land him. i hope and pray that he weighs over three pounds." gay blushed and said nothing. she was beginning to think that pritchard might land a three-pounder as well as not--and she had light-heartedly agreed, in that event, to become the countess of merrivale. of course, the bet was mere nonsense. but suppose, by any fleeting chance, that pritchard should not so regard it? what _should_ she do? suppose that pritchard had fallen victim to a case of love at first sight? it would not, she was forced to admit (somewhat demurely), be the first instance in her own actual experience. there was a young man who had so fallen in love with her, and who, a week later, not knowing the difference--so exactly the triplets resembled each other--had proposed to phyllis. they drew the guide boat up onto the meadows and pritchard, armed with a scoop-net of mesh as fine as mosquito-netting, leaned over the brook and caught one of the grayish flies that were tickling the appetite of the big trout. this fly had a body no bigger than a gnat's. pritchard handed gay a box of japanned tin. it was divided into compartments, and each compartment was half full of infinitesimal trout flies. they were so small that you had to use a pair of tweezers in handling them. pritchard spread his handkerchief on the grass, and gay dumped the flies out on it and spread them for examination. and then, their heads very close together, they began to hunt for one which would match the live one that pritchard had caught. "but they're too small," gay objected. "the hooks would pull right through a trout's lip." "not always," said pritchard. "how about this one?" "too dark," said gay. "here we are then--a match or not?" the natural fly and the artificial placed side by side were wonderfully alike. "they're as like as lee and me," said gay. "lee?" "three of us are triplets," she explained. "we look exactly alike--and we never forgive people who get us mixed up." pritchard abandoned all present thoughts of trout-fishing by scientific methods. he looked into her face with wonder. "do you mean to tell me," said he, "that there are two other d-d-darlings exactly like you?" "exactly--a nose for a nose; an eye for an eye." "it isn't true," he proclaimed. "there is nobody in the whole world in the least like you." "some time," said gay, "you will see the three of us in a row. we shall look inscrutable and say nothing. you will not be able to tell which of us went fishing with you and which stayed at home----" "'this little pig went to market,'" he began, and abruptly became serious. "is that a challenge?" "yes," said gay. "i fling down my gauntlet." "and i," said pritchard, "step forward and, in the face of all the world, lift it from the ground--and proclaim for all the world to hear that there is nobody like my lady--and that i am so prepared to prove at any place or time--come weal, come woe. let the heavens fall!" "if you know me from the others," gay's eyes gleamed, "you will be the first strange young man that ever did, and i shall assign and appoint in the inmost shrines of memory a most special niche for you." pritchard bowed very humbly. "that will not be necessary," he said. "if i land the three-pounder. in that case, i should be always with you." "i wish," said gay, "that you wouldn't refer so earnestly to a piece of nonsense. upon repetition, a joke ceases to be a joke." pritchard looked troubled. "i'm sorry," he said simply. "if it is the custom of the country to bet and then crawl, so be it. in rome, i hasten to do as the romans do. but i thought our bet was honorable and above-board. it seems it was just an--an indian bet." gay flushed angrily. "you shall not belittle anything american," she said. "it was a bet. i meant it. i stand by it. if you catch your big fish i marry you. and if i have to marry you, i will lead you such a dance----" "you wouldn't have to," pritchard put in gently, "you wouldn't have to lead me, i mean. if you and i were married, i'd just naturally dance--wouldn't i? when a man sorrows he weeps; when he rejoices he dances. it's all very simple and natural----" he turned his face to the serene heavens, and, very gravely: "ah, lord!" he said. "vouchsafe to me, undeserving but hopeful, this day, a char--_salmo fontinalis_--to weigh a trifle over three pounds, for the sake of all that is best and sweetest in this best of all possible worlds." if his face or voice had had a suspicion of irreverence, gay would have laughed. instead, she found that she wanted to cry and that her heart was beating unquietly. mr. pritchard dismissed sentiment from his mind, and with loving hands began to take a powerful split-bamboo rod from its case. ix gay's notion of scientific fishing might have been thus summed: know just where to fish and use the lightest rod made. her own trout-rod weighed two and a half ounces without the reel. compared to it, pritchard's was a coarse and heavy instrument. his weighed six ounces. "you could land a salmon with that," said gay scornfully. "i have," said pritchard. "it's a splendid rod. i doubt if you could break it." "doesn't give the fish much of a run for his money." "but how about this, miss gay?" he showed her a leader of finest water-blue catgut. it was nine feet long and tapered from the thickness of a human hair to that of a thread of spider-spinning. gay's waning admiration glowed once more. "that wouldn't hold a minnow," she said. "we must see about that," he answered; "we must hope that it will hold a very large char." he reeled off eighty or ninety feet of line, and began to grease it with a white tallow. "what's that stuff?" gay asked. "red-deer fat." "what for?" "to make the line float. we're fishing with a dry-fly, you know." gay noticed that the line was tapered from very heavy to very fine. "why is that?" she asked. "it throws better--especially in a wind. the heavy part will carry a fly out into half a gale." he reeled in the line and made his leader fast to it with a swift, running hitch, and to the line end of the leader he attached the fly which they had chosen. upon this tiny and exquisite arrangement of fairy hook, gray silk, and feathers, he blew paraffin from a pocket atomizer that it might float and not become water-logged. "do we fish from the shore or the boat?" gay asked. "from this shore." "you'll never reach there from this shore." "then i've misjudged the distance. are you going to use the landing-net for me, in case it's necessary?" gay caught up the net and once more followed his stealthy advance upon the brook. pritchard had one preliminary look through the field-glasses, straightened his bent back, turned to her with a sorrowing face, and spoke aloud. "he's had enough," he said. "he's stopped feeding." gay burst out laughing. "and our fishing is over for the day? this shall be said of you, mr. pritchard, that you are a merciful man. you are not what is called in this country a 'game hog.'" "thank you," he said gravely. "but if you think the fishing is over for the day, you don't know a dry-fly fisherman when you see one. we made rather a late start. see, most of the fish have stopped feeding. they won't begin again much before three. the big fellow will be a little later. he has had more than the others; he is older; his digestion is no longer like chain lightning; he will sleep sounder, and dream of the golden days of his youth when a char was a trout." "_that_," said gay, "is distinctly unkind. i have been snubbed enough for one day. are we to stand here, then, till three or four o'clock, till his royal highness wakes up and calls for breakfast?" "no," said pritchard; "though i would do so gladly, if it were necessary, in order to take this particular fish----" "you might kneel before your rod," said gay, "like a knight watching his arms." "to rise in the morning and do battle for his lady--i repeat i should do so gladly if it would help my chances in the slightest. but it wouldn't." he rested his rod very carefully across two bushes. "the thing for us to do," he went on, "is to have lunch. i've often heard of how comfortable you american guides can make the weary, wayworn wanderer at the very shortest notice." "is that a challenge?" "it is an expression of faith." their eyes met, and even lingered. "in that case," said gay, "i shall do what i may. there is cold lunch in the boat, but the wayworn one shall bask in front of a fire and look upon his food when it is piping hot. come!" gay rowed him out of the brook and along the shore of the lake for a couple of miles. she was on her mettle. she wished him to know that she was no lounger in woodcraft. she put her strong young back into the work of rowing, and the fragile guide boat flew. her cheeks glowed, and her lips were parted in a smile, but secretly she was filled with dread. she knew that she had brought food, raw and cooked; she could see the head of her axe gleaming under the middle seat; she would trust mary for having seen to it that there was pepper and salt; but whether in the pocket of the norfolk jacket there were matches, she could not be sure. if she stopped rowing to look, the englishman would think that she had stopped because she was tired. and if, later, it was found that she had come away without matches, he would laugh at her and her pretenses to being a "perfectly good guide." she beached the boat upon the sand in a wooded cove, and before pritchard could move had drawn it high and dry out of the water. then she laughed aloud, and would not tell him why. she had discovered in the right-hand pocket of her coat two boxes of safety-matches, and in the left pocket three. "don't," said gay, "this is my job." she lifted the boat easily and carried it into the woods. pritchard had wished to help. she laid the boat upon soft moss at the side of a narrow, mounting trail, slung the package of lunch upon her shoulders, and caught up her axe. "don't i help at all?" asked pritchard. "you are weary and wayworn," said gay, "and i suppose i ought to carry you, too. but i can't. can you follow? it's not far." a quarter of a mile up the hillside, between virgin pines which made one think bitterly of what the whole mountains might be if the science of forestry had been imported a little earlier in the century, the steep and stony trail ended in an open space, gravelly and abounding in huge bowlders, upon which the sun shone warm and bright. in the midst of the place was a spring, black and slowly bubbling. at the base of one great rock, a deep rift in whose face made a natural chimney, were traces of former fires. "wait here," commanded gay. her axe sounded in a thicket, and she emerged presently staggering under a load of balsam. she spread it in two great, fragrant mats. then once more she went forth with her axe and returned with fire-wood. pritchard, a wistful expression in his eyes, studied her goings and her comings, and listened as to music, to the sharp, true ringing of her axe. "by jove," said he to himself, "that isn't perspiration on her forehead--it's honest sweat!" in spite of the bright sunshine, the heat of the fire was wonderfully welcome, and began to bring out the strong, delicious aroma of the balsam. gay sat upon her heels before the fire and cooked. there was a sound of boiling and bubbling. the fragrance of coffee mingled with the balsam and floated heavenward. during the swift preparation of lunch they hardly spoke. twice pritchard begged to help and was twice refused. she spread a cloth between the mats of balsam upon one of which pritchard reclined, and she laid out hot plates and bright silver with demure precision. "miss gay," he said very earnestly, "i came to chuckle; i thought that at least you would burn the chicken and get smoke in your eyes, but i remain to worship the deity of woodcraft. an indian could not do more swiftly or so well." gay swelled a little. she had worked very hard; nothing had gone wrong, so far. she was not in the least ashamed of herself. but her greatest triumph was to come. uncas, the chipmunk, had that morning gone for a stroll in the forest. he had the spring fever. he had crossed placid brook, by a fallen log; he had climbed trees, hunted for last year's nuts, and fought battles of repartee with other chipmunks. about lunch time, thinking to return to arthur and recount the tale of his wanderings, he smelled a smell of cooking and heard a sound of voices, one of which was familiar to him. he climbed a bowlder overlooking the clearing, and began to scold. gay and pritchard looked up. "my word!" said pritchard, "what a bold little beggar." now, to gay, the figure of uncas, well larded with regular meals, was not to be confounded with the slim little stripes of the spring woods. she knew him at once, and she spoke nonchalantly to pritchard. "if you're a great deal in the woods," she said, "you scrape acquaintance with many of the inhabitants. that little pig and i are old friends. you embarrass him a little. he doesn't know you. if you weren't here, he'd come right into my lap and beg." pritchard looked at her gravely. "truly?" he said. "i think he will anyway," said gay, and she made sounds to uncas which reassured him and brought him presently on a tearing run for her lap. here, when he had been fed, he yawned, stretched himself, and fell asleep. "mowgli's sister!" said pritchard reverently. "child, are there the scars of wolves' teeth on your wrists and ankles?" "no, octogenarian," said gay; "there aren't any marks of any kind. what time is it?" "it is half-past two." "then you shall smoke a cigarette, while i wash dishes." she slid the complaining uncas from her lap to the ground. "unfortunately," said pritchard, "i didn't bring a cigarette." "and you've been dying for a smoke all this time? why don't you ask the guide for what you want?" "have you such a thing?" "i have." "but you--you yourself don't--do you?" he looked troubled. "no," said gay. "but my father was always forgetting his, and it made him so miserable i got into the habit of carrying a full case years ago whenever we went on expeditions. he used to be so surprised and delighted. sometimes i think he used to forget his on purpose, so that i could have the triumph of producing mine." pritchard smoked at ease. gay "washed up." uncas, roused once more from slumber by the call of one of his kind, shook himself and trotted off into the forest. gay, scouring a pan, was beginning to feel that she had known pritchard a long time. she had made him comfortable, cared for him in the wild woods, and the knowledge warmed her heart. pritchard was saying to himself: "we like the same sort of things--why not each other?" "miss gay," he said aloud. "what?" "in case i land the three-pounder and over, i think i ought to tell you that i'm not very rich, and i know you aren't. would that matter to you? i've just about enough," he went on tantalizingly, "to take a girl on ripping good trips into central africa or australia, but i can't keep any great state in england--merrivale isn't a show place, you know--just a few grouse and pheasants and things, and pretty good fishin'." "however much," said gay, "i may regret my _bet_, there was nothing indian about it. i'm sure that you are a clean, upright young man. i'm a decent sort of girl, though i say it that shouldn't. we might do worse. i've heard that love-matches aren't always what they are cracked up to be. and i'm quite sure that i want to go to africa and hunt big game." "thank you," said pritchard humbly. "and at least there would be love on one side." "nonsense," said gay briskly. "i'm ready, if you are." pritchard jumped to his feet and threw away his cigarette. "now," he said, "that you've proved everything, _won't_ you let me help?" gay refused him doubtfully, and then with a burst of generosity: "why, yes," she said, "and, by the way, mr. pritchard, there was no magic about the chipmunk. he's one my brother trained. he lives at the camp, and he was just out for a stroll and happened in on us. i don't want you to find out that i'm a fraud from any one--but me." x the big trout was once more feeding. and pritchard began to cast his diminutive fly up-stream and across. but he cast and got out line by a system that was new to gay. he did not "whip" the brook; he whipped the air above it. he never allowed his fly to touch the water but drew it back sharply, and, at the same time, reeled out more line with his left hand, when it had fallen to within an inch or two of the surface. his casts, straight as a rifle-shot, lengthened, and reached out toward the bowlder point near which the big trout was feeding, until he was throwing, and with consummate ease, a line longer than gay had ever seen thrown. "it's beautiful," she whispered. "will you teach me?" "of course," he answered. his fly hovered just above the ring which the trout had just made. pritchard lengthened his line a foot, and cast again and again, with no further change but of an inch or two in direction. "there's a little current," he explained. "if we dropped the fly into the middle of the ring, it would float just over his tail and he wouldn't see it. he's looking up-stream, whence his blessings flow. the fly must float straight down at him, dragging its leader, and not dragged by it." all the while he talked, he continued casting with compact, forceful strokes of his right wrist and forearm. at last, his judgment being satisfied by the hovering position attained by fly and leader, he relaxed his grip of the rod; the fly fell upon the water like thistle-down, floated five or six inches, and was sucked under by the big trout. pritchard struck hard. there was a second's pause, while the big trout, pained and surprised, tried to gather his scattered wits. three quarters of pritchard's line floated loosely across the brook, but the leader and the fly remained under, and pritchard knew that he had hooked his fish. then, and it was sudden--like an explosion--the whole length of floating line disappeared, and the tip of pritchard's powerful rod was dragged under after it. the reel screamed. "it's a whale!" shouted gay, forgetting how much depended upon the size of the fish, "a whale!" the time for stealthy movements and talk in whispers was over. gay laughed, shouted, exhorted, while pritchard, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, gayly fought the great fish. "go easy; go easy!" cried gay. "that hook will never hold him." but pritchard knew his implements, and fished with a kind of joyous, strong fury. "when you hang 'em," he exulted, "land em." the trout was a great noble potentate of those waters. years ago he had abandoned the stealthy ways of lesser fish. he came into the middle of the brook where the water is deep and there is freedom from weeds and sunken timber, and then up and down and across and across, with blind, furious rushes he fought his fight. it was the strong man without science against the strong man who knows how to box. the steady, furious rushes, snubbed and controlled, became jerky and spasmodic; in a roar and swirl of water the king trout showed his gleaming and enormous back; a second later the sunset colors of his side and the white of his belly. inch by inch, swollen by impotent fury, galvanically struggling and rushing, he followed the drag of the leader toward the beach, where, ankle-deep in the water, gay crouched with the landing-net. she trembled from head to foot as a well-bred pointer trembles when he has found a covey of quail and holds them in control, waiting for his master to walk in upon them. the big trout, still fighting, turning, and raging, came toward the mouth of the half-submerged net. "how big is he, miss gay?" the voice was cool and steady. "he's five pounds if he's an ounce," her voice trembled. "he's the biggest trout that ever swam. "he _isn't_ a trout," said pritchard; "he's a char." if gay could have seen pritchard's face, she would have been struck for the first time by a sort of serene beauty that pervaded some of its expressions. the smile which he turned upon her crouching figure had in it a something almost angelic. "bring him a little nearer," she cried, "just a little." "you're sure he weighs more than three pounds?" "sure--sure--don't talk, land him, land him----" for answer pritchard heaved strongly upward upon his rod and lifted the mighty fish clear of the water. one titanic convulsion of tortured muscles, and what was to be expected happened. the leader broke a few inches from the trout's lip, and he returned splashing to his native element, swam off slowly, just under the surface, then dove deep, and was seen no more. "oh!" cried gay. "why _did_ you? why _did_ you?" she had forgotten everything but the fact that the most splendid of all trout had been lost. "why did you?" she cried again. "because," he said serenely and gently, smiling into her grieved and flushed face, "i wouldn't have you as the payment of a bet. i will have you as a gift or not at all." they returned to the camp, pritchard rowing. "i owe you your prospective dividends for the year," he said. "if they are large, i shall have to give you my note and pay as i can." she did not answer. "i think you are angry with me," he said. "i'd give more than a penny for your thoughts." "i was thinking," said she, "that you are very good at fishing, but that the art of rowing an adirondack guide boat has been left out of you." "truly," he said, "was that what you were thinking?" "no," she said; "i was thinking other things. i was thinking that i ought to go down on my knees and thank you for breaking the leader. you see, i'd made up my mind to keep my word. and, well, of course, it's a great escape for me. "why? was the prospect of marrying me so awful?" "the prospect of marrying a man who would rather lose a five-pound fish than marry me--was awful." pritchard stopped rowing, and his laughter went abroad over the quiet lake until presently gay's forehead smoothed and, after a prelude of dimples, she joined gayly in. when pritchard could speak, he said: "you don't really think that, do you?" "i don't know what i think," said gay. "i'm just horrid and cross and spoiled. don't let's talk about it any more." "but i said," said he, "i said 'as a bet, no; but as a gift'--oh, with what rapture and delight!" "do you mean that?" she looked him in the face with level eyes. once more he stopped rowing. "i love you," he said, "with my whole heart and soul." "don't," said gay, "don't spoil a day that, for all its ups and downs, has been a good day, a day that, on the whole, i've loved--and let's hurry, please, because i stood in the water and it was icy." after that pritchard rowed with heroic force and determination; he lacked, however, the knack which overlapping oar handles demand, and at every fifteenth or sixteenth stroke knocked a piece of "bark" from his knuckles. smarting with pain, he smiled gently at her from time to time. "will you guide me to-morrow?" "to-morrow," she said, "there will be enough real guides to go around." "you really are, aren't you?" he said. "what?" "angry with me." "oh, no--i think--that what you said--what you said--was a foolish thing to say. if i came to you with my sisters lee and phyllis, you wouldn't know which of the three i was, and yet--you said--you said----" "it isn't a question of words--it's a question of feeling. do you really think i shouldn't know you from your sisters?" "i am sure of it," said gay. "but if you weren't?" "then i should still think that you had tried to be foolish but i shouldn't be angry." "how," said pritchard, his eyes twinkling, "shall i convince the girl i love--that i know her by sight?" gay laughed. the idea seemed rather comical to her. "to-night," she said, "when you have dined, walk down to the dock alone. one of us three will come to you and say: 'too bad we didn't have better luck.' and you won't know if she's lee or phyllis or me." * * * * * pritchard smoked upon the dock in the light of an arc-lamp. a vision, smiling and rosy, swept out of the darkness, and said: "too bad we didn't have better luck!" "i beg your pardon," said pritchard, "you're not miss gay, but i haven't had the pleasure of being presented to miss lee or miss phyllis." the vision chuckled and beat a swift, giggling retreat to a dark spot among the pines, where other giggles awaited her. a second vision came. "too bad we didn't have better luck!" pritchard smiled gravely into the vision's eyes, and said in so low a voice that only she could hear: "bad luck? i have learned to love you with all my heart and soul." silence. an answering whisper. "how did you know me?" "how? because my heart says here is the only girl in all the world--see how different, how more beautiful and gentle she is than all other girls." "but i'm not gay--i'm phyllis." "if you are phyllis," he whispered, "then you never were gay." she laughed softly. "i _am_ gay." "why tell me? i know. am i forgiven?" "there is nothing," she said swiftly, "to forgive," and she fled swiftly. to her sisters waiting among the pines she gave explanation. "of course, he knew me." "how?" "why, he said there couldn't be any doubt; he said i was so very much better-looking than any sister of mine could possibly be." forthwith lee pinioned gay's arms and phyllis pulled her ears for her. mr. pritchard paced the dock, offering rings of cuban incense to the stars. * * * * * from play house came the sounds which men make when they play cards and do not care whether they win or lose. maud was in her office, adding a column of figures which the grocer had sent in. the triplets, linked arm in arm, joined her. arthur came, and eve and mary. they agreed that they were very tired and ready for bed. "it's going to be a success, anyway," said mary. "that seems certain." "we must have the plumber up," said eve; "the laundry boiler has sprung a leak. who's that in your pocket, arthur?" "uncas. he came in exhausted after a long day in the woods. something unusual happened to him. i know, because he tried so very hard to tell me all about it just before he went to sleep, and of course he couldn't quite make me understand. i think he was trying to warn me of something--trying to tell me to keep my eyes peeled." the family laughed. arthur was always so absurd about his pets. all laughed except gay. she, in a dark corner, like the rose in the poem, blushed unseen. xi when their week was up, mr. langham's guests, messrs. o'malley, alston, and cox, felt obliged to go where income called them. renier, however, who had only been at work a year, decided that he did not like his job, and would try for another in the fall. lee delivered herself of the stern opinion that a rolling stone gathers no moss, and renier answered that his late uncle had been a fair-to-middling moss gatherer, and that to have more than one such in a given family was a sign of low tastes. "i have a little money of my own," he said darkly, "and, what's more, i have a little hunch." to his face lee upbraided him for his lack of ambition and his lack of elegance, but behind his back she smiled secretly. she was well pleased with herself. it had only taken him three days to get so that he knew her when he saw her, and for a young man of average intellect and eyesight that was almost a record. the triplets were not only as like as three lovely vases cast in the same mould but it amused them to dress alike, without so much as the differentiation of a ribbon, and to imitate each other's little tricks of speech and gesture. it was even possible for them to fool their own brother at times when he happened to be a little absent-minded. every day renier fished for many hours, and always the guide who handled his boat and showed him where to throw his flies was lee. "they're only children," said mary, "and i think they're getting altogether too chummy." arthur did not answer, and for the very good reason that mary's words were not addressed to him, nor were they addressed to maud or eve. indeed, at the moment, these three were sound asleep in their beds. it was to that plumper and earlier bird, mr. samuel langham, that mary had spoken. the end of a kitchen table, set with blue-and-white dishes and cups that steamed, fragrantly separated them. they had formed a habit of breakfasting together in the kitchen, and it had not taken mary long to discover that sam langham's good judgment was not confined to eatables and drinkables. she consulted him about all sorts of things. she felt as if she had known him (and trusted him) all her life. "renier," he said, "is one of the few really eligible young men i know. that is why i asked him up here. i don't mean that my intention was match-making, but when i saw your picture in the advertisement, i said to myself: 'the inn is no place for attractive scalawags. any man that goes there on my invitation must be sound, morally and financially.' young renier is as innocent of anything evil as miss lee herself. if they take a fancy to each other--of course it's none of my business, but, my dear miss darling--why not?" "coffee?" "thanks." "an egg?" "please." mary was very tactful. she never said: "_some more_ coffee?" she never said: "_another_ egg?" "some people," said mr. langham, smiling happily, "might say that _we_ were getting too chummy." "suppose," said mary, "that somebody did say just that?" "i should reply," said mr. langham thoughtfully, "that of the few really eligible men that i know, i myself am, on the whole, the most eligible." mary laughed. "construe," she said. "in the first place," he continued, "and naming my qualifications in the order of their importance, i don't ever remember to have spoken a cross word to anybody; secondly, unless i have paved a primrose path to ultimate indigestion and gout, there is nothing in my past life to warrant mention. to be more explicit, i am not in a position to be troubled by--er--'old agitations of myrtle and roses'; third, something tells me that in a time of supreme need it would be possible for me to go to work; and, fourth, i have plenty of money--really plenty of money." mary smiled almost tenderly. "i can't help feeling," she said, "that i, too, am a safe proposition. i am twenty-nine. my wild oats have never sprouted. i think we may conclude that they were never sown. the inn was my idea--mostly, though i say it that shouldn't. and the inn is going to be a success. we could fill every room we've got five times--at our own prices." "i pronounce your bill of health sound," said mr. langham. "let us continue to be chummy." "coffee?" "thanks." whatever chance there may have been for gay and pritchard to get "too chummy"--and no one will deny that they had made an excellent start--was promptly knocked in the head by arthur. it so happened that, in a desperately unguarded moment, when arthur happened to be present, pritchard mentioned that he had spent a whole winter in the city of peking. the name startled arthur as might the apparition of a ghost. "which winter?" he asked. "i mean, what year?" pritchard said what year, and added, "why do you ask?" arthur had not meant to ask. he began a long blush, seeing which gay turned swift heels and escaped upon a suddenly ejaculated pretext. "why," said arthur lamely, "i knew some people who were in peking that winter--that's all." "then," said pritchard, "we have mutual friends. i knew every foreigner in peking. there weren't many." although arthur had gotten the better of his blush, he felt that pritchard was eying him rather narrowly. "they," said arthur, "were a mr. and mrs. waring." "i hope," said pritchard, "that _he_ wasn't a friend of yours." "he was not," said arthur, "but she was. i was very fond of her." "nobody," said pritchard, "could help being fond of her. but waring was an old brute. one hated him. he wouldn't let her call her soul her own. he was always snubbing her. we used to call her the 'girl with the dry eyes.'" "why?" asked arthur. "it's a chinese idea," said pritchard. "every woman is supposed to have just so many tears to shed. when these are all gone, why, then, no matter what sorrows come to her, she has no way of relieving them." arthur could not conceal his agitation. and pritchard looked away. he wished to escape. he thought that he could be happier with gay than with her brother. but arthur, agitation or no agitation, was determined to find out all that the young englishman could tell him about the warings. he began to ask innumerable questions: "what sort of a house did they live in?" "how do christians amuse themselves in the chinese capital?" "did mrs. waring ride?" "what were some of her friends like?" etc., etc. there was no escaping him. he fastened himself to pritchard as a drowning man to a straw. and his appetite for peking news became insatiable. pritchard surrendered gracefully. he went with arthur on canoe trips and mountain climbs; at night he smoked with him in the open camp. and, in the end, arthur gave him his whole confidence; so that, much as pritchard wished to climb mountains and go on canoe trips with gay, he was touched, interested, and gratified, and then all at once he found himself liking arthur as much as any man he had ever known. "there is something wonderfully fine about your brother," he said to gay. "at first i thought he was a queer stick, with his pets and his secret haunts in the woods, and his unutterable contempt for anything mean or worldly. we ought to dress him up in proof armor and send him forth upon the quest of some grail or other." "grails," said gay, "and auks are extinct." "grails extinct!" exclaimed pritchard. he was horrified. "why, my dear miss gay, if ever the world offered opportunities to belted knights without fear and without reproach, it's now." "i suppose," said she, "that arthur has told you all about his--his mix-up." pritchard nodded gravely. "is that the quest he ought to ride on?" "no--it won't do for arthur. he might be accused of self-interest. that should be a matter to be redressed by a brother knight." "or a divorce court." "miss gay!" "i don't think it's nice for one's brother to be in love with a married woman." "it isn't," said pritchard gravely, "for him. it's hell." "_we_," said gay, "never knew her." "she's not much older than you," said pritchard. "if i'd never seen you, i'd say that she was the prettiest girl i'd ever seen. but she's gentler and meeker than even you'd be in her boots. she isn't self-reliant and able." "you talk as if you'd been in love with her yourself." "i? i thought i was talking as if i was in love with you." "looks like it, don't it?" said she. "spending all your time with a girl's brother." "not doing what you most want to do," said pritchard, "is sometimes thought knightly." "do you know," she said critically, "sometimes i think you really like me a lot. and sometimes i think that i really like you. the funny thing is that it never seems to happen to both of us at the same time. there's arthur looking for you. do me a favor--shake him and come for a tramp with me." "i can't," said pritchard simply. "i've promised. but to-morrow----" "_certainly not_," said she. xii warm weather and the real opening of the season arrived at the same time. the camp hummed with the activities and the voices of people. and it became possible for the darlings to withdraw a little into their shells and lead more of a family life. as maud said: "when there were more proprietors than guests, we simply had to sail in and give the guests a good time. but now that the business is in full blast, we mustn't be amateurs any more." langham, renier, and the future earl of merrivale remained, of course, upon their well-established footing of companionship, but the darlings began to play their parts of innkeepers with the utmost seriousness and to fight shy of any social advances from the ranks of their guests. indeed, for the real heads of the family, mary, maud, and eve, there was serious work to be done. for, to keep thirty or forty exigent and extravagant people well fed, well laundered, well served, and well amused is no frisky skirmish but a morning-to-night battle, a constant looking ahead, a steady drain upon the patience and invention. in sam langham mary found an invaluable ally. he knew how to live, and could guess to a nicety the "inner man" of another. nor did he stop at advice. being a celebrated _bon viveur_ he went subtly among the guests and praised the machinery of whose completed product they were the consumers and the beneficiaries. he knew of no place, he confided, up and down the whole world, where, for a sum of money, you got exactly what you wanted without asking for it. "take me for an example," he would say. "i have never before been able to get along without my valet. here he would be a superfluity. i am 'done,' you may say, better than i have ever been able to do myself. and i know what i'm talking about. what! you think the prices are really rather high. think what you are getting, man--think!" among the new guests was a young man from boston by the name of herring. he had written that he was convalescing from typhoid fever and that his doctor had prescribed adirondack air. renier knew herring slightly and vouched for him. "they're good people," he said, "his branch of the herring family--the 'red herrings' they are called locally--if we may speak of boston as a 'locality'--he's the reddest of them and the most showy. if there's anything he hasn't tried, he has to try it. he isn't good at things. but he does them. he's the fellow that went to the barren lands with a niblick. what, you never heard of that stunt? he was playing in foursome at myopia. he got bunkered. he hit the sand a prodigious blow and the ball never moved. his partner said: 'never mind, syd, you hit hard enough to kill a musk-ox.' "'did i?' said herring, much interested, 'but i never heard of killing a musk-ox with a niblick. has it ever been done? are there any authorities one might consult?' "his partner assured him that 'it' had never been done. herring said that was enough for him. the charm of herring is that he never smiles; he's deadly serious--or pretends to be. when they had holed out at the eighteenth, herring took his niblick and said: 'well, so long. i'm off to the barren lands.' "they bet him there and then that he would neither go to the barren lands nor kill a musk-ox when he got there. he took their bets, which were large. and he went to the barren lands, armed only with his niblick and a camera. but he didn't kill a musk-ox. he said they came right up to be photographed, and he hadn't the heart to strike. he brought back plenty enough pictures to prove where he'd been, but no musk-ox. he aimed at one tentatively but at the last moment held his hand. 'he remembered suddenly,' he said, 'that he had never killed anything, and didn't propose to begin.' so he came home and paid one bet and pocketed the other. he can't shoot; he can't fish; he can't row. he's a perfect dub, but he's got the soul of a columbus." "something tells me," said pritchard, "that i shall like him." herring, having arrived and registered and been shown his rooms, was not thereafter seen to speak to anybody for two whole days. as a matter of fact, though, he held some conversation with renier, whom he had met before. "it's just boston," renier explained. "they're the best people in the world--when--well, not when you get to know them but when they get to know you. give him time and he will blossom." "he looks like a blossom already," said lee. "he looks at a little distance like a gigantic plant of scarlet salvia, or a small maple-tree in october." upon the third day mr. herring came out of his shell, as had been prophesied. he went about asking guests and guides, with almost plaintive seriousness, questions which they were unable to answer. he began to make friends with pritchard and langham. he solemnly presented arthur with a baseball that had figured in a yale-harvard game. then he got himself introduced to lee. "you guide, don't you?" he said. "i have guided," she said, "but i don't. it was only in the beginning of things when there weren't enough real guides to go around. but, surely you don't need a guide. you've been to the barren lands and all sorts of wild places. you ought to be a first-class woodsman." "i thought i'd like to go fishing to-morrow," he said. "it's very disappointing. i've looked forward all my life to being guided by a young girl, and when i saw you, i said, if this isn't she, this is her living image." "you shall have bullard," said lee. "he knows all the best places." herring complained to arthur. "your sisters," he said, "are said to be the best guides in the adirondacks, but they won't take me out. how is a fellow to convalesce from typhoid if people aren't unfailingly kind to him?" arthur laughed, and said that he didn't know. "let me guide you," he offered. "no," said herring, "it isn't that i want to be guided. it's that i want the experience of being guided by a girl. i want to lean back and be rowed." herring walked in the woods and came upon phyllis's garden, with phyllis in the midst of it. "halloo again!" he said. now it so happened that he had never seen phyllis before. she straightened from a frame of baby lettuce and smiled. she loved bright colors, and his flaming hair was becoming to her garden. "halloo again!" she said. "have you changed your mind?" he asked. she sparred for time and enlightenment and said: "it's against all the rules." "we could," said he, "start so early that nobody would know. i have often gotten up at five." "so have i," said phyllis wistfully. "we could be back before breakfast." phyllis appeared to think the matter over. "of course," he said, "you said you wouldn't. but if girls didn't change their minds, they wouldn't be girls." "that," said phyllis, "is perfectly true." to herself she said: "he's asked lee or gay to guide him, and thinks he's asked me." now, phyllis was not good with oars or fishing-tackle, but she liked herring's hair and the fact that he never smiled. furthermore, she believed that, if the worst came to the worst, she could find some of the places where people sometimes took trout. "i have never," said herring, "been guided by a young girl." "what, never!" exclaimed phyllis. "never," he said. "and i am sure that it would work wonders for me." "such as?" "it might lead me to take an interest in gardening. i have always hoped that i should some day." "people," thought phyllis, "interested in gardening are rare--especially beautiful young gentlemen with flaming hair. here is my chance to slaughter two birds with one stone." "you'll swear not to tell?" she exhorted. "yes," he said, "but not here. soon. when i am alone." he did not smile. "then," she said, "be at the float at five-thirty sharp." that night she sought out lee and gay. "such a joke," she said. "i've promised to guide mr. herring--to-morrow at five-thirty, but he thinks that it's one of you two who has promised. now, as i don't row or fish, one of you will have to take my place for the credit of the family." but her sisters were laughing in their sleeves. "my dear girl," said gay, "why the dickens didn't you tell us sooner? we also have made positive engagements at five-thirty to-morrow morning." "what engagements?" exclaimed phyllis. gay leaned close and whispered confidentially. "we've made positive engagements," she said, "to sleep till breakfast time." xiii in an athletic generation phyllis was an anachronism. she was the sort of girl one's great-grandmother was, only better-looking--one's great-grandmother, if there is any truth in oil and canvas, having been neatly and roundly turned out of a peg of wood. phyllis played no game well, unless gardening is a game. she liked to embroider and to write long letters in a wonderfully neat hand. she disliked intensely the roaring of firearms and the diabolic flopping of fresh-caught fish. she was one of those people who never look at a sunset or a moonrise or a flower without actually seeing them, and yet, withal, her sisters lee and gay looked upon her with a certain awe and respect. she was so strong in the wrists and fingers that she could hold them when they were rambunctious. and she was only afraid of things that aren't in the least dangerous. "no," they said, "she can't fish and shoot and row and play tennis and dive and swim under water, but she's the best dancer in the family--probably in the world--and the best sport." phyllis was, in truth, a good sport, or else she was more attracted by mr. herring's _salvia-splendens_ hair than she would have cared to admit. whatever the cause, she met him at the float the next morning at five-thirty, prepared to guide him or perish in the attempt. she wore a short blue skirt and a long white sweater of shetland wool. it weighed about an ounce. she wore white tennis shoes and an immense pair of well-oiled gardening gloves. at least she would put off blistering her hands as long as possible. phyllis, to be exact, was five minutes early for her appointment. this gave her time to get a boat into the water without displaying awkwardness to any one but herself--also, to slip the oars over the thole-pins and to accustom herself to the idea of handling them. she had taken coaching the night before from lee and gay, sitting on a bearskin rug in front of the fire, and swaying rhythmically forward and back. as herring was no fisherman, her sisters advised her to row very slowly. "tell him," they said, "that a boat rushing through water alarms fish more than anything in the world." she told him when he was seated in the stern of the boat facing her. "you mustn't mind going very slow," she said. "the fish in this part of the adirondacks are noted for their sensitiveness in general and their acute sense of hearing in particular. why, if i were to row as fast as i can"--there must have been a twinkle in her eyes--"trout miles away would be frightened out of their skins," and she added mentally, "and i should upset this horribly wabbly boat into the bargain." they proceeded at a snail's pace, phyllis dabbing the water gingerly with her oars, with something of that caution and repulsion with which one turns over a dead snake with a stick--to see if it is dead. the grips of guide-boat oars overlap. and your hands follow rather than accompany each other from catch to finish, and from finish to catch. if you are careless, or not to the stroke born or trained, you occasionally knock little chunks of skin and flesh from your knuckles. herring watched phyllis's gentle and restrained efforts with inscrutable eyes. "i never could understand," he said, "how you fellows manage to row at all with that sort of an outfit. at harvard they only give you one oar and let you take both hands to it, and then you can't row. at least, i couldn't. they put me right out of the boat. they said i caught crabs. as a matter of fact, i didn't. all i did was to sit there, and every now and then the handle of my oar banged me across the solar plexus." "we're not going far, you know," said phyllis (and she mastered the desire to laugh). "hadn't you--ah--um--better put your rod together?" "oh, i can do that!" said herring. "you begin with the big piece and you stick the next-sized piece into that, and so on. and i know how to put the reel on, because the man in the store showed me, and i know how to run the line through the rings." "well," said phyllis, "that's more than half the battle." "and," herring continued, "he showed me how to tie on the what-you-may-call-it and the flies." "good!" said phyllis. "and, of course," he concluded, "i've forgotten." now, phyllis had been shown how to tie flies to a leader only the night before, and she, also, had forgotten. "there are," she said, "a great many fetiches among anglers. among them are knots. now, in my experience, almost any knot that will stand will do. the important thing is to choose the right flies." as to this, she had also received instruction, but with better results, since it was an entirely feminine affair of colored silks and feathers. "i will tell you which flies to use," she said. "and," said he, "you will also have to show me how to cast." "what!" she exclaimed, and stopped rowing, "you don't know how to cast?" "no," he said, "i don't. i'm a dub. didn't you know that?" "but," she protested, "i can't teach you in a morning"--and she added mentally--"or in a whole lifetime, for that matter." it was not more than a mile across the mouth of a deep bay to the brook in which they had elected to fish. with no wind to object, the most dabbily propelled guide boat travels with considerable speed, and before herring had managed to tie the flies which phyllis had selected to his leader (with any kind of a knot) they were among the snaggy shallows of the brook's mouth. the brook was known locally as swamp brook, its shores for a mile or more being boggy and treacherous. fishermen who liked to land occasionally and cast from terra firma avoided it. phyllis had selected it solely because it was the nearest brook to the camp which contained trout. if she had remembered how full it was of snags, and how easily guide boats are turned turtle, she would have selected some other brook, even, if necessary, at the "back of beyond." it had been easy enough to propel the boat across the open waters of the lake, but to guide it clear of snags and around right-angle bends, especially when the genius of rowing demands that eyes look astern rather than ahead, was beyond her powers. the boat ran into snags, poked its nose into boggy banks, turned half over, righted, rushed on, and stopped again with rude bumps. herring, that fatalistic young bostonian, began to take an interest in his fate. his flies trailed in the water behind him. his eyes never left phyllis's face. his handsome mouth was as near to smiling as it ever got. "do you," he said presently, "swim as well as you row?" she stopped rowing; she laughed right out. "just about," she said. "good," he said seriously, "because i'm a dub at it, and in case of an upset, i look to you." "the truth," said phyllis, "is that there's no place to swim to. it's all swamp in here." "true," said herring; "we would have to cling to the boat and call upon heaven to aid us." one of herring's flies, trailing in the water, proved, at this moment, overwhelmingly attractive to a young and unsophisticated trout. herring shouted with the triumph of a schoolboy, "i've got one," and sprang to his feet. "please sit down!" said phyllis. "we almost went that time." "so we did," said herring. he sat down, and they almost "went" again. "now," said phyllis, "play him." "play him?" said herring. "watch me." and he began to pull strongly upon the fish. the fish was young and weak. herring's tackle was new and strong. the fish dangled in mid-air over the middle of the boat. "sorry," said herring, "i can't reach him. take him off, please." it has been said that phyllis was a good sport. if there was one thing she hated and feared more than another, it was a live fish. she reached forward; her gloved hand almost closed upon it; it gave a convulsive flop; phyllis squeaked like a mouse, threw her weight to one side, and the boat quietly upset. the sportsmen came to the surface streaming. "i can touch bottom," said herring politely; "can you?" "yes," she said, "but my feet are sinking into it--" she tore them loose and swam. herring did likewise. and they clung to the boat. "i hope you'll forgive me," said phyllis. "i never rowed a boat before and i never could stand live fish." "it was my fault," said herring. "something told me to lean the opposite from the way you leaned. but it told me too late. the truth is i don't know how to behave in a boat. well, you are still guide. it's up to you." "what is up to me?" "a plan of some sort," said he, "to get us out of this." "oh, no," she said, "it's up to you." "my plan," he said, "would be to get back into the boat and row home. it seems feasible, and even easy. but appearances are deceptive. i think i'd rather walk. what has happened here might happen out on the middle of the lake." "what you don't realize," said phyllis, "is that we're in the midst of an impassable swamp." "impassable?" "well, no one's ever crossed it except in winter." "what--no one!" he was immensely interested. "do you know," he went on confidentially, "the only things that i'm good at are things for which there are no precedents--things that nobody has ever done before. that's why i'm so fond of doing unusual things. now, you say that this swamp has never been crossed? enough said. you and i will cross it. we _will_ do it. are you game?" "it seems," said phyllis, "merely a question of when and where we drown. so i'm game. your teeth are chattering." "thank you," said herring. "but no harm will come to them. they are very strong." "i hope," said phyllis, "that when i come out of the water you won't look at me. i shall be a sight." "a comrade in trouble," said herring, "is never a sight." "i am so ashamed," said phyllis. "what of?" "of being such a fool." "you're a good sport," said herring. "that's what you are." by dint of violent kicking and paddling with their free hands they managed to propel the guide boat from the centre of the brook to a firm-looking clump of reeds and alder roots which formed a tiny peninsula from that shore which was toward the camp. covered with slime and mud they dragged themselves out of the water and stood balancing upon the alder roots to recover their breath. "we must each take an oar," said herring. "we can make little bridges with them. and we must keep working hard so as to get warm. we shall live to write a brochure about this: 'from clump to clump, or mudfoots in the adirondacks.'" between that clump on which they had found a footing and the next was ten feet of water. herring crossed seven feet of it with one heavy jump, fell on his face, caught two handfuls of viburnum stems, and once more dragged himself out of water. "now then," he called, "float the oars over to me." and when phyllis had done this: "now you come. the main thing in crossing swamps is to keep flat instead of up and down. jump for it--fall forward--and i'll get your hands!" once more they stood side by side precariously balancing. "the moment," said herring, "that you begin to feel bored, tell me." "why?" "so that i can encourage you. i will tell you that you are doing something that has never been done before. and that will make you feel fine and dandy. what we are doing is just as hard as finding the north pole, only there isn't going to be so much of it. now then, in negotiating this next sheet of water----" and so they proceeded until the sun was high in the heavens and until it was low. xiv to attempt the dangerous passage of a swamp when they might have returned to camp in the guide boat was undoubtedly a most imbecile decision. and if phyllis had not been thoroughly flustered by the upset, which was all her fault, she never would have consented to it. as for herring's voice in the matter, it was that which the young man always gave when there was a question of adventure. he didn't get around mountains by the valley road. he climbed over them. he had not in his whole being a suspicion of what is dangerous. he had never been afraid of anything. he probably never would be. he would have enjoyed leading half a dozen forlorn hopes every morning before breakfast. "we were idiots," said phyllis, "to leave the boat." "we can't go back to it now," said herring. "we don't know the way." "your voice sounds as if you were glad of it." "i am. i was dreadfully afraid you'd decide against crossing this swamp. i'd set my heart on it." "it isn't i," said phyllis, "that's against our crossing this swamp. it's the swamp." "the main thing," said herring, with satisfaction (physically he was almost exhausted), "is that here we are safe and sound. we don't know where 'here' is, but it's with us, it won't run away. when we've rested we shall go on, taking 'here' with us. wherever we go is 'here.' think of that!" "i wish i could think of something else," said phyllis, "but i can't. i'm almost dead." "you are doing something that no girl has ever done before, not even your sisters, those princesses of fortune. years from now, when you begin, 'once when i happened to be crossing the swamp with a young fellow named herring--' they will have to sit silent and listen." "if you weren't so cheerful," said phyllis, "i should have begun to cry an hour ago. do you really think this is fun?" "do i think it's fun? to be in a scrape--not to know when or how we are going to get out of it? you bet i think it's fun." "people have died," said phyllis, "having just this sort of fun. suppose we can't get out?" "you mean to-day? perhaps we can't. perhaps not to-morrow. perhaps we shall have to learn how to live in a swamp. a month of the life we've led for the last few hours might turn us into amphibians. that would be intensely novel and interesting. but, of course, when winter comes and the place freezes over we can march right out and take up our orthodox lives where we left off. listen!" "what?" "i think i hear webs growing between my fingers and toes." phyllis laughed so that the partially dried mud on her face cracked. "what," she said, "are we going to eat this side of winter? what are we going to eat now?" his face expressed immense concern. "what? you are hungry? allow me!" he produced from his inside pocket a very large cake of sweet chocolate, wrapped in several thicknesses of oiled silk. "my one contribution," he said, "to the science of woodcraft." phyllis ate and was refreshed. afterward she washed all the mud from her face. herring watched the progress of the ablution with much interest. "wonderful!" he said presently. "what is wonderful?" she asked, not without anticipation of a compliment. "wonderful to find that something which is generally accepted as true--is true. to see it proved before your eyes." "what do you mean?" "i mean," he said, "that i never before actually saw a girl wash her face. i've seen 'em when they said they were going to. i've seen 'em when they said they just had. but now i know." "if you weren't quite mad," said phyllis, "you'd be very exasperating. here am i, frightened half to death, cold and miserable, and dreadfully worried to think how worried my family must be, and there are you, almost too tired to stand, actually delighted with yourself, because you're in trouble and because for the first time in your life you've seen a girl wash her face. can't you be serious about anything?" "not about a half-drowned girl taking the trouble to wash her face," he said. "you," said she, "would look much better if you washed yours." "but," he said, "we'll be covered with mud again before we've gone fifty yards." "because you are going into a coal mine to-morrow," said phyllis, "is no reason why you shouldn't be clean to-day." "true," said herring, and he washed his face. * * * * * at breakfast that morning pritchard received the following cablegram: come home and shake hands. i'm off. m. greatly moved, he carried it to gay, and without comment put it in her hand. "who is m?" she asked. "my uncle, the earl of merrivale." "what does _i'm off_ mean?" "it means," said pritchard, "that they've given him up, and he wants to make friends. he never liked my father or me." "it means," said gay generously, "that you are going away?" "yes," he said, "at once. but it means more. it means that i've got to find out if i'm--to come back some time?" "of course, you are to come back," she said. words rose swiftly to pritchard's lips and came no further. indeed, he appeared to swallow them. "and i'm glad you are going to make friends with your uncle," said gay. "there'll be such lots of young men here when the season opens," said pritchard. "judging by applications," said gay, "we shall be swamped with gentlemen of all ages." pritchard's melancholy only deepened. "will you come as far as carrytown in the _streak_?" he asked. she nodded, and said she would because she had some shopping to do. during that short, exhilarating rush across the lake, and afterward walking up and down on the board platform by the side of the waiting train, he tried his best to ring a little sentiment out of her, but failed utterly. the locomotive whistled, and the conductor came out of the village drug-store, staggering slightly. "i've left all my dry-fly tackle," said pritchard. "will _you_ take care of it for me?" "with pleasure," said gay. "i'd like you to use it. it's a lovely rod to throw line." "all aboard!" "i'd like to bring you out some rods and things. may i?" "you bet you may!" exclaimed gay. pritchard sighed. the train creaked, jolted, moved forward, stopped, jerked, and moved forward again. pritchard waited until the rear steps of the rear car were about to pass. "good-by, miss gay!" they shook hands firmly, and pritchard swung himself onto the moving train. gay, walking rapidly and presently breaking into a trot, accompanied him as far as the end of the platform. she wanted to say something that would please him very much without encouraging him too much. "looks as if i was after you!" she said. pritchard's whole soul was in his eyes. and there was a large lump in his throat. suddenly gay reached the end of the long platform and stopped running. the train was now going quite fast for an adirondack train. the distance between them widened rapidly. "wish you weren't going," called gay. and she saw pritchard reach suddenly upward and pull the rope by which trains are stopped in emergencies. while the train was stopping and the train hands were trying to find out who had stopped it and why, pritchard calmly alighted, and returned to where gay was standing. "i just had to look at you once more--close," he said; "you never can tell what will happen in this world. i may never see you again, and the thought is killing me. think of that once in a while, please." he bent swiftly, caught her hand in his, kissed it, and was gone. or, if not exactly gone, she saw him no more, because of suddenly blinding tears. when she reached the camp, arthur was at the float to meet her. "phyllis and herring haven't come back," he said. "lee says they went fishing. do you know where they went?" "i don't. and they ought to have been back hours ago." "yes," said arthur, "and we're all starting out to look for them. care to come with me?" "yes," she said; "i've got to do _something_." something in her voice took his mind from the more imminent matter. "what's wrong, gay?" she shook her head. "nothing. let's start. if phyl rowed, they must have gone to the nearest possible fishing grounds." at this moment sam langham came puffing down from cook house. he was dressed in white flannels and carried a revolver. "it's to signal with," he explained. "i'm going to try loon brook, because it's the only brook i know when i see it." "bullard's gone to loon brook." "pshaw--can't i ever be of any use!" "good lord," said gay, "look!" there came around the nearest bend a man rowing one guide boat and towing another, which was empty. arthur called to him in a loud, hoarse voice: "where'd you find that boat?" "up swamp brook," came the answer. arthur and gay went gray as ashes. "who's to tell mary?" said arthur presently. then sam langham spoke. "if you don't mind," he said, "i think i will." an hour later the entire male population of the camp was dragging swamp brook for what they so dreaded to find. xv it wasn't all discouragement. for now and then it seemed as if the swamp was going to have a shore of dry land. at such times herring would exclaim: "there you see! it had never been done before, and now it's been done, and we've done it." and then it would seem to phyllis as if a great weight of fear and anxiety had been lifted from her. but the shore of the swamp always turned out to be an illusion. once herring, firmly situated as he believed, went suddenly through a crust of sphagnum moss and was immersed to the arm-pits. for some moments he struggled grimly to extricate himself, and only sank the deeper. then he turned to phyllis a face whimsical in spite of its gravity and pallor, and said: "if you have never saved a man's life, now is your chance. i'm afraid i can't get out without help." it was then that her phenomenally strong little hands and wrists stood them both in good stead. the arches of her feet against a submerged root of white cedar, she so pulled and tugged, and exhorted herring to struggle free, that at last he came out of that pocket quagmire and lay exhausted in the ooze at her feet. he was incased from neck to foot in a smooth coating of brown slime. presently he rolled over on his back and looked up at her. "there you see!" he said. "you'd never saved a man's life before, and now you've done it. please accept my sincere expressions of envy and gratitude-why, you're crying!" she was not only crying, but she was showing symptoms of incipient hysteria. "an old-fashioned girl," thought herring, "like great-grandmother saltonstall." he raised himself to a sitting position just in time to slide an arm around her waist as, the hysteria now well under way, she sat down beside him and began to wave her hands up and down like a polite baby saying good-by to some one. "one new thing under the sun after another," thought herring. "never had arm round hysterical girl's waist before. got it there now. when you need _her_, she takes a good brace and pulls for all she's worth. when she needs _you_, she seats herself on six inches of water and yells. just like great-grandmother saltonstall." aloud he kept saying: "that's right! greatest relief in the world! go to it!" and his arm tightened about her with extraordinary tenderness. her hysterics ended as suddenly as they had begun. and then she wasted a valuable half-hour apologizing for having had them; herring protesting all the while that he had enjoyed them just as much as she had, and that they had done him a world of good. and then they had to stop talking because their teeth began to chatter so hard that they simply couldn't keep on. herring stuttered something about, "exercise is what a body needs," and they rose to their feet and fought their way through a dense grove of arbor-vitã¦. "the stealthy indian goes through such places without making a sound," said herring. "or getting his moccasins wet," said phyllis. "oh!" and she sank to the waist. "never mind," said herring, "it will be dark before long. and when we have no choice of where to step, maybe we'll have better luck." "it will _have_ to be dark very soon," said phyllis, "if we have any more of our clothes taken away from us by the brambles." "that's a new idea!" exclaimed herring. "young couple starve to death in the woods because modesty forbids them to join their friends in the open. the head-line might be: 'stripped by brambles,' or 'the two bares.'" he was so pleased with his joke that he had to lean against a tree. the laughing set him to coughing, and phyllis beat him methodically between the shoulders. herring still refused to be serious. in helping phyllis over the bad places, he performed prodigies of misapplied strength and made prodigious puns. and he said that never in his life had he been in such a delightful scrape. once, while they were resting, phyllis said: "all you seem to think of is the fun you're having. most men would be thinking about the anxiety they were causing others and about the miseries of their companion." "but," he protested, "you are enjoying yourself too. you don't think you are, but you are. it's your philosophy that is wrong. you like to live too much in the present. i like to lay by stores of delightful memories against rainy days. the worse you feel now, the more you'll enjoy remembering how you felt--some evening, soon--your back against soft cushions and the soles of your feet toward the fire." "ugh!" shuddered phyllis. "don't talk about fires. oh, dear!" "what's wrong _now_!" "i'm so stiff i don't think i can take another step. we oughtn't to have rested so long." but she did take another step, and would have fallen heavily if herring had not caught her. a moment later she lost a shoe in the ooze, and wasted much precious daylight in vain efforts to locate and recover it. "sit down on that root," commanded herring. and she obeyed. he knelt before her, lifted her wet, muddy little stockinged foot and set it on his knee. "what size, please, miss?" he asked, giving an excellent imitation of a somewhat officious salesman. "i don't know; i have them made," said phyllis wearily, but trying her best to smile. "something in this style?" suggested herring. he had secretly removed one of his own shoes, and handling it with a kind of comic reverence, as if the soggy, muddy thing was a precious work of art, he presented it to her attention. and then phyllis smiled without even trying and then laughed. "i said a _shoe_," she said, "not a travelling bath-tub." but he slipped that great shoe over her little foot, and so bound it to her ankle with his handkerchief and necktie that it promised to stay on. "but you?" she said. "luck is with me to-day," said herring. "anybody can walk through an impassable swamp, but few are given the opportunity to hop. general sherman should have thought of that. it would have showed the confederates just what he thought of them if instead of marching through georgia he had hopped." and he pursued this new train of thought for some time. he improvised words to old tunes, and sang them at the top of his lungs: "as we were hopping through georgia." and last and worst he sang: "there'll be a hop time in the old town to-night." and when he had occasion to address phyllis directly, he no longer called her miss darling, but "goody two shoes." he said that his own name was not mr. herring but mr. hopper, and that he was a famous cotillon leader. but even he became a little quiet when the light began to fail, and a little serious. "whatever happens," he said, "it will be a great comfort to you to realize that it's entirely my fault. on the other hand, if we had gotten back into that boat, we might have been drowned long before this." a little later phyllis said: "i'm about all in. it's too dark to see. i----" "couldn't have chosen a better camping site myself," said herring humbly. "first thing to think of is the water-supply--and fuel. now, here the fuel grows right out of the water----" "we haven't any matches." "yes, we have; but they are wet and won't light." "we'll die of cold before morning," said phyllis; "there's no use pretending we won't." "on the contrary. now is the time to pretend all sorts of things. did you ever try to make a fire by rubbing two sticks together?" "never." "well, try it. it will make you warmer than the fire would. afterward we will play 'paddy cake, paddy cake,' and 'bean porridge hot.'" "do men in danger always carry on the way you do?" asked phyllis. "always," he answered. "i can understand trying to be funny during a cavalry charge, or while falling off a cliff," said phyllis, "but not while slowly and miserably congealing." "you are not a bostonian," said herring. "half the inhabitants of that municipality freeze to death and the others burn." "i've stayed in boston," said phyllis, "and the only difference that i could see between it and other places was that the people were more agreeable and things were done in better taste. and what gardens!" "ever seen the arboretum?" "have i?" "in lilac time?" "mm!" she was on her favorite topic. she forgot that she was cold, wet, miserable, and a frightful anxiety to her family. "but why be an innkeeper?" asked herring. "why not set up as a landscape-gardener?" "i don't know enough. but i've often thought----" "i've got five hundred acres outside of boston that i'd like to turn you loose on." "you speak as if i were a goat." "the first thing to do is to drain the swamps. now, i'll make you a proposition. i can't put it in writing, because it's too dark to see and i have no writing materials, but there is nothing fishy about us herrings. you to landscape my place for me, cause a suitable house to be built, and so forth; i to pay you a thousand dollars a month, and a five per cent commission on the total expenditure." "and what might _that_ amount to?" "what you please," said herring politely. "who says bostonians are cold?" exclaimed phyllis. and there began to float through her head lovely visions of landscapes of her own making. "you're still joking, aren't you?" she said after a while. "i don't know landscapes well enough to joke about them," he said. "but i can't design a house!" "oh, you will have architects to do that part. you just pick the general type." "what kind of a house do you want?" "it depends on what kind of a house _you_ want." "oh, dear," she exclaimed, "what fun it would be!" "will you do it?" she was tempted beyond her strength. "yes," she said, and began to talk with irresponsible delight and enthusiasm. "ah," thought herring to himself, "find out what really interests a girl and she'll forget all her troubles." it began suddenly to grow light. "good heavens!" exclaimed phyllis. "the woods must be on fire! oh, the poor trees!" "it isn't fire," said herring, "it's the moon--'queen and huntress, chaste and fair--goddess excellently bright'--was ever such luck! i hoped we were going to stand here cosily all night talking about marigolds and cowslips and wallpapers, and now it's our duty to move on. come, goody two shoes, policeman moon has told us to move on. i shall never forget this spot. and i shan't ever be able to find it again." they toiled forward a little way, and lo! upon a sudden, they came to firm and rocky land that sloped abruptly upward from the swamp. they climbed for several hundred feet and came out upon a bare hilltop, from which could be seen billows of forest and one great horn of half moon lake, silver in the moonlight. "why, it isn't a mile to camp," said phyllis. she swayed a little, tottered, rocked backward and then forward, and fell against herring's breast in a dead faint. in a few moments she came to and found that she was being carried in strong arms. it was a novel, delicious, and restful sensation--one which it seemed immensely sensible to prolong. she did not, then, immediately open her eyes. she heard a voice cheerful, but very much out of breath, murmuring over her: "new experience. never carried girl before. experience worth repeating. like 'em old-fashioned--like great-grandmother saltonstall. like 'em to faint." a few minutes later, "where am i?" said phyllis. "in my arms," said herring phlegmatically, as if that was one of her habitual residing places. "put me down, please." "i hear," said he, "and i obey with extreme reluctance. i made a bet with myself that i could carry you all the way. and now i shall never know. feel better?" "mm," she said, and "what a nuisance i've been all through! but it was pretty bad, some of it, wasn't it?" "already you are beginning to take pleasure in remembering. what did i tell you? don't be frightened. i am going to shout." he shouted in a voice of thunder, and before the echo came back to them another voice, loud and excited, rose in the forest. and they heard smashings and crashings, as a wild bull tearing through brittle bushes. and presently sam langham burst out of the thicket with a shower of twigs and pine-needles. his delight was not to be measured in words. he apostrophized himself. "good old sam!" he said. "he knew you weren't drowned in the brook. he knew it would be just like herring to want to cross that swamp. as soon as i heard somebody say that it was impassable, i said: 'where is the other side? that's the place to look for them.' but why didn't you make more noise?" "oh," said herring, "we were so busy talking and exploring and doing things that had never been done before that it never occurred to us to shout." "herring," said langham sternly, "you have the makings of a hero, but not, i am afraid, of a woodsman." "well, we're safe enough now," said herring. "excuse me a moment----" "excuse you! what?" "it's very silly--been sick you know--over-exertion--think better faint and get it over with." langham knelt and lifted herring's head. "you lift his feet," he said to phyllis, "send the blood to his heart; bring him to." herring began to come out of his faint. "this young man," said langham, "may be something of an ass, but he's got sand." "he carried me a long way," said phyllis, the tears racing down her cheeks; "and he's only just over typhoid, and he never stopped being cheerful and gallant, and he _isn't_ an ass!" herring came to, but was not able to stand. he had kept up as long as he had to, and now there was no more strength in him. phyllis accepted the loan of langham's coat. "i'll stay with him," she said, "while you go for help." the moment langham's back was turned she spread the coat over herring. "_please--don't!_" he said. "you be quiet," said she sharply. "how do you feel?" "pretty well used up, thank you. hope you'll 'scuse me for this collapse. shan't happen again. lucky thing you and i don't both collapse same moment." a faint moan was wrung from him. she touched his cheek with her hand. it was hot as fire. she was an old-fashioned girl, and the instinct of nursing was strong in her. she was an old-fashioned girl. there had almost always been a young man in her life about whom, for a while, she wove more or less intensely romantic fancies. they came; they went. but almost always there was one. she raised her lovely face and looked at the moon, and made an unspoken confession. there had always been one. well, now there was another! xvi when the real season opened, you might have thought that the whole venture was mr. sam langham's and that he had risked the whole of his money in it. without being officious, he had words of anxious advice for the darlings, severally and collectively. his early breakfasts in smoke house with mary, the chef beaming upon the efficient and friendly pair, lost something of their free and easy social quality, and became opportunities for the gravest discussions of ways and means. the opening day would see every spare room in the place occupied--by a man. to mary it seemed a little curious that so few women, so few families, and so many bachelors had applied for rooms. but to sam langham the reasons for this were clear and definite. "it was the picture in the first issues of your advertisement that did it. i only compliment and felicitate you when i say that every bachelor who saw that picture must have made up his mind to come here if he possibly could. and that every woman who saw it must have felt that she could spend a happier summer somewhere else. now, if you had circulated a picture of half a dozen men, each as good-looking as your brother arthur, the results would have been just the opposite." "women aren't such idiots about other women's looks as you think they are," said mary. "i didn't say they were idiots; i intimated that they were sensible. the prettiest woman at a summer resort always has a good time--not the best, necessarily, but very good. now, no woman could look at that picture of you and your sisters and expect to be considered the prettiest woman _here_. could she, chef?" chef laughed a loud, scornful, defiant, gesticulant, gallic laugh. his good-natured features focussed into a scathing parisian sneer; he turned a delicate omelette over in the air and said, "lala!" "there are," continued mr. langham, "only half a dozen women in the world who can compare in looks with you and your sisters. there's the princess oducalchi--your mother. there's the countess of kingston, mrs. waring, miss virginia clark--but these merely compare. they don't compete." mr. langham tried to look very sly and wicked, and he sang in a humming voice: "oh, to be a mussulman, now that spring is here." "coffee?" said mary. "please." "well," said she, as she poured, "the whys and wherefores don't matter. it's to be a bachelor resort--that seems definitely settled. but i think we had better send the triplets away. i don't want the pritchard and herring episodes repeated while my nerves are in this present state. and there's lee--if she isn't leading renier into one folly after another, i don't know what she is doing. they seem to think that keeping an inn is a mere excuse for flirtation." "don't send them away," said langham. "if you sent those three girls to a place where there weren't any men at all--they'd flirt with their shadows. better have 'em flirting where you can watch 'em than where you can't. and besides--are you quite sure that the pritchard and herring episodes were mere flirtations? day before yesterday i came upon miss gay by accident; she was practising casting." "that's how she spends half her time." "but she was practising with pritchard's rod! yesterday i came upon her in the same place----" "by accident?" smiled mary. "by design," he said honestly. "and this time she wasn't casting. she had the rod lying across her knees, and her eyes were turned dreamily toward the bluest and most distant mountain-top." "'why do you look at that mountain?' i said. "'because it's blue, too,' said she. "'and what makes you blue?' i asked. "'the same cause that makes the mountain blue,' said she. "'hum,' said i. 'then it must be distance.' "'something like that,' she said. 'i sometimes think i'm the most distant person in the world.' "'you're probably not the only person who thinks that!' said i. "and she said, 'no? really?' and that was all i could get out of her. except that, just as i was walking away, i heard a sharp whistling sound and my cap--my new plaid cap--was suddenly tweaked from the top of my head and hung in a tree. she must have practised a lot with that rod of pritchard's. it was a beautiful cast----" "she might have put your eye out!" exclaimed mary. "she hung the apple of my eye in a tree," said he dolefully. "you know that one with the green and brown? and last night it rained." "i hope she expressed sorrow," said mary. "she was going to, but i got laughing and then she did." "what a dear you are!" exclaimed mary. "and so you think she's making herself mournful over mr. pritchard? and what are the reasons for thinking that phyllis is serious about mr. herring?" "he's sent for blue-prints of his property outside boston, and they are busy with plans for landscaping it. narrow escape that! i didn't let on; but the second day i thought he was a goner. i did." mary sighed. "we might just as well have called it a matrimonial agency in the first place instead of an inn." mr. langham rose reluctantly. "i have an engagement with miss maud," he explained. the faintest ripple of disappointment flitted across mary's forehead. "i've promised to help her with her books," said he. "some of the journal entries puzzle her; and she has an idea that the inn ought to have more capital. and we are going into that, too." "i hope," said mary, "that you aren't going to lend us money without consulting me." chef was in a distant corner, quite out of ear-shot. and mr. langham, emboldened by one of the most delicious breakfasts he had ever eaten, shot an arch glance at miss darling. "i wouldn't consult you about lending money," he said; "i wouldn't consult you about giving money. but any time you'll let me consult you about _sharing_ money----" panic overtook him, and he turned and fled. but upon mary's brow was no longer any ripple of disappointment--only the unbroken alabaster of smooth serenity. she reached for the household keys and said to herself: "maud is a steady girl--even if the rest of us aren't." she caught a glimpse of herself in the bottom of a highly polished copper utensil and couldn't help being pleased with what she saw. on the way to the office mr. langham fell in with arthur. this one, uncas scolding and chatting upon his shoulder, was starting off for a day's botanizing--or dreaming maybe. "arthur--one moment, please," said langham. "as the head of the family i want to consult you about something." "yes?" said arthur sweetly. "of course, uncas, you are too noisy." and he put the offended little beast into his green collecting case. "i never would have come here," said mr. langham, "if it hadn't been for that advertisement." arthur frowned slightly. "you mean----" "yes. but i came," said mr. langham, "not as a pagan turk but as a christian gentleman. i was just about to take passage for liverpool when i saw your sister mary looking out at me from _the four seasons_. and so i wrote to ask if i could come here. i have lived well, but i am not disappointed. i am very rich----" "my dear sam," said arthur, "you are the best fellow in the world. what do you want of me?" "to know that you think i'd try my best to make a girl happy if she'd let me." "a girl?" smiled arthur. "_any_ girl?" "in all the world," said mr. langham, "there is only one girl." "if i were you," said arthur, "i'd ask her what _she_ thought about it." langham assumed a look of terrible gloom. "if she didn't think well of it i'd want to cut my throat. i'd rather keep on living in blissful uncertainty, but i wanted _you_ to know--_why_ i am here, and _why_ i want to stay on and on." "why, i'm very glad to know," said arthur, "but surely it's your own affair." mr. langham shook his head. "last night," said he, "i was dozing on my little piazza. who should row by at a distance but miss gay and miss lee. you know how sounds carry through an adirondack night? miss lee said to miss gay: 'i tell you he doesn't. not _really_. he's just a male flirt.' 'a butterfly,' said miss gay." "but how do you know they were referring to you?" "by the way the blessed young things laughed at the word '_butterfly_'. so i wanted you to know that my intentions are tragically serious, no matter what others may say. whatever i may be, and i have been insulted more than once about my figure and my habits, i am _not_ a flirt. i am just as romantic as if i was a living skeleton." here arthur's head went back, and he laughed till the tears came. and mr. langham couldn't help laughing, too. a few moments later he was going over the inn books with maud darling and displaying for her edification an astonishing knowledge of entries and a truly magical facility in figuring. suddenly, apropos of something not in the least germane, he said: "miss maud, when in your opinion is the most opportune time for a man to propose to a girl?" "when he's got her alone," said she promptly, "and has just been dazzling her with a display of his erudition and understanding." and she, whom mary had described as the one steady sister in the lot, flung him a melting and piercing glance. but mr. langham was not deceived. "i ask you an academic question," he said, "and you give me an absolutely cradle-snatching answer. i may _look_ easy, miss maud, but there are people who will protect me." "the best time to propose to a girl? you really want to know? i thought you were just starting one of your jokes." "if i am," said he, "the joke will be on me. but i _really_ want to know." "the best moment," said she, "is that moment in which she learns that one of her friends or one of her sisters younger than she is engaged to be married. when an unengaged girl hears of another girl's engagement she has a momentary panic, during which she is helpless and defenseless. that is my best judgment, mr. sam langham. and the older the girl the greater the panic. and now i've betrayed my sex. in fact, i have told you absolutely all that is definitely known about girls." just outside the office he met gay. "halloo!" she said. he only made signs at her and flapped his arms up and down. "_they_ can't talk," he said. "who can't talk?" he held her with a stern glance, and if the word had been hissable, would have hissed it. "butterflies," he said. then miss gay turned the color of a scarlet maple in the fall of the year. then she squealed and ran. xvii "are we all here?" asked mary. she had summoned her sisters and arthur to the office for a conference. "all except sam langham," said gay. "i didn't know that he was one of the family," said mary. "of course, you _know_," said gay; "you would. _i_ was just guessing." "well, he isn't," said mary, trying not to change color or to enjoy being teased about mr. langham. the triplets sat in a row upon a bench made of little birch logs with the bark on. it was not soft sitting, as lee whispered, but one had one's back to the light, and in case one had done something wrong without knowing it and was in for a scolding, that would prove an immense advantage. "what i wanted to say," said mary, "is just this----" she stood up and looked rather more at the triplets than any one else, so that lee exclaimed, "votes for women," and gay echoed her with, "yes, but none for poor little girls in their teens." "hitherto," continued the orator, "the inn has been only informally open. it's been more like having a few friends stopping with us. we had to see more or less of them. but after to-day there will be a crowd, and i think it would be more dignified and pleasanter for them if _some_ of us kept ourselves a little more to ourselves. what do _you_ think, arthur?" arthur looked up sweetly. it was evident that he had not been listening. "why, mary," he said, "i think it might be managed with infinite patience." the triplets giggled; maud and eve exchanged amused looks. "arthur," said mary, "you can make one contribution to this discussion if you want to. you can tell us what you are really thinking about, so that we needn't waste time trying to guess." "why," said he gently, "you know i have quite a knack with animals, taming them and training them, and i was wondering if it would be possible to train a snail. _that's_ what i was thinking about. i have a couple in my pocket at the moment, and----" "never mind _now_," said mary hurriedly, and she turned to the triplets. "what do _you_ think of what i said?" "i think it was tortuous and involved," said lee, "and that it would hardly bear repetition." "it smacked of paternalism," said gay. and even phyllis, her mind upon the convalescing herring, was moved to speak. "you said it would be more dignified for some of us to keep to ourselves. perhaps it would. you said it would be pleasanter for the people who are coming here to stay. i doubt it!" "bully for you, old girl," shouted lee and gay; "sick her!" mary moaned. she was proof against their hostilities, but the language in which they were couched pierced her to the marrow. "i am sure," she said, "that maud and eve will agree with me." "of course," said eve. "naturally," said maud. "there!" exclaimed mary, with evident triumph. "we agree," said eve, "that _some_ of us should keep ourselves more to ourselves." and she looked sternly at the triplets. but then she turned and looked sternly at mary and rose to her feet. "we think," she said with a _j'accuse_ intonation, "that those who haven't kept themselves to themselves should, and that those who have--shouldn't. maud and i, for instance, haven't the slightest objection to being fetched for and carried for by attractive young men. have we, maud? but hitherto, as must have been obvious to the veriest nincompoop, we have done our own fetching and carrying." there was a short silence. mary blushed. arthur fidgeted. he was wondering if snails preferred the human voice or whistling. "i'm quite sure," said maud, "that i haven't been wandering over the hills with future earls, or lost in swamps with interesting invalids, or basked morning after morning in the sunny smile of a gourmet----" mary paled under this attack. "mr. langham is altogether different," she said. "oh, quite!" cried lee. "utterly, absolutely different!" cried gay. "to begin with, he's richer; and to end with, he's fatter." "i shouldn't have said 'fat,'" said lee. "i should have said 'well-larded,' but then i am something of a stylist." "sam langham," said mary, "is everybody's friend. and he's an immense help in lots of ways; and then he has a certain definite interest in the inn. because, if we need it, he's going to lend us money to carry our accounts." gay whispered to lee behind her hand. lee giggled. "what was that?" asked mary sharply. "only a quotation." "what quotation?" "oh, gay just said something about 'bought and paid for.'" here arthur interrupted. "they're like snails," said he to mary. "you can only train 'em with infinite patience." phyllis rose suddenly and became the cynosure of all eyes except her own, whose particular cynosure at the moment was the floor. she moved toward the door. "where are you off to?" asked mary. "i'm just going to speak to chef." "what about?" "about some chicken broth." "for yourself?" the gentle phyllis was being goaded beyond endurance. at the door she turned and lifted her great eyes to mary's. "no," she said bitterly; "it's for arthur's snails." there was a silence. "if there's any voting," said phyllis, "i give my proxy to gay." and she vanished through the door. "i'm sure," said mary, "i don't know what the modern young girl is coming to!" "i know where _that_ one is going to," said gay; "spilling the chicken broth in her unseemly haste." then arthur spoke. "the modern young girl," he said, "is coming to just where her grandmother came, and by the same road. girls will be girls. so let's be thankful that the men who have come here so far have been--men. and hopeful that those who are to come will be also. i've lived too much with nature not to know what's natural--when i see it." "do you think," said gay sweetly, "that it's natural for a man to eat as much as sam langham does?" "as natural under the peculiar circumstances," said arthur, "as it is for you to tease." lee rose. "and you?" said mary, smiling at last. "oh," said lee witheringly, "i have an engagement to carve initials surrounded by a heart on a birch-tree." and when lee had gone gay spoke up. "i shouldn't wonder," said she, "if, by way of a blind, the baggage had told the truth." "we should never have called it the inn," said mary; "we should have called it the matrimonial agency." "every pretty girl," said arthur, "is a matrimonial agency." at this moment uncas, the chipmunk, rushed screaming into the room and flung himself into arthur's lap. arthur comforted the little beast, and noticed that his nose and face bore fresh evidences of a fight. uncas complained very bitterly; he was evidently trying to talk. "is stripes hurt?" asked mary. "it's his feelings," said arthur. "he's been made a victim of misplaced confidence. some young woman has been encouraging him." "poor little man!" said gay with sudden emotion. "did ums want some nice vasy on ums poor sick nose?" "he would only lick it off," regretted arthur. mr. langham's jolly face appeared in the open door. "i've seen two depart," he said, "and thought maybe the meeting was over." "it is," said mary, and, after a moment's hesitation, she boldly joined mr. langham and walked off by his side. even arthur chuckled. "and what was the meeting about?" asked mr. langham. "oh," said mary, "they won't be serious--not any of them--not even arthur. so we forgot what the meeting was for, and got into violent discussion about--about natural history." "and what side did you take?" "oh," said mary, "we were all on the same side--_really_, and that was what made the discussion so violent." "the day," said langham, "is young. i feel ripe for an adventure. and you?" "what sort of an adventure?" "i thought that if one--or rather if _two_ climbed to the top of a very little hill and sat down in the sunshine and admired the view----" * * * * * far out on the lake they could see lee, lolling in the stern of a guide boat. young renier was at the oars. but the boat was not being propelled. it was merely drifting. "i wonder," said langham, and he watched her face stealthily, "if by any chance those two are really engaged?" was there the least hardening of that lovely, gentle face, the least fleeting expression of that sort of panic which one experiences when arriving at the station in time to see the train pull out but not too late to get aboard by the exercise of swift and energetic manoeuvres? "don't say such things!" she said presently. "it's like jumping out from behind a tree and shouting, 'boo!'" mr. langham smiled complacently and changed the subject. but he said to himself: "that maud is a clever girl!" "i suppose," said mary after a while, "that this is the last really peaceful day we'll have for a long time. to-morrow the place will be full of strange, critical faces. and it will be one long wrestle to make everything go smoothly all the time." she sighed. "there are only two ways to success," said langham. "one is across the wrestling-mat, and one is through the pasture of old bull luck. but i'm convinced that the inn is going to pay very handsomely. there is a fortune in it." "there mightn't be," said mary, "if--" and she broke into a peal of embarrassed laughter. "if what?" "i was thinking of that _dreadful_ picture." "i often think of it," said mr. langham, "and of the first time i saw it." mary gave him a somewhat shy look. "of course it didn't influence you," she said. "but it did. and that day i forgot to eat any lunch. i am looking forward," he said, "to warm weather--i enjoy a swim as much as anybody." "why is it," said mary, "that a girl is ashamed when it is her money that attracts a man, and proud when it is her face? both are equally fortuitous; both are assets in a way--but of the two, it is the money alone which is really useful." "it sounds convincing to a girl," mused mr. langham, "when a man says to her: 'i love you because of your beautiful blue eyes!' but it wouldn't sound in the least convincing if he said: 'i love you because of your beautiful green money!' i don't attempt to explain this. i am merely stating what appears to me to be a fact. but, as you say, money is, or should be, an asset of attraction." "i suppose beauty is held in greater esteem," said mary, "because it is more democratically bestowed. money seems to beget hatred because it isn't." "the french people," said langham, "hated the nobility because of their wealth and luxury. to-day a common mechanic has more real luxuries at his disposal than poor louis xvi had, but he hates the rich people who have more than he has--and so it will go on to the end of time." "will there always be rich people and poor people?" "there will always be rich people, but some time they will learn to spend their money more beneficently, and then there won't be any really poor people. if the attic of your house were infected with dirt and vermin you couldn't sleep until it had been cleaned and disinfected. so, some day, rich men will feel about their neighbors; cities about their slums; and nations about other nations. i can imagine a future uncle sam saying to a future john bull"--and he sunk his voice to a comically confidential whisper: "'say, old man, i hear you're pressed for ready cash; now't just so happens i'm well fixed at the moment, and--oh, just among friends! bother the interest!' what a spectacle this world is--it's like the old english schools that dickens wrote out of existence--just bullying and hazing all around! why, if a country was run on the most elementary principles of honesty and efficiency, the citizens of that country would never have occasion to say: 'our taxes are almost unbearable.' they would be nudging each other in the streets and saying: 'my, that was a big dividend we got!'" mr. langham only stopped because he was out of breath. his face was red and shining. he mopped his brow with his handkerchief. mary was almost perfectly happy. she loved to hear langham run on and on. his voice was so pleasant, and his face beamed so with kindness. and from many things which he had from time to time let slip she was convinced that she needn't be an old maid unless she wanted to be. and so to climb a little hill with him, to sit in the sun, and to admire the view was really an exciting venture. for she never knew what he was going to let slip next. and equally exciting was the fact that if that slip should be in the nature of a leading question, she could only guess what her answer would be. when a man is offered something that he very much wants--a trifling loan, for instance--his first instinct is to deny the need. and a girl, when the man she wants offers himself, usually refuses at the first time of asking. and some, especially rich in girl nature, which is experience of human nature and somewhat short of divine, will persist in refusing even unto the twentieth and thirtieth time. mary darling was in a deep reverie. from this, his eyes twinkling behind their thick glasses, mr. langham roused her with the brisk utterance of one of his favorite quotations: "'general blank's compliments,'" said he, "'and he reports that the colored troops are turning black in the face.'" mary smiled her friendliest smile. "i was wondering," she said, "what had become of lee and renier." "i have noted," said mr. langham, "that she always calls him by his last name, sometimes with the prefix you--'you renier' put like that. and i was wondering if he ever turns the trick on her." "why should he?" asked mary innocently. "you have forgotten," said he, "that her last name is darling." his eyes twinkled with amazing and playful boldness. "you're _all_ darlings," he exclaimed, "and"--a note of self-pity in his voice--"i'm just a fat old stuff!" "that," said mary primly, "is perfectly correct, but for three trifling errors--you're not fat, you're not old, and you're not a stuff!" if she had told him that he was handsome as apollo he could not have been more pleased. and so their adventure progressed in the pleasant sunlight that warmed the top of the little hill. no very exciting adventure, you say? and of a shilly-shallying and even snail-like motion? oh, you can't be always riding to rescues, and falling over cliffs, and escaping from burning houses. at that moment, by the purest accident, the tip of mr. langham's right forefinger just brushed against mary's sleeve. and there went through him from head to foot a great thrill, as if trumpets had suddenly sounded. "i suppose," said mary, after a little while, "that we ought to be going." "but i'd rather sit here than eat," said mr. langham. "honestly? so would i." "then," said mr. langham, "without exposing ourselves to any other danger than that of starvation, i propose that we lose ourselves--as _other people do_--in short, that we remain here until one or other of us would rather--eat." "good gracious," said mary, "we might be here a week!" mr. langham rose slowly to his feet. far off he could see pale smoke flitting upward through the tree-tops. he turned and looked into miss darling's smiling, upturned face. "i'll just run down and tell arthur we're not _really_ lost," he said. "but i'll make him promise not to look for us. i'll be right back--almost before you can say 'jack robinson.'" she held out her hands. he took them and helped her to her feet. and then they both laughed aloud. "thank heaven," said mary, "that whatever else you and i may suffer from, it isn't from insanity--or slim appetites! as a matter of fact, i'm famished." "thank god!" said mr. langham; "so am i." and they began to descend the hill. for to keep men and women and adventurers going, the essential thing is food. and there's many a promising romance that has come to nothing for want of a loaf of bread and a jug of wine. xviii in a certain part of the land of cotton, where they grow nothing but rice, colonel melville meredith stood beside the charred foundations of a house and nursed his chin with his hand. with the exception of a sword which the king of greece had given him, all those possessions which he had considered of value had gone up in smoke with the house of his ancestors. the family portraits were gone, the silver lamarie, and lesage, and all the domingan satinwood. if colonel meredith had been an older man, he must almost have wept. but the grip upon his chin was not of one mourning. it was the grip of consideration. he was wondering what sort of a new house he should build upon the foundations of the old. he must, of course, build upon the old site. there were other good sites among his thousands of acres, but none which was so well planted. a good architect could copy the taj mahal for you. but the pemaque oak is one hundred and seven feet, or less, in circumference, and the avenue of oaks leading from the turnpike, two miles away, was planted in 1653. there were also divers jungles of rhododendrons, laurel, and azalea in the river garden that it had taken no less than a great-grandmother to plant. "it can't be the first conflagration in the family," he thought. "everybody's ancestors, at one time or another, must have lost by fire and built again. as for pemaque--it _was_ a lovely old house, but a new house could be just as lovely, and it could have bathrooms and be made rat-proof. and i wouldn't mind if people scratched the floors." i have said that colonel meredith had lost all the possessions which he valued. but of course the land remained, the trees, the duck ponds, the alligator sloughs, and so forth. there remained, also, a robust youth, crowded with experiences and memories of wars and statesmen and of delightful people who live for pleasure. there remained, also--least valuable of all to a man of action and sentiment--a perfectly safe income, derived from bonds, of nearly two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year. colonel meredith was by all odds the richest man in that part of the land of cotton, where they grow nothing but rice. it was piping hot among the foundations of the old house; the sticky, ticky season had descended upon the carolina seacoast. the snakes and the lizards were saying among themselves, "now this is really something like," and were behaving accordingly. every few minutes a new and ambitious generation of mosquitoes was hatched. the magnolias were going to seed. colonel meredith's gordon setter, a determined expression upon his face, had been scratching himself with almost supercanine speed for the last twenty minutes. colonel meredith scorned ticks, trod with indifference upon snakes, and was not poisoned or even pained by mosquitoes, but he had travelled all over the world and was not averse to being cooler and more comfortable. "we've got the grandest climate in the world," he thought loyally, "for eight months in the year--but when it comes to summer give me vera cruz, singapore, or even hell. i'll build a home for autumn, winter, and spring, but when it gets to be summer, i'll go away and shoot polar bears." he whistled his dog and walked thoughtfully to where his automobile was waiting in the shade. his driver, an irish boy from new york, was in a state of wilt. "i have determined," said colonel meredith, "not to begin building until cool weather. we shall go north to-night. i hope the thought will refresh you. now we will go back to mr. jonstone's. do you feel able to drive, or shall i?" it was typical of the region that the mr. jonstone with whom meredith was stopping should own the best bed of mint south of washington, and could make the best mint-juleps. the mint-bed was about all he did own. everything else was heavily mortgaged. everything, that is, except the family silver and jewels. these jonstone's grandmother had buried when sherman came marching through, and had almost immediately forgotten where she had buried them. jonstone employed one trustworthy negro whose year-around business was to dig for the treasure. there existed a list of the objects buried, which was enough to make even a rich man's palm itch. "nothing to-day," said jonstone as his guest drove up. "and it's about time for a julep." "i'm going north to-night," said meredith, "and you're going with me." they were cousins, second or third, of about the same age. they even looked alike, but whereas meredith had travelled all over the world, jonstone had never been south of savannah or north of washington. he began with an ivory toddy-stick to convert sugar and bourbon into sirup. "how's that, mel?" he asked. "and why?" "between us two, bob," said meredith, "this is one hell of a climate in summer. the brighter we are the quicker we'll get out of it." "i'd like to go you on that, but aside from the family silver i haven't a penny in the world." "bob, i'm sick of offering to lend you money. i'm sick of offering to give you money. there's only one chance left." jonstone made a gentle clashing sound with fine ice. "as you know, my family silver has all gone up in smoke. now yours hasn't. suppose you sell me yours. what's it worth?" "with or without the diamonds?" "if i should ever marry, it would be advisable to have the diamonds." "well," said jonstone, beginning to turn over a bundle of straws, with the object of selecting four which should be flawless, "i don't want to stick you. we have a complete list of the pieces, with their weights and dates. some of the new york dealers could tell us what the collection would be worth in the open market. double that sum in the name of sentiment, and i'll go you." "i must have a free hand to hunt for the stuff in my own way-it's perfection--you never, never made a better one--now, how about the diamonds?" "i have the weights. and you know the jonstones were always particular about water." "that's why they are all dead but you. then you'll come?" bob jonstone nodded. "you'll have to lend me a suit of clothes--but, look here, mel: suppose the silver and stuff has been lifted--doesn't exist any more? wouldn't i, in selling it to you, be guilty of sharp practice?" "our great-great-grandfather, the signer, doesn't exist any more, bob. that silver is somewhere--in some form or other. i pay for it, and it's mine. does it matter if i never see it or handle it? i shall always be able to allude to it--isn't that enough? as for you, you'll be able to pay all your mortgages, to fix the front door so's it won't have to be kept shut with a keg of nails, and to spend what is necessary on your fields." "of course," said jonstone, who had finished his julep. "it afflicts me to part with what has been in the family so long." "but you ought to be afflicted." "why?" "didn't you vote for wilson?" jonstone nodded solemnly. "come, then," said meredith, as if he were pardoning an erring child; "there's just time for one julep and to pack up our things. you'll just love new york. and when we get there we'll make up our minds whether we'll go to newport or bar harbor. bob, did it ever occur to you that you and i ought to get married? that looks as if it was going to be better than the other, though darker-what's the use of having ancestors if you're not going to be one?" "show me a girl as handsome as sully's portrait of great-grandmother pringle, and i'll take notice." "why, every other girl in a broadway chorus has got the old lady skinned to death, bob!" "you may be worldly-wiser than me, mel, but you've lost your reverence. it's always been agreed in the family that great-grandmother pringle was the most beautiful woman in the south. and when a man says 'the south,' and refers at the same time to female charms, he has as good as said the whole world." "bob, among ourselves, do you really think jefferson davis was a greater man than abraham lincoln?" "ssssh!" said jonstone. "do you really think the southern armies wiped up the map with the northern armies every time they met? and do you really think that wooden-faced doll that sully painted has no equal for beauty north of the mason and dixon line? what you need is travel and experience." "what's the matter with _you_ getting married?--my god, don't spill that, mel!" "there's nothing the matter with it. and i'll tell you what i'll do: i will if you will." "they ought to be sisters, seeing as how you and i have always been like brothers and voted the democratic ticket and fought chickens." "and fed the same ticks and mosquitoes." "we'll have a double wedding. we'll each be the other's best man, and they'll each be the other's best girl." "no--no; they are each to be our best girls." "what i mean is----" "i know what you mean, but you've made this julep too strong." "that's _one_ thing they can't do in the north." "what's that?" "make a julep." meredith considered this at some length. "no, bob," he said at length, "they can't. but i once met a statesman from maine who made a thing that looked like a julep, tasted like a julep, and that--i'd say it if it was my dying statement--had the same effect." "she must be better-looking than great-grandmother pringle," said jonstone. "she must be able to make a julep, and she must have a sister just like her. can you lend me a suit of clothes till we get to new york?" "i can lend you anything from a yachting suit to a bulgarian uniform." "and you're sure i'm not imposing on you in the matter of the silver?" "sure. i just want to know it's mine." in the morning, soon after this precious pair had breakfasted, a boy went through the train with newspapers and magazines. he proclaimed in the sweetest virginian voice that his magazines were just out, but a copy of _the four seasons_ which colonel meredith bought proved not only to be of an ancient date but to have had coffee spilled upon it. at the moment when this discovery was made, the youthful paper-monger had just swung from the crawling train to the platform of a way station, so there was no redress. the cousins agreed, laughing, that if a yankee had played them such a trick they would have wished to cut his heart out, but that, turned upon them by a fellow countryman, it was merely a proof of smartness and push. "between you and me, bob," said colonel meredith, "an accurate count of our southern population would proclaim a villain or two here and there. i was brought up to believe that to be born in a certain region was all that was necessary. but that's not so. i tell you this because i am afraid that when you are meeting people in new york and having a good time you will be wanting to lay down the law, to wit, that one southerner can whip five yankees. don't do it. i will tell you a horrid truth. i was once whipped by a small-sized frenchman within an inch of my life. he had studied _le boxe_ under carpentier and i hadn't. did you ever study _le boxe_? no? an anglo-saxon imagines that he was born boxing. and it takes a licking by a man of latin blood to prove to him that he wasn't. just because people make funny noises and monkey cries when they fight doesn't prove that they are afraid. there is nothing so ridiculous as a baboon going into action and nothing more terrible when he gets there." "the more you travel, mel, the more you show a deplorable tendency to foul your own nest." "_i_ run down the south? i like that! but, my dear bob, there is only one chosen people. and it isn't us." here he made a significant gesture with his hands, turning the palms up, and they both laughed. "a jew," he went on, "is what he is because he is a jew. his good points and his bad are racial. but between two men of our race there is no material resemblance. one is mean, the other generous; one broad, one narrow; one brave, the other not. do you know why hornless cows give less milk than horned cows? because there are fewer of them. do you know why there are more honest men in the north, and pretty girls, than there are in the south? simply because there are more men and more girls. it also follows that there are more dishonest men and ugly girls; more of everything, in fact." he was slowly turning over the pages of _the four seasons_, looking always, with pemaque in mind, at pictures of country houses. suddenly he closed the magazine, looked pensively out of the window, and began to whistle with piercing sweetness. he once more opened the magazine, but this time with great caution as if he was half afraid that something disagreeable would jump out at him. nothing did, however. he folded the magazine back upon itself and held it close to his eyes, then far off, then at mid-distance. "what's the matter with you?" said bob jonstone. "nothing," said meredith, "only i'm thinking there ought to be six of us instead of only two. look at that page and tell me where we're going to spend the summer." jonstone took the magazine and saw the six darling sisters sitting on the float in their bathing-dresses. presently he smiled and said: "you've just won an argument, mel." "how's that?" "why, in the south there wouldn't be so many of them--but maybe they are not always there. maybe they were only there last summer." "well, we can find out where they've gone, can't we?" "it doesn't seem in strict good breeding to pursue ladies one doesn't know." "why, bless you, i chased all over europe after a face i saw in _the sketch_, only to find out that she was willing to marry anybody with money and had a voice like a guinea-hen. and after i'd found that out, she chased _me_ all over europe and as far east as cairo." "i've never been chased by a woman," said jonstone a little wistfully. "what happened in the end?" "i left cairo between two days, fled away into the desert with some people just stepped out of the bible, and never came back." "suppose she hadn't been willing to marry you and had had a voice like a dove?" "don't suppose. we are on a new quest." "what is the adirondacks?" "we wouldn't think much of it in the south. it's a place where you are always cool and clean and can drink the nearest water. the trout don't eat mud and haven't got long white whiskers, and the deer are bigger than dogs, and you don't go to sleep at night. the night just comes and puts you to sleep. it's just like bar harbor--only a little more so in some ways and a little less so in others." jonstone spread _the four seasons_ wide open upon his knees. "let's agree right now," he said, "which each of us thinks is the prettiest. it would be dreadful after travelling so far if we were both to pick on the same one." "we would have to fight a duel," said meredith, "with swords, and considering that you could never even sharpen a pencil without cutting yourself----" "a boy wouldn't come along," said jonstone, "and sell us a copy of a magazine months old if fate hadn't meant us to see this picture. i think i like the third one from the end." "i think i like the three that look just alike." "that is because you have travelled in turkey. you never seem to remember that you are a christian gentleman." xix when they found out how much the buried silver was worth--the inventory was very thorough in the matter of description, dates, and weights--mr. bob jonstone burst out laughing. but colonel meredith, although determined to stand by his bargain whatever the cash cost, looked like a man who has just missed the last train. "i haven't got that much money loose, bob," he said, "but i can raise it in a few days and then we'll execute a bill of sale. meanwhile, allow me to congratulate you on your accession to the aristocracy." "aristocracy? it's blood that counts--not money." "according to the old democracy, yes. according to the new, distinguished people pay an income tax and common people don't. and you, a moment ago, before the valuation was completed, were a very common fellow, indeed." "mel, i had no idea that old junk was worth so much." "you hadn't? well, it's worth more. i'm getting a bargain. thank the lord you're a gentleman, so there's no danger of your backing out." jonstone seized his cousin's hand and pressed it affectionately. "mel," he said, "can you afford to do this thing? god knows the money will make all the difference in the world to me! but in taking it i don't feel any too noble." "it was always ridiculous for me to be rich and for you to be poor. that's done with. i'm still rich, thank god!--and you're well-to-do. you can travel if you like, breed horses, install plumbing, burn coal, and marry." "if i was sure that the silver would ever be turned up, i wouldn't feel so sheepish." "as long as you don't look sheepish or act sheepish--suppose that now, after a slight fortification, we visit a tailor. it is necessary for you to dress according to your station in life." their first day in new york was immensely amusing to both of them. meredith was coming back to it after a long absence; jonstone was seeing it for the first time, and for the first time his pockets were full of money that he did not owe. now, new york is one of the finest summer resorts in the world. do not pity the poor business man who sends his family to the mountains for the hot weather, for while they are burned by the sun and fed an interminable succession of blueberry pies, he basks in the cool of electric fans and dines on the fat of the land. his business may worry him, but there is no earthly use in his attending to it. that is done for him. he can skip away when he pleases for an afternoon's golf or tennis. somebody's motor is always going somewhere where there is pleasure to be found and laughter. the lights of luna park are brighter than the bar harbor stars, and the ocean which pounds upon long beach is just as salt as that which thunders against great head--and about twice as warm. for pure torture give me a swim anywhere north of cape cod. merely to step into such water is like having one's foot bitten off by a shark. it did not take jonstone long to acknowledge that new york is even bigger than richmond, virginia, and even livelier. the discovery of a superannuated mosquito in his bathroom had made him feel at home, and the fact that the head bartender in the hotel, though a native of ireland, fashioned a delicious julep. but his equanimity came very near to being upset in the subway. he felt a hand slipping into his pocket and caught it by the wrist. he had a grip like looped wire twisted with pinchers. the would-be thief uttered a startled shriek and was presently turned over to a policeman. all the way to the station-house mr. jonstone talked excitedly and triumphantly to his cousin. "yes, sir," he said, "you had me groggy with your high buildings and your aladdin-cave stores and your taxicabs and park systems. but by the everlasting, sir, this would never have happened to me south of the mason and dixon line. no, sir; we may be short on show but we're long on honesty down there. i don't even have to lock my door at night." "that's because the lock's broken and you've always kept it shut with a keg of nails. there are more pickpockets in new york than in charleston, but only because there are more pockets to pick." "i don't get you," said jonstone stiffly. a little later he did. the culprit was asked his name by a formidable desk sergeant. "stephen breckenridge." bob jonstone gasped. "where do you come from?" "lexington, kentucky." colonel meredith let forth a howl of laughter. and after he had been frowned into decorum by the sergeant, he continued for a long time to look as if he was going to burst. for some hours mr. jonstone was moody and unamused. then suddenly he broke into a winning smile. "mel," he said, "i wouldn't have minded so much if he had been smart enough to get my money. it was bad finding out that he was a compatriot of ours, but much more to realize that he was a fool." xx mr. langham was consulted about everything. and it was to him that maud darling took meredith's letter asking for accommodations. "we've only two rooms left," she said, "and such nice people have come, or are coming, that it would be an awful pity if we had the bad luck to fill up with two men that weren't nice. did you ever hear of a colonel meredith?" "is that his letter? may i look?" mr. langham read the letter through very carefully. then he said, looking at her over the tops of his thick glasses: "i don't know if you know it, but i have made quite a study of handwritings. the writer of this letter is a gentleman--a southern gentleman, if i am not mistaken. accepting this premise, we may assume that his friend mr. robert middleton jonstone is also a southern gentleman. middleton, in fact, is pure south carolinian." "but if they are from south carolina, wouldn't our terms stagger them? i've always understood that southern gentlemen lost all their money in the war." "nevertheless," said mr. langham, "this is the writing of a rich man." "how _can_ you know that?" "i tell you that i have made a study of handwriting. it is also the writing of a horse-loving, war-loving, much-travelled man--in the late twenties." "you will tell me next that he is about five feet ten inches tall, has blue eyes, and is handsome as an angel." "you take the words out of my mouth, miss maud." "tell me more." she was laughing now. "he is very handsome, but not as angels are--his eyes are too bold and roving. if he wasn't a good man he would be a very bad man. there was a time, even, when strong drink appealed to him. he is quixotically brave and generous. and i should by all means advise you to let him have his accommodations." "i can never tell when you are joking." "i was never more serious in my life. shall i tell you something else that i have deduced?" "please." "well, then, he isn't married, miss maud, and he is a great catch!" miss maud blushed a trifle. "i don't know if you know it," she said, "but i have made a profound study of palmistry. will you lend me your hand a moment?" "very willingly. and i don't care if some one were to see us." she studied his palm with great sternness. "i read here," she said, "with regret, that you are an outrageous flirt. it seems also that you are something of a fraud." "one more calumny," exclaimed mr. langham, "and i withdraw my hand with a gesture of supreme indignation." but she held him very tightly by the fingers. "and this little line," she cried, "tells me that you have known colonel meredith intimately for years and that you never studied handwriting in all your born days." mr. langham began to chuckle all over. "the next time," he said, "that people tell me you are easily imposed on, i shall deny it." "you _do_ know him?" he blinked and nodded like a wise owl. "shall i write or telegraph?" "you will use your own judgment." so she did both. she wrote out a telegram and sent it to carrytown in the _streak_. and she tried to picture in her mind a young man who should look like an angel if his eyes weren't too bold and roving. her sisters and her brother all proclaimed that maud was a really sensible person. but none of them knew how really sensible she was. she was, for instance, more interested in colonel meredith than in his cousin mr. jonstone, and for the simple reason that she knew the one to be rich and handsome and knew nothing whatever about the other. xxi mr. langham was at the float to welcome the two carolinians. "you have," he complimented colonel meredith, "once more proved the ability to land on your feet in a soft spot. you will be more comfortable here, better fed, better laundered than anywhere else in the world." as they strolled from the float to the office, mr. jonstone looked about him a little uneasily. not one of the beautiful girls who had looked into his eyes from the page of _the four seasons_ was in sight, or, indeed, any girl, woman, or female of any sort whatever. he had led himself to expect a resort crowded with rustling and starchy boarders. he found himself, instead, in a primeval pine forest in which were sheltered many low, austere buildings of logs, above whose great chimneys stood vertical columns of pale smoke. it was not yet dusk, but the air among the long shadows had an icy quality and was heavily charged with the odor of balsam. it was difficult to believe the season summer, and mr. jonstone was reminded of december evenings in the carolinas. "this is the office," said mr. langham, and he ushered them into the presence of a bright birch fire and maud darling. each of the carolinians drew a quick breath and bowed as if before royalty. mr. langham presented them to miss darling. she begged them to write their names in the guest book and to warm themselves at the fire. "and then," said sam langham, "i'll shake them up a cocktail and show them their house." "are we to have a whole house to ourselves?" asked colonel meredith. he had not yet taken his eyes from maud darling's face. "it's only two rooms: bath, parlor, and piazza," she explained. "that last?" asked mr. jonstone. "it's the same thing as a 'poach,'" explained mr. langham with a sly twinkle in his eyes. "it's to sit on and enjoy the view from," added maud. "but i don't want to admire the view," complained colonel meredith. "i want to lounge about the office. it's the prerogative of every american citizen to lounge about the office of his hotel." colonel meredith had yet to take his eyes from maud darling's face. and it was with protest written all over it that he at length followed his cousin and mr. langham into the open air. the three were presently sampling a cocktail of the latter's shaking in the latter's snug little house, and speech was loosened in their mouths. "darling, _pã¨re_," explained sam langham, "went broke. he used to run this place as it is run now, with this difference: that in the old days he put up the money, while now it is the guests who pay. two years ago the miss darling you just met was one of the greatest heiresses in america; now she keeps books and makes out bills." "and are there truly five others equally lovely?" asked colonel meredith. "some people think that the oldest of the six is also the loveliest," said sam langham, loyal to the choice of his own heart. "but they are all very lovely." to the carolinians, warmed by langham's cocktail, it seemed pitiful that six beautiful girls who had had so much should now have so little. and with a little encouragement they would have been moved to the expression of exaggerated sentiments. it was maud, however, and not the others, who had aroused these feelings in their breasts. the desire to benefit her by some secret action--and then to be found out--was very strong in them both. langham left them after a time and they began to dress for dinner. usually they had a great deal to say to each other; often they disputed and were gorgeously insolent to each other about the most trifling things, but on the present occasion their one desire was to dress as rapidly as possible and to visit the office upon some pretext or other. when colonel meredith from the engulfment of a starched shirt announced that he had several letters to write and wondered where one could buy postage-stamps, it afforded bob jonstone malicious satisfaction to inform him that the "little drawer in their writing-table contained not only plenty of twos but fives and a strip of special deliveries." "all i have to think about," said he, "is my laundry. i suppose they can tell me at the office." "_they?_" exclaimed colonel meredith. as he spoke the collar button sprang like a slippery cherry-stone from between his thumb and forefinger, fell in the exact middle of the room in a perfectly bare place, and disappeared. up to this moment the cousins had remained on even terms in the race to be dressed first. but now mr. jonstone gained and, before the collar button was found, had given a parting "slick" to his hair and gone out. it was now dark, and the woodland streets of the camp were lighted by lanterns. windows were bright-yellow rectangles. a wind had risen and the lake could be heard slapping against the rocky shore. maud darling had left the office long enough to change from tailor-made tweeds to the simplest white muslin. she was adding up a column in a fat book. she looked golden in the firelight and the lamplight, and resembled some heavenly being but for the fact that, for the moment, she was puzzled to discover the sum of seven and five and was biting the end of her pencil. the divine muse of inspiration lives in the "other" ends of pens and pencils. the world owes many of its masterpieces of literature and invention to reflective nibbling at these instruments, and if i were a teacher i should think twice before i told my pupils to take their pencils out of their mouths. mr. jonstone knocked on the open door of the office. "this is the office," said miss maud darling; "you don't have to knock. is anything not right?" "everything is absolutely perfect," bowed mr. jonstone. "but you are busy. i could come again. i only wanted to ask about sending some things to a laundry." "you're not supposed to think about that," said maud. "there is a clothes-bag in the big closet in your bedroom and my sister eve does the rest." "oh, but i couldn't allow----" "not with her own hands, of course; she merely oversees the laundry and keeps it up to the mark. but if you like your things to be done in any special way you must see her and explain." "in my home," said jonstone, "my old mammy does all the washing and most everything else, and i wouldn't dare to find fault. she would follow me up-stairs and down scolding all the time if i did. you see, though she isn't a slave any more, she's never had any wages, and so she takes it out in privileges and prerogatives." "no wages ever since the civil war!" exclaimed maud. "we had to have servants," he explained, "and until the other day there was never any money to pay them with. we had nothing but the plantation and the family silver." "and of course you couldn't part with that. in the north when we get hard up we sell anything we've got. but in the south you don't, and i've always admired that trait in you beyond measure." "in that case," said mr. jonstone, turning a little pale, "it is my duty to tell you that the other day i parted with my silver in exchange for a large sum of money. i made up my mind that i had only one life to live and that i was sick of being poor." maud smiled. "if you want to keep your ill-gotten gains," she said, "you ought never to have come to this place. wasn't there some kind friend to tell you that our prices are absolutely prohibitive? we haven't gone into business for fun but with the intention of making money hand over fist. it's only fair to warn you." she imagined that, at the outside, he might have received a couple of thousand dollars for his family silver, and it seemed wicked that he should be allowed to part with this little capital for food, lodging, and a little trout-fishing. "my silver," he said, "turned out to be worth a lot of money, and i have put it all in trust for myself, so that my wife and children shall never want." a flicker of disappointment appeared in maud darling's eyes. "but i didn't know you were married," she said lamely. "oh, i'm not--yet!" he exclaimed joyfully. "but i mean to be." "engaged?" she asked. "hope to be--mean to be," he confessed. and at this moment colonel melville meredith came in out of the night. having bowed very low to miss darling, he turned to his cousin. "did langham find you?" he asked. "no." "well, he's a-waiting at our house. i said i thought you'd be right back." "then we--" began jonstone. "not we--_you_," said his cousin, malice in his eyes. "i want to ask miss darling some questions about telegrams and special messages by telephone." bob jonstone withdrew himself with the utmost reluctance. "we have a telephone that connects us with the telegraph office at carrytown," maud began, but colonel meredith interrupted almost rudely. "we engaged our rooms for ten days only," he said, "but i want to keep them for the rest of the summer. please don't tell me that they are promised to some one else." "but they are," said she; "i'm very sorry." "can't you possibly keep us?" she shook her fine head less in negation than reflection. "i don't see how," she said finally, "unless some one gives out at the last minute. there are just so many rooms and just so many applicants." "how long," he asked, "would it take to build a little house for my cousin and me?" "if we got all the carpenters from carrytown," said maud, "it could be done very quickly. but----" "now you are going to make some other objection!" "i was only going to say that if you wanted to go camping for a few weeks, we could supply you with everything needful. we have first-rate tents for just that sort of thing." "but we don't want to go camping. we want to stay here." "exactly. there is no reason why you shouldn't pitch your tent in the main street of this camp and live in it." "that's just what we'll do," said colonel meredith, "and to-morrow we'll pick out the site for the tent--if you'll help us." xxii early the next morning colonel meredith and his cousin bob jonstone presented themselves at the office dressed for walking. butter would not have melted in their mouths. "can you come now and help us pick out a site for the tent?" asked the youthful colonel. maud was rather busy that morning, but she closed her ledger, selected a walking-stick, and smiled her willingness to aid them. "it will seem more like real camping-out," said mr. jonstone, "if we don't pitch our tent right in the midst of things. suppose we take a boat and row along the shores of the lake, keeping our eyes peeled." maud was not averse to going for a row with two handsome and agreeable young men. they selected a guide boat and insisted on helping her in and cautioning her about sitting in the middle. maud had almost literally been brought up in a guide boat, but she only smiled discreetly. the cousins matched for places. as maud sat in the stern with a paddle for steering, colonel meredith, who won the toss, elected to row stroke. bob jonstone climbed with gingerness and melancholy into the bow. not only was he a long way from that beautiful girl, but meredith's head and shoulders almost completely blanketed his view of her. "we ought to row english style," he said. "what is english style, and why ought we to row that way?" "in the american shells," explained jonstone, "the men sit in the middle. in the english shells each man sits as far from his rowlock as possible." "why?" asked meredith, who understood his cousin's predicament perfectly. "so's to get more leverage," explained jonstone darkly. "it's for miss darling to say," said meredith. "which style do you prefer, miss darling, english or american?" "i think the american will be more comfortable for you both and safer for us all," said she. "there!" exclaimed the man of war, "what did i tell you?" "but--" continued maud. "i could have told you there would be a 'but,'" interrupted jonstone triumphantly. "but," repeated maud, "i'm coxswain, and i want to see what every man in my boat is doing." so they rowed english style. "it's like a dinner-party," explained maud to colonel meredith, who appeared slightly discomforted. "don't you know how annoying it is when there's a tall centrepiece and you can't see who's across the table from you?" "even if you don't want to look at him when you have found out who he is," agreed meredith. "exactly." they came to a bold headland of granite crowned with a half-dozen old pines that leaned waterward. "that's rather a wonderful site, i think," said maud. "where?" said the gentlemen, turning to look over their shoulders. then, "it looks well enough from the water," said jonstone, "but we ought not to choose wildly." "let us land," said colonel meredith, "and explore." they landed and began at once to find reasons for pitching the tent on the promontory and reasons for not pitching it. "the site is open and airy," said jonstone. "it is," said colonel meredith. "but, in case of a southwest gale, our tent would be blown inside out." a moment later, "how about drinking-water?" asked the experienced military man. "i regret to say that i have just stepped into a likely spring," said jonstone. "we must sit down and wait till it clears." when the spring once more bubbled clean and undefiled mr. jonstone scooped up two palmfuls of water and drank. "delicious!" he cried. colonel meredith then sampled the spring and shook his head darkly. "this spring has a main attribute of drinking-water," he said; "it is wet. otherwise----" "what's the matter with my spring?" demanded his cousin. "silica, my dear fellow--silica. and you know very well that silica to a man of your inherited tendencies spells gout." jonstone nodded gravely. "i'm afraid that settles it." and he turned to maud darling. "i can keep clear of gout," he explained, "only just as long as i keep my system free from silica." "do you usually manage to?" asked maud, very much puzzled. "so far," he said, "i have _always_ managed to." "then you have never suffered from gout?" "never. but now, having drunk at this spring, i have reason to fear the worst. it will take at least a week to get that one drink out of my system." and so they passed from the promontory with the pine-trees to a little cove with a sandy beach, from this to a wooded island not much bigger than a tennis-court. in every suggested site jonstone found multitudinous charms and advantages, while colonel meredith, from the depths of his military experience, produced objections of the first water. for to be as long as possible in the company of that beautiful girl was the end which both sought. maud had gone upon the expedition in good faith, but when its true object dawned upon her she was not in the least displeased. the very obvious worship which the carolinians had for her beauty was not so personal as to make her uncomfortable. it was rather the worship of two artists for art itself than for a particular masterpiece. of the six beautiful darlings maud had had the least experience of young men. she was given to fits of shyness which passed with some as reserve, with others as a kind of common-sense and matter-of-fact way of looking at life. the triplets, young as they were, surpassed the other three in conquests and experience. and this was not because they were more lovely and more charming but because they had been a little spoiled by their father and brought into the limelight before their time. furthermore, with the exception of phyllis, perhaps, they were maidens of action to whom there was no recourse in books or reflection. such accomplishments as drawing and music had not been forced upon them. they could not have made a living teaching school. but lee and gay certainly could have taught the young idea how to shoot, how to throw a fly, and how to come in out of the wet when no house was handy. as for phyllis, she would have been as like them as one pea is like two others but for the fact that at the age of two she had succeeded in letting off a 45-90 rifle which some fool had left about loaded and had thereby frightened her early sporting promises to death. but it was only of weapons, squirming fish, boats, and thunder storms that she was shy. young gentlemen had no terrors for her, and she preferred the stupidest of these to the cleverest of books. mary, maud, and eve had wasted a great part of their young lives upon education. they could play the piano pretty well (you couldn't tell which was playing); they sang charmingly; they knew french and german; they could spell english, and even speak it correctly, a power which they had sometimes found occasion to exercise when in the company of foreign diplomatists. the change in their case from girlhood to young womanhood had been sudden and prearranged: in each case a tremendous ball upon a given date. the triplets had never "come out." if lee or gay had been the victim of the present conspiracy, the gentlemen from carolina would have found their hands full and overflowing. they would have been teased and misconstrued within an inch of their lives; but maud darling was genuinely moved by the candor and chivalry of their combined attentions. there was a genuine joyousness in her heart, and she did not care whether they got her home in time for lunch or not. and it was only a strong sense of duty which caused her to point out the high position attained by the sun in the heavens. with reluctance the trio gave up the hopeless search for a camp site and started for home upon a long diagonal across the lake. it was just then, as if a signal had been given, that the whole surface of the lake became ruffled as when a piece of blue velvet is rubbed the wrong way, and a strong wind began to blow in maud's face and upon the backs of the rowers. several hours of steady rowing had had its effect upon unaccustomed hands. it was now necessary to pull strongly, and blisters grew swiftly from small beginnings and burst in the palms of the carolinians. maud came to their rescue with her steering paddle, but the wind, bent upon having sport with them, sounded a higher note, and the guide boat no longer seemed quick to the least propulsion and light on the water, but as if blunt forward, high to the winds, and half full of stones. she did not run between strokes but came to dead stops, and sometimes, during strong gusts, actually appeared to lose ground. the surface of the lake didn't as yet testify truly to the full strength of the wind. but soon the little waves grew taller, the intervals between them wider, and their crests began to be blown from them in white spray. the heavens darkened more and more, and to the northeast the sky-line was gradually blotted out as if by soft gray smoke. "we're going to have rain," said maud, "and we're going to have fog. so we'd better hurry a little." "hurry?" thought the carolinians sadly. and they redoubled their efforts, with the result that they began to catch crabs. "some one ought to see us and send a launch," said maud. at that moment, as the wind flattens a field of wheat to the ground, the waves bent and lay down before a veritable blast of black rain. it would have taken more than human strength to hold the guide boat to her course. maud paddled desperately for a quarter of a minute and gave up. the boat swung sharply on her keel, rocked dangerously, and, once more light and sentient, a creature of life, made off bounding before the gale. "we are very sorry," said the carolinians, "but the skin is all off our hands, and at the best we are indifferent boatmen." "the point is this," said maud: "can you swim?" "i can," said colonel meredith, "but i am extremely sorry to confess that my cousin's aquatic education has been neglected. where he lives every pool contains crocodiles, leeches, snapping-turtles, and water-moccasins, and the incentive to bathing for pleasure is slight." "don't worry about me," said mr. jonstone. "i can cling to the boat until the millennium." "we shan't upset--probably," said maud. "it will be better if you two sit in the bottom of the boat. i'll try to steer and hold her steady. this isn't the first time i've been blown off shore and then on shore. i suppose i ought to apologize for the weather, but it really isn't my fault. who would have thought this morning that we were in for a storm?" "if only you don't mind," said colonel meredith. "it's all _our_ fault. you probably didn't want to come. you just came to be friendly and kind, and now you are hungry and wet to the skin----" "but," interrupted bob jonstone, "if only you will forget all that and think what pleasure we are having." "i can't hear what you say," called maud. "i beg your pardon," shouted mr. jonstone. "i didn't quite catch that. what did miss darling say, mel?" "she said she wanted to talk to me and for you to shut up." mr. jonstone made a playful but powerful swing at his cousin, and the guide boat, as if suddenly tired of her passengers, calmly upset and spilled them out. a moment later the true gallantry of mr. bob jonstone showed forth in glorious colors. having risen to the surface and made good his hold upon the overturned boat, he proposed very humbly, as amends for causing the accident, to let go and drown. "if you do," said maud, excitement overcoming her sense of the ridiculous, "i'll never speak to you again." colonel meredith opened his mouth to laugh and closed it a little hastily on about a pint of water. xxiii the water was so rough, the weather so thick, and their point of view so very low down in the world that maud and the carolinians could neither see the shore from which they had departed nor that toward which they were slowly drifting. the surface water was warm, however, owing to a week of sunshine, and it was not necessary to drop one's legs into the icy stratum beneath. it is curious that what the three complained of the most was the incessant, leaden rain. their faces were colder than their bodies. they admitted that they had never been so wet in all their lives. maud and colonel meredith, not content with the slow drifting, kicked vigorously; but bob jonstone had all he could do to cling to the guide boat and keep his head above water. his legs had a way of suddenly rising toward the surface and wrapping themselves half around the submerged boat. an effort was made to right the boat and bale her out. but maud's water-soaked skirt and a sudden case of rattles on the part of jonstone prevented the success of the manoeuvre. half an hour passed. "personally," said jonstone, "i've had about enough of this." his clinging hands looked white and thin; the knuckles were beginning to turn blue. he had a drawn expression about the mouth, but his eyes were bright and resolute. "i've always understood," said colonel meredith, "that girls suffer less than men from total submersion in cold water. i sincerely hope, miss darling, that this is so." "oh, i'm not suffering," said she; "not yet. my father used to let us go in sometimes when there was a skin of ice along shore. so please don't worry about me." mr. jonstone's teeth began to chatter very steadily and loudly. and just then maud raised herself a little, craned her neck, and had a glimpse of the shore--a long, half-submerged point, almost but not quite obliterated by the fog and the splashing rain. "land ho!" said she joyfully. "all's well. there's a big shallow off here; we'll be able to wade in a minute." and, indeed, in less than a minute bob jonstone's feet found the hard sand bottom. and in a very short time three shipwrecked mariners had waded ashore and dragged the guide boat into a clump of bushes. "and now what?" asked colonel meredith. "and now," said maud, "the luck has changed. half a mile from here is a cave where we used to have picnics. there's an axe there, matches, and probably a tin of cigarettes, and possibly things to eat. it's all up-hill from here, and if you two follow me and keep up, you'll be warm before we get there." her wet clothes clung to her, and she went before them like some swift woodland goddess. their spirits rose, and with them their voices, so that the deer and other animals of the neighboring woods were disturbed and annoyed in the shelters which they had chosen from the rain. sometimes maud ran; sometimes she merely moved swiftly; but now and then while the way was still among the dense waterside alders, she broke her way through with fine strength, reckless of scratches. the following carolinians began to worship the ground she trod and to stumble heavily upon it. they were not used to walking. it had always been their custom to go from place to place upon horses. they panted aloud. they began to suspect themselves of heart trouble, and they had one heavy fall apiece. suddenly maud came to a dead stop. "i smell smoke," she said. "some one is here before us. that's good luck, too." she felt her way along the face of a great bowlder and was seen to enter the narrow mouth of a cave. "who's here?" she called cheerfully. the passageway into the cave twisted like the letter s so that you came suddenly upon the main cavity. this--a space as large as a ball-room--had a smooth floor of sand, broken by one or two ridges of granite. at the farther end burned a bright fire, most of whose smoke after slow, aimless drifting was strongly sucked upward through a hole in the roof. closely gathered about this fire were four men, who looked like rather dissolute specimens of the adirondack guide, and a young woman with an old face. maud's quick eyes noted two rusty winchester rifles, a leather mail-bag, and the depressing fact that the men had not shaved for many days. it is always awkward to enter your own private cave and find it occupied by strangers. "you mustn't mind," said maud, smiling upon them, "if we share the fire. it's really our cave and our fire-wood." "sorry, miss," said one of the men gruffly, "but when it comes on to rain like this a man makes bold of any shelter that offers." "of course," said maud. "i'm glad you did. we'll just dry ourselves and go." she seated herself with a carolinian on either side, and their clothes began to send up clouds of steam. the young woman with the old face, having devoured maud with hungry, sad eyes, spoke in a shy, colorless voice. "it would be better, miss, if you was to let the boys go outside. i could lend you my blanket while your clothes dried." "that's very good of you," said maud, "but i'm very warm and comfortable and drying out nicely." one of the men rose, grinned awkwardly, and said: "i'll just have a look at the weather." with affected carelessness he caught up one of the winchesters and passed from sight toward the entrance of the cave. this manoeuvre seemed to have a cheering effect upon the other three. "what do you find to shoot at this time of year?" asked maud, and she smiled with great innocence. "the game-laws," said the man who had spoken first, "weren't written for poor men." "don't tell me," exclaimed maud, "that you've got a couple of partridges or even venison just waiting to be cooked and eaten!" "no such luck," said the man. neither of the carolinians had spoken. they steamed pleasantly and appeared to be looking for pictures in the hot embers. their eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into their skulls. men who were familiar with them would have known that they were very angry about something and as dangerous as a couple of rattlesnakes. after a long while they exchanged a few words in low voices and a strange tongue. it was the dialect of the sea island negroes--the purest african grafted on english so pure that nobody speaks it nowadays. "what say?" asked one of the strangers roughly. colonel meredith turned his eyes slowly upon the speaker. "i remarked to my cousin," said he icily, "that in our part of the world even the lowest convict knows enough to rise to his feet when a lady enters the room and to apologize for being alive." "in the north woods," said the man sulkily, "no one stands on ceremony. if you don't like our manners, mr. baltimore oriole, you can lump 'em, see?" "i see," said colonel meredith quietly, "that that leather mail-bag over there belongs to the united states government. and i have a strong suspicion, my man, that you and your allies were concerned in the late hold-up perpetrated on the montreal express. and i shall certainly make it my business to report you as suspicious characters to the proper authorities." "that'll be too easy," said the man. "and suppose we was what you think, what would we be doing in the meantime? i ask you _what_?" mr. jonstone interrupted in a soft voice. "oh, quit blustering and threatening," he said. "say," said a man who had not yet spoken, "do you two sprigs of jasmine ever patronize the 'movies'? and, if so, did you ever look your fill on a film called 'held for ransom'? you folks has a look of being kind o' well to do, and it looks to me as if you'd have to pay for it." "why quarrel with them?" said maud, with gravity and displeasure in her voice, but no fear. "things are bad enough as they are. i saw that the minute we came in. just one minute too late, it seems." "that's horse-sense," admitted one of the men. "and when this rain holds up, one of us will take a message to your folks saying as how you are stopping at an expensive hotel and haven't got money enough to pay your bill." "and that," said colonel meredith, "will only leave three of you to guard us. once," he turned to maud, "i spent six hours in a turkish prison." "what happened?" she asked. "i didn't like it," he said, "and left." "this ain't turkey, young feller, and we ain't turks. if you don't like the cave you can lump it, but you can't leave." "we don't intend to leave till it stops raining," put in mr. jonstone sweetly. "miss darling," said colonel meredith, "you don't feel chilled, do you? you mustn't take this adventure seriously. these people are desperate characters, but they haven't the mental force to be dangerous. it will be the greatest pleasure in the world both to my cousin and myself to see that no harm befalls you." he turned once more to the unshaven men about the fire. "have you got anything worth while in that mail-bag?" he asked. "i read that the safe in the montreal express only contained a few hundred dollars. hardly worth risking prison for--was it?" "we'll have enough to risk prison for before we get through with you." "you might if you managed well, because i am a rich man. but you are sure to bungle." he turned to the woman and asked with great kindness: "is it their first crime?" "yes, sir," she said. "mr.----" "shut up!" growled one of her companions. "a gentleman from new york turned us out of the woods so's he could have them all to himself and after we'd spent all our money on lawyers. so my husband and the boys allowed they had about enough of the law. and so they held up the express, but it was more because they were mad clear through than because they are bad, and now it's too late, and--and----" here she began to cry. "it's never too late to mend," said maud. "have you spent any of the money they took?" asked colonel meredith. "no, sir; we haven't had a chance. we've got every dime of it." "did you own the land you were driven off?" "no, sir, but we'd always lived on it, and it did seem as if we ought to be left in peace----" "to shoot out of season, to burn other people's wood, trap their fish, and show your teeth at them when they came to take what belonged to them? i congratulate you. you are american to the backbone. and now you propose to take my money away from me." colonel meredith turned to his cousin, after excusing himself to maud, and they conversed for some time in their strange sea island dialect. "can that gibberish," said one of the train robbers suddenly. "i'm sick of it." "we shan't trouble you with it again, as we've already decided what to do." the robber laughed mockingly. "in view of your extreme youth," said colonel meredith sweetly, "in view of the fact that you are also young in crime and that one member of your party is a woman, we have decided to help you along the road to reform. in my state there is considerable lawlessness; from this has evolved the useful custom of going heeled." he spoke, and a blue automatic flashed cruelly in his white hand. his action was as sudden and unexpected as the striking of a rattlesnake. "all hands up," he commanded. there was a long silence. "you've got us," said the youngest of the robbers sheepishly. "how about the man on guard with a winchester?" "my cousin mr. jonstone will bring him in to join the conference. and, meanwhile, i shall have to ask the ladies to look the other way while my cousin changes clothes with one of you gentlemen." of the three villains, jonstone selected the youngest and the tidiest, and with mutual reluctance, suspicion, and startled glances toward where the ladies sat with averted faces, they changed clothes. a broad felt hat, several sizes too big for him, added the touch of completion to the carolinian's transformation. he took the spare winchester and, without a word, walked quietly toward the mouth of the cave and was lost to sight. maud did not breathe freely until he had returned, unhurt, carrying both winchesters and driving an exceedingly sheepish backwoodsman before him. he expressed the wish to resume his own clothes. this done, he and his cousin broke into good-natured, boyish laughter. the oldest and most sheepish of the backwoods-men kept repeating, "who would 'a' thought he'd have a pistol on him!" and seemed to find a world of comfort in the thought. "what are you going to do with them?" maud asked almost in a whisper. "i think i feel a little sorry for them." "bob!" exclaimed colonel meredith. "what?" "_she_ feels a little sorry for them. don't you?" "yes, _sir_!" replied mr. jonstone fervently. colonel meredith addressed himself to the young woman with the old face. "do you believe in fairies?" he asked. she only looked pathetic and confused. "miss darling, here," he went on, "is a fairy. she left her wand at home, but if she wants to she can make people's wishes come true. now suppose you and your friends talk things over and decide upon some sensible wishes to have granted. of course, it's no use wishing you hadn't robbed a train; but you could wish that the money would be returned, and that the police could be induced to stop looking for you, and that some one could come along and offer you an honest way of making a living. so you talk it over a while and then tell us what you'd like." "aren't you going to give us up?" asked one of the men. "not if you've any sense at all." "then i guess there's no use us talking things over. and if the young lady is a fairy, we'd be obliged if she'd get busy along the lines you've just laid down." all eyes were turned on maud. and she looked appealingly from colonel meredith to mr. jonstone and back again. "what ought i to say? what ought i to promise? _can_ the money be returned? can the police be called off? and if i only had some work to give them, but over at the camp----" "every good fairy," said colonel meredith, "has two helpers to whom all things are possible." "truly?" the carolinians sprang to their feet, clicked their heels together into the first position of dancing, laid their right hands over their hearts, and bowed very low. "then," said maud laughing, "i should like the money to be returned." "i will attend to that," said colonel meredith. "and the police to be called off." again the soldier assumed responsibility. "but who," she asked, "will find work for them?" "i will," said mr. jonstone. "they shall build the house for my cousin and me to live in. you can build a house, can't you? a log house?" "but where will you build it?" asked maud. "you found fault with all the best sites on the lake." "the very first site we visited suited us to perfection." "but you said the spring contained cyanide or something." "we were talking through our hats." "but why----" the carolinians gazed at her with a kind of beseeching ardor, until she understood that they had only found fault with one promising building site after another in order that they might pass the longest time possible in her company. and she returned their glance with one in which there was some feeling stronger than mere amusement. xxiv concerning information, mark twain wrote that it appeared to stew out of him naturally, like the precious ottar of roses out of the otter. with the narrator of this episodical history, however, things are very different. and just how the good fairy, maud darling, was enabled to keep her promises to the outlaws seems to him of no great moment. but the money _was_ returned to the express company; the police _were_ called off; and the four robbers, with the woman to cook for them, went to work at building a log house on the point of pines to be occupied in the near future by the carolinians. they were not sorry to have been turned from a life of sin. it is only when a life of sin is gilded, padded, and pleasant that people hate to turn from it. when virtue entails being rained on, starved, and hunted, it isn't a very pleasant way of life, either. the face of the young female bandit lost its look of premature old age. she went about her work singing, and the humming of the kettle was her accompaniment. the four men looked the other men of the camp in the face and showed how to lay trees by the heels in record time. to their well-swung and even better-sharpened axes even the stems of oaks were as wax candles. it became quite "the thing" for guests at the camp to go out to the point and admire the axe-work and all the processes of frontier house-building. when people speak of "love in a cottage," there rises nearly always, in my mind, the memory of a log house that a friend of mine and i came across by the headwaters of a great river in canada. it stood--the axe marks crisp, white, and blistered with pitch--upon the brink of a swirling brown pool full of grilse. the logs of which it was built had been dragged from a distance, so that in the immediate neighborhood of the cabin was no desolation of dead tree-tops and dying stumps. everything was wonderfully neat, new, and in order. about the pool and the cabin the maples had turned yellow and vermilion. and above was the peaceful pale blue of an indian-summer sky. we opened the door, held by a simple latch, and found ourselves in the pleasantest of rooms, just twenty feet by fifteen. the walls and the floor had been much whitened and smoothed by the axe. the place smelt vaguely of pitch and strongly of balsam. there was a fireplace--the fire all laid, a bunk to lie on, a chair to sit on, a table to write on, a broom to sweep with. and neatly set upon clean shelves were various jams in glass, and meats, biscuits, and soups in tins. there was also a writing (on birch bark) over the shelves, which read: "help yourself." we took down the shutters from the windows and let in floods of autumn sun. then we lighted the fire, and ate crackers and jam. it hurt a little to learn at the mouth of our guide that the cabin belonged to a somewhat notorious and decidedly crotchety new york financier who controlled the salmon-fishing in those waters. i had pictured it as built for a pair of eminently sensible and supernaturally romantic honeymooners or for a poet. and i wanted to carry away that impression. for in such a place love or inspiration must have lasted just as long as the crackers and jam. and there is no more to be said of a palace. one day mary darling and sam langham visited the new cabin. and sam said: "if one of the happy pair happened to know something of cooking, what a place for a honeymoon!" shortly afterward, phyllis and herring came that way, and herring said: "if i was in love, and knew how to use an axe, i'd build just such a house for the girl i love and make her live in it. i believe i will, anyway." "believe what?" asked phyllis demurely. "believe you will make her live in it?" "yes," he said darkly--"no matter who she is and no matter how afraid of the mice and spiders with which such places ultimately become infested." lee and renier visited the cabin, also. they remarked only that it had a wonderfully smooth floor, and proceeded at once thereon, lee whistling exquisitely and with much spirit, to dance a maxixe, which was greatly admired by the ex-outlaws. maud came often with the carolinians, and as for eve, she came once or twice all by herself. jealousy is a horrid passion. it had never occurred to eve darling that she was or ever could be jealous of anybody. and she wasn't--exactly. but seeing her sisters always cavaliered by attractive men and slipping casually into thrilling and even dangerous adventures with them disturbed the depths of her equanimity. it was delightful, of course, to be made much of by arthur and to go upon excursions with him as of old. but something was wanting. arthur's idea of a pleasant day in the woods was to sit for hours by a pool and attempt to classify the croaks of frogs, or to lie upon his back in the sun and think about the girl in far-off china whom he loved so hopelessly. thanks to her excellent subordinate, and to her own administrative ability, laundry house made fewer and fewer encroachments upon eve's leisure. and often she found that time was hanging upon her hands with great heaviness. memory reminded her that things had not always been thus; for there are men in this world who think that she was the most beautiful of all the darlings. it was curious that of all the men who had come to the camp, mr. bob jonstone had the most attraction for her. they had not spoken half a dozen times, and it was quite obvious that his mind, if not his heart, was wholly occupied with maud. wherever you saw maud, you could be pretty sure that the carolinians, hunting in a couple, were not far off. of the two, colonel meredith was the more brilliant, the more showy, and the better-looking. added to his good breeding and lazy, pleasant voice were certain yankee qualities--a total lack of gullibility, a certain trace of mockery, even upon serious subjects. mr. jonstone, on the other hand, was a perfect lamb of earnestness and sincerity. if he heard of an injustice his eyes flamed, or if he listened to the recital of some pathetic happening they misted over. once beyond the direct influence of his cousin there was neither mischief in him nor devilment. it was for this reason, and in this knowledge, that he had put his newly acquired moneys in trust for himself. in the little house by the lake where the cousins still slept, conversation seldom flagged before one or two o'clock in the morning. having said good-night to each other at about eleven, one or the other was pretty sure to let out some new discovery about the darlings in general and maud darling in particular, and then all desire for sleep vanished and their real cousinly confidences began. but these confidences had their limits, for neither confessed to being sentimentally interested in the young lady, whereas, within limits, they both were. and each enjoyed the satisfaction of believing (quite erroneously) that he deceived the other. i do not wish to convey the impression that they were actually in love with her. when you are really in love, you are also in love before breakfast. that is the final test. and when love begins to die, that is the time when its weakening pulse is first to be concerned. what honest man has not been mad about some pretty girl (in a crescendo of madness) from tea time till sleep time and waked in the morning with no thought but for toast and coffee the soonest possible? and gone about the business of the morning and early afternoon almost heart-whole and fancy-free, and relapsed once more into madness with the lengthening of the shadows? a man who proposes marriage to a girl until he has been in love with her for twenty-four consecutive hours is a light fellow who ought to be kicked out of the house by her papa. as for the girl, let her be sure that he is bread and meat to her, comfort and rest, demigod and man, wholly necessary and not to be duplicated in this world, before she even says that she will think about it. in the early morning there would arise in the house of the carolinians the sounds of whistling, of singing, laughter, scuffling, and running water. so that a girl who really wanted either of them must, in listening, have despaired. as for maud darling, she was disgusted with herself--theoretically. but practically she was having the time of her life. in theory, she felt that no self-respecting girl ought to be unable to decide which of the two young men she liked the better. in practice, she found a constant pondering of this delicate question to be delightful. it was very comfortable to know that the moment she was free to play there were two pleasant companions ready and waiting. sentiment and gayety attended their goings and comings. the carolinians, fortified by each other's presence, were veritable raleighs of extravagant devotion. in engineering, for instance, so that maud should not have to step in a damp place, there were displayed enough gallantry and efficiency to have saved her from an onslaught of tigers. if the trio climbed a mountain, maud gave herself up to the heart-warming delight of being helped when help was not in the least necessary. in short, she behaved as any natural young woman would, and should. she flirted outrageously. but in the depths of her heart a genuine friendship for the carolinians was conceived and grew in breadth and strength. what if they did out-gallant gallantry? xxv one sunday, eve, from her window--she was rather a lazy girl that sunday--witnessed the following departures from the camp. sam langham and mary in a guide boat, with fishing-tackle and an immense hamper which looked like lunch. herring and phyllis could be seen hoisting the sails on the knockabout. herring had never sailed a boat and was prepared to master that simple art at once. lee and renier were girt for the mountain. renier appeared to have a flobert rifle in semihiding under his coat, and it was to be feared that if he saw a partridge, he would open fire on it, close season though it was. he and lee would justify this illegal act by cooking the bird for their lunch. gay commandeered the _streak_ and departed at high speed toward carrytown. she had in one hand a sheet of blue-striped paper, folded. it resembled a cablegram. and eve thought that it must be of a very private nature, or else gay would have telephoned it to the western union office, instead of carrying it by hand. the next to depart from the camp was arthur. he moved dreamily in a northwesterly direction, accompanied by uncas, the chipmunk, and wow, the dog. other guests made departures. all of which eve, half dressed and looking lazily from her window, lazily noted, remarking that for her sunday was a day of rest and that she thanked heaven for it. and she did not feel any differently until maud and the carolinians walked out on the float and began to pack a guide boat for the day. then her lazy, complacent feelings departed, and were succeeded by a sudden, wide-awake surge of self-pity. she felt like cinderella. nobody had asked her to go anywhere or do anything, and nobody had even thought of doing so. when she was dead they would gather round her coffin and remember that they hadn't asked her to go anywhere or do anything, and they would be very sorry and ashamed and they would say what a nice girl she had been, and how she had always tried to give everybody a good time. between laughter and tears and mortification, eve finished dressing, set her lovely jaw, and went out into the delicious, cool calm of the mountain morning. she could still hear the voices of many of the departing ones; and the rattling and creaking of the knockabout's blocks and rigging. she heard herring say to phyllis: "i think it would be better if i could make the boom go out on this side, but i can't." phyllis's answer was a cool, contented laugh. it was as if she said: "hang the boom! _we're_ here!" have you ever had the feeling that you would like to board a swift boat, head for the open sea, and never come back? or that you could plunge into some boundless, trackless forest and keep straight on until you were lost, and died (beautifully and painlessly), and were covered with beautiful leaves by little birds? eve enjoyed (and suffered from) a hint of this latter feeling. she ate a light breakfast (it would be better not to begin starving till she was actually lost in the boundless, trackless forest), selected a light, spiked climbing-stick with a crooked handle, headed for one of the northeasterly mountains, and was soon deep in the shade of the pines and hemlocks. after a few miles, the trail that she followed split and scattered in many directions, like the end of an unravelled rope. she followed an old lumber road for a long way, turned into another that crossed it at an angle of forty-five degrees, took no account of the sun's position in the heavens or of the marked sides of trees. if she came to a high place from which there was a view, she did not look at it. she just kept going--this way and that, up and down. in short, she made a conscious, anxious effort to lose herself. the easterly mountain toward which she had first headed kept bobbing up straight ahead. and always there was the knowledge in the back of her head of the exact location of the camp, and of all the other landmarks, familiar to her since early youth. "drag it!" she said, at length, her eyes on the mountain. "i'll climb the old thing, put melancholy aside, and call this a good, if unaccompanied, sunday." the morning coolness had departed. it was one of those hot, breathless, mountain forenoons that kill the appetite and are usually followed, toward the late afternoon, by violent electrical disturbances. eve was not as fit as she had supposed, or as she thought. as a matter of fact, she was setting too fast a pace, considering the weather and the angle of the mountain slope; and she was as wet as if she had played several hard sets of tennis with a partner who stood in one corner of the court and let her do all the running. as she climbed, reproaching her wind for being so short, she remembered that the hollow tip of this particular northeastern mountain was filled with a deep pool of water. nobody had ever called it a lake. the map called it a pond; but it wasn't even that--it was a pool. springs fed it just fast enough to make up for the evaporation. it had no outlet. it was shaped like a fat letter o. at one end was a little beach of white sand. indeed, the bottom of the pool was all firm, smooth, and clean, and the whole charming little body of water was surrounded by thick groves of dwarf mountain trees and bushes. not content with being a perfect replica, in miniature, of a full-grown adirondack lake, this pool had in its midst an island, a dozen feet in diameter, densely shrubbed and shaded by one diminutive japanesque pine. when eve came to the pool, hot, tired, and rather bothered at the thought of the long walk back to camp, she had but the vaguest idea of just why the lord had placed such a pool on top of a mountain, impelled her to climb that mountain, and made the day so piping hot. eve stood a little on the sand beach. she felt hotter and hotter, and the pool looked cooler and cooler. presently, a heavenly smile of solution brightened her flushed, warm face, and she withdrew into a shady clump of bushes. from this there came first the exclamation "drag it!" then a sound of some sort of a string being sharply broken in two, and then there came from the clump of bushes eve herself, looking for all the world like a slice of the silver moon. and as you may have seen the silver moon slip slowly into the sea, so eve vanished slowly into the pool--all but her shapely little round head, with its crisp bright-brown hair and its lovely face, happy now, exhilarated, and eager as are the faces of adventurers. and eve thought if one didn't have to eat, if one didn't end by being cold, if one could make time stand still--she would choose to be always and forever a slice of the silver moon, lolling in a mountain pool. she had the kind of hair that wets to perfection. but it was not the sort of permanent wave which lasts six months or so, costs twenty-five dollars, and is inculcated by hours of alternate baking and shampooing. eve had always had a permanent wave. she feared neither fog nor rain, nor water in any form of application. and so it was that, now and then, as she lolled about the pool, she disappeared from one fortunate square yard of surface and reappeared in another. half an hour had passed, when suddenly the mountain stillness was broken by men's voices. eve was at the opposite side of the pool from where she had left her clothes. between her and the approaching voices was the little island. she landed hastily upon this and hid herself among the bushes. three gross, fat men and one long, lean man, with a face like leather and an adam's apple that bobbed like a fisherman's float, came down to the beach, sweating terribly, and cast thereon knapsacks, picnic baskets, hatchets, fishing-tackle, and all the complicated paraphernalia of amateurs about to cook their own lunch in the woods. all but one had loud, coarse, carrying voices, and they all appeared to belong to the ruling class. they appeared, in short, to have neither education nor refinement nor charm nor anything to commend them as leaders or examples. eve wondered how it was possible for them to find pleasure even in each other's company. they quarrelled, wrangled, found fault, abused each other, or suddenly forgot their differences, gathering about the fattest of the fat men and listening, almost reverently, while he told a story. when he had finished, they would throw their heads far back and scream with laughter. he must have told wonderfully funny stories; but his voice was no more than a husky whisper, so that eve could not make head or tail of them. after a while the whispering fat man produced from one of the baskets four little glasses and a fat dark bottle. and shortly after there was less wrangling and more laughter. the thin man with the leathery face and the bobbing adam's apple put a fishing-rod together, tied a couple of gaudy flies to his leader, and began to cast most unskilfully from the shores of the pool, moving along slowly from time to time. the fat men, occasionally calling to ask if he had caught anything, busied themselves with preparations for lunch. one of them made tremendous chopping sounds in the wood and furnished from time to time incommensurate supplies of fire-wood. smoke arose and a kettle was slung. meanwhile eve, cowering among the bushes, for all the world like her famous ancestress when the angel came to the garden, did not quite know what to do. she had only to lift her voice and explain, and the men would go away for a time. she felt sure of that. she had been brought up to believe in the exquisite chivalry of the plain american man. but there was something about the four which repelled her, which stuck in her throat. she did not wish to be under any sort of obligation to any of them. and so she kept mousy-quiet, and turned over in her mind an immense number of worthless stratagems and expedients. have you ever tried to lie on the lawn under a tree and read for an hour or two--incased in all your buffer of clothes? try it some time--without the buffers. try it in the buff. and then imagine how comfortable eve was on the island. imagine how soft it felt to her elbows, for instance. and imagine to yourself, too, that it was not an uninhabited island--but one upon which an immense gray spider had made a home and raised a family. from time to time the inept caster of flies returned to the camp-fire, always in answer to a boisterous summons from his friends. and after each visit, his leathery face became redder and his casting more absurd. finally his flies caught in a tree, his rod broke, and he abandoned the gentle art of angling for that time and place. meanwhile steam ran from the kettle and mingled with the smoke of the fire. the sound of voices was incessant. ten minutes later the gentlemen were served. midway of the meal, some of which was burnt black and some of which was quite raw, there was produced a thermos bottle as big as the leg of a rubber boot. and a moment later, icy-cold champagne was frothing and bubbling in tumblers. in that high air, upon a thick foundation of raw whiskey, the brilliant wine of france had soon built a triumphant edifice, so that eve, cold now, miserable, and frightened, felt that the time for an appeal to chivalry was long since past. far from their wives and constituents, the four politicians were obviously not going to stop short of complete drunkenness. indeed, it was an opportunity hardly to be missed. for where else in the woods could nature be more exquisite, dignified, and inspiring? it got so that eve could no longer bear to watch them or to listen to them. pink with shame, fury, hatred, and fear, she stuffed her fingers in her ears and hid her face. thus lying, there came to her after quite a long interval, dimly, a shout and a howl of laughter with an entirely new intonation. she looked up then and saw the thin man, waist-deep in the bushes, just where she had left her clothes, making faces of beastly mystery at his companions, beckoning to them and urging them to come look. they went to him, presently, staggering and evil. and then they scattered and began to hunt for her. xxvi "tired?" queried mr. bob jonstone, with some indignation. "i'm not a bit tired. i haven't had enough exercise to keep me quiet. and if it wasn't your turn to make the fire, your privilege, and your prerogative, i'd insist on chopping the wood myself. no," he said, leaning back luxuriously, "i find it very hard to keep still. this walking on the level is child's play. what i need to keep me in good shape is mountains to climb." "like those we have at home," said colonel meredith, and if he didn't actually wink at maud, who was arranging some chops on a broiler, he made one eye smaller than the other. "what's wrong with _this_ mountain?" asked maud. "why, we are only half-way up, and the real view is from the top!" "of course," said colonel meredith, "if you want to see the view, don't let us stop you. we'll wait for you. won't we, miss maud?" she nodded, her eyes shining with mischief. "but," the colonel continued, "bob is a bluff. he's had all the climbing he can stand. nothing but a chest full of treasure or a maiden in distress would take him a step farther." "after lunch," said mr. jonstone, "i shall." "do it now! lunch won't be ready for an hour. any kind of a walker could make the top of the mountain and be back in that time. but i'll bet you anything you like that you can't." "you will? i'll bet you fifty dollars." "done!" mr. jonstone leaped to his feet in a business-like way, waved his hand to them, and started briskly off and up along the trail by which they had come, and which ended only at the very top of the mountain. it wasn't that he wanted any more exercise. he wanted to get away for a while to think things over. he had learned on that day's excursion, or thought he had, that two is company and that three isn't. the pleasant interchangeableness of the trio's relations seemed suddenly to have undergone a subtle change. it was as if maud and colonel meredith had suddenly found that they liked each other a little better than they liked him. so it wasn't a man in search of exercise or eager to win a bet who was hastening toward the top of a mountain, but a child who had just discovered that dolls are stuffed with sawdust. he suffered a little from jealousy, and a little from anger. he could not have specified what they had done to him that morning, and it may have been his imagination alone that was to blame, but they had made him feel, or he had made himself feel, like a guest who is present, not because he is wanted but because for some reason or other he had to be asked. he walked himself completely out of breath and that did his mind good. resting before making a final spurt to the mountain-top, he heard men's voices shouting and hallooing in the forest. the sounds carried him back to certain coon and rabbit hunts in his native state, and he wondered what these men could be hunting. and having recovered his breath, he went on. he came suddenly in view of a great round pool of water in the midst of which was a tiny island, thickly wooded. just in front of him a fire burned low on a beach of white sand. upon the beach, his back to jonstone, stood a tall, thin man who appeared to be gazing at the island. suddenly this man began to shout aloud: "she's on the island! she's on the island!" from the woods came the sound of crashings, scramblings, and oaths, and, one by one, three fat men, very sweaty and crimson in the face, came reeling out on the beach, and ranged themselves with the thin man, and looked drunkenly toward the island. "she's hiding on the island, the cute thing," said the thin man. "did you see her?" "i saw the bushes move. that's where she is." "how deep's the water?" "i'll tell you in about a minute," said the thin man. he threw his coat from him, and, sitting down with a sudden lurch, began to unlace his boots. "maybe you don't know it," he said, "but i'm some swimmer, i am." there was a moment of silence and then there came from the island a voice that sent a thrill through mr. bob jonstone from head to foot. the voice was like frightened music with a sob in it. "won't you please go away!" "good god," he thought, "they're hunting a woman!" the drunken men had answered that sobbing appeal with a regular view-halloo of drunken laughter. mr. bob jonstone stepped slowly forward. his thin face had a bluish, steely look; and his eyes glinted wickedly like a rattlesnake's. being one against four, he made no declaration of war. he came upon them secretly from behind. and first he struck a thin neck just below a leathery ear, and then a fat neck. he was not a strong man physically. but high-strung nerves and cold, collected loathing and fury are powerful weapons. the thin man and the fat man with the whispering voice lay face down on the beach and passed from insensibility into stupefied, drunken sleep. but with the other two, mr. jonstone had a bad time of it, for he had broken a bone in his right hand and the pain was excruciating. often, during that battle, he thought of the deadly automatic in his pocket. but if he used that, it meant that a woman's name would be printed in the newspaper. the fat men fought hard with drunken fury. their strength was their weight, and they were always coming at him from opposite sides. but an empty whiskey bottle caught mr. jonstone's swift eye and made a sudden end of what its contents had begun. he hit five times and then stood alone, among the fallen, a bottle neck of brown glass in his hand. then he lifted his voice and spoke aloud, as if to the island: "they'll not trouble you now. what else can i do?" "god bless you for doing what you've done! i'm a fool girl, and i thought i was all alone and i went in swimming, and they came and i hid on the island. and i--i haven't got my things with me!" "couldn't you get ashore without being seen? these beasts won't look. and i won't look. you can trust me, can't you?" "when you tell me that nobody is looking i'll come ashore." "nobody is looking now." he heard a splash and sounds as of strong swimming. and he was dying to look. he took out his little automatic and cocked it, and he said to himself: "if you do look, bob, you get shot." ten minutes passed. "are you all right?" he called. "yes, thank you, all right now. but how can i thank you? i don't want you to see me, if you don't mind. i don't want you to know who i am. but i'm the gratefulest girl that ever lived; and i'm going home now, wiser than when i came, and, listen----" "i'm listening." "i think i'd almost die for you. there!" mr. jonstone's hair fairly bristled with emotion. "but am i never to see you, never to know your name?" the answer came from farther off. "yes, i think so. some time." "do you promise that?" silence--and then: "i _almost_ promise." * * * * * having assured himself that the drunken men were not dead, mr. jonstone sighed like a furnace and started down the mountain. his hand hurt him like the devil, but the pain was first cousin to delight. xxvii the camp was much concerned to hear of poor mr. jonstone's accident. a round stone, he said, had rolled suddenly under his foot and precipitated him down a steep pitch of path. he had put out his hands to save his face and, it seemed, broken a bone in one of them. and at that, the attempted rescue of his face had not been an overwhelming success. it was not until the doctor had come and gone that mr. jonstone told his cousin what had really happened. colonel meredith was much excited and intrigued by the narrative. "and you've no idea who she was?" he asked. "no, mel; i've thought that the voice was familiar. i've thought that it wasn't. it was a very well-bred northern voice--but agitated probably out of its natural intonations. voices are queer things. a man might not recognize his own mother's voice at a time when he was not expecting to hear it." "voices," said colonel meredith, "are beautiful things. this wasn't a motherly sort of voice, was it?" "but it might be," said mr. jonstone gently. "i wonder if they've anything in this place to make a fellow sleep. bromide isn't much good when you've a sure-enough sharp pain." "you feel mighty uncomfortable, don't you, bob?" the invalid nodded. he was pale as a sheet, and he could not keep still. he had received considerable physical punishment and his entire nervous system was quivering and jumping. "i'll see if anybody's got anything," said colonel meredith, and he went straight to the office, where he found maud darling and eve. "my cousin is feeling like the deuce," he said. "he won't sleep all night if we don't give him something to make him. do you know of any one that's got anything of that sort--morphine, for instance?" "the best thing will be to take the _streak_ and get some from the doctor," said maud. "let's all go." "i think i won't," said eve, looking wonderfully cool and serene. "but i'll walk down to the float and see you off. what a pity for a man to get laid up by an accident that might have been avoided by a little attention!" colonel meredith stiffened. "i am sorry to contradict a lady," he said, "but my cousin has given me the particulars of his accident, and it was of a nature that could hardly have been avoided by a man. i think, miss maud, if you will order a launch, i had better tell my cousin where i am going, in case he should feel that he was being neglected." "don't bother to do that," said eve. "i'll get word to him." "oh, thank you so much, will you?" "he's lying down, i suppose." "yes; he has retired for the night." "i'll send one of the men," said eve, "or sam langham." so they went one way and eve went the other, walking very quickly and smiling in the night. "mr. jonstone--oh, mr. jonstone! can you hear me?" with a sort of shudder of wonder mr. jonstone sat up in his bed. "yes," he said, "i do hear you--unless i am dreaming." "you're not dreaming. you are in great pain, owing to an accident which could hardly have been avoided by a man, and can't sleep." "i am in no pain now." "colonel meredith has gone to carrytown for something to make you sleep, so you aren't to fret and feel neglected if he doesn't come back to you at once." "just the same it's a horrible feeling--to be all alone." "but if some one--any one were to stay within call----?" "if _you_ were to stay within call it would make all the difference in the world." "you don't know who i am, do you?" "i don't know what you look like, and i don't know your name. but i know who you are. and once upon a time--long years ago--you promised, you half promised, to tell me the other things." "my name is a very, very old name, and i look like a lot of other people. but you say you know who i am. who am i?" mr. bob jonstone laughed softly. "it's enough," said he, "that i know. but are you comfortable out there? you're on the porch, aren't you?" "no; i'm standing on the ground and resting my lazy forehead against the porch railing." "i'd feel easier if you came on the porch and made yourself comfortable in a chair, just outside my window. and we could talk easier." "but you're not supposed to talk." "listening would be good for me." there was a sound of light steps and of a chair being dragged. "i wish you wouldn't sit just round the corner," said mr. jonstone presently. "if you sat before the window, sideways, i could see your profile against the sky." "i'm doing very well where i am, thank you." "but, please, why shouldn't i see you? why are you so embarrassed at me?" "wouldn't you be embarrassed if you were a girl and had been through the adventure i went through? wouldn't you be a little embarrassed to see the man who helped you, and look him in the face?" "don't you ever want me to see you? because, if you don't, i will go away from this place in the morning and never come back." "somehow, that doesn't appeal to me very much either." "i am glad," said mr. jonstone quietly. "how does your hand feel?" "which hand?" "the one you hurt." "it feels very happy, and the other hand feels very jealous of it." "seriously--are you having a pretty bad time?" "i am having the time of my life--seriously--the time that lucky men always have once in their lives." "are you very impatient for the morphine?" "i shall not take it when it comes. it is far better knowing what one knows, remembering what one remembers, and looking forward to what a presumptuous fool cannot help but look forward to--it is far better to keep awake; to lie peacefully in the dark, knowing, remembering, and looking forward." "and just what are you looking forward to?" "to a long life and a happy one; to the sounds of a voice; to a sudden coming to life of the whole 'oxford book of verse'; to seeing a face." there was a long silence. "are you there?" "yes; but you mustn't talk." "i think you are tired. please don't stay any more if you are tired." "i'm not tired." "then perhaps you are bored." "i'm not bored." "then what are you?" "you keep quiet." when, at last, colonel meredith came, important with morphine and the doctor's instructions, he found his cousin mr. bob jonstone sleeping very quietly and peacefully, a much dog-eared copy of the "oxford book of verse" clasped to his breast. unfortunately the colonel, after putting out the light again, bumped into a table, and mr. jonstone waked. "that you, mel?" "yes, bob; sorry i waked you. did miss darling send word explaining that i should be quite a while coming back?" "which miss darling?" "which? why, miss eve." "yes, she sent word." "and how have you been?" "i took a turn for the better shortly after you left. a little while ago i lighted a candle, and read a little and got sleepy. and now i think i'll go to sleep again." "you don't need the morphine?" "no, mel. thank you. good-night." "good-night." "mel?" "what is it?" "isn't eve about the oldest name you know?" "oldest, i guess, except adam and lilith. you go to sleep." and colonel meredith tiptoed out of the room, murmuring: "seems to be a little shaky in his upper stories." xxviii a point of land just across the lake from the camp belonged to the darlings' mother, the princess oducalchi. one night the light of fires and lanterns appeared on this point and the next morning it was seen to be studded here and there with pale-brown tents. the darlings were annoyed to think that any one should trespass on so large a scale on some one else's land. in a code of laws shot to pieces with class legislation, trespassers are, of course, exempt from punishment; their presence and depredations in one's private melon-patch are none the less disagreeable, and arthur darling, as his mother's representative, was peculiarly enraged. arthur, in his idle moments, when, for instance, he was not studying the webs of spiders or classifying the cries of frogs, sometimes let his mind run on politics and the whole state of the union. in such matters, of course, he was only a tyro. why should the puny and prejudiced population of texas have two votes in the senate when the hordes of new york have but two? why, in a popular form of government, should the minority do the ruling? why should not a hard-working rich man have an equal place in the sun with a man who, through laziness and a moral nature twisted like a pretzel, remains poor? why should education be forced on children in a country where education, which means good manners and the ability to distinguish between right and wrong, amounts practically to disfranchisement? arthur, in his political ruminations, could never get beyond such questions as these. if a has paid for and owns a piece of land, why is it not a's to enjoy, rather than b's, whose sole claim thereto is greater strength of body than a, and the desire to possess those things which are not his? at least, arthur could row across to the point and protest in his mother's name. if the trespassers were gentlefolk who imagined themselves to have camped upon public land, they would, of course, offer to go and to pay all damages--in which event, arthur would invite them to stay as long as they pleased, only begging that they would not set the woods on fire. if, however, the trespassers belonged to one of the privileged classes for whose benefit the laws are made and continued, he would simply be abused roundly and perhaps vilely. he would then take a thrashing at the hands of superior numbers, and the incident would be closed. colonel meredith, seeing arthur about to embark on his mission, offered help and comfort in the emergency. "just you wait till i fetch my rifle," he said; "and if there's any trifling, we'll shoot them up." "shoot them up!" exclaimed arthur. "if we shot them up, we'd go from here to prison and from prison to the electric chair." "in south carolina," colonel meredith protested, "if a man comes on our land and we tell him to get off and he won't, we drill a hole in him." "and that's one of the best things about the south," said arthur. "but we do things differently in the north. if a man comes on my land and i tell him to get off and he says he won't, then i have the right to put him off, using as much force as is necessary. and if he is twice as big as i am and there are three or four of him, you can see, without using glasses, how the matter must end." "then all you are out for is to take a licking?" "that is my only privilege under the law. but i hope i shall not have to avail myself of it. where there are so many tents there must be money. where there is money there are possessions, and where there are possessions, there are the same feelings about property that you and i have." "still," said colonel meredith, "i wish you'd take me along and our guns. there is always the chance of managing matters so that fatalities may be construed into acts of self-defense." "get behind me, you man of blood!" exclaimed arthur, laughing, and he leaped into a canoe, and with a part of the same impulse sent it flying far out from the float. then, standing, he started for the brown tents with easy, powerful strokes, very earnest for the speedy accomplishment of a disagreeable duty. that anything really pleasant might come of his expedition never entered his head. "arthur gone to put them off?" "why, yes! good-morning, miss gay." "good-morning, yourself, colonel meredith, and many of them. want to look?" "thank you." colonel meredith focussed the glasses upon the brown tents. "what do you make them out to be?" "i can make out a sort of nigger carrying tea into one of the tents. and there's a young lady in black. she seems to be walking down to the shore to meet your brother. and now she's waving her hand to him." "the impudent thing," exclaimed gay. "what's my brother doing?" "he's paddling as if he expected to cross a hundred yards of water in a second. if the young lady comes any closer to the water, she'll get wet." suddenly blushing crimson, he thrust the field-glasses back into gay's hands, and cried with complete conviction that he was "blessed." in the bright field of magnification, hastily focussed to her own vision, gay beheld her brother and the young woman in black tightly locked in each other's arms. xxix to arthur, half-way across the lake, considering just what he should say to the trespassers, the sudden sight of the person whom of all persons in the world he least expected and most wanted to see was a staggering physical shock. he almost fell out of his canoe. and if he had done that he might very likely have drowned, so paralyzing in effect were those first moments of unbelievable joy and astonishment. then she waved her hand to him and swiftly crossed the beach, and he began to paddle like a madman. when the canoe beached with sudden finality, arthur simply made a flying leap to the shore and caught her in his arms. then he held her at arm's length, and if eyes could eat, these would have been the last moments upon earth of a very lovely young woman. then a sort of horror of what he had done and of what he was doing seized him. his hands dropped to his sides and the pupils of his eyes became pointed with pain. but she said: "it's all right, arthur; don't look like that. my husband is dead." "dead?" said arthur, his face once more joyous as an angel's. "thank god for that!" and why not thank god when some worthless, cruel man dies? and why not write the truth about him upon his tombstone instead of the conventional lies? "but why didn't you write to me?" demanded arthur. "it had been such a long time since we saw each other. how did i know that you still cared?" "but how could i stop caring--about you?" "couldn't you?" "why, i didn't even try," said arthur. "i just gave it up as a bad job. but how, in the name of all that's good and blessed, do you happen to be in this particular place at this particular time? did you, by any chance, come by way of the heavens in a 'sweet chariot'? i came to eject trespassers, and i find you!" "and i came to spy on you, arthur, and to find out if you still cared. and if you didn't, i was going to tie a stone round my neck and lie down in the lake. of course, if i'm a trespasser----" they had moved slowly away from the shore toward the tents. from one of these a languid, humorous voice that made arthur start hailed them. and through the fly of the tent was thrust a beautiful white hand and the half of a beautiful white arm. "i can't come out, arthur," said the voice; "but good-morning to you, and how's the family?" "of all people in the world," exclaimed arthur; "my own beautiful mamma!" and he sprang to the extended hand and clasped it and kissed it. "your excellent stepfather," said the voice, "is out walking up an appetite for breakfast. i hope you will be very polite to him. if it hadn't been for him, cecily would have stayed in london, where we found her. he wormed her secret out of her and brought her to you as a peace-offering." there was a deep emotion in arthur's voice as he said: "then there shall always be peace between us." the hand had been withdrawn from the light of day; but the languid, humorous voice continued to make sallies from the brown tent. "we didn't want to be in the way; so, remembering this bit of property, we just chucked our somali outfit into a ship, and here we are! i was dreadfully shocked and grieved to hear that you were all quite broke and had started an inn. in new york it is reported to be a great success, is it?" "why, i hope so," said arthur; "i don't really know. mary's head man. maud keeps the books; the triplets keep getting into mischief, and eve, so far as i know, keeps out. as for me, i had an occupation, but it's gone now." "what was your job, arthur?" "my job was to have my arm in imagination where it now is in reality." "cecily!" exclaimed the voice. "is that boy hugging you publicly? am i absolutely without influence upon manners even among my own tents?" "absolutely, princess!" laughed cecily. "then the quicker i come out of my tent the better! you'll stop to breakfast, arthur?" "with pleasure, but shan't i get word to the girls? of course, they would feel it their duty to call upon you at once." "i should hope so--as an older woman i should expect that much of them. but, princess or no princess, i refuse to stand on ceremony. in my most exalted and aristocratic moments i can never forget that i am their mother. so after breakfast _i_ shall call on _them_." at this moment, very tall and thin, in gray scotch tweeds, carrying a very high, foreheady head, there emerged from the forest prince oducalchi, leading by the hand his eight-year-old son, andrea, and singing in a touching, clear baritone something in italian to the effect that a certain "mariana's roses were red and white, in the market-place by the clock-tower!" andrea wore a bright-red sweater, carried a fine twenty-bore gun made by a famous london smith, and looked every inch a prince. he had all the darling beauty in his face and all the oducalchi pride of place and fame. "mr. darling, i believe?" asked the prince, his left eyebrow slightly acockbill. "i have not had the pleasure of seeing you for some years, but i perceive that you are by way of accepting my peace-offering." "i was never just to you," said arthur, a little pale and looking very proud and handsome, "and you have been very good to my mamma and you have been very good to me. will you forgive me?" "i cannot do that. there has been nothing to forgive. but i will shake hands with you with all the pleasure in the world--my dear cecily, does he come up to the memories of him? poor children, you have had a sad time of it in this merry world! i may call you 'arthur'? arthur, this is your half-brother, andrea. i hope that you will take a little time to show him the beautiful ways of your north woods." arthur shook hands solemnly with the small boy, and their stanchly met eyes told of an immediate mutual confidence and liking. "i've always wanted a brother in the worst way," said arthur. "so have i," piped andrea. and then princess oducalchi came out of her tent, and proved that, although her daughters resembled her in features, simplicity, and grace and dignity of carriage, they would never really vie with her in beauty until they had loved much, suffered much, borne children into the world, and remembered all that was good in things and forgotten all that was evil. "mamma," said arthur, "is worth travelling ten thousand miles to see any day, isn't she?" "on foot," said prince oducalchi, "through forests and morasses infested with robbers and wild beasts." the princess blushed and became very shy and a little confused for a few moments. then, with a happy laugh, she thrust one hand through her husband's arm, the other through arthur's, and urged them in the direction of the tent, where breakfast was to be served. andrea followed, with cecily holding him tightly by the hand. "if we had not been buried in somaliland at the time," said arthur's mother, "we would never have let this 'inn' happen. i'm sure you were against it, arthur?" "of course," said he simply. "but with sister mary's mind made up, and the rest backing her, what could a poor broken-hearted young man do? and it has worked out better than i ever hoped. i don't mean in financial ways. i, mean, the sides of it that i thought would be humiliating and objectionable haven't been. indeed, it's all been rather a lark, and mary insists upon telling me that we are a lot better off than we were. we charge people the most outrageous prices! it's enough to make a dead man blush in the dark. and the only complaint we ever had about it was that the prices weren't high enough. so mary raised them." "but," objected prince oducalchi, "you, and especially your sisters, cannot go on being innkeepers forever. you, i understand, for instance"--and his fine eyes twinkled with mirth and kindness--"are thinking of getting married." "i am," said arthur, with so much conviction that even his cecily laughed at him. "when i divorced your poor father," said the princess, "he happened to be enjoying one of his terrifically rich moments. so, in lieu of alimony, he turned over a really huge sum of money to me. when i married oducalchi and told him about the money, he made me put it in trust for you children, to be turned over to you after your father's death. so you see there was never any real need to start the inn--but of course we were in africa and so forth and so on-if you've finished your coffee, i'm dying to see the girls. and i'm dying to tell them about the money, and to send all the horrid guests packing!" "some of the horrid guests," said arthur, "won't pack. of course, the girls think that i only study frogs and plants; but it's a libel. when two and two are thrust into my hands, i put them together, just as really sensible people do. you will find, mamma, a sad state of affairs at the camp." princess oducalchi began to bristle with interest and alarm. "andrea," said his father, "have a canoe put overboard for me." andrea rose at once and left the breakfast tent. "now, arthur," cried the princess, "tell me everything at once!" "gay," said arthur, "is in love with a young englishman, and knows that she is. he had to go home to be made an earl; but i think she is expecting him back in a few days, because she is beginning to take an interest in the things she really likes. mary is in love with sam langham, and he with her. they, however, don't know this. phyllis has forsaken her garden and become a dead-game sport. this she has done for the sake of a red-headed bostonian named herring. lee and a young fellow named renier are neglecting other people for each other. and our sedate maud, formerly very much in the company of two fiery southerners, is now very much in the company of one of them, colonel meredith, of south carolina. the other carolinian, mr. bob jonstone, sprained his wrist the other day, and it seems that sister eve was intended by an all-wise providence to be a trained nurse. but in the case of those last mentioned there are certain mysteries to be solved." at this moment andrea appeared at the tent opening and announced in his piping child voice: "the canoe is overboard, papa." xxx andrea stuck to his big brother like a leech, and insisted upon crossing to the camp in the same canoe with him and cecily. to andrea the possibility of newly engaged persons wishing to be by themselves was negligible. princess oducalchi, an old hand on inland waters, took charge of the other canoe, and, like arthur, in spite of a look of resigned horror on her husband's face, paddled standing up. arthur, too happy to make speed, was rapidly distanced by his mother, whose long, graceful figure and charming little, round head he regarded from time to time with great admiration. "she might be one of my sisters!" he exclaimed to cecily. "if she only was," said cecily, "and the others were only exactly like her, then i shouldn't be a bit frightened." "frightened?" "wouldn't you be frightened if i had six great angry brothers and you were just going to meet them for the first time?" arthur smiled steadily and shook his head. "i'm too happy to be afraid of anything." "i'm not. the happier i feel the more frightened i feel. and i can feel your sisters picking me all to pieces, and saying what a horrid little thing i am!" "little? haven't i told you that you are exactly the right size?" "no, you haven't." "then i tell you now. i leave it to andrea. isn't she exactly the right size, andrea?" "then mamma is too tall." "no, mamma is exactly the right size for a mamma. in fact, andrea," exulted arthur, "on this particular morning of this particular year of grace everything in the world is exactly the right size, except me. i'm not half big enough to contain my feelings. so here goes!" and the sedate arthur put back his head, which resembled that of the young galahad, and opened his mouth, and let forth the most blood-curdling war-whoop that has been sounded during the christian era. cecily clapped her hands to her ears, and andrea gazed upon his big brother with redoubled admiration. "is that like indians do?" he asked. "not at all," said arthur; "that's what studious and domesticated young men do when they've overslept, and wake up to find the sky blue and the forest green." and once more he whooped terrifically. and wow, the dog, heard him, and thought he had gone mad; and uncas, the chipmunk, ran to the top of a tall tree at full speed, down it even faster, and into a deep and safe hole among the roots. gay alone was at the float to receive the oducalchis; but now word of their coming had gone about the camp, and the remaining darlings could be seen hurrying up from various directions. from embracing her mother, gay turned with characteristic swiftness and sweetness to cecily, who had just stepped from arthur's canoe to the float, flung her arms around her, and kissed her. "i'm not quite sure of your name," she said; "but i love you very much, and you're prettier than all outdoors." then maud came, followed by eve and mary, with lee next and phyllis last, and they all talked at once, and made much of their mother and cecily and little andrea. and they all teased arthur at once, and showered oducalchi with polite and hospitable speeches. and he was greatly moved, because he knew very well that these beautiful maidens had loved their own brilliant scapegrace father to distraction, and that it was hard for them to look with kindness upon his successor. never, i think, did a mere float, an affair of planks supported by the displacing power of empty casks, have gathered upon it at one time so much beauty, so many delighted and delightful faces. and now came guides, servants, and camp helpers, to whom princess oducalchi had been a kind and understanding mistress in the old days, and then, shyly and hanging back, hoping they were wanted and not sure, sam langham, renier, herring, the carolinians, and others, until the float began to sink and there was a laughter panic and a general rush up the gangway to the shore. here wow, the dog, did a great deal of swift wagging and loud barking, and uncas, the chipmunk, from the top of a tree said: "i'm not really angry, but i'm scolding because i'm afraid to come down, and nobody loves me or makes much of me--ever!" to arthur, standing a little aside, beaming with pride and happiness, and recording in his heart every pleasant thing which his sisters said to cecily and every pleasant look they gave her, came gay presently, and slipped an arm through his. "i'm so glad," she said. but there was something in her voice that was not glad, and with one swift glance he read her wistful heart. he pressed her arm, and said: "i know one poor little kid that's left out in the cold for the moment; one little lion that feels as if it wasn't going to get any martyr; one little sister that a big brother loves and understands a little bit better than any of the others-so there! at the moment every _chacune_ has her _chacun_, except one. moments are fleeting, my dear, and other moments are ahead. i, too, have lived bad, empty, unhappy moments." "but you always knew that she cared." "and don't you know about him?" "i only know that i've seen so many people appear to be idiotically happy at the same time, and it makes me want to cry." "and for that very reason," said arthur, "the moments that are ahead will be the happier." "i wonder," said gay, and, "i know," said arthur. xxxi the fact of arthur's sudden blossoming into a full-fledged and emphatic figure of romance had an unsettling effect upon many of the peacefully disposed minds in the camp. it is always so when friends, especially in youth, come to partings of ways. clement, who takes the low road, cannot but be disturbed at the thought of those possible adventures which lie in wait for covington, who has fared forth by the high. there was the feeling among many of the young people in the camp that, if they didn't hurry, they might be left behind. nobody expressed this feeling or acknowledged it or recognized in it anything more than a feeling of unrest; but it existed, nevertheless, and had its effect upon actions and affections. renier had been leading a life of almost perfect happiness. for the things that made him happy were the same sort of things that make boys happy. no school; no parental obstructions or admonitions; green-and-blue days filled from end to end with fishing, sailing, making fires, shooting at marks, and perfecting himself in physical attainments. add to these things the digestion and the faculties of a healthy boy interested neither in drink, tobacco, nor in any book which failed to contain exciting and chivalrous adventures, and, above all, a companion whose tastes and sympathies were such that she might just as well have been a boy as not. they were chums rather than sweethearts. it needed a sense of old times coming to an end and new times beginning to make them realize the full depth and significance of their attachment for each other. there were four of us once "in a kingdom by the sea," and i shall not forget the awful sense of partings and finality, and calamity, for that matter, furnished by a sudden sight of the first flaming maple of autumn. "i think your mother's a perfect brick," said renier. "she makes you feel as if she'd known you all your life, and was kind of grateful to you for living." "i'm rather crazy about the prince," said lee. "of course, i oughtn't to be. but i can't help it, and after all he's been awfully good to mamma. do you believe in divorce?" "i never did until i saw your mother. she wouldn't ask for anything that she didn't really deserve." "but it's funny, isn't it," said lee, "that so many people get on famously together until they are actually married, and then they begin to fight like cats? i knew a girl who was engaged to a man for five years. you'd think they'd get to know each other pretty well in that time, wouldn't you? but they didn't. they hadn't been married six months before they hated each other." "and that proves," said renier, "that long engagements are a mistake." "smarty!" exclaimed lee. "i suppose your brother'll be getting married right away, won't he? haven't they liked each other for ever so long?" "m'm!" lee nodded. "but arthur never does anything right away. he does too much mooning and wool-gathering. if a united family can get him to the altar in less than a year they'll have accomplished wonders. there's one thing, though--when we do get him married good and proper, he'll stay married. he's like that at all games. it comes natural to him to keep his eyes in the boat. he's got the finest and sweetest nature of any man in this world, _i_ think." "of course, you except present company?" "heavens, yes!" cried lee, and they both laughed. then, suddenly, lee looked him in the eyes quite solemnly. "i wasn't fooling," she said, "not entirely. i _do_ think you're fine and sweet. i didn't always, but i do now." there was levity in renier's words but not in his voice. "this," he said, "so far has been a perfectly good tuesday." "whatever we do together," said lee, "you always give me the best of it. it's been a good summer." "do you feel as if summer was over, too?" she nodded. "that's funny, isn't it? because it's nowhere near over, is it? maybe it's the excitement of the oducalchis' arrival and your brother's engagement. it makes you sort of feel as if there wasn't time to settle back into the regular life and get things going again before the leaves fall." he spoke. and from the fine striped maple under which they sat there fell, and fluttered slowly into lee's lap, a great yellowing leaf ribbed with incipient scarlet. "that only means," said renier--but there was a kind of awe in his voice--"that this particular tree has indigestion." and they sat for a time in silence and looked at the leaf. and lo! arthur came upon them, smiling. "i was looking for you two," he said. "i thought maybe you'd do me a great favor. i've got to play host, and----" "nobody would miss us!" exclaimed lee. "they wouldn't?" said arthur. "i'll bet you anything you like that, during your absence, you will both be mentioned among the missing, by name, at least five times." "what'll you bet?" asked lee eagerly. "nobody ever thinks of _us_. nobody ever mentions _us_. nobody even loves _us_. what'll you bet?" "anything you like," said arthur, "and if necessary i will take charge of the five personal mentionings and make them myself!" lee shook her head sadly, and said: "once an accepted lover, always a sure thing, man. oh, arthur, how low you have fallen! you used to engineer bets with me for the sheer joy of seeing me win them. but now you are on the make, and it looks as if there was no justice under heaven-where do you want us to go and what do you want us to do when we get there? of course, we'll go; we always do. everybody sends us on errands, and we always go. the longer the errands the oftener we go. but nobody seems to realize that we might enjoy spending one single solitary afternoon sitting under a striped maple and watching the green leaves turn yellow. nobody even loves us! but when we are dead there will be the most frightful remorse and sorrow." arthur leaned heavily against the stem of the striped maple. "your sad case," he said, "certainly cries aloud for justice and redress----" "'kid us along, bo,'" said lee; "we love it!" "i want two people," said arthur, "for whom i have affection and in whom i have confidence, to go at once to carrytown in the _streak_ and consult a lawyer upon a matter of paramount importance and delicacy--" he hesitated, and lee said: "i pray you, without further ado, continue your piquant narrative." then arthur, in a tone of solemn, confidential eagerness: "look here, you two, go to carrytown, will you, and find out how quickly two people can get married in the state of new york, and what they have to do about licenses and things? will you? i'll be eternally obliged." "of course, we will," exclaimed lee in sudden excitement. "are you game?" "you bet your sweet life i'm game!" cried the vulgar renier. and a few minutes later the two inseparable school-boyesque chums, whom nobody mentioned, whom everybody sent on errands, and whom nobody even loved, were streaking across the lake in the _streak_. there was but the one lawyer in carrytown and the one stenographer. their shingles hang one above the other on the face of the one brick building. at the door of this building lee suddenly drew back. "look here!" she said. "won't it look rather funny if we march in hand in hand and say: 'beg pardon, sir, but how do you get married in the state of new york?'" "it _would_ look funny," said renier, "and i shouldn't wonder if it made us feel funny. but the joke would really be on the lawyer. we could say '_honi soit qui mal y pense_' to him. of course, if it would really embarrass you----" "it wouldn't," said lee, "_really_." so they went up a narrow flight of stairs and knocked on the door of room number five. there was no answer. so they pushed open the door and entered a square room bound in sheepskin with red-and-black labels. there was nobody in the room, and lee exclaimed: "nobody even loves us." "he'll be in the back room," said renier. "i know. once i swiped a muskmelon from a lawyer's melon-patch, and had to see him about it. _he_ was in the back room----" "'counting out his money'?" "no; he was drinking whiskey with a judge and a livery-stable keeper, and they were all spitting on a red-hot stove." "what did he do about the melon?" "he told me to can the melon and have a drink. i had already canned the melon as well as i could (i wasn't educated along scientific lines) and my grandmother had promised me any watch i wanted if i didn't drink till i was twenty-one." "did you?" "i did not." "did you get the watch?" "i did not." "why not?" "grandma reneged. she said she didn't remember making any such promise." they pushed open a swinging door and entered the back room. here, in a revolving chair, sat a stout young man with a red face. upon his knees sat a stout young woman with a red face. and with something of the consistency with which a stamp adheres to an envelope so the one red face appeared glued to the other red face. the red face of the stout young man had one free eye which detected the presence of intruders. and the stout young man said: "caught with the goods! jump up, minnie, and behave yourself!" minnie's upspring was almost a record-breaker. renier began to stammer: "i b-b-beg your pardon," he said, "but i thought you might b-b-be able to tell me how to g-g-get married in new york state." the stout young man rose from his revolving chair; he was embarrassed almost to the point of paralysis, but his mind and mouth continued to work. "you've come to just the right man," he said, "at just the right time, for information of that sort. first, you hire a stenographer; then you get a mash on her. then she sits in your lap--she _will_ do it--and then you kiss her. and then you get a license, and then you curse laws and red tape for a while, and then you wed. now, what you want is a license?" "exactly," said renier. "it--it's for another fellow." "friend of yours?" queried the stout young man. "yes." "and you want a license for him, not for yourself?" renier nodded. "at this moment," said the stout young man, "there are assembled on the long wharf, chewin' tobacco and cursin', some twenty-five or thirty marines. would you mind just stepping down and telling that to them?" "i am quite serious," said renier. "it is my friend who wants to get married." "and _you_ don't?" renier stammered ineffectually. "then," said the stout young man, with a glance at lee (of the highest admiration), "you're a gol-darn fool." and forthwith he was so vulgar as to burst into a sudden snatch of song: "old man rule was a gol-darn fool, for he couldn't see the water in the gol-darn pool!" at the finish of this improvisation the dreadfully confused minnie went, "tee-hee!" and, horror of horrors, that charming boylike companion, lee darling, behind whom were well-bred generations, also went suddenly, "tee-hee." "licenses," said the stout young man, "are applied for in room five. after you, sir; after you, miss." and, with a waggish expression, he turned to minnie. "be back in five minutes," he said; "try not to forget me, my flighty one." when they were in the front room, he said: "before a license is issued, the licensor must be satisfied as to the preliminaries. now, then, what can you tell me as to lap sitting and kissings?" "you," cried lee, in a sudden blaze of indignation, "are the freshest, most objectionable american i ever set eyes on." the stout young man turned appealingly to renier. "you wouldn't say that," he said; "you'd say i was just typical, wouldn't you, now? and i wish you would tell her that, though in these backwoods i have been obliged to eschew my chesterfield, i've got a great big heart in me and mean well." during the last words of this speech he became appealingly wistful. "why," said he to lee, "just because minnie and me is stout, don't you think we know heaven when we see it--the empyrean! yesterday she threw me down, and i says to her: 'since all my life seems meant for "fails"--since this was written and needs must be--my whole soul rises up to bless your name in pride and thankfulness. who knows but the world may end to-night?' to-day she sits in my lap and we see which can hug the hardest. ever try that?" and suddenly the creature's voice melted and shook. he was a genuine orator, as we americans understand it, having that within his powers of voice that defies logic and melts the heart. "wouldn't you," he said, "even _like_ to sit in his lap? wouldn't you _love_ to sit in his lap and be hugged?" lee looked to renier for help, as he to her. and they took a step apiece directly toward each other, and another step. it was as if they had been hypnotized. suddenly renier caught lee's hand in his, and after a moment of looking into his eyes she turned to the stout man, and sang in miraculous imitation of him: "young miss mule is a gol-darn fool, but you made her see the water in the gol-darn pool." "i'll just get a license blank," said the stout young man. "they're in the back room." "thank you," said renier--"if you will, mr.----" "heartbeat!" flashed the stout young man, and left them. and he wasn't lying or making fun that time. for that was his really truly name. and in northern new york people are beginning to think that he is by way of being up to it. suddenly lee quoted from a joke that she and renier had in common. she said, as if surprised: "'why, there's a table over there!'" and renier, his voice suddenly breaking and melting, answered: "'why, so there is--and here's a chair!'" and mr. heartbeat, making a supreme effort to live up to his name, did not return with the license blank for nearly eight minutes. during those minutes, renier resolved that in every room in his home there should be at least one revolving chair. and they came out of mr. heartbeat's office no longer boyish companions but lovers, a little startled, engaged, and licensed to be married. xxxii "lee, dear," said renier, "you don't feel that that fellow buncoed you into this, do you? please say you don't." "of course, i wasn't buncoed," she said, and with infinite confidence. "why, i've seen the thing coming for months! haven't you?" "i've seen a certain girl begin by being very dear and grow dearer and dearer--i wish we could _walk_ back. i'm afraid of motor-boats, fresh water, and sudden storms on mountain lakes. and i hereby highly resolve that after this perilous trip i shall never again do anything dangerous, such as watching people going up in aeroplanes, such as sitting around with wet feet, such as eating green fruit, such as-oh, my own darling little kiddie," he whispered with sudden trembling emotion, "but this life is precious." "george and charley are looking at us," said lee, "with funny looks. i wonder if they are _on_? i wonder if everybody will be _on_--just by looking at us. _do_ i look foolish?" "you do not, but i think you are foolish to take a feller like me, and that's why i'm going to dance down this gang-plank and snap my fingers and shock george and charley out of their senses." during this first part of the _streak_'s swift rush from carrytown to the camp a tranquil silence came over them. lee, i think, was searching her heart with questions. but she had no doubt of her love for renier; she doubted only her capacity to be to him exactly the wife he needed. and i know that renier just sat, brazening the critical glances of george and charley, and adored her with his eyes. and what were his thoughts? would you give a penny for them? he leaned closer to her, and in a whisper that thrilled them both to the bone, he quoted from poe: "and neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful annabel lee." and a little later he said: "i never knew till to-day what poetry is for. i thought people who wrote it were just a little simple and that people who read and quoted it were perfect jackasses." "and what is poetry for?" asked lee, smiling. "poetry," he said, "is for _you_." as they neared the camp the sentiment in their hearts yielded a little to excitement. "when we tell 'em," said lee, "it's going to be just like a bomb going off. and everybody will be terribly envious." "nobody even loves us," laughed renier, and he quoted: "among ten million, one was she, and surely all men hated me." and like a flash lee answered: "among ten million he was one, so all the ladies fought like fun." "one thing is sure," sand renier, "we've more than executed brother arthur's delicate and confidential commission. what we don't know about getting married in the state of new york simply doesn't exist." arthur, eager and impatient, was like a more famous person, watching and waiting. "well," he said, "thank you a thousand times. and what did you find out?" "we've brought you a license blank," said lee; "you simply fill it out with your names and ages and things--like this--" and she placed a second paper in her brother's hands. and conspicuous on the paper he saw lee's name and renier's. his hands shook a little, and his face became very grave and tender. "say you're surprised!" exclaimed lee; "say you were never so surprised in all your born days!" "but i'm not surprised," said arthur. "come here to me!" he opened his arms to her and she flung herself into them. over her shoulder and hiding head arthur spoke to renier. "no man," he said, "knows his own heart, and no woman knows hers. nobody can promise with honesty to love forever. for sometimes love dies just as simply and inexplicably as it is born. but a man can promise to be good to his wife always, and tender with her and faithful to her, and if he is a gentleman he will make those promises good." "i make those promises," said renier simply; "will you give her to me?" "it is for no man to give or to withhold," said arthur. "the gods give. the duty of brothers is just to try to help things along and to love their sisters and to be friends with their brothers-in-law." xxxiii "and now," said lee, "i think i'll tell mamma." on the way to find the princess, lee and renier encountered herring. he appeared to be hurrying, but something in their faces brought him to a sudden stop. their attempts to meet his inquiring gaze with indifference proved unavailing, for he closed one eye and said: "which of you two has swallowed the family canary? or has each of you swallowed half of him?" the guilty pair were unable to preserve their natural coloring. they turned crimson, and each showed a courteous willingness to let the other be the first to speak. "you've been to carrytown," said herring. "i saw you start. you raced down to the float. and in your rivalry to see which should board the _streak_ first, it looked as if you were going to knock each other overboard. renier, he won, and you, miss lee, were annoyed. when you returned from carrytown, you had long, pensive, anxious faces. renier stepped ashore and, in helping you ashore, gave you both hands. when a girl whom i have seen climb a tree after a baby owl accepts the aid of a man's two hands in stepping from a solid boat to a solid float, there is food for thought. having landed, you proceeded direct to the head of the darling family and were for some time engaged with him in solemn discourse. a paper was shown him. from a distance it looked as if it might be some sort of a license--a license to hunt and be hunted, perhaps----" "but it wasn't," said lee suddenly, and she thrust her hand under renier's arm. "if you must know, mr. sherlock holmes, it was a license to love and be loved. so there!" she was no longer blinking, nor was renier. they looked so loving and proud that it was herring's turn to feel embarrassment. then he said: "i only meant to be a tease. if i'd really thought anything--i wouldn't, of course; none of my darn business. but i'm _awfully_ glad. i've hoped all along it would happen. it's the best ever. am i to be secret as the grave or can i tell--any one i happen to meet?" "give us ten minutes to tell mamma," said lee, "and then consider your lips unsealed." herring had drawn from his pocket a stop-watch and set it going. "ten minutes," he said. "thanks awfully! and good luck!" he had turned, waving his free hand to them, and darted away. lee laughed scornfully. "any one he happens to meet!" she exclaimed. "he's headed straight for the garden, and there he'll just _happen_ to meet phyllis. she was speaking of her tomatoes at breakfast, and saying that they ought to be ripening and that she was going to have a look at them." "lee, darling," said renier, "nobody can possibly see us. and when mr. heartbeat left us alone in the front room it was a frightfully long time ago. and sometimes a fellow's arms get to aching with sheer emptiness, and--and, 'this is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the hemlocks----'" "are mostly birches and larches hereabouts," said lee, and, with a happy laugh, she drifted into a pair of arms that closed tightly about her. and, "it doesn't matter if anybody does see us," she said. * * * * * it was characteristic of herring that he should enter the garden by leaping over the fence. it was also characteristic that he should catch his foot on the top rail and fall at full length in a bed of very beautiful and much cherished phlox. phyllis, in the path near by, gazed at the fallen man with mirth and anxiety. "hurt?" she asked. he rose and examined a watch which he was carrying in his right hand. "crystal smashed," he said, "but still going. and i've got to wait four minutes!" "why have you got to wait four minutes?" "because i promised to wait ten, and six of them have elapsed. oh, but won't you be excited when i am at liberty to speak! it's more exciting than when we were lost in the woods, crossing the swamp that had never been crossed before. meanwhile, let us calm ourselves by talking of something prosaic. how are the tomatoes getting on?" phyllis put up her hand in a smiling military salute. "'general blank's compliments,'" she said, "'and the colored troops are turning black in the face.'" "my favorite breakfast dish," said herring, "is grilled tomatoes, preceded by raw oysters and oatmeal." "isn't it nice," said phyllis, "that there is money in the family after all, and we're going to give up the camp as an inn?" "it would have been given up anyway," said herring. "a determined body of men had so resolved in secret. there's one minute left." for some reason they found nothing to say during the whole of that minute. when the last second thereof had passed forever, herring said simply: "your sister lee and renier are going to be married." i cannot describe the expression that came over phyllis's face. it wasn't exactly jealousy; it wasn't exactly the expression of a beautiful female commuter who has just missed her train. it wasn't a wild look, or a happy look, or a sad look. perhaps it was a little bit more of an aching void look than anything else. whatever its exact nature, the wily herring studied it with an immense satisfaction. and then his heart began to flurry in a sort of panic. "lee!" exclaimed phyllis, "married! why, they're nothing but children!" she felt something encircle her waist. she looked down and saw a hand and part of an arm. "what are you doing?" she asked, in a sort of daze. "i'm trying to establish a hold on you," said herring, and toward the end of so saying his voice broke; "and you're not to feel lonely and deserted with me standing here, are you?" for a moment it seemed to herring that phyllis was going to extricate herself from his encircling arm. she achieved, indeed, a quarter revolution to the left and away from him. "don't, phyllis!" he cried. "don't do it! i couldn't bear it!" then she ceased revolving to the left, stopped, and from a startled, uncertain, half-frightened young person became suddenly a warmly loving young person, warmly loved, who revolved suddenly to the right, and became the recipient of a sudden storm of ecstatic exclamations and kisses. and then, nestling close to the one and only man in the world, she listened with complete satisfaction to his efforts to explain to her just how beautiful and wonderful and good she was. xxxiv when lee and renier, locked in each other's arms, stood in the forest primeval, they were mistaken in imagining themselves to be unobserved. a short half-hour before, mary darling had received a proposal of marriage. but mr. sam langham, usually so worldly-wise, had erred, perhaps, in his choice of time and place. whatever a huge kitchen, bright with sunlight upon burnished copper, may be, it is not a romantic place. and, worse than this, mary herself was not in a romantic mood. certain supplies due by the morning express had not arrived. chef was at the telephone shouting broken french to the butcher in carrytown; one of the kitchen-maids had come down with an aching tooth, and the other had been sent upon an errand from which she should have long since returned. "oh," exclaimed mary, as mr. langham entered, smiling, "everything is in such a mess! i don't believe there's going to be any lunch to-day for any one. and i think i shall have a nervous breakdown!" "i told you you would long ago," said langham, "if you didn't rest more and take things easier. what _does_ it matter if things go wrong once in a while? and if there isn't going to be any lunch, i'm glad, for one. i was thinking of not eating mine, anyway. and if _i'm_ not hungry, you can be pretty sure that nobody else is hungry. i tell you it hurts me to see you work so hard. i admire it and i bow down, but it hurts. you tell chef to do the best he can, and you come for a brisk walk with me. we'll walk up an appetite, and----" "i can't _possibly_," said mary. "i've got to stand by." "then you go for a walk and i'll stand by. only trust me. _i'll_ see that nobody goes hungry." she did not appear to have heard his offer, and mr. langham spoke again, with a sudden change of tone. "i'd like to take you out of this. i'd like to make everything in the world easy for you, if you would only let me. but you know that. you've known it all along. and knowing it, you've never even shown that it interested you; and so i suppose it's folly for me to mention it. but a man can't give up all his hopes of happiness in this world without even stating them, can he? i've hoped that you might get to care a little about me----" mary interrupted him with considerable impatience. "really," she said, "with chef shouting at the telephone, and all, i don't know what you are driving at." at that mr. langham looked so hurt and so unhappy and woebegone that mary was touched with remorse. "i didn't realize you were in earnest," she said. "i'm sorry i've hurt your feelings, but it's no use. i'm sorry--awfully sorry; but it's no use." "i'm sorry, too," said langham; "sorry i spoke; sorrier there was no use in speaking; sorriest of all that i'm no good to any one. but as long as i had to come a cropper, why, i'm glad it was for no one less wonderful than you. will you let things be as they were? i won't bother you about my personal feelings ever again by a look or a word." after he had gone mary stood for a while with knitted brows. chef had finished telephoning. the kitchen was in silence. suddenly she broke this silence. "chef," she exclaimed, "i'm no use at all! you'll just have to do the best you can about lunch by yourself." and she left the kitchen with great swiftness, looking like an angel on the verge of tears. chef's shining red face divided into a white smile, and he began to bustle about and make a noise with pots and pans and carving tools, and to sing as he bustled: "_sur le pont d'avignon_ _l'on y danse, l'on y danse_, _sur le pont d'avignon_ _l'on y danse tout en rond--_ _les belles dames font comm'ã§a_, _et puis encore comm'ã§a._" it is probable that in his gay parisian youth chef had known a good deal about _les belles dames_. he had latterly given much attention to the progress of miss darling's friendship with mr. langham, and that this same progress had received a sharp setback under his very nose concerned him not a little. chef possessed altogether too much currency that had once belonged to that lavish tipper, mr. langham. and chef did not wish mr. langham to be driven from the kitchen and the camp. he wished mr. langham to become a permanent darling asset--like himself and the french range. and so, half singing, half speaking, and furiously bustling, he announced: "i'll show her how little difference she makes. without advice or dictation, practically without supplies of any kind, i shall arrange, _nom de dieu!_ a luncheon which, for pure deliciousness, will not have been surpassed during the entire christian era. i shall hint to her that i tolerate her in my kitchen because i have known her since she was a little girl, but i shall make it clear by words and deeds that her presence or absence is not of the least importance. let her then turn for comfort to the worthy, generous, and rich mr. langham, for whom the mere poaching of an egg is an exquisite pleasure!" and he frowned and began to think formidable and inventive thoughts about matters connected with his craft and immediate needs and necessities. mary darling had, of late, often imagined herself receiving an offer of marriage from mr. langham. that is badly expressed. only the most insufferable and self-sufficient of men make offers of marriage. your true, modest, and chivalrous lover gets down on his real or figurative knees and begs and beseeches. she had, then, often imagined her hand in the act of being besought by mr. langham. being a practical young woman, she had pictured this as happening (repeatedly) at sunset, by moonlight, in the depths of romantic forests or on the tops of romantic mountains. and some voice in her (some very practical voice) told her that it never should have happened in a kitchen. mr. langham's "sweet beseeching", instead of "moving her strangely," had made her rather cross. and such tenderness as she usually had for him had fled to cover. but now, as the clean, green forest closed about her, she had a reaction. she came to a dead stop and realized that she had been through an emotional crisis. her heart was beating as if she had just finished a steep, swift climb. and her heart was aching too, aching for the kind and gentle friend and well-wisher to whom she had been so inexplicably cold and cutting. it was in vain to mourn for that diamond of a heart which she had rejected with so much finality. he had said that he would never "bother" her again (_bother_ her! the idea!), and he never would. he was a man of his word, sam langham was. perhaps, even now he was causing his things to be packed with a view to leaving the camp for ever and a day. but what could she do? could she go to him (in person or by writing) and in his presence eat as much as a single mouthful of humble-pie? no, she could not possibly do that. then, what could she do? well, with the usual negligible results, she could cry her eyes out over the spilt milk. she went swiftly forward, the shadows dappling her as she went, and her heart swelling and swelling with self-pity and general miserableness. thoughts of arthur and his happiness flashed through her mind. the thought that she, mary darling, unmarried, would in the course of a few years be called an old maid, caused her a panicky feeling. she pictured herself as very old (and very ugly), exhibiting improbable chinese dogs at dog-shows and scowling at rosy babies. and i must say she almost laughed. the path turned sharply to the right and disclosed to mary's eyes two young people who stood locked in each other's arms and rocked slightly from side to side--rocked with ineffable delight and tenderness. she stood stock-still, in plain view if they had looked her way, until presently they unlocked arms, drew a little apart, and had a good long look at each other, and then turned their backs upon that part of the forest and departed slowly. whither she was going, mary did not know. but she went very swiftly and had upon her face the expression of a beautiful female commuter who has arrived at the station just in time to see her train pull out. but this expression changed when she found her path blocked by the diminutive house in which sam langham lived, and saw sam langham, a look of wonder on his face, rise from his big piazza chair and come toward her. "lee and renier are going to be married," she exclaimed, all out of breath, "and i didn't mean to be such a brute! and i wouldn't have hurt you for anything in the world!" sam langham only looked at her, for he was afraid to speak. "i'm just an old goose," said mary humbly, but very bravely, "and i take everything back. and if you meant what you said, sam, and want to begin all over again, why, don't just stand there and look at me." and presently she was ashamed of herself for having been so forward, and so she pursued the feelings of shame to their logical conclusion and hid her face. and now, for the first time, she realized how hard she had worked ever since the camp was changed into an inn to make it a go, and how much she needed rest and comforting and a masculine executive to lean on. "who said," murmured the ecstatic langham, "that nothing good ever came of liking good things to eat?" "sam," said mary, "i'm so happy i don't care if lunch is burned to a cinder." it wasn't. out of odds and ends of raw materials, and great slugs and gallons of culinary genius, chef produced a lunch that transcended even mary's and langham's belief in him. but it was arthur who insisted that champagne be opened; and perhaps the champagne made the lunch seem even more delicious than it really was. maud and eve had already discounted arthur's engagement and lee's. they had not, it is true, learned of the latter without feeling that if they didn't hurry they would miss their train; but they had disguised and fought off that feeling until now they were their gay and natural selves. it remained for mr. langham to shock them suddenly into a new set of emotions. "i should be obliged," said he, rising to his feet, with a glass of champagne in his hand, "if everybody would drink the health of the happiest man present." arthur and renier looked very self-conscious. but mr. langham concluded: "and that man is myself. i have the honor to announce that, beyond peradventure, the loveliest and sweetest girl in all the world----" and at that mary blushed so and looked so happy and beautiful that everybody shouted with joy and surprise and laughter, and drank champagne, and tossed compliments about like shuttlecocks. and arthur and renier and langham had a violent dispute as to which was the happiest; and decided to settle the dispute with sabres at--twenty paces. her first burst of surprise and excitement and pleasure having passed, eve darling experienced a sudden sinking feeling. she felt as if all the people she most loved to be with were going away on a delightful excursion and that she was being left behind. it was at this moment, while the uproar was still at its height, that she heard the shaken voice of mr. bob jonstone in her ear. "how about us?" he demanded. "how about us--what?" she answered. then she felt her hand seized and held in the secret asylum furnished by the table-cloth, and there stole over her the solaceful feeling of having been asked at the last moment to go upon the delightful excursion. "eve?" "eve, darling--is it all right?" "all right." and then up shot mr. jonstone like a projectile from a howitzer, and he cried aloud, his habitual calmness and lazy habit of speech flung to the winds. "you're not the only happy men in the world," he shouted. "i'm happier than the three of you put together, i am! because my darling is the best and most beautiful of all darlings, and if any man dares to gainsay that, let him just step outside with me for five minutes--that's all." colonel meredith's hair bristled like the mane of a fighting terrier. "do you mean to say," he whispered to maud in a sort of savage whisper, "that i've got to swallow that insult without protest?" it was on the tip of maud's tongue to say that she didn't know what he meant. but how could she say that when she knew perfectly well? "only give me the right to answer him," continued the sincere warrior. he rose to his feet. "is it yes--or no?" "it's yes--yes," exclaimed maud and, horrified with herself, she leaned back blushing and full of wonder. "mr. jonstone--mr. bob--jonstone!" cried colonel meredith. mr. jonstone's attention was presently attracted, and he gave his cousin a glittering look. "i'll be only too delighted to step outside with you for five minutes," said colonel meredith. and the cousins glared and glared at each other. but whether or not they were really in earnest, if only for a moment, will never be known; at any rate, each of them appeared suddenly to perceive something comic about the other, and both burst into peals of schoolboy laughter. only gay's happiness seemed a little forced, and her mother's. xxxv gay hardly slept at all. she was at her window half the night asking troubled questions of the stars and of the moon and of the moonlight on the lake. she had not, during the summer, taken her sisters' affairs very seriously, perhaps because she was so seriously engrossed with her own. she had, even in her heart, almost accused them of flirting and carrying on lest time hang heavy on their hands. her own romance she had supposed all along to be real, the others mere reflections of romantic places and situations. but it began to look as if only her own romance had been spurious. it was a long time since she had heard from pritchard. he had told her very simply that he was now the earl of merrivale, and that, as soon as certain things were settled and arranged, he intended to return to america. after that, there had been no word from him of any kind. she tried to comfort herself with the thought that if he was that kind of man--blow hot, blow cold--she was well rid of him, and she failed dismally. a man is in love with a certain girl. he learns that she is vain, gay, extravagant, heartless, and going to marry some other man. does any of this comfort him? not if he is in love with her, it doesn't. not a bit. so gay could say to herself: "he's thoughtless and inconstant, and i'm well out of it!" she could say that, and she did say that, and then she buried her face in her pillow and cried very quietly and very hard. she was up before the sun. it would have taken more than one night of wakefulness and weeping to leave marks upon that lovely face which sudden cold water and the resolution to suffer no more could not erase. but she had not rowed a mile or more before the color in her cheeks was really vivid again and the whites of her eyes showed no traces of tears. she did not know why she was rowing or whither. it was as if some strong hand had forced her from bed before sunrise, forced her into her fishing-clothes, forced her into a guide boat, placed oars in her hands, and compelled her to row. she even smiled, wondering where she was going. "i can go anywhere i like," she thought; "but i don't want to go anywhere in particular, and yet i am quite obviously on my way to somewhere or other. i'm like alice in wonderland. i think i'll go to carrytown and get the morning mail." but she had no sooner beached toward carrytown than the distance there seemed unutterably long, especially for a rower who had yet to breakfast. "i know," thought gay at last; "i'll row to placid brook and see if the big trout is still feeding in his private preserve. i'll land just where we did before and cross the meadow and spy on him from behind a bush. i wish i'd brought some tackle. i'd like to catch him and cook him for my breakfast--so i would!" upon this resolution, the work of rowing became very light. it was as if the force which had started her upon the excursion had had placid brook in mind all the time. having laid her course for the meadow at the mouth of placid brook, she kept the stern of the boat in direct line with a distant mountain-top, and so held it. the sun was now peeping over the rim of the world, and here and there morning breezes were darkening and dappling the burnished surface of the lake. now and then, as she neared the meadow, gay glanced over her shoulder, once for quite a long time, resting on her oars, because she thought she saw a doe with a fawn. they turned out to be nothing more tender than a couple of granite rocks. and once again she rested on her oars and looked for a long time--not this time upon the strength of a hallucination, but of an impulse. she followed this inconsequential act with a long sigh, and enough strokes of the oar to bring her to land. when she stood upright on the meadow she could see the very spot from which pritchard had cast for the big trout. and she saw (and had a curious dilating of the heart at the same moment) that that particular spot of meadow was once more occupied by a human being--or were her eyes and her breakfastless stomach playing tricks? a young man in rusty meadow-colored clothes appeared to be kneeling with his back toward her. she advanced swiftly toward him, curious only of a great wonder and an indescribable (and possibly fatal) beating of her heart. and suddenly she knew that her man was real and no hallucination, for she perceived at her feet the stub of a turkish cigarette, still smoking. then she called to him: "halloo, there!" the earl of merrivale started as if he had been shot at, then leaped to his feet and turned toward her with a cry of joy. "what are you doing here?" he cried. and they had approached to within touching distance of each other. "i don't know," she said. "what are you?" "it was too early to pay calls," he said, "so i thought i'd have one more whack at the big char and bring him to you for a present. but tell me--does our bet still stand?" he looked at her so tenderly and lovingly and hopefully that she hadn't the heart to be anything but tender and loving herself. "the bet still stands," she said, "if you win. i've missed you terribly." "i took him," said the earl. "i was just weighing him when you called. he weighs a lot more than three pounds. so i win." "yes, you win." "and the bet still stands?" she nodded happily. "and you won't renege--you'll pay? you'll be countess of merrivale?" "if you want me to be," she said humbly. "if i want you to be!" and she had imagined herself so often in his arms that she was not now surprised or troubled to find herself there. "i was so unhappy," she said; "and now i'm so happy." and after a little while she said: "i'd like to see him." presently they stood looking down at the great trout. "he's done a lot for us, hasn't he?" said gay. "he was the beginning of things. and it seems sort of a pity----" "he's still breathing. he'll live if we put him back. shall we?" "yes, please." there was plenty of life and fight in the old trout. he no sooner felt that water was somewhere under him than he gave a triumphant, indignant flop, tore himself from merrivale's hands, and disappeared with a splendid, smacking splash. "good old boy!" laughed merrivale. "and yet," said gay, "it's a pity that we couldn't take him back to camp and show him off. he was the biggest trout i ever saw." "he wasn't a trout, dear," said merrivale; and he grinned lovingly at her. "he was a char." "of course he was," said gay humbly; "i forgot." xxxvi i wish i could write first, "the seven darlings lived happily ever afterward," and then the word "finis." but i cannot end so easily and maintain a reputation for veracity. they can't have lived happily afterward until they are dead--can they? at the moment they have just closed the camp after the summer and scattered to their winter homes; that is, all of them except gay. the camp, of course, is no longer an inn. they run it on joint account for themselves and for their friends. and they have delightful times. colonel meredith has built a tremendous house on his ancestral acres, and during the winter arthur and his wife, the herrings, the reniers, the jonstones, and the langhams are apt to make it their headquarters. gay and her young man were to have visited the merediths this winter. there was going to be a united family effort to discover the buried silver which mr. bob jonstone sold to his cousin, but of course the great war has upset this excellent plan, together with a good many million other plans, even more excellent and important. the earl of merrivale is fighting somewhere in the wet ditches--gay doesn't know exactly where. she herself, a red cross on her sleeve, is with one of the field-hospitals, working like a slave to save life. because her husband is an englishman, she didn't think that she could ever be kind to a german or an austrian, but that turned out to be a whopping big error of judgment. they all look alike to her now, and her heart almost breaks over them. but i don't know what will become of her if anything happens to merrivale. i think poor little gay would just curl up and die. he is all the world to her, just as she is to him. well, they are only one loving couple out of a good many hundred thousands. the times are too momentous to follow them further or waste words and sympathy on them. the world is thinking in big figures, not in units. only a sentimentalist here and there regards as more important than empire and riches the little love-affairs that death is hourly ending, and the little babies who are never to be born. provided by the internet archive silas strong, emperor of the woods by irving bacheller new york and london harper and brothers publishers 1906 [illustration: 0001] [illustration: 0004] [illustration: 0005] to my friend the late archer brown in memory of summer days when we wandered far and sat down to rest by springs and brooks in the doomed empire of strong and talked of saving it and of better times and knew not they were impossible. some of the people of these pages, when the author endeavored to regulate their conduct according to well-known rules of literary construction, declared themselves free and independent. when, urged by him, they tried to speak and act in the fashion of most novels, they laughed, and seemed to be ashamed of themselves, and with good reason. they are slow, stubborn, modest, shy, and used to the open. not for them are the narrow stage, the swift action, the fine-wrought chain of artful incident that characterize a modern romance. of late authors have succeeded rather well in turning people into animals and animals into people. why not, if one's art can perform miracles? this book aims not to emulate or amend the work of the creator. its people are just folks of a very old pattern, its animals rather common and of small attainments. it is in no sense a literary performance. it pretends to be nothing more than a simple account of one summer's life, pretty much as it was lived, in a part of the adirondacks. it goes on about as things happen there, with a leisurely pace, like that of the woods lover on a trail who may be halted by nothing more than a flower or a bird-song. one day follows another in the old fashion of those places where men go for rest and avarice quits them with bloody spurs and they forget the calendar and measure time on the dial of the heavens. the book has one high ambition. it has tried to tell the sad story of the wilderness itself--to show, from the woodsman's view-point, the play of great forces which have been tearing down his home and turning it into the flesh and bone of cities. were it to cause any reader to value what remains of the forest above its market-price and to do his part in checking the greed of the saws, it would be worth while--bad as it is. silas strong i the song of the saws began long ago at the mouths of the rivers. slowly the axes gnawed their way southward, and the ominous, prophetic chant followed them. men seemed to goad the rivers to increase their speed. they caught and held and harnessed them as if they had been horses and drove them into flumes and leaped them over dams and pulled and hauled and baffled them until they broke away with the power of madness in their rush. but, even then, the current of the rivers would not do; the current of thunderbolts could not have whirled the wheels with speed enough. now steam bursts upon the piston-head with the power of a hundred horses. the hungry steel races through columns of pine as if they were soft as butter and its' bass note booms night and day to the heavens. hear it now. the burden of that old song is m-o-r-e, m-o-r-e, m-o-r-e! it is doleful music, god knows, but, mind you, it voices the need of the growing land. it sings of the doom of the woods. it may be heard all along the crumbling edge of the wilderness from maine to minnesota. day by day hammers beat time while the saws continue their epic chorus. there are towers and spires and domes and high walls where, in our boyhood, there were only trees far older than the century, and these rivers that flow north go naked in open fields for half their journey. every spring miles of timber come plunging over cataracts and rushing through rapids and crowding into slow water on its way to the saws. there a shaft of pine which has been a hundred years getting its girth is ripped into slices and scattered upon the stack in a minute. a new river, the rushing, steam-driven river of steel, bears it away to the growing cities. silas strong once wrote in his old memorandum-book these words: "strong says to himself seems so the world was goin' to be peeled an' hollered out an' weighed an' measured an' sold till it's all et up like an apple." on the smooth shore of the river below raquette falls, and within twenty rods of his great mill, lived a man of the name of gordon with two motherless children. pity about him! married a daughter of "bill" strong up in the woods--an excellent woman--made money and wasted it and went far to the bad. good fellow, drink, poker, and so on down the hill! his wife died leaving two children--blue-eyed little people with curly, flaxen hair--a boy of four a girl of nearly three years. the boy's full name was john socksmith gordon--reduced in familiar parlance to socky. the girl was baptized susan bradbury gordon, but was called sue. their uncle silas strong came to the funeral of their mother. he had travelled more than eighty miles in twenty-four-hours, his boat now above and now beneath him. he brought his dog and rifle, and wore a great steel watch-chain and a pair of moccasins w with fringe on the sides, and a wolf-skin jacket. he carried the children on his shoulders and tossed them in the air, while his great size and odd attire seemed to lay hold of their spirits. as time passed, a halo of romantic splendor gathered about this uncle's memory. one day socky heard him referred to as the "emperor of the woods." he was not long finding out that an emperor was a very grand person who wore gold on his head and shoulders and rode a fine horse and was always ready for a fight. so their ideal gathered power and richness, one might say, the longer he lived in their fancy. they loved their father, but as a hero he had not been a great success. there was a time when both had entertained some hope for him, but as they saw how frequently he grew "tired" they gave their devotion more and more to this beloved memory. their uncle's home was remote from theirs, and so his power over them had never been broken by familiarity. socky and sue told their young friends all they had been able to learn of their uncle silas, and, being pressed for more knowledge, had recourse to invention. stories which their father had told grew into wonder-tales of the riches, the strength, the splendor, and the general destructive power of this great man. sue, the first day she went to sunday-school, when the minister inquired who slew a lion by the strength of his hands, confidently answered, "uncle silas." there was one girl in the village who had an uncle phil with a fine air of authority and a wonderful watch and chain; there was yet another with an uncle henry, who enjoyed the distinction of having had the small-pox; there was a boy, also, who had an uncle reuben with a wooden leg and a remarkable history, and a wen beside his nose with a wart on the same. but these were familiar figures, and while each had merits of no low degree, their advocates were soon put to shame by the charms of that mysterious and remote uncle silas. there was a little nook in the lumber-yard where children used to meet every saturday for play and free discussion. there, now and then, some new-comer entered an uncle in the competition. there, always, a primitive pride of blood asserted itself in the remote descendants, shall we say, of many an ancient lord and chieftain. one day--sue was then five and socky six years of age--lizzie cornell put a cousin on exhibit in this little theatre of childhood. he was a boy with red hair and superior invention from out of town. he stood near lizzie--a deep and designing miss--and said not a word, until sue began about her uncle silas. it was a new tale of that remarkable hunter which her father had related the night before while she lay waiting for the sandman. she told how her uncle had seen a panther one day when he was travelling without a gun. his dog chased the panther and soon drove him up a tree. now, it seemed, the only thing in the nature of a weapon the hunter had with him was a piece of new rope for his canoe. after a moment's reflection the great man climbed the tree and threw a noose over the panther's neck while his faithful dog was barking below. then the cute uncle silas made his rope fast to a limb and shook the tree so that when the panther jumped for the ground he hung himself. to most of those who heard the narrative it seemed to be a rather creditable exploit, showing, as it did, a shrewdness and ready courage of no mean order on the part of uncle silas. murmurs of glad approval were hushed, however, by the voice of the red-headed boy. "pooh! that's nothing," said he, with contempt. "my uncle mose chased a panther once an' overtook him and ketched him by the tail an' fetched his head agin a tree, quick as a flash, an' knocked his brains out." his words ran glibly and showed an off-hand mastery of panthers quite unequalled. here was an uncle of marked superiority and promise. there was a moment of silence in the crowd. "if ye don't believe it," said the red-headed boy, "i can show ye a vest my mother made out o' the skin." that was conclusive. sue blushed for shame and looked into the face of socky. her mouth drooped a little and her under lip trembled with anxiety. doubt, thoughtfulness, and confusion were on the face of her brother. he scraped the sand with his foot. he felt that he had sometimes stretched the truth a little, but this--this went beyond his capacity for invention. "don't believe it," he whispered, with half a sneer as he glanced down at sue. lizzie cornell began to titter. all eyes were fixed upon the unhappy pair as if to say, "how about your uncle silas now?" the populace, deserting the standard of the old king, gathered in front of the red-headed boy and began to inquire into the merits of uncle mose. socky and sue hesitated. curiosity struggled with resentment. slowly and thoughtfully they walked away. for a moment neither spoke. soon a cheering thought came into the mind of sue. "maybe uncle silas has ketched a panther by the tail, too," said she, hopefully. socky, his hands in his pockets, looked down with a dazed expression. "i'm going to ask father," said he, thoughtfully. it was now late in the afternoon. they went home and sat in silence on the veranda, watching for their father. the old frenchwoman who kept house for him tried to coax them in, but they would make no words with her. long they sat there looking wistfully down the river-bank. presently sue hauled out of her pocket a tiny rag doll which she carried for casual use. it came handy in moments of loneliness and despair outside the house. she toyed with its garments, humming in a motherly fashion. it was nearly dark when they saw their father staggering homeward according to his habit. they knew not yet the meaning of that wavering walk. "there he comes!" said socky, as they both ran to meet him. "he can't carry us to-night. he's awful tired." they thought him "tired." they kissed him and took his hands in theirs, and led him into the house. stern and silent he sat down beside them at the supper-table. the children were also silent and sober-faced from intuitive sympathy. they could not yet introduce the topic which weighed upon them. socky looked at his father. for the first time he noted that his clothes were shabby; he knew that a few days before his father had lost his watch. the boy stole away from the table, and went to his little trunk and brought the sacred thing which his teacher had given him christmas day--a cheap watch that told time with a noisy and inspiring tick. he laid it down by his father's plate. "there," said he, "i'm going to let you wear my watch." it was one of those deep thrusts which only the hand of innocence can administer. richard gordon took the watch in his hand and sat a moment looking down. the boy manfully resumed his chair. "it don't look very well for you to be going around without a watch," he remarked, taking up his piece of bread and butter. his father put the watch in his pocket. "you can let me wear it sundays," the boy added. "you won't need it sundays." a smile overspread the man's face. the children, quick to see their opportunity, approached him on either side. sue put her arms around the neck of her father and kissed him. "tell us a story about uncle silas," she pleaded. "uncle silas!" he exclaimed. "we're all going to see him in a few days." the children were mute with surprise. sue's little doll dropped from her hands to the floor. her face changed color and she turned quickly, with a loud cry, and drummed on the table so that the dishes rattled. socky leaned over the back of a chair and shook his head, and gave his feet a fling and then recovered his dignity. "now don't get excited," remarked their father. they ran out of the room, and stood laughing and whispering together for a moment. then they rushed back. "when are we going?" the boy inquired. "in a day or two," said gordon, who still sat drinking his tea. sue ran to tell aunt marie, the housekeeper, and socky sat in his little rocking-chair for a moment of sober thought. "look here, old chap," said gordon, who was wont to apply the terms of mature good-fellowship to his little son. socky came and stood by the side of his father. "you an' i have been friends for some time, haven't we?" was the strange and half-maudlin query which gordon put to his son. the boy smiled and came nearer. "an' i've always treated ye right--ain't i? answer me." "yes, sir." "well, folks say you're neglected an' that you don't have decent clothes an' that you might as well have no father at all. now, old boy, i'm going to tell you the truth; i'm broke--failed in business, an' have had to give up. understand me; i haven't a cent in the world." the man smote his empty pocket suggestively. the boy was now deeply serious. not able to comprehend the full purport of his father's words, he saw something in the face before him which began to hurt. his lower lip trembled a little. "don't worry, old friend," said gordon, clapping him on the shoulder. just then sue came running back. "say," said she, climbing on a round of her father's chair, "did uncle silas ever ketch a panther by the tail?" the children held their breaths waiting for the answer. "ketch a panther by the tail!" their father exclaimed. "whatever put that in your head?" sue answered with some show of excitement. her words came fast. "lizzie cornell's cousin he said that his uncle mose had ketched a panther by the tail an' knocked his brains out." their father smiled again. "that kind o' floored ye, didn't it, old girl?" said he, with a kiss. "le's see," he continued, drawing the children close on either side of him. "i don' know as he ever ketched a panther by the tail, but i'll tell ye what he did do. one day when he hadn't any gun with him he come acrost a big bear, an' uncle sile fetched him a cuff with his fist an' broke the bear's neck, an' then he brought him home on his back an' et him for dinner." "oh!" the girl exclaimed, her mouth and eyes wide open. socky whistled a shrill note of surprise and thankfulness. then he clucked after the manner of one starting his horse. "my stars!" he exclaimed, and so saying he skipped across the floor and brought his fist down heavily upon the lounge. uncle silas had been saved--plucked, as it were, from the very jaws of obscurity. when they were ready to get into bed the children knelt as usual before old aunt marie, the housekeeper. sue ventured to add a sentence to her prayer. "god bless uncle silas," said she, "and make him very--very----" the girl hesitated, trying to find the right word. "powerful," her brother suggested, still in the attitude of devotion. "powerful," repeated sue, in a trembling voice, and then added: "for christ's sake. amen." they lay a long time discussing what they should say and do when at last they were come into the presence of the great man. suddenly a notion entered the mind of socky that, in order to keep the favor of fortune, he must rise and clap his hand three times upon the round top of the posts at the foot of the bed. accordingly he rose and satisfied this truly pagan impulse. then he repeated the story of his uncle and the bear over and over again, pausing thoughtfully at the point of severest action and adding a little color to heighten the effect. here and there sue prompted him, and details arose which seemed to merit careful consideration. "i wouldn't wonder but what uncle silas must 'a' spit on his hand before he struck the bear," said socky, remembering how strong men often prepared themselves for a difficult undertaking. when the story had been amplified, in a generous degree, and well committed to memory, they began to talk of lizzie cornell and her cousin, the red-headed boy, and planned how they would seek them out next day and defy them with the last great achievement of their uncle silas. "he's a nasty thing," the girl exclaimed, suddenly. "i feel kind o' sorry for him," said socky, with a sigh. "why?" "cos he thinks his uncle beats the world an' he ain't nowhere." "maybe he'll want to fight," said sue. "then i'll fetch him a cuff." "s'pose you was to break his neck?" "i'll hit him in the breast," said socky, thoughtfully, feeling his muscle. sue soon fell asleep, but socky lay thinking about his father. he had crossed the edge of the beginning of trouble. he thought of those words--and of a certain look which accompanied them--"i haven't got a cent in the world." what did they mean? he could only judge from experience--from moments when he had stood looking through glass windows and showcases at things which had tempted him and which he had not been able to enjoy. oh, the bitter pain of it! must his father endure that kind of thing? he lay for a few moments weeping silently. all at once the thought of his little bank came to him. it was nearly full of pennies. he rose in bed and listened. the room was dark, but he could hear aunt marie at work in the kitchen. that gave him courage, and he crept stealthily out of bed and went to his trunk and felt for the little square house of painted tin with a slot in the chimney. it lay beneath his sunday clothes, and he raised and gently shook it. he could hear that familiar and pleasant sound of the coin. meanwhile his father had been sitting alone. for weeks he had been rapidly going downhill. his friends had all turned against him. he had been fairly stoned with reproaches. he could see only trouble behind, disgrace before, and despair on either side. he held a revolver in his hand. a child's voice rang out in the silence, calling "father." gordon leaned forward upon the table. he began to be conscious of things beyond himself. he heard the great mill-saw roaring in the still night; he heard the tick of the clock near him. suddenly his little son peered through the halfopen door. "father," socky whispered. gordon started from his chair, and, seeing the boy, sat down again. socky was near crying but restrained himself. without a word he deposited his bank on the table. it was a moment of solemn renunciation. he was like one before the altar giving up the vanities of the world. he looked soberly at his father and said, "i'm going to give you all my money." gordon said not a word and there was a moment of silence. "more than a dollar in it," the boy suggested, proudly. still his father sat resting his head upon his hand in silence while he seemed to be trying the point of a pen. "you may give me five cents if you've a mind to when you open it," socky added. gordon turned slowly and kissed the forehead of his little son. the boy put his arms around the neck of his father and begged him to come and lie upon the bed and tell a story. so it happened the current of ruin was turned aside--the heat-oppressed brain diverted from its purpose. for as the man lay beside his children he began to think of them and less of himself. "i cannot leave them," he concluded. "when i go i shall take them with me." in the long, still hours he lay thinking. the south wind began to stir the pines, and cool air from out of the wild country came through an open window. fathoms of dusty, dead air which had hung for weeks over the valley, growing hotter and more oppressive in the burning sunlight, moved away. a cloud passing northward flung a sprinkle of rain upon the broad, smoky flats and was drained before it reached the great river. all who were sick and weary felt the ineffable healing of the woodland breeze. it soothed the aching brain of the mill-owner and slackened the ruinous toil of his thoughts. gordon slept soundly for the first time in almost a month. ii next morning gordon felt better. he began even to consider what he could do to mend his life. the children got ready for sunday-school and were on their way to church an hour ahead of time. sue, in her white dress and pretty bonnet, walked with a self-conscious, don't-touch-me air. socky, in his little sailor suit, had the downward eye of meditation. each carried a testament and looked neither to right nor left. they hurried as if eager for spiritual refreshment. they were, however, like the veriest barbarians setting out with spears and arrows in quest of revenge. they were thinking of lizzie cornell and that boy of the red head and the doomed uncle. socky's lips moved silently as he hurried. one might have inferred that he was repeating his golden text. such an inference would have been far from the truth. he was, in fact, tightening the grasp of memory on those inspiring words: "an' uncle sile fetched him a cuff with his fist an' broke the bear's neck, an' then he brought him home on his back an' et him for dinner." they joined a group of children who were sitting on the steps of the old church. their hearts beat fast when they saw lizzie coming with her cousin, the red-headed boy. a number went forth to meet the two. "tell us the badger story," said they to the red-headed boy. "pooh! that ain't much," he answered, modestly. "please tell us," they insisted. "wal, one day my uncle mose see a side-hill badger--" "what's a side-hill badger?" a voice interrupted. "an animal what lives on a hill, an' has legs longer on one side than on t 'other, so 't he can run round the side of it," said he, glibly, and with a look of pity for such ignorance. "go on with the story," said another voice. "my uncle mose sat an' watched one day up in the limb of a tree above the hole of a badger. by-an'-by an ol' he badger come out, an' my uncle dropped onto his back, an' rode him round an' round the hill 'til he was jes' tuckered out. then uncle mose put a rope on his neck an' tied him to a tree, an' the ol' badger dug an' dug until they was a hole in the ground so big you could put a house in it. an' my uncle he got an idee, an' so one day he fetched him out to south colton an' learnt him how to dig wells an' cellars, an' bym-by the ol' badger could earn more money than a hired man." "shucks!" said socky, turning upon his adversary with sneering, studied scorn. "that's nothing!" then proudly stepping forward, he flung the latest exploit of his uncle silas into the freckled face of the red-headed boy. it stunned the able advocate of old moses leonard--a mighty hunter in his time--and there fell a moment of silence followed by murmurs of applause. the little barbarian--lizzie cornell--had begun to scent the battle and stood sharpening an arrow. "it's a lie," said the red-headed boy, recovering the power of speech. "his father's a thief an' a drunkard, anyway." that was the arrow of lizzie cornell. socky had raised his fists to vindicate his honor, when, hearing the remark about his father, he turned quickly upon the girl who made it. what manner of rebuke he would have administered, history is unable to record. the minister had come. the children began to scatter. lizzie and her red-headed cousin ran around the church. socky and sue stood with angry faces. suddenly socky leaned upon the church door and burst into tears. he dimly comprehended the disgrace which lizzie had sought to put upon him. the minister could not persuade him to enter the church or to explain the nature of his trouble. when all had gone into sunday-school, the boy turned, wiping his eyes. sue stood beside him, a portrait of despair. "le's go home an' tell our father," said she. they started slowly, but as their indignation grew their feet hurried. neither spoke in the long journey to their door. they ran through the hall and rushed in upon their father who sat reading. "oh, father!" said the girl, in excited tones; "lizzie cornell says you're a thief an' a drunkard." gordon rose and turned pale. the hands and voices of the children were ever raised against him. "it's a lie!" said he, turning away. he stood a moment looking out of the window. he must take them to some lonely part of the wilderness and there make an end of his trouble and of theirs. he turned to the children, saying, "right after dinner we'll start for the woods." so it befell that in the afternoon of a sunday late in june, socky and sue, with all their effects in a pack-basket, and their father beside them, started in a spring-wagon over the broad, stony terraces that lift southward into thickening woods, on their way to great peril. and so, too, it befell that in leaving home and the tearful face of dear aunt marie, they were sustained by a thought of that good and mighty man whom they hoped soon to see--their uncle silas. iii. the day was hot and still. slowly they mounted the foot-hills between meadows aglow with color. the country seemed to flow ever downward past their sleepy eyes on its way to the great valley. the daisies were like white foam on the slow cascade of bowman's hill, and there were masses of red and yellow which appeared to be drifting on the flats. a driver sat on the front seat, and gordon behind with socky and sue. the little folk chattered together and wearied their father with queries about birds and beasts. by-and-by the girl grew silent, her chin sank upon her breast, and her head began to shake and sway as their wagon clattered over the rough road. in a moment socky's head was nodding also, and the feet of both swung limp below the wagon-seat. they had seemed to sink and rise and struggle and cry out in the silence, and were now as those drowned beneath it. gordon drew them towards him and lifted their legs upon the cushioned wagon-seat. he sat thinking as they rode. they had been hard on him--those creditors. he had not meant to steal, but only to borrow that small sum which he had taken out of the business in order to feed and clothe the children who lay beside him. true, some dollars of it had gone to buy oblivion--a few hours of unearned, of unholy relief. how else, thought he, could he have stood the reproaches of brutal men? they arrived at tupper's mill late in the afternoon. there gordon found a canoe and made ready. at this point the river turned like a scared horse and ran east by south, around tup-per ridge, in a wide loop, and, as if doubting its way, slackened pace, and, wavering right and left, moved slowly into the shade of the forest, and then, as if reassured, went on at a full gallop, leaping over the cliff at fiddler's falls. below, it turned to the north, and, seeming to see its way at last, grew calm and crossed the flats wearily, covered with foam. socky woke and rubbed his eyes when he and his sister were taken out of the wagon. sue continued to sleep, although carried like a sack of meal under the arm of the driver and silas strong laid amidships on a blanket. mr. tupper, the mill man, gave them a piece of meat which, out of courtesy to the law, he called "mountain lamb." with pack aboard and socky on a blanket in the bow, gordon pushed his canoe into the current. all who journeyed to the lost river country from the neighborhood of hillsborough arrived at tupper's late in the afternoon. there, generally, they took canoe and paddled six miles to a log inn at the head of the still water. but as gordon started from tupper's mill down stream he had in mind a destination not on any map of this world. socky sat facing him, a little hand on either gunwale. socky had thought often that day of the incident of the night before and of his father's poverty. now he looked him over from head to foot. he saw the little steel chain fastened to his father's waistcoat and leading into the pocket where he knew that his own watch lay hidden. the look of it gave him a feeling of great virtue and satisfaction. "father, will you please tell me what time it is?" he inquired. gordon removed the watch from his pocket. "half-past six. we've got to push on." it was fine to see that watch in his father's hand. "i'm going to give it to you," said the boy, soberly. "you can wear it sundays an' every day." gordon looked into the eyes of his son. he saw there the white soul of the little traveller just entering upon the world. "i'm going to buy you some new clothes, too," said socky, now overflowing with generosity. "where'll you get the money?" "from my uncle silas." after a few moments socky added, "if i was lizzie cornell's father i'd give her a good whipping." they rode in silence awhile, and soon the boy lay back on his blanket looking up at the sky. "father," said he, presently. "what?" "i'm good to you, ain't i?" "very." there was a moment of silence, and then the boy added, "i love you." those words gave the man a new sense of comfort. if he could have done so he would have embraced his son and covered his face with kisses. the sun had sunk low and they were entering the edge of the night and the woodland. soon the boy fell asleep. the silence of the illimitable sky seemed to be flooding down and delightful sounds were drifting on its current. they had passed the inn, long ago and walls of fir and pine were on either side of them. gordon put into a deep cove, stopping under the pine-trees with his bow on a sand-bar. then he let himself down, stretching his legs on the canoe bottom and lying back on his blanket. for a long time he lay there thinking. he had been a man of some refinement, and nature had punished him, after an old fashion, for the abuse of it with extreme sensitiveness. he had come to the adirondacks from a new england city and married and gone into business. at first he had prospered, and then he had begun to go down. he had been a lover of music and a reader of the poets. as he lay thinking in the early dusk he heard the notes of the wood-thrush. that bird was like a welcoming trumpeter before the gate of a palace; it bade him be at home. above all he could hear the water song of fiddler's falls--the tremulous, organ bass of rock caverns upon which the river drummed as it fell, the chorus of the on-rushing stream and great overtones in the timber. sound and rhythm seemed to be full of that familiar strain--so like a solemn warning: [illustration: 0038] a long time he sat hearing it. he began to feel ashamed of his folly and awakened to the inspiration of a new purpose. he rose and looked about him. when you enter a house you begin to feel the heart of its owner. something in the walls and furnishings, something in the air--is it a vibration which dead things have gathered from the living?--bids you welcome or warns you to depart. it is the true voice of the master. as gordon came into the wilderness he felt like one returning to his father's house. in this great castle the heart of its master seemed to speak to him with a tenderness fatherly and unmistakable. a subtle force like that we find in houses built with hands now bade him welcome. "lie down and rest, my son," it seemed to say. "let not your heart be troubled. here in your father's house are forgiveness and plenty." he put away the thought of death. he covered the sleeping boy and girl, pushed his canoe forward upon the sand, and lying back comfortably soon fell asleep. he awoke refreshed at sunrise. the great, green fountain of life, in the midst of which he had rested, now seemed to fill his heart with its uplifting joy and energy and persistence. he built a fire under the trees and broiled the meat and made toast and coffee. he lifted the children in his arms and kissed them with unusual tenderness. "to-day we'll see uncle silas," gordon assured them. "my uncle silas!" said the boy, fondly. "he's mine, too," sue declared. "he's both of our'n," socky allowed, as they began to eat their breakfast. iv silas strong, or "panther sile," as the hunters called him, spent every winter in the little forest hamlet of pitkin and every summer in the woods. lawrence county was the world, and game, wood, and huckleberries the fulness thereof; all beyond was like the reaches of space unexplored and mysterious. god was only a word--one may almost say--and mostly part of a compound adjective; hell was ogdensburg, to which he had once journeyed; and the devil was colonel jedson. this latter opinion, it should be said, grew out of an hour in which the colonel had bullied him in the witness-chair, and not to any lasting resemblance. as to ogdensburg itself, the hunter had based his judgment upon evidence which, to say the least, was inconclusive. when sile and the city first met, they regarded each other with extreme curiosity. a famous hunter, as he moved along the street with rifle, pack, and panther-skin, sile was trying to see everything, and everything seemed to be trying to see sile. the city was amused while the watchful eye of silas grew weary and his bosom filled with distrust. one tipsy man offered him a jack-knife as a compliment to the length of his nose, and before he could escape a new acquaintance had wrongfully borrowed his watch. his conclusions regarding the city were now fully formed. he broke with it suddenly, and struck out across country and tramped sixty miles without a rest. ever after the thought of ogdensburg revived memories of confusion, headache, and irreparable loss. so, it is said, when he heard the minister describing hell one sunday at the little school-house in pitkin, he had no doubt either of its existence or its location. all this, however, relates to antecedent years of our history--years which may not be wholly neglected if one is to understand what follows them. after the death of his sister--the late mrs. gordon--strong began to read his bible and to cut his trails of thought further and further towards his final destination. a deeper reverence and a more correct notion of the devil rewarded his labor. it must be added that his meditations led him to one remarkable conclusion--namely, that all women were angels. his parents had left him nothing save a maiden sister named cynthia, and characterized by some as "a reg'lar human panther." "wherever sile is they's panthers," said a guide once, in the little store at pitkin. "don't make no dif'er'nce whuther he's t' home er in the woods," said another, solemnly. that was when god owned the wilderness and kept there a goodly number of his big cats, four of which had fallen before the rifle of strong. cynthia, in his view, had a special sanctity, but there was another woman whom he regarded with great tenderness--a cheery-faced maiden lady of his own age and of the name of annette. to silas she was always lady ann. he gave her this title without any thought or knowledge of foreign customs. "miss roice" would have been too formal, and "ann" or "annette" would have been too familiar. "lady ann" seemed to have the proper ring of respect, familiarity, and distinction. in his view a "lady" was a creature as near perfection as anything could be in this world. when a girl of eighteen she had taught in the log school-house. since the death of her mother the care of the little home had fallen upon her. she was a well-fed, cheerful, and comely creature with a genius for housekeeping. june had come, and silas was getting ready to go into camp. there was no longer any peace for him in the clearing. the odor of the forest and the sight of the new leaves gave him no rest. had he not heard in his dreams the splash of leaping trout, and deer playing in the lily-pads? in the midst of his preparations, although a silent man, the tumult of joy in his breast came pouring out in the whistled refrain of "yankee doodle." it was a general and not a special sense of satisfaction which caused him to shake with laughter now and then as he made his way along the rough road. sometimes he rubbed his long nose thoughtfully. a nature-loving publisher, who often visited his camp, had printed some cards for him. they bore these modest words: s. strong guide and contriver he was able in either capacity, but his great gift lay in tongue control--in his management of silence. he was what they called in that country "a one-word man." the phrase indicated that he was wont to express himself with all possible brevity. he never used more than one word if that could be made to satisfy the demands of politeness and perspicacity. even though provocation might lift his feeling to high degrees of intensity, and well beyond the pale of christian sentiment, he was never profuse. his oaths would often hiss and hang fire a little, but they were in the end as brief and emphatic as the crack of a rifle. this trait of brevity was due, in some degree, to the fact that he stammered slightly, especially in moments of excitement, but more to his life in the silence of the deep woods. silas strong had filled his great pack at the store and was nearing his winter home--a rude log-house in the little forest hamlet. he let the basket down from his broad back to the doorstep. his sister cynthia, small, slim, sternfaced, black-eyed, heart and fancy free, stood looking down at him. "wal, what now?" she demanded, in a voice not unlike that of a pea-hen. "t'-t'-morrer," he stammered, in a loud and cheerful tone. "what time to-morrer?" "d-daylight." "i knew it," she snapped, sinking into a chair, the broom in her hands, and a woful look upon her. "you've got t' hankerin'." silas said nothing, but entered the house and took a drink of water. cynthia snapped: "if i wanted t' marry net roice i'd marry 'er an' not be dilly-dallyin' all my life." cynthia was now fifty years of age, and regarded with a stern eye every act of man which bore any suggestion of dilly-dallying. "ain't g-good'nough," he stammered, calmly. "you're fool 'nough," she declared, with a twang of ill-nature. "s-supper, mis' strong," said he, stirring the fire. whenever his sister indulged in language of unusual loudness and severity he was wont to address her in a gentle tone as "mis' strong"--the only kind of retaliation to which he resorted. he shortened the "miss" a little, so that his words might almost be recorded as "mi' strong." in those rare and cheerful moments when her mood was more in harmony with his own he called her "sinth" for short. in his letters, which were few, he had addressed her as "deer sinth." she was, therefore, a compound person, consisting of a severe and dissenting character called "mis' strong," and a woman of few words and a look of sickliness and resignation who answered to the pseudonyme of "sinth." born and brought up in the forest, there was much in silas and cynthia that suggested the wild growth of the woodland. their sister--the late mrs. gordon--had beauty and a head for books. she had gone to town and worked for her board and spent a year in the academy. silas and cynthia, on the other hand, were without beauty or learning or refinement, nor had they much understanding of the laws of earth or heaven, save what nature had taught them; but the devotion of this man to that querulous little wild-cat of a sister was remarkable. she was to him a sacred heritage. for love of her he had carried with him these ten years a burden, as it were, of suppressed and yearning affection. silas strong alone might even have been "good enough," in his own estimation, but he accepted "mis' strong" as a kind of flaw in his own character. every june he went to his camp at lost river, taking sinth to cook for him, and returning in the early winter. next day, at sunrise, they were to start for the woods. to-day he helped to get supper, and, having wiped the dishes, put on his best suit, his fine boots, his new felt hat, and walked a mile to the little farm of uncle ben roice. he carried with him a gray squirrel in a cage, and, as he walked, sang in a low voice: "all for the love of a charmin' creature, all for the love of a lady fair." it was like any one of a thousand visits he had made there. annette met him at the door. "why, of all things!" said she. "what have you here?" "c'ris'mus p-present, lady ann," said he. it should be said that with silas a gift was a "christmas present" every day in the year--the cheerful spirit of that time being always with him. he proudly put the cage in her hands. "much obliged to you, sile," said she, laughing. "s-strong's ahead!" he stammered, cheerfully. this indicated that in his fight with the powers of evil strong felt as if he had at least temporary advantage. when, perhaps, after a moment of anger it seemed that the evil one had got the upper hold on him, he was wont to exclaim, "satan's ahead!" but the historian is glad to say that those occasions were, in the main, rare and painful. "strong will never give in," said annette, with laughter. strong's affection was expressed only in signs and tokens. of the former there were his careful preparation for each visit, and many sighs and blushes, and now and then a tender glance of the eye. of tokens there had been many--a tame fox, ten mink-skins, a fawn, a young thrush, a pancake-turner carved out of wood, and other important trifles. for twenty years he had been coming, but never a word of love had passed between them. silas sat in a strong wooden chair. under the sky he never thought of his six feet and two inches of bone and muscle; now it seemed to fill his consciousness and the little room in which he sat. to-day and generally he leaned against the wall, a knee in his hands as if to keep himself in proper restraint. "did you just come to bring me that squirrel?" annette inquired. "no," he answered. "what then?" "squirrel come t' b-bring me." "silas strong!" she exclaimed, playfully, amazed by his frankness. he put his big hand over his face and enjoyed half a minute of silent laughter. "silas strong!" she repeated. "present,"'said he, as if answering the call of the roll, and sobering as he uncovered his face. in conversation silas had a way of partly closing one eye while the other opened wide beneath a lifted brow. the one word of the emperor was inadequate. he was, indeed, present, but he was extremely happy also, a condition which should have been freely acknowledged. it must be said, however, that his features made up in some degree for the idleness of his tongue. he brushed them with a downward movement, of his hand, as if to remove all traces of levity and prepare them for their part in serious conversation. "all w-well?" he inquired, soberly. "eat our allowance," said she, sitting near him. "how's miss strong?" "s-supple!" he answered. then he ran his fingers through his blond hair and soberly exclaimed, "weasels!" this remark indicated that weasels had been killing the poultry and applying stimulation to the tongue of miss strong. silas had sent her fowls away to market the day before. "too bad!" was the remark of lady ann. "fisht?" by this word silas meant to inquire if she had been fishing. "yesterday. over at the falls--caught ten," said she, getting busy with her knitting. "b-big?" "three that long," she answered, measuring with her thread. he gave a loud whistle of surprise, thought a moment, and exclaimed, "m-mountaneyous!" he used this word when contemplating in imagination news of a large and important character. "how have you been?" "stout," he answered, drawing in his breath. annette rose and seemed to go in search of something. the kindly gray eyes of silas strong followed her. a smile lighted up his face. it was a very plain face, but there was yet something fine about it, something which invited confidence and respect. the lady ann entered her own room, and soon returned. "shut yer eyes," said she. "what f-for?" "chris'mas present." silas obeyed, and she thrust three pairs of socks into his coat-pocket. with a smile he drew them out. then a partly smothered laugh burst from his lips, and he held his hand before his face and shook with good feeling. "s-socks!" he exclaimed. "there are two parts of a man which always ought to be kep' warm--his heart an' his feet," said she. silas whacked his knee with his palm and laughed heartily, his wide eye aglow with merriment. his expression quickly turned serious. "b-bears plenty!" he exclaimed, as he felt of the socks and looked them over. this remark indicated that a season of unusual happiness and prosperity had arrived. worked in white yarn at the top of each leg were the words, "remember me." "t-till d-death," he whispered. "with me on your mind an' them on your feet you ought to be happy," said annette. "an' w-warm," he answered, soberly. presently she read aloud to him from the _st. lawrence republican_. "s-some day," said silas, when at last he had risen to go. "some day," she repeated, with a smile. the only sort of engagement between them lay in the two words "some day." they served as an avowal of love and intention. amplified, as it were, by look and tone as well as by the pressure of the hand-clasp, they were understood of both. to-day as annette returned the assurance she playfully patted his cheek, a rare token of her approval. silas left her at the door and made his way down the dark road. he began to give himself some highly pleasing assurances. "s-some day--tall t-talkin'," he stammered, in a whisper, and then he began to laugh silently. "patted my cheek!" he whispered. then he laughed again. at the store he had filled his pack with flour, ham, butter, and like provisions for lost river camp. at annette's he had filled his heart with renewed hope and happiness and was now prepared for the summer. while he walked along he fell to speculating as to whether annette could live under the same roof with cynthia. a hundred times he had considered whether he could ask her, and as usual he concluded, "ca-can't." the hunter had an old memorandum-book which was a kind of storehouse for thought, hope, and reflection. therein he seemed always to regard himself objectively and spoke of strong as if he were quite another person. before going to bed that evening he made these entries: _"june the 23. strong is all mellered up. "snags."_ with him the word "meller" meant to soften, and sometimes, even, to conquer with the club. the word "snags" undoubtedly bore reference to the difficulties that beset his way. v silas and his sister ate their breakfast by candle-light and were off on the trail before sunrise, a small, yellow dog of the name of zeb following. zeb was a bear-dog with a cross-eye and a serious countenance. he was, in the main, a brave but a prudent animal. one day he attacked a bear, which had been stunned by a bullet, and before he could dodge the bear struck him knocking an eye out. strong had put it back, and since that day his dog had borne a cross-eye. zeb had a sense of dignity highly becoming in a creature of his attainments. this morning, however, he scampered up and down the trail, whining with great joy and leaping to lick the hand of his master. "sinth" walked spryly, a little curt in her manner, but passive and resigned. silas carried a heavy pack, a coon in a big cage, and led a fox. when he came to soft places he set the cage down and tethered the fox, and, taking sinth in his arms, carried her as one would carry a baby. having gained better footing, he would let sinth down upon a log or a mossy rock to rest and return for his treasures. after two or three hours of travel the complaining "mis' strong" would appear. "seems so ye take pleasure wearin' me out on these here trails," she would say. "why don't ye walk a little faster?" "w-whoa!" he would answer, cheerfully. "roughlocks!" the roughlock, it should be explained, was a form of brake used by log-haulers to check their bobs on a steep hill. in the conversation of silas it was a cautionary signal meaning hold up and proceed carefully. "you don't care if you do kill me--gallopin' through the woods here jes' like a houn' after a fox. i won't walk another step--not another step." "rur-roughlocks!" he commanded himself, as he tied the fox and set the coon down. "won't ride either," she would declare, with emphasis. "w-wings on, mis' strong?" silas had been known to ask, in a tone of great gentleness. she would be apt to answer, "if i had wings, i'd see the last o' you." then a little time of rest and silence, after which the big, gentle hunter would shoulder his pack and lift in his arms the slender and complaining miss strong and carry her up the long grade of bear mountain. then he would make her comfortable and return for his pets. that day, having gone back for the fox and the coon, he concluded to try the experiment of putting them together. before then he had given the matter a good deal of thought, for if the two were in a single package, as it were, the problem of transportation would be greatly simplified. he could fasten the coon cage on the top of his pack, and so avoid doubling the trail. he led the fox and carried the coon to the point where sinth awaited him. then he removed the chain from the fox's collar, carefully opened the cage, and thrust him in. the swift effort of both animals to find quarter nearly overturned the cage. spits and growls of warning followed one another in quick succession. then each animal braced himself against an end of the cage, indulging, as it would seem, in continuous complaint and recrimination. "y-you behave!" said silas, wamingly, as he put the cage on top of his basket and fastened a stout cord from bars to buckles. "they 'll fight!" sinth exclaimed. "let 'em f-fight," said silas, who had sat down before his pack and adjusted the shoulder-straps. the growling increased as he rose carefully to his feet, and with a swift movement coon and fox exchanged positions. sinth descended the long hill afoot, and silas went on cautiously, a low, continuous murmur of hostile sound rising in the air behind him. each animal seemed to think it necessary to remind the other with every breath he took that he was prepared to defend himself. their enmity was, it would appear, deep and racial. at cedar swamp, in the flat below, the big hunter took sinth in his arms. then the sound of menace and complaint rose before and behind him. slowly he proceeded, his feet sinking deep in the wet moss. stepping on hummocks in a dead creek, he slipped and fell. the little animals were flung about like shot in a bottle. each seemed to hold the other responsible for his discomfiture. they came together in deadly conflict. the sounds in the cage resembled an explosion of fire-crackers under a pan. sinth lifted her voice in a loud outcry of distress and accusation. without a word the hunter scrambled to his feet, renewed his hold upon the complaining sinth, and set out for dry land. luckily the mud was not above his boot-tops. the cage creaked and hurtled. the animals rolled from side to side in their noisy encounter. the indignant sinth struggled to get free with loud, hysteric cries. strong ran beneath his burden. he gained the dry trail, and set his sister upon the ground. he flung off the shoulder-straps, and with a stick separated the animals. he opened the cage and seized the fox by the nape of the neck, and, before he could haul him forth, got a nip on the back of his hand. he lifted the spitting fox and fastened the chain upon his collar. then silas put his hands on his hips and blew like a frightened deer. "hell's b-bein' raised," he muttered, as if taking counsel with himself against satan. "c-careful!" he was in a mood between amusement and anger, but was dangerously near the latter. a little profanity, felt but not expressed, warmed his spirit, so that he kicked the coon's cage and tumbled it bottom side up. in a moment he recovered self-control, righted the cage, and whispered, "s-satan's ahead!" the wound upon his hand was bleeding, but he seemed not to mind it. having done his best for the comfort of his sister, he brushed the mud from his boots and trousers, filled his pipe, and sat meditating in a cloud of tobacco-smoke. presently he rose and shouldered his pack and untied the fox and lifted the coon cage. "i'll walk if it kills me!" sinth exclaimed, rising with a sigh of utter recklessness. "'t-'tain't fur," said strong, as they renewed their journey. it was past mid-day when they got to camp, and sinth lay down to rest while he fried some ham and boiled the potatoes and made tea and flapjacks by an open fire. when he sat on his heels and held his pan over the fire, the long woodsman used to shut up, as one might say, somewhat in the fashion of a jack-knife. he was wont to call it "settin' on his hunches." his great left hand served for a movable screen to protect his face from the heat. as the odor and sound of the frying rose about him, his features took on a look of-great benevolence. it was a good part of the meal to hear him announce, "di-dinner," in a tender and cheerful tone. as he spoke it the word was one of great capacity for suggestion. when the sound of it rose and lingered on its final r, that day they arrived at lost river camp, sinth awoke and came out-of-doors. "strong's g-gainin'!" he exclaimed, cheerfully, meaning thereby to indicate that he hoped soon to overtake his enemy. the table of bark, fastened to spruce poles, each end lying in a crotch, had been covered with a mat of ferns and with clean, white dishes. silas began to convey the food from fire to table. to his delight he observed that "mis' strong" had gone into retirement. the face of his sister now wore its better look of sickliness and resignation. "opeydildock?" he inquired, tenderly, pouring from a flask into a cup. "no, sir," she answered, curtly, her tone adding a rebuke to her negative answer. "le's s-set," said he, soberly. they sat and ate their dinner, after which silas went back on the trail to cut and bring wood for the camp-fire. when his job was finished, the rooms were put to rights, the stove was hot and clean, and an excellent supper waiting. strong's camp consisted of three little log cabins and a large cook-tent. the end of each cabin was a rude fireplace built of flat rocks enclosed by upright logs which, lined with sheet-iron, towered above the roof for a chimney. each floor an odd mosaic of wooden blocks, each wall sheathed with redolent strips of cedar, each rude divan bottomed with deer-skin and covered with balsam pillows, each bedstead of peeled spruce neatly cut and joined--the whole represented years of labor. every winter silas had come through the woods on a big sled with "new improvements" for camp. now there were spring-beds and ticks filled with husks in the cabins, a stove and all needed accessories in the cook-tent. ever since he could carry a gun silas had set his traps and hunted along the valley of lost river, ranging over the wild country miles from either shore. twenty thousand acres of the wilderness, round about, had belonged to smith & gordon, who gave him permission to build his camp. when he built, timber and land had little value. under the great, green roof from bear mountain to four ponds, from the raquette to the oswegatchie, one might have enjoyed the free hospitality of god. from a time he could not remember, this great domain had been the home of silas strong. he loved it, and a sense of proprietorship had grown within him. therein he had need only of matches, a blanket, and a rifle. one might have led him blindfolded, in the darkest night, to any part of it and soon he would have got his bearings. in many places the very soles of his feet would have told him where he stood. long ago its owners had given him charge of this great tract. he had forbidden the hounding of deer and all kinds of greedy slaughter, and had made campers careful with fire. soon he came to be called "the emperor of the woods," and every hunter respected his laws. slowly steam-power broke through the hills and approached the ramparts of the emperor. this power was like one of the many hands of the republic gathering for its need. it started wheels and shafts and bore day and night upon them. now the song of doom sounded in far corridors of the great sylvan home of silas strong. it was only a short walk to where the dead hills lay sprinkled over with ashes, their rock bones bleaching in the sun beneath columns of charred timber. the spruce and pine had gone with the ever-flowing stream, and their dead tops had been left to dry and burn with unquenchable fury at the touch of fire, and to destroy everything, root and branch, and the earth out of which it grew. it concerned him much to note, everywhere, signs of a change in proprietorship. in strong's youth one felt, from end to end of the forest, this invitation of its ancient owner, "come all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and i will give you rest." now one saw much of this legend in the forest ways, "all persons are forbidden trespassing on this property under penalty of the law." proprietorship had, seemingly, passed from god to man. the land was worth now thirty dollars an acre. silas had established his camp when the boundaries were indefinite and the old banners of welcome on every trail, and he felt the change. vi it was near sunset of the second day after the arrival of sinth and silas. they sat together in front of the cook-tent. silas leaned forward smoking a pipe. his great, brawny arms, bare to the elbow, rested on his knees. his faded felt hat was tilted back. he was looking down at the long stretch of still water, fringed with lily-pads, and reflecting the colors of either shore. "you'ain't got a cent to yer name," said sinth, who was knitting. she gave the yam a pull, and, as she did so, glanced up at her brother. "b-better times!" said he, rubbing his hands. "better times!" she sneered. "i'd like to know how you can make money an' charge a dollar a day for board." sportsmen visiting there paid for their board, and they with whom silas went gave him three dollars a day for his labor. the truth was that prosperity and miss strong were things irreconcilable. the representatives of prosperity who came to lost river camp were often routed by the eye of resentment and the unruly tongue. strong knew all this, but she was not the less sacred on that account. this year he had planned to bring a cow to camp and raise the price of board. "you s-see," strong insisted. "huh!" sinth went on; "we'll mos' kill ourselves, an' nex' spring we won't have nothin' but a lot o' mink-skins." miss strong, as if this reflection had quite overcome her, gathered up her knitting and hastened into the cook-tent, where for a moment she seemed to be venting her spite on the flat-irons and the tea-kettle. strong sat alone, smoking thoughtfully. soon he heard footsteps on the trail. a stranger, approaching, bade him good-evening. "from the migley lumber company," the stranger began, as he gave a card to strong. "we have bought the smith & gordon tract. i have come to bring this letter and have a talk with you." strong read the letter carefully. then he rose and put his hands in his pockets, and, with a sly wink at the stranger, walked slowly down the trail. he wished to go where sinth would not be able to hear them. some twenty rods away both sat down upon a log. the letter was, in effect, an order of eviction. "i got t' g-go?" the emperor inquired. "that's about the size of it," said the stranger. "can't," strong answered. "well, there's no hurry," said the other. "we shall be cutting here in the fall. i won't disturb you this year." silas rose and stood erect before the lumberman. "cut everyth-thing?" he inquired, his hand sweeping outward in a gesture of peculiar eloquence. "everything from round ridge to carter's plain," said the other. strong deliberately took off his jacket and laid it on a stump. he flung his hat upon the ground. evidently something unusual was about to happen. then, forthwith, he broke the silence of more than forty years and opened his heart to the stranger. he could not control himself; his tongue almost forgot its infirmity; his words came faster and easier as he went on. "n-no, no," he said, "it can't be. ye 'ain't no r-right t' do it, fer ye can't never put the w-woods back agin. my god, sir, i've w-wan-dered over these hills an' flats ever since i was a little b-boy. there ain't a critter on 'em that d-don't know me. seems so they was all my b-brothers. i've seen men come in here nigh dead an' go back w-well. they's m-med'cine here t' cure all the sickness in a hunderd cities; they's f-fur 'nough here t' c-cover their naked--they's f-food'nough t' feed their hungry--an' they's w-wood 'nough t' keep 'em w-warm. god planted these w-woods an' stocked 'em, an' nobody's ever d-done a day's work here 'cept me. now you come along an' say you've bought 'em an' are g-goin 't' shove us out. i c-can't understand it. god m-made the sky an' l-lifted up the trees t' sweep the dust out of it an' pump water into the clouds an' g-give out the breath o' the g-ground. y-you 'ain't no right t' git together down there in albany an' make laws ag'in' the will o' god. ye r-rob the world when ye take the tree-tops out o' the sky. ye might as well take the clouds out of it. god has gi'n us g-good air an' the woods an' the w-wild cattle, an' it's free--an' you--you're g-goin 't' turn ev'rybody out o' here an' seize the g-gift an' trade it fer d-dollars--you d---little bullcook!" a "bullcook," it should be explained, was the chore-boy in a lumber-camp. strong sat down and took out an old red handkerchief and wiped his eyes. he was thinking of the springs and brooks and rivers, of the cool shade, of the odors of the woodland, of the life-giving air, of the desolation that was to come. "it's business," said the stranger, as if that word must put an end to all argument. a sound broke the silence like that of distant thunder. "hear th-that," strong went on. "it's the logs g-goin' over rainbow falls. they've been stole off the state l-lands. th-that's business, too. business is king o' this c-country. he t-takes everything he can l-lay his hands on. he'd t-try t' 'grab heaven if he could g-git over the f-fence an' b-back agin." "i am not here to discuss that," said the stranger, rising to go. "had s-supper?" silas asked. "i've a lunch in the canoe, thank you. the moon is up, an' i'm going to push on to copper falls. migley will be waiting for me. we shall camp there for a day or two at cedar spring. good-night." "good-night." it was growing dark. strong's outbreak had wearied him. he groaned and shook his head and stood a moment thinking. in the distance he could hear the hoot of an owl and the bull bass of frogs booming over the still water. "g-gone!" he exclaimed, presently. soon he added, in a mournful tone, "w-wouldn't d-dast tell mis' strong." he started slowly towards the camp. "i'll l-lie to her," he whispered, as he went along. before going to bed he made this note in his memorandum-book: _"june the 26 more snags strong says trubel is like small-pox thing to do is kepe it from spreadin."_ vii since early may there had been no rain save a sprinkle now and then. from lake ontario to lake champlain, from the st. lawrence to sandy hook, the earth had been scorching under a hot sun. the heat and dust of midsummer had dimmed the glory of june. people those days were thinking less of the timber of the woods and more of their abundant, cool, and living green. the inns along the edge of the forest were filling up. about eleven o'clock of a morning late in june, a young man arrived at lost river camp--one robert master, whose father owned a camp and some forty thousand acres not quite a day's tramp to the north. he was a big, handsome youth of twenty-two, just out of college. sinth regarded every new-comer as a natural enemy. she suspected most men of laziness and a capacity for the oppression of females. she stood in severe silence at the door of the cook-tent and looked him over as he came. soon she went to the stove and began to move the griddles. silas entered with an armful of wood. "if he thinks i'm goin' to wait on him hand an' foot, he's very much mistaken," said sinth. "r-roughlocks!" silas answered, calmly, as he put a stick on the fire. sinth made no reply, but began sullenly rushing to and fro with pots and pans. soon her quick knife had taken the jackets off a score of potatoes. while her hands flew, water leaped on the potatoes, and the potatoes tumbled into the pot, and the pot jumped into the stove-hole as the griddle took a slide across the top of the stove. and so with a rush of feet and a rattle of pots and pans and a sliding of griddles and a banging of iron doors "mis' strong" wore off her temper at hard work. the emperor used to smile at this variety of noise and call it "f-f-female profanity," a phrase not wholly inapt. when the "sport" had finished his dinner, and she and her brother sat side by side at the table, she was plain sinth again, with a look of sickliness and resignation. she ate freely--but would never confess her appetite--and so leisurely that strong often had most of the dishes washed before she had finished eating. the young man was eager to begin fishing, and soon after dinner the emperor took him over to catamount pond. on their way the young man spoke of the object of his visit. "mr. strong, you know my father?" he half inquired. "ay-ah," the emperor answered. "he's been a property-holder in this county for five years, every summer of which i have spent on his land. i feel at home in the woods, and i cast my first vote at tifton." strong listened thoughtfully. "i want to do what i can to save the wilderness," young master went on. "r-right!" said the emperor. "if i were in the legislature, i believe i could accomplish something. anyhow, i am going to make a fight for the vacant seat in the assembly." strong surveyed him from head to foot. "i wish you would do what you can for me in pitkin." "uh-huh!" strong answered, in a gentle tone, without opening his lips. it was a way he had of expressing uncertainty leaning towards affirmation. he liked the young man; there was, indeed, something grateful to him in the look and voice of a gentleman. "you'll never be ashamed of me--i'll see to that," said master. having reached the little pond, strong gave him his boat, and promised to return and bring him into camp at six. here and there trout were breaking through the smooth plane of water. the emperor took a bee-line over the wooded ridge to robin lake. there he spent an hour repairing his bark shanty and gathering balsam boughs for a bed. stepping on a layer of spruce poles over which the boughs were to be spread, in a dark corner of the shanty, his foot went through and came down upon the nest of one of the most disagreeable creatures in the wilderness. he sprang away with an oath and fled into the open air. for a moment he expressed himself in a series of sharp reports, then, picking up a long pole, he met the offenders leaving their retreat, and "mellered" them, as he explained to sinth that evening. "t-take that, amos," he muttered, as he gave one of them another blow. it should be borne in mind that he called every member of this malodorous tribe "amos," because the meanest man he ever knew had borne that name. he put his heel in the crotch of a fallen limb and drew his boot. then he cautiously cut off the leg of his trousers at the knee, and, poking cloth and leather into a little hollow, buried them under black earth. slowly the "emperor of the woods" climbed a ridge on his way to lost river camp, one leg bare to the knee. walking, he thought of annette. lately misfortune had come between them, and now he seemed to be getting farther from the trail of happiness. at a point on balsam hill he came into the main thoroughfare of the woodsmen which leads from bear mountain to lost river camp. where he could see far down the big trail, under arches of evergreen, he sat on a stump to rest. his bootless foot, now getting sore, rested on a giant toadstool. thus enthroned, the emperor looked down at his foot and reconsidered the relative positions of himself and the evil one. his faded crown of felt tilting over one ear, his rough, bearded face wet with perspiration, his patched trousers truncated over the right knee, below which foot and leg were uncovered, he was an emperor more distinguished for his appearance than his lineage. he took out his old memorandum-book and made this note in it with a stub of a pencil: _"june the 27 strong says one amos in the bush is worth two in yer company an a pair of britches."_ the emperor, although in the main a serious character, enjoyed some private fun with this worn little book, which he always carried with him. therein he did most of his talking, with secret self-applause now and then, one may fancy. it has thrown some light on the inner life of the man, and, in a sense, it is one of the figures of our history. viii silas put the book in his pocket and looked down the trail. some ten rods away two children were running towards him, their hands full of wild flowers. they were socky and sue, on their way to lost river camp, and were the first children--save one--who had ever set their feet on the old trail. gordon walked slowly, under a heavy pack, well behind them. they knew they were near their destination. their father could scarcely keep them in hailing distance. sue had observed that socky's generosity in the matter of the tin bank had pleased her father, and so, after much thought, she had determined to make a venture in benevolence. "when i see uncle silas," said she, "i'm going to give him the twenty-five cents my aunt marie gave me." "pooh! he's got loads of money," socky answered. they stopped suddenly. sue dropped her flowers and turned to run. socky gave a little jump and recovered his courage. both retreated a few steps. there, before them, was the dejected "emperor of the woods." "says i!" he exclaimed, looking down calmly from his throne. socky glanced up at him fearfully. "who b-be you?" "john socksmith gordon." "t-y-ty!" exclaimed the emperor, an expression, as the historian believes', of great surprise, standing, perhaps, for the old oath "by 'mighty." it consisted of the pronunciation of the two letters separately and then together. the emperor turned to the girl. "and y-yourn?" he inquired. "susan bradbury gordon," she answered, in a half-whisper. "i tnum!" exclaimed the emperor, shaking his bootless foot, whereupon the new-comers retreated a little farther. the singular word "tnum" expressed an unusual degree of interest on the part of the emperor. "g-goin' fur?" he inquired. "to lost river, to see my uncle silas." the emperor gave a loud whistle of surprise, and repeated the exclamation--"i tnum!" "my father's coming," said socky, as he pointed down the trail. "whee-o!" whistled the "emperor of the woods," who now perceived his brother-in-law ascending the trail. "old man, what are you doing there?" gordon asked. "thinkin' out some th-thoughts," said the emperor, soberly, as he came into the trail, limping on his bare foot, and shook hands. there were greetings, and the hunter briefly apologized for his bare leg and explained it. "well, how are you?" gordon asked. "s-supple!" strong answered, cheerfully. the children got behind their father, peering from either side of him as they saw this uncouth figure coming near. sue pressed the hand of her brother so tightly as to cause the boy to break her hold upon him. "r-ride?" said the emperor, putting his great hand on the head of the boy and shaking it a little. socky looked up at him with large, wondering, timid eyes. sue hid her face under the coat-tails of her father. "they'd rather walk; come on," said gordon. the men proceeded slowly over the hill and down into the valley of lost river. the children followed, some twenty paces behind, whispering together. they were still in happy ignorance of the identity of the strange man. "s-sold out--eh?" said the hunter. "sold out! sorry! they're going to shove a railroad in here and begin cutting." a smothered oath broke from the lips of the emperor. gordon came near to him and whispered: "sile," said he, "don't swear before the kids. i'm bad enough, but i've always been careful about that. going to leave 'em here if you'll let me." "g-good--" the emperor stopped short and his voice fell into thoughtful silence. as they came in sight of the little clearing and the tent and cabins of lost river camp, sue and socky ran ahead of the men. "i'm in trouble," gordon went on. "my account at the mill is overdrawn. they've pushed me to the verge of madness. i must have a little help." the woodsman stopped and put his hand on the shoulder of gordon. "been f-foolish, dick?" said he, kindly. "i'm done with that. i want to begin new. i need a little money to throw to the wolves." "how m-much?" "four hundred dollars would do me." strong beckoned to him. "c-come to my goosepen," said the hunter, as he led the way to an old basswood some fifty paces from the camp. he removed a piece of bark which fitted nicely over a hole in the tree-trunk. he put his hand in the hole which he called a goosepen and took out a roll of bills. "you save like a squirrel," said gordon. "dunno no other w-way," strong answered as he began to count the money. "three hundred an' s-seventy dollars," he said, presently, and gave it to his brother-in-law. he felt in the hole again. "b-bank's failed!" he added. the kindness of the woodland was in the face of the hunter. he was like an old hickory drawing its nourishment from the very bosom of the earth and freely giving its crop. where he fed there was plenty, and he had no more thought of his own needs than a tree. "thank you' it's enough," said gordon. "better keep some of it." "n-no good here," strong answered, with his old reliance on the bounty of nature. "i'll go out to pitkin in the morning. i'm going to get a new start in the world. if you'll take care of the children i'll send you some money every month. you've been a brother to me, and i'll not forget." the emperor sat upon a log and took a pencil and an old memorandum-book from his pocket and wrote on a leaf this letter to annette: _"deer frend--i am wel compny com today i dunno when i'll see you. woods is hot and dry fish plenty socks on feel splendid hopin for better times "yours trewly "s. strong. "p. s.--strong's ahed."_ in truth, the whole purpose of the letter lay in that laconic postscript, expressing, as it did, a sense of moral triumph under great difficulties. the emperor stripped a piece of bark off a birch-tree, trimmed it with his knife, and, enfolding it around the letter, bound it in the middle with a long thorn which he drew out of the lapel of his "jacket." he handed the missive to gordon, saying, "f-for ann roice." the children stood peering into an open door when the men came and flung down their packs. sinth had gone to work in the garden, which was near the river-bank. silas strong entered his cabin. the children came to their father, who had seated himself on a chopping-block. having forgotten the real uncle silas, they had been looking for that splendid creature of whom they had dreamed. "father," socky whispered, "where is uncle silas?" "that was uncle silas," said gordon. the eyes of the children were fixed upon his, while their faces began to change color. the long, dark lashes of little sue quivered for a second as if she had received a blow. socky's glance fell; his trembling hands, which lay on the knee of gordon, seemed to clutch at each other; then his right thumb stood up straight and stiff; his lips parted. one might have observed a little upward twitch of the muscles under either cheek. it signalized the first touch of bitter disappointment. "that man?" he whispered, looking up doubtfully as he pointed in the direction of the door into which strong had disappeared. "that's uncle silas," said gordon, with smiling amusement. socky turned and spat upon the ground. slowly he walked away, scuffing his feet. sue followed with a look of dejection. they went behind the camp and found the big potato-hole and crawled into it. the bottom was covered with dry leaves. they sat down, but neither spoke. socky leaned forward, his chin upon his hands. "do you like uncle silas?" sue whispered. for a moment socky did not change his attitude or make any reply. "i wouldn't give him no twenty-five cents," sue added. "don't speak to me," socky answered, with a quick movement of his knee. it was a time of sad discovery--that pathetic day when the first castle of childhood falls upon its builder. "i'm going home," said sue. "you won't be let," socky answered, his under lip trembling as he thought of the old lumberyard. suddenly he lay over on the leaves, his forehead on his elbow, and wept in silence. sue lay beside him, her cheek partly covered by golden curls. she felt badly, but did not give way. they were both utterly weary and cast down. sue lay on her back and drew out her tiny doll much as a man would light a cigarette in his moment of abstraction. she flirted it in the air and brought it down upon her breast. the doll had come out of her pocket just in time to save her. she lay yawning a few moments, then fell asleep, and soon socky joined her. gordon lay down upon a bed in one of the cabins. he, too, was weary and soon forgot his troubles. the emperor, having shifted his garments, went behind the camp and stood looking down at his sorrowing people. a smile spread over his countenance. it came and passed like a billow of sunlight flooding over the hills. he shook his head with amusement. soon he turned away and sauntered slowly towards the river-bank. these, children had been flung, as it were, upon the ruin of his hopes. what should he do with them and with "mis' strong"? suddenly a reflection of unusual magnitude broke from his lips. "they's g-got t' be tall contrivin'," he whispered, with a sigh. sinth, who had been sowing onions, heard him coming and rose to her feet. "g-gordon!" said he, pointing towards camp. "anybody with him?" she asked.. "the childem," said he. "g-goin't' leave 'em." sinth turned with a look of alarm. "c-can't swear, nuther," strong added. "he can take 'em back," said miss strong, with flashing eyes and a flirt of her apron. "r-roughlocks!" the emperor demanded, in a low tone. "who'll tek care of 'em?" "m-me." "heavens!" she exclaimed, her voice full of despair. "c-come, mis' strong." so saying, silas took the arm of his complaining sister and led her up the hill. when he had come to the potato-hole he pointed down at the children. they had dressed with scrupulous care for the eye of him who, not an hour since, had been the greatest of all men. the boy lay in his only wide, white collar and necktie, in his best coat and knee-breeches. the girl had on her beloved brown dress and pink sun-bonnet. it was a picture to fill one's eyes, and all the more if one could have seen the hearts of those little people. a new look came into the face of sinth. "land sakes!" she exclaimed, raising one of her hands and letting it fall again; "she looks like sister thankful--don't she, don't she, silas?" sinth wiped her eyes with her apron. the heart of silas strong had also been deeply touched. "r-reg'lar angel!" he exclaimed, thoughtfully. after a moment of silence he added, "k-kind o' like leetle f-fawns." they turned away, proceeding to the cook-tent. sinth looked as if she were making up her mind; silas as if his were already made up. sinth began to rattle the pots and pans. "sh-h!" silas hissed, as he fixed the fire. "what's the matter?" she demanded. "w-wake 'em up." "hope i will," she retorted, loudly. strong strode off in the trail to catamount pond, where he was to get master. zeb, the bear-dog, had been digging at a foxhole over in birch hollow. growing weary and athirst, by-and-by he relinquished his enterprise, crossed to the trail, and, discovering the scent of strangers, hurried home. soon he found those curious little folks down in the potato-hole. he had never seen a child before. he smelled them over cautiously. his opinion was extremely favorable. his tail began to wag, and, unable to restrain his enthusiasm, he expressed himself in a loud bark. the children awoke, and zeb retreated. socky and sue rose, the latter crying, while that little, yellow snip of a bear-dog, with cross-eye and curving tail, surveyed them anxiously. he backed away as if to coax them out of the hole. when they had come near he seemed to be wiping one foot after another upon the ground vigorously. as he did so he growled in a manner calculated to inspire respect. then he ran around them in a wide circle at high speed, growling a playful challenge. socky, who had some understanding of dogs, dashed upon zeb, and soon they were all at play together. ix. on catamount pond young master had enjoyed a memorable day. he was an expert fisherman, but the lonely quiet of the scene had been more than fish to him: of it was a barren ridge, from the top of which a broken column of dead pine, like a shaft of wrought marble, towered straight and high above the woods. the curving shore had a fringe of lily-pads, starred here and there with white tufts. around thickets of birch, on a point of land, a little cove was the end of all the deer-trails that came out of jiminy swamp. it was the gateway of the pond for all who journeyed thither to eat and drink. there were white columns on either side, and opposite the cove's end was a thicket of tamarack, clear of brush. a deep mat of vivid green moss came to the water's edge. when one had rounded the point in his canoe, he could see into those cool, dark alleys of the deer, leading off through slender tamaracks. a little beyond were the rock bastions of painter mountain, five hundred' feet above the water. the young man, having grown weary of fishing, leaned back, lighted his pipe, and drifted. he could hear the chattering of a hedgehog up in the dry timber, and the scream of a hawk, like the whistle of some craft, leagues away on the sunlit deep of silence. a wild goose steered straight across the heavens, far bound, his wings making a noise like the cleaving of water and the creak of full sails. he saw the man below him and flung a cry overboard. a great bee, driven out of a lily, threw his warning loop around the head of the intruder and boomed out of hearing. those threads of sound seemed to bind the tongue of the youth, and to connect his soul with the great silence into which they ran. robert master had crossed that desert of uncertainty which lies between college and the beginning of a career. at last he had made his plan. he would try in his own simple way to serve his country. he was a man of "the new spirit," of pure ideals, of high patriotism. he had set out to try to make his way in politics. he had been one of the "big men," dauntless and powerful, who had saved the day for his _alma mater_ more than once on the track and the gridiron. handsome was a word which had been much applied to him. hard work in the open air had given him a sturdy figure and added the glow of health and power to a face of unusual refinement. it was the face of a man with whom the capacity, for stern trials had come by acquisition and not by inheritance. he had cheerful brown eyes and a smile of good-nature that made him beloved. his father was at the big camp, some twenty miles away, his mother and sister having gone abroad. he and his father were fond of their forest home; the ladies found it a bore. they loved better the grand life and the great highways of travel. master sat in the centre of his canoe; an elbow rested on his paddle which lay athwart the gunwales. he drifted awhile. he had chosen his life work but not his life partner. he pictured to himself the girl he would love, had he ever the luck to find her. he had thrown off his hat, and his dark hair shone in the sunlight. soon he pushed slowly down the pond. in a moment he stilled his paddle and sat looking into birch cove. two fawns were playing in the edge of the water, while their dam, with the dignity of a matron, stood on the shore looking down at them. the fawns gambolled in the shallows like a colt at play, now and then dashing their muzzles in the cool water. their red coats were starred white as if with snow-flakes. the deer stood a moment looking at master, stamped her feet, and retired into one of the dark alleys. in a moment her fawns followed. turning, the fisherman beheld what gave him even greater surprise. in the shadow of the birches, on a side of the cove and scarcely thirty feet from his canoe, a girl sat looking at him. she wore a blue knit jacket and gray skirt. there was nothing on her head save its mass of light hair that fell curling on her shoulders. her skin was brown as a berry, her features of a noble and delicate mould. her eyes, blue and large, made their potent appeal to the heart of master. they were like those of his dreams--he could never forget them. so far it's the old story of love at sight--but listen. for half a moment they looked into each other's eyes. then the girl, as if she were afraid of him, rose and disappeared among the columns of white birch. long he sat there wondering about this strange vision of girlhood, until he heard the halloo of silas strong. turning his canoe, he pushed for the landing. "l-lucky?" strong asked. "twenty fish, and i saw the most beautiful woman in the world." "where?" "sitting on the shore of birch cove. any camp near?" the emperor shook his head thoughtfully as he lighted his pipe. the two made their way up the trail. "w-wonder if it's her?" strong whispered to himself as he walked along. after supper that evening silas strong gathered a heap of wood for a bonfire--a way he had of celebrating arrivals at lost river camp. soon he was running upon hands and knees in the firelight, with socky and sue on his back. "silas strong!" was the seornful exclamation of sinth, as she took a seat by the fire, "p-present!" he answered, as he werit on, the children laughing merrily. "be you a man 'or a fool?" "both;" he answered, ceasing his harlequinade. sinth began her knitting, wearing, a look of injury. "plumb crazy 'bout them air childern!" she exclaimed. the "emperor of the woods" sat on a log, breathing heavily, with sue and socky upon his knees. "b-bears plenty, mis' strong," was the gentle reply of silas. "mis' strong!" said she, as if insulted. "what ye mis' strongin' me for?" when others were present she was wont to fling back upon him this burning query. now it seemed to stimulate him to a rather unusual effort. "s-some folks b-better when ye miss 'em," he suggested, with a smile of good-nature. miss strong gathered up her knitting and promptly retired, from the scene. sue and socky lay back on the lap of their uncle silas looking into the fire. they now saw in him great possibilities. socky, in particular, had begun to regard him as likely to be useful if not highly magnificent. sue lay back and began to make a drowsy display of her learning: "intry, mintry, cutry com, apple-seed an' apple-thorn, wire, brier, limber lock, twelve geese all in a white flock; some fly east an' some fly west an' some fly over the cuckoo's nest." miss strong returned shortly and found the children asleep on the knees of their uncle. in a moment silas turned his ear and listened. "hark!" he whispered. they could hear some one approaching on the dark trail. a man oddly picturesque, with a rifle on his shoulder, strode into the firelight. he wore knee-breeches and a coat of buckskin. he had a rugged face, a sturdy figure, and was, one would have guessed, some sixty years of age. a fringe of thin, white hair showed below his cap. he had a white mustache, through which a forgotten cigar protruded. his black eyes glowed in the firelight beneath silvered brows. he nodded as they greeted him. his ruddy face wrinkled thoughtfully as he turned to gordon. "it's a long time," said he, offering his hand. "some years," gordon answered, as he took the hand of dunmore. "w-welcome!" said silas strong. "boneka!" dunmore exclaimed, gruffly, but with a faint smile. for years it had been his customary word of greeting. "the emperor and his court!" he went on, as he looked about him. "who are these?" he surveyed the sleeping children. "the duke and duchess of hillsborough--nephew and niece of the emperor," master answered, giving them titles which clung to socky and sue for a twelvemonth. "the first children i've ever seen in the woods except my own," said the white-haired man. zeb ran around the chair of the emperor, growling and leaping playfully at socky and sue. "the court jester!" said dunmore, looking down at the dog. he stood a moment with his back to the blazing logs. then he went to the chair of the emperor, and put his hand under the chin of little sue and looked into her face. in half a moment he took her in his arms and sat down by the fireside. the child was yawning wearily. "heigh-ho!" he exclaimed; "let's away to the isles of rest." he rocked back and forth as he held her against his breast and sang this lullaby: "jack tot was as big as a baby's thumb, and his belly could hold but a drop and a crumb, and a wee little sailor was he--heigh-ho! a very fine sailor was he. 'he made his boat of a cocoa-nut shell, he sails her at night and he steers her well with the wing of a bumble-bee--heigh-ho! with the wing of a bumble-bee. 'she is rigged with the hair of a lady's curl, and her lantern is made of a gleaming pearl, and it never goes out in a gale--heigh-ho! it never goes out in a gale. 'her mast is made of a very long thorn, she calls her crew with a cricket's horn, and a spider spun her sail--heigh-ho! a spider he spun her sail. 'she carries a cargo of baby souls, and she crosses the terrible nightmare shoals on her way to the isles of rest--heigh-ho! we're off for the isles of rest. 'and often they smile as the good ship sails- then the skipper is telling incredible tales with many a merry jest--heigh-ho! he's fond of a merry jest. 'when the little folks yawn they are ready to go, and jack tot is lifting his sail--hee-hoo! in the swell how the little folks nod--he-hoo! just see how the little folks nod. 'and some have sailed off when the sky was black, and the poor little sailors have never come back, but have steered for the city of god--heigh-ho! the beautiful city of god!" the white-haired man closed his eyes and his voice sank low, and the last words fell softly in a solemn silence that lasted for a long moment after the lullaby was finished. presently sinth came to take the sleeping child. "these little folks will take our peace away from us," said he, in a warning tone. "why?" "the call of the sown land is in their voices," said he. "they give me sad thoughts." sinth smiled and introduced the young man to dunmore. "boneka!" said the latter as they shook hands. the curiosity of master was aroused by the strange greeting. he smiled, and answered, modestly, "i don't understand you." the stranger sat silent, gazing into the fire, until silas, who was evidently in the secret, said to his guest, "tell 'em." "there was once a very wise and honored chief," began dunmore, after a pause, and looking into the eyes of the young man. "long before the lumber hunter had begun to shear the hills, he dwelt among them, with his good people. he was a great law-giver, and his law was all in two words--'_be kind._' kindness begat kindness, and peace reigned, to be broken only by some far-come invader. but as time went on quarrels arose and the law was forgotten. thereupon the chief invited a great council and organized the society of the magic word. every member promised that whenever the greeting 'boneka' were given him, he would smile and bow and answer, 'ranokoli.' the greeting meant 'peace,' and the answer, 'i forgive.' "then, one by one, the law-giver called his councillors before him, and to each he said: 'the great spirit is in this greeting. i defy you to hear it and keep a sober face.' "then he said 'boneka,' and the man would try to resist the influence of the spirit, but soon smiled in spite of himself, amid the laughter of the tribe, and said 'ranokoli.' thereafter, when a quarrel arose between two people, an outsider, approaching, would greet them with the magic word, and immediately they would bow and smile, and answer, 'i forgive.' but, nevertheless, if one had wronged another he was justly punished by the chief. so it was that a great ruler made an end of quarrels among his people." "a grand idea!" said young master. "let's all join that society." "those in favor of the suggestion will please say ay." it was dunmore who put the question, and, after a vote in its favor, dictated the pledge, as follows: _"for value received from my loving father, i promise to give to any of his children, on demand, a smile and full forgiveness."_ all signed it, and so half in play the old society of the magic word was revived at lost river camp. the white-haired man rose and walked to the trail and turned suddenly. "strong," said he, "i'm leaving the woods for a week. if they need your help at home they'll send word to you." with that he disappeared in the dark trail. the three other men still sat by the camp-fire. "who is dunmore?" master inquired, turning to gordon. the latter lighted his pipe and began the story. "an odd man who's spent the most of his life in the woods," said gordon. "came in here for his health long ago from i don't know where; grew strong, and has always stuck to the woods. had to work, like the rest of us, when i knew him. thirty years ago he began work in this part of the country as a boom rat--so they tell me. it was on a big drive way down the oswegatchie. "before we bought the bear mountain and lost river tracts we were looking for a good cruiser--some one to go through here and estimate the timber for us. well, dunmore was recommended for the job, and we hired him. he and i travelled over some thirty thousand acres, camping wherever night overtook us. it did not take me long to discover that he was a gifted man. many an evening, as we sat by our lonely fire in the woods, i have wept and laughed over his poems." "poems!" master exclaimed. "that's the only word for it," gordon went on. "the man is a woods lover and a poet. one night he told me part of his life story. sile, you remember when the old iron company shut down their works at tifton. well, everybody left the place except tom muir, the postmaster. he was a widower, and lived with one child--a girl about nineteen years old when the forest village died. dunmore married that girl. he told me how beautiful she was and how he loved her. well, they didn't get along together. he was fond of the woods and she was not. "for five years they lived together in the edge of the wilderness. then she left him. well--poor woman!--it was a lonely life, and some tourist fell in love with her, they tell me. i don't know about that. anyhow, dunmore was terribly embittered. a little daughter had been born to them. she was then three years of age." "she's the angel y-you met to-day over by the p-pond," strong put in, looking at master. gordon lighted his pipe and went on with his story. "dunmore said that a relative had left him a little money. i remember we were camping that night on the shore of buckhorn. its beauty appealed to him. he said he'd like to buy that section and build him a camp on the pond and spend the rest of his life there. "'but,' said i, 'you couldn't bring up your daughter in the woods.' buckhorn was then thirty miles from anywhere. "'that's just what i wish to do,' he answered. 'the world is so full of d------d spaniels'--i remember that was the phrase he used--and there's so much infamy among men, i'd rather keep her out of it. i want her to be as pure at twenty as she is now. i can teach her all i wish her to know.' "well, i sold him the buckhorn tract. he built his camp, and moved there with the little girl and his mother--a woman of poor health and well past middle age. he brought an old colored man and his wife to be their servants, and there they are to-day--dunmore and his mother and the girl and the two servants, now grown rather aged, they tell me." "they have never left the woods?" said master, as if it were too incredible. "dunmore goes to new york, but not oftener than once a year," gordon went on. "he has property--a good deal of property, i suppose, and has to give it some attention. the others have never left the woods." "sends home b-big boxes, an' i t-tote 'em in," silas explained. "do you mean to tell me that dunmore's daughter has never seen the clearing since she was a baby?" strong's interest was thoroughly aroused. he took off his coat and laid it down carefully, as if he were about to go in swimming. he was wont to do this when his thoughts demanded free and full expression. "b-been t' tillbury post-office w-with the ol' man--n-no further," strong explained. "dunmore says she 'ain't never s-seen a child 'cept one. that was a b-baby. some man an' his w-wife come through here w-with it from the n-north th-three year ago." "fact is, i think he feared for a long time that his wife would try to get possession of the child," said gordon. "late years, i understand, the girl has had to take care of the old lady. in a letter to me once dunmore referred to his daughter as the 'little nun of the green veil,' and spoke of her devotion to her grandmother." gordon rose and went to his bed in one of the cabins. strong and the young man kept their seats at the camp-fire, talking of dunmore and his daughter and their life in the woods. the emperor, who felt for this lonely child of the forest, talked from a sense of duty. "s-sail in," he presently said. "s-sail in an' t-tame her." "i don't know how to begin." "she'll be there t-to-morrer sure," strong declared. "so shall i," said the young man. "c-cal'late she's w-wownded, too," strong suggested. "b-be careful. she's like a w-wild deer." they were leaving the fire on their way to bed. the young man stopped and repeated the words incredulously--"like a wild deer!" "t-take the ch-childem with ye," strong advised. "she'll w-want t' look 'em over." x socky woke early next morning, and lay looking up at the antlers, guns, and rifles which adorned the wall. on a table near him were some of the treasures of that sylvan household--a little book entitled _melinda_, a dingy testament, a plush-covered photograph-album, and a stuffed bird on a wire bough. sinth and the album were inseparable. she sometimes left the dingy testament or the little book entitled _melinda_ at her pitkin home, but not the plush-covered album. that was the one link which connected her, not only with the past, but with a degree of respectability, and even with a vague hope of paradise. what a pantheon of family deities! what a museum of hair and whiskers! what a study of the effect of terror, headache, rheumatism, weariness, sunday apparel, tight boots, and reckless photography upon the human countenance! therein was the face of sinth, indescribably gnarled by the lens; a daguerreotype of her grandmother adorned with lace and tokens of a more cheerful time in the family history; faces and forms which for sinth recalled her play-days, and were gone as hopelessly. just after supper the night before, socky had seen his uncle apply grease to a number of boots and guns. the boy had been permitted to put his hands in the thick oil of the bear, and, while its odor irked him a little, it had, as it were, reduced the friction on his bearings. since then the gear of his imagination had seemed to work easier, and had carried him far towards the goal of manhood. immediately after waking he found the bottle of bear's-oil and poured some on his own boots and rubbed it in. he was now delighted with the look of them. it was wonderful stuff, that bear's-oil. it made everything look shiny and cheerful, and gave one a grateful sense of high accomplishment. soon he had greased the bird and the bush, and the oil had dripped on the album and the dingy testament and the little book entitled _melinda_. then he greased the feet and legs of zeb, who lay asleep in a corner, and who promptly awoke and ran across the floor and leaped through an open window, and hid himself under a boat, as if for proper consideration of ways and means. in a few moments socky had greased the shoes of his sister, and a ramrod which lay on the window-sill, and taken the latter into bed with him. soon he began to miss the good aunt marie, for, generally, when he first awoke he had gone and got into bed with her. he held to the ramrod and sustained himself with manly reflections, whispering as they came to mind: "i'm going to be a man. i ain't no cry-baby. i'm going to kill bears and send the money to my father, an' my uncle silas will give me a rocking-horse an' a silver dofunny--he said he would." he ceased to whisper. an imaginary bear had approached the foot of the bed just in time to save him, for the last of his reflections had been interrupted by little sobs. he struck bravely with the ramrod and felled the bear, and got out of bed and skinned him and hung his hide over the back of a chair. he found some potatoes in a sack beside the fireplace, and put down a row for the bear's body and some more for the feet and legs. then he greased the bear's feet and got into bed again, for sue had awoke and begun to cry. "what's the matter?" he inquired. "i want my aunt marie," the girl sobbed. "stop, uncle silas 'll hear you," said socky. "i don't care." "i'd be 'shamed," the boy answered, his own voice trembling with suppressed emotion. since a talk he had had with his father the day before, he felt a large and expanding sense of responsibility for his sister. just now an-idea occurred to him--why shouldn't he, in his own person, supply the deficiencies of the great man they had come to see? "i'll be your uncle silas," he remarked. "i'm a man now, an' i've killed a bear." "where is he?" "dead on the floor there." she covered her face with the blankets. "i'm going to have a pair o' moccasins an' a rifle, an' i'll carry you on my b-back." he had stammered on the last word after the manner of his uncle. just then they heard a singular creaking outside the door, and before either had time to speak it was flung open. they were both sitting up in bed as their uncle silas entered. "i tnum!" said he, cheerfully. suddenly he saw the bird and the books and the table-top and the potatoes and the ramrod and the hands of socky. he whistled ruefully; his smile faded. "w-well greased!" he said, looking down at the books and the bird. he found a gun-rag and wiped up the oil as best he could. "she'll r-raise--" the remark ended in a cough as he wiped the books. then he covered them with an empty meal-bag. the children began to dress while strong went half-way up the ladder and called to gordon, still asleep in the loft above. then he sat on the bed and helped the boy and girl get their clothes buttoned.. "my little f-fawns!" he muttered, with a laugh. he had sat up until one o'clock at work in his little shop by the light of a lantern. he had sawed some disks from a round beech log and bored holes in them. he had also made axles and a reach and tongue, and put them together. then he had placed a cross-bar and a pivot on the front axle and fastened a starch-box over all. the result was a wagon, which he had arisen early to finish, and with which he had come to wake "the little fawns." now, when they were dressed, he sat them side by side in the wagon-box and clattered off down the trail. at first the children sat silent, oppressed as they were by the odor of bear's-oil, not yet entirely removed from their hands and faces. as the wagon proceeded they began to laugh and call the dog. zeb peered from under the friendly cover of the boat, and gave a yearning bark which seemed to express regret, not wholly unmingled with accusation, that on account of other engagements he would be unable to accept their kind invitation. at the boat-house were soap and towel and glad deliverance from the flavor of the bear. on their return "mis' strong" met them at the door of the cook-tent. she raised both hands above her head. "my album!" she gasped. "t-y-ty!" the emperor whispered. "an' the book my mother gave me!" she exclaimed, her tone rising from despair to anger. "they're ruined--silas strong!" "n-nonsense," said her brother, calmly. "nonsense!" she exclaimed, tauntingly. "silas strong, do you know what has been done to 'em?" "g-greased," he answered, mildly. "d-do 'em good." she ran into the cook-tent and returned with the sacred album. there was an odd menace in her figure as she displayed the book. she spread it open. "look at my grandfather!" she demanded. the bear's-oil had added emphasis to a subtle, inherent suggestion of smothered profanity in the image of her ancestor. it had, as it were, given clearness to an expression of great physical discomfort. "l-limber him up," said the emperor, quite soberly. master and gordon were now approaching. the former took off his hat and bowed to the indignant sinth and blandly remarked, "boneka, madam." the men had begun to laugh. sinth changed color. she looked down. a smile began to light her thin face. she turned away, repeated the magic word in a low voice, and added, "i forgive." she walked hurriedly through the cook-tent to her own quarters, and sat down and wept as if, in truth, the oil had entered her soul. it was, in a way, pathetic--her devotion to the tawdry plush and this poor shadow of her ancestor--and the historian has a respect for it more profound, possibly, than his words may indicate. she would have given her album for her friend, and it may be questioned if any man hath greater love than this. when she entered the dinner-tent and sat down to stir batter for the excellent "flapjacks" of lost river camp, the children came and kissed her and stood looking up into her face. socky had begun to comprehend his relation to the trouble. shame, guilt, and uncertainty were in his countenance. urgent queries touching the use and taste and constitution of batter and its feeling on the index-finger of one's hand were pressing upon him, but he saw that, in common decency, they must be deferred. "aunt sinthy," said the little duke of hillsborough. "what?" she answered. "i won't never grease your album again." the woman laughed, placed the pan on the table, and put her arms around the child. then she answered, in a tone of good-nature, "if it had been anything else in this world, i wouldn't have minded." just then zeb slowly entered the cook-tent. he had got rid of some of the oil, but had acquired a cough. the hair on every leg was damp and matted. he seemed to doubt his fitness for social enjoyment. in a tentative manner he surveyed the breakfast-party, as if to study his effect upon the human species. the emperor patted him and felt of his legs. "what's the matter o' him?" sinth inquired. "g-greased!" said the emperor, with a loud laugh, in which the campers joined, whereat the dog fled from the cook-tent. "s-slippery mornin'!" strong exclaimed, while he stood looking through the doorway. "hard t' keep yer feet," said sinth, who had caught the contagion of good feeling which had begun to prevail. it was, indeed, a remark not without some spiritual significance. so it befell: the spirit of that old chief whose body had long been given to the wooded hills came into lost river camp. gordon hurried away after breakfast. while the children stood looking down the trail and waving their hands and weeping, silas strong ran past them two or three times with the noisy little wagon. its consoling clatter silenced them. there had been a deep purpose in the heart of the emperor while he spent half the night in his workshop. gordon had laughingly explained the cause of their disappointment on arriving at lost river camp. strong was trying to recover their esteem. "c-come on!" he shouted. soon socky and sue sat in the little wagon on their way to catamount pond with their uncle silas and the young fisherman. xi. the sky was clear, and the rays of the sun fell hot upon the dry woods that morning when master and the children and their uncle silas reached the landing at catamount. its eastern shore lay deep under cool shadows. the water plane was like taut canvas on which a glowing picture of wooded shore and sky and mountain had been painted. golden robins darted across a cove and sang in the tree-tops. master righted his canoe and put the children aboard and took his place in the stern-seat. "i'll slip over to r-robin," said the emperor as he shoved the canoe into deep water. with him to "slip" meant to go, and in his speech he always "slipped" from one point to another. master pushed through the pads and slowly cut the still shadow. the inverted towers of painter mountain began to quake beneath his canoe. sue sat in the bow and socky behind her. the curly hair of the girl, which had, indeed, the silken yellow of a corn-tassel, showed beneath her little pink bonnet. something about her suggested the rose half open. socky wore his rabato and necktie and best suit of clothes. they were both in purple and fine linen, so to speak---no one had thought to tell them better. as they came near the point of birch cove, master began to turn the bow and check his headway. there, on a moss-covered rock, stood the maiden whom he had seen the day before. a crow with a small scarlet ribbon about his neck clung upon her shoulder. the girl was looking at the two children. the bird rose on his wings and, after a moment of hesitation, flew towards them, the ends of the scarlet ribbon fluttering in the air. socky drew back as the crow lighted on a gunwale near his side. sue clung to the painter and sat looking backward with curiosity and fear in her face. the crow turned his head, surveying them as if he were, indeed, quite overcome with amazement. "sit still," said master, quietly. "he won't hurt you." the bird rose in the air again, and, darting downward, seized a shiny buckle above the visor of the boy's cap, which lay on the canoe bottom, and bore cap and all to his young mistress. socky began to cry with alarm. master reassured him and paddled slowly towards the moss-covered rock. silently his bow touched the shore. he stuck his paddle in the sand. he stepped into the shallow water and helped the children ashore. in the edge of the tamaracks and now partly hidden by their foliage, miss dunmore stood looking at the children. her figure was tall, erect, and oddly picturesque. somehow she reminded master of a deer halted in its flight by curiosity. her face, charming in form and expression, betrayed a childish timidity and innocence. her large, blue eyes were full of wonder. pretty symbols of girlish vanity adorned her figure. there were fresh violets on her bodice, and a delicate, lacy length of the moss-vine woven among her curls. the girl's hair, wonderfully full and rich in color, had streaks of gold in it. a beaded belt and holster of indian make held a small pistol. "miss dunmore, i believe?" he ventured. the girl retired a step or two and stood looking timidly, first at him and then at the children. her manner betrayed excitement. she addressed him with hesitation. "my--my name is edith dunmore," she said, in a tone just above a whisper. with trembling hands she picked a spray of tamarack that for a moment obscured her face. "you are the nun of the green veil. i have heard of you," said master. "i--i must not speak to you, sir," she said, as she retreated a little farther. "my name is master--robert master," said he. "i shall stay only a minute, but these children would like to know you." while speaking he had returned to his canoe. socky and sue stood still, looking up at the maiden. "children!" she exclaimed, in a low, sweet, tremulous, tone, as she took a step towards them. "the wonderful little children?" "sometimes i think they are brownies," he answered, with a smile of amusement. "but their uncle calls them little fawns." her right hand, which held the spray of tamarack, fell to her side; her left hand clung to a branch on which the crow sat a little above her shoulder, and her cheek lay upon her arm as she looked down wistfully, fondly, at the children. her blue eyes were full of curiosity. socky and sue regarded the beautiful maiden with a longing akin to that in her. in all there was a deep, mysterious desire which had grown out of nature's need--in them for a mother, in her for the endearing touch of those newly come into the world and for their high companionship. moreover, these two little ones, who had now a dim and imperfect recollection of their mother, had shaped an ideal--partly through the help of gordon--to take its place. therein they saw a lady, young and beautiful and more like this one who stood before them than like any they had yet beheld. sue grasped the hand of her brother, and both stood gazing at the maiden, but neither spoke nor moved for a moment. edith dun-more leaned forward a little, looking into their faces. "can you not speak to me?" she asked. socky began to be embarrassed; his eyes fell; he shook his head doubtfully. edith dunmore looked up at the stalwart figure of the young man. their eyes met. she quickly turned away. the tame crow, on the bough above, began to laugh and chatter as if he thought it all an excellent joke. "may--i--take them in my arms?" she asked, with hesitation. "yes; but i warn you--they have a way of stealing one's heart." "ah-h-h-h-h!" croaked the little crow, in a warning cry, as if he had seen at once the peril of it. she had begun to move slowly, almost timidly, towards the children. she knelt before them and took the little hand of sue in hers and looked upon it with wonder. she touched it with her lips; she pressed it against her cheek; she trembled beneath its power. the touch of the child's hand was, for her, it would almost seem, like that of one on the eyes of bartimeus. suddenly, as by a miracle, edith dunmore rose out of childhood. the veil of the nun was rent away. she was a woman fast coming into riches of unsuspected inheritance. she put her arms about the two and gently drew them towards her and held them close. her embrace and the touch of her breast upon theirs were grateful to them, and they kissed her. her eyes were wet, her sweet voice full of familiar but uncomprehended longing when she said, "dear little children!" "tut, _tut!_" said the tame crow, who had crept to the end of his branch, where he stood looking down at them. in a moment he began to break the green twigs and let them fall on the head of his mistress. sue felt the hair and looked into the face and eyes of the maiden with wondering curiosity. socky ran his fingers over the beaded belt. both had a suspicion which they dared not express that here was an angel in some way related to their mother. "you are a beautiful lady," said the boy, with childish frankness. master has often tried to describe the scene. he confesses that words, even though vivid and well spoken, cannot make one to understand the something which lay beneath all said and done, and which went to his heart so that for a time he turned and walked away from them. "do you remember when you were fairies?" the girl asked of the children. the latter shook their heads. "tell us about the fairies," sue proposed, timidly. "they are old, old people--so my father has told me," said the beautiful lady. "they came into this world thousands of years ago riding in a great cloud that was drawn by wild geese. the fairies came down, each on a big flake of snow, and got off in the tree-tops and never went away. at first they were the teentiest folks--so little that a hundred of them could stand on a maple leaf--and very, very old. my father says they were never young in their lives, and i guess they have always lived. they rode around on the backs of the birds and saw everything in the world and had such a good time they all began to grow young. now, as they grew young they grew bigger and bigger, and every spring a lot more of the little old people came out of the sky and began to grow young like the others. and by-and-by some of them were as big as your thumb and bigger." "how big do they grow?" the boy asked. "as they grow young they keep growing bigger. by-and-by the birds cannot carry them. then they have to walk, and for the first time in their lives they begin to get hungry and learn to cry and nobody knows what is the matter with them. the fairies complain about the noise they make, and one night a little old woman takes them down into the woods to get them out of the way. and violets grow wherever their feet touch the ground, and they sit in a huckleberry bush and make a noise like the cry of a spotted fawn. the fawns hear them and know very well what they are crying for. the fawns have always loved them. when the fairies come down out of the tree-tops they always ride on the fawns, and where they have sat you can see a little white spot about as big as a flake of snow. that's why the fawns are spotted, and you know how shy they are--they mustn't let anybody see the fairies. well, the young ones sit there in a huckleberry bush crying. the little animals come and lick their faces and tell them of a wonderful spring where milk flows out of a little hill and has a magic power in it, for even if one were crying and tasted the milk he always became happy. the young fairies climb on the backs of the fawns and ride away. by-and-by the fawns come to their mothers and their mothers tell them that no one who has teeth in his head can drink at the spring. so they wonder what to do. by-and-by they go to the woodpecker, for he has a pair of forceps and can pull anything, and the woodpecker pulls their teeth. then the young fairies do nothing but ride around--each on a spotted fawn--and drink at the wonderful spring and grow fat and lazy, and the birds pull every hair out of their heads to build nests with. they live down in the woods, for they cannot climb the trees any more, and one day they fall asleep for the first time and tumble off the fawns and lie on the ground dreaming. "they dream of the fairy-heaven where they shall grow old again and each shall have a mother and his own wonderful spring of milk. now that day trees begin to grow in the ground beneath them. the trees grow fast, and all in a night they lift the sleeping fairies far above the ground. the wind rocks them and they lie dreaming in the tree-tops until a crane, as he is crossing over the sky, looks down and sees them and goes and takes them away. you know the cranes have to go through the sky every day and pick up the young fairies." she paused and sat holding the hands of little sue and looking at them as if their beauty were a great wonder. "where do they take them?" master was returning, and the girl rose like one afraid and whispered to the children, "i will tell you if--if you will come again." "i shall ask your father if i may come and see you," said master as he came near. "ha! ha! ha!" the bird croaked, fluttering in the air and lighting on the shoulder of his mistress. the children stepped aside quickly, as if in fear of it. she took the crow on her finger and held him at arm's-length. he turned and tried to catch an end of the scarlet ribbon. she was a picture then to remind one of the days of falconry. she ran a few paces up a green aisle in the thicket. she stopped where the young man was unable to see her. "could--could you bring the children again, sir?" she asked. "on thursday, at the same hour," he answered. he heard again the warning of the little crow and her footsteps growing fainter in the dark trail of the deer. xii. master paddled slowly to the landing where he had left strong, and gathered lilies while they waited. he pushed up to the shore as soon as the emperor had arrived. "sp'ilt," said the latter, pointing in the direction of robin lake. "you mean that we cannot use the camp over there?" "ay-ah," strong almost whispered, with a face in which perspiration was mingled with regret and geniality. "s-see 'er?" "yes," master answered. "the children were a great help. she fell in love with them. we are to meet her again thursday." "uh-huh!" strong exclaimed, in a tone which seemed to say, "i told you so." "s-sociable?" he inquired, after a little pause. "no, but interested." "uh-huh, says i!" the emperor exclaimed again, with playful conceit. when he was in the mood of self-congratulation he had an odd way of bringing out those two words--"says i." "she was afraid of me. i backed away and said very little," master explained. "th-they'll t-tame her," the emperor assured him. "she has a wonderful crow with her," said the young man. "her g-guide," strong explained. "alwus knows the n-nighest way home." "if you'll help me, i'll make my camp here," said master. "ay-ah," the emperor answered. his manner and his odd remark were full of approval and almost affectionate admiration. in half a moment his tongue lazily added, "l-lean her 'gin th-that air rock." in his conversation he conferred the feminine gender upon all inanimate things--a kind of compliment to the sex he revered so highly. "how long will it take?" "day," said strong, surveying the ground. "i have to speak in hillsborough on the fourth. suppose we tackle it on my return?" strong agreed, and while he and the children set out for camp master remained to fish. two "sports" had arrived in the absence of the emperor and were shooting at a mark--a pastime so utterly foolish in the view of silas strong that he would rarely permit any one at lost river camp to indulge in it. he who discharged his rifle without sufficient provocation was roughly classed with that breed of hounds which had learned no better than to bark at a squirrel. "paunchers!" he muttered, as he came up the trail. it should be explained here that he divided all "would-be sportsmen" into three classes--namely, swishers, pouters, and paunchers. a swisher was one who filled the air within reach of his cast, catching trees and bushes, but no fish; a pouter, one who baited and hauled his fish as if it were no better than a bull-pout; a pauncher was wont to hit his deer "in the middle" and never saw him again. the emperor stopped suddenly. he had seen a twig fall near him and heard the whiz of a bullet. "whoa!" he called, his voice ringing in the timber. "h-hold on!" the migleys--father and son--of migleyville, hastened to greet the "emperor of the woods." they were the heralds of the great king of which strong had complained that night he laid his heart bare and whose name was business--a king who ruled not with the sword, but with flattery and temptation and artful devices. the emperor knew that they were the men who had bought his stronghold; that they were come to shove the frontier of their king far beyond the lost river country; that axes and saws and dams and flooded flats and whirling wheels and naked hill-sides would soon follow them. "how are you, mr. strong?" said the elder migley, who, by his son, was familiarly called "pop." he overflowed with geniality. "glad to see you. hot an' dry out in the clearing. little track-worn. thought we'd come in here for a breath o' fresh air an' a week or two o' sport. have a drink?" he winked one eye in a significant manner, which seemed to say that he had plenty and was out for a good time. "n-no th-thanks," said strong, as he surveyed the stout figure of the elder migley. here was one of the royal family of business, in dress neatly symbolic, for mr. migley wore a light suit of clothes divided into checks of considerable magnitude by stripes that ran, as it were, north, south, east, and west. the broad convexity of his front resembled, in some degree, an atlas globe. one might have located any part of his system by degrees of latitude and longitude. his equator was represented by a large golden chain which curved in a great arc from one pocket of his waistcoat to the other. as he walked one might have imagined that he was moving in his orbit. his large, full face was adorned with a chin-whisker and a selfish and prosperous-looking nose. it had got possession of nearly all the color in his countenance, and occupied more than its share of space. the son, "tom," had older manners and a more severe face. he carried with him a look of world-weariness and a sense of all-embracing knowledge so frequently derived from youthful experience. he was the-only-son type of domestic tyrant--overfed, selfish, brutal, wearied by adulation, crowned with curly hair. "look at that boy," the elder migley whispered, pointing at the fat young man of twenty-three who sat on a door-sill cleaning his rifle. "ain't he a picture? got a fast mark in hash-ford seminary." mr. migley owned a number of trotting-horses, and his conversation was always flavored with the cant of the stable. strong looked sadly at the fat young man, who was, indeed, the very personification of pulp, and thought of the doom of the woods. the elder migley, as if able to read the mind of strong, offered him the consolation of a cigar. then he reached to the pegs above him and lowered a quaking whip of greenheart which he had put together soon after his arrival. "heft it," he whispered, pressing his rod upon the emperor. "ain't that a dandy?" he looked into the eyes of the woodsman. he winked a kind of challenge, and added, "seems to me that ought to fetch 'em." "mebbe," strong answered, gently swaying the rod. he was never too free in committing himself. "got it for tommy," said the new sportsman. "ketched a four-pounder with it--ask him if i didn't." mr. migley had the habit of self-corroboration, and strong used to say that he never believed that kind of a liar. "le's go an' try 'em," migley suggested. the emperor smoked thoughtfully a moment. "d-down river, bym-by," he said, pointing at the cook-tent as if he had now to prepare the dinner. strong had seen the migleys before, although he had never entertained them. they had paunched and pouted in territory not far remote from lost river, and won a reputation which had travelled among the guides. they worked hard, and hurried out of the woods with all the fish and meat they could carry, and no respect for any law save one--the law of gravitation. they sat down or lay upon their backs every half-hour. now, it seemed, they were to abandon the vulgar art of the pouter for one more gentle and becoming. strong hastened to the cook-tent, where he found sinth treating the children to sugared cakes and words of motherly fondness. "teenty little dears!" she was saying when silas entered the door. she rose quickly, and hurried to the stove with a kind of shame on her countenance. silas kept a sober face while he went for the water-pail, as if he had not "took notice." his joy broke free and expressed itself in loud laughter on his way to the spring. "snook!" sinth exclaimed, her face red with embarrassment as she heard him. she poked the fire with great energy, and added: "let the fool laugh. i don't care if he did hear me." a new impulse from the heart of nature entered the migley breast. father and son were seeking an opportunity to use their muscles. the son seized a girder above his head and began to chin it; the father went to work with an axe, and his enthusiasm fell in heavy blows upon a beech log. strong peered through the window at him and muttered the one contemptuous word, "w-woodpecker!" a poor chopper in that part of the country was always classed with the woodpeckers. dinner over, the elder migley opened his tin fishing-box and displayed an assortment of cheap flies and leaders. "well, captain," said the young man, as he turned to strong, "if you'll show us where the trout live, we'll show you who they belong to." he passed judgment and bestowed rank upon a great many people, and most of his brevets, if he had been frank with them, would have put his life in peril. "pop" migley touched a rib of the emperor with his big, coercive thumb, shut one eye, and produced a kind of snore in his larynx. the wit of his son had increased the cheerfulness of mr. migley. he began telling coarse tales, and continued until, as the emperor would say, he had "emptied his reel." the man who talked too much always had a "big reel," in the thought of the emperor, and "slack line" was the phrase he applied to empty words. with everything ready for sport, they proceeded to the landing on lost river and were soon seated in a long canoe. "we'll t-try dunmore's trout," said strong as they left the shore. "dunmore's trout?" said the elder migley. "ay-uh," the emperor answered. "he hitched onto an' l-lost him." "oh, it's that fish i've heard about that grabbed off one of dunmore's flies," said the elder migley. "uh-huh," the emperor assented. as a matter of fact, the old gentleman who lived on the shore of buckhorn had done a good deal of talking about this remarkable fish. father and son sat with rods in hand while strong worked through the still water and down a long rush of rapids and halted below them near a deep pool flecked with foam. "c-cast," said he. with a wild swish and a spasmodic movement of arm and shoulder, "pop" migley, who sat amidships, tipped the canoe until it took water. strong dashed his paddle and recovered balance. the young man swore. "c-cast yer _f-flies_," strong suggested, and his emphasis clearly indicated that the fisherman should cease casting his body. again the _nouveau_ worked his rod, whipping its point to the water fore and aft. flies and leader clawed over the back of silas strong, fetching his hat off. before he could recover, the young man went into action. strong ducked in time to save an ear, splashing his paddle again to keep the canoe on its bottom. the tail-fly had caught above his elbow. when strong tried to loosen its hold the young man was tugging at the line. strong endeavored to speak, but somehow the words wouldn't come. suddenly the other rod came back with a powerful swing and smote him on the top of his head. he had been trying to say "see here," but his tongue had halted on the s. then he took a new tack, as it were, and tried a phrase which began with the letter g, and had fair success with it. both migleys gave a start of surprise. the emperor waited to recover self-control and felt a touch of remorse. "le' me c-climb a t-tree," he suggested, presently. the elder migley burst into loud laughter. "stop fooling!" said the young man. "i'd like to get some fish." he swung his rod, and was again tugging at the shirt-sleeve of the emperor. strong blew as he clung to the leader. "c-cast c-crossways," he commanded, with a gesture. the fishermen rested a moment. a hundred feet or so below them strong saw a squirrel crossing the still water. suddenly there was a movement behind him, and he sank out of sight. in half a moment he rose again, swimming with frantic haste to reach a clump of alder branches. strong knew the mysterious villain of this little drama of the river, but said not a word of what he had seen. the "sports" resumed fishing with less confidence and more care. soon they were able to reach off twenty feet or so, but they raked the air with deadly violence, and every moment one leader was laying hold of the other or catching in a tree-top. strong pulled down bough after bough to free the flies. presently they were caught high in a balsam. "take us where there's trout. what do you think we're fishing for, anyway?" said young migley. "b-birds," strong answered, as he continued hauling at the tree-top with hand and paddle. he used language always for the simple purpose of expressing his thoughts. soon the elder migley began to feel the need of information. he passed his rod to the emperor. "show me how ye do it," said he. strong paddled to a large, flat rock which rose, mid-stream, a little above water. he climbed upon it and sat down lazily. nature had taught him, as she teaches all who bear heavy burdens, to conserve his strength. he had none to waste in the support of dignity. when he sat down his weight was braced with hand, foot, and elbow so as to rest his heart and muscles. now he seemed to anchor himself by throwing his right knee over his left foot. his garment of cord and muscle lay loosely on his bones. there was that in the pose of this man to remind one of an ox lying peacefully in the field. he drew a loop of line off the reel, and with no motion of arm or body, his wrist bent, the point of the rod sprang forward, his flies leaped the length of his line and fell lightly on the river surface. they wavered across the current. he drew another loop of line. the rod rose and gave its double spring, and his flies leaped away and fell farther down the current. so his line flickered back and forth, running out and reaching with every cast until it spanned near a hundred feet. still the emperor smoked lazily, and, saving that little movement of the wrist, reposed as motionless and serene as the rock upon which he sat. suddenly strong's figure underwent a remarkable change. he bent forward, alert as a panther in sight of his prey. his mouth was open, his eyes full of animation. the supple wrist bent swiftly. the flies sprang up and flashed backward; the line sang in its flight. where the squirrel rose a big trout had sprung above water and come down with a splash. but he had missed his aim. again the flies lighted precisely where the trout sprang and wavered slowly through the bubbles. a breath of silence followed. the finned arrow burst above water in a veil of mist; down he plunged with a fierce grab at the tail-fly. the wrist of the fisherman sprang upward. the barb caught; the line slanted straight as a lance and seemed to strike at the river-bottom. the rod was bending. the fish had given a quick haul, and now the line's end came rushing in. the shrewd old trout knew how to gather slack on a fisherman. strong rose like a jack-in-the-box. his hand flashed to the reel. it began to play like the end of a piston. he swung half around and his rod came up. the fish turned for a mad rush. with hands upon rod and silk the fisherman held to check him. strong's line ripped through the water plane from mid-river to the shadow of the bank. the strain upon the fish's jaw halted him. he settled and began to jerk on the line. strong raised his foot and tapped the butt of his rod. the report seemed to go down the line as if it had been a telephone message. it startled the trout, and again he took a long reach of silk off the reel. then slowly he went back and forth through an arc of some twenty feet, and the long line swung like a pendulum. weakened by his efforts, he began to lead in. slowly he came near the rock, and soon the splendid trout lay gasping from utter weariness an arm's-length from his captor. as the net approached him he dove again, hauling with fierce energy. the man was leaning over the edge of the rock, his rod in one hand, his net in the other. he came near losing his balance in the sudden attack. he scrambled into position. again the trout gave up and followed the strain of the leader. strong let himself down upon the river-bottom beside the rock, and stood to his belt in water. the fish retreated again and came back helpless and was taken. he filled the net. a great tail-fin waved above its rim. the emperor hefted his catch and blew like a buck deer, after his custom in moments of great stress. then came a declaration of unusual length. "ye could r-reel me in with a c-c-cotton th-thread an' p-pick me up in yer f-fingers." it was growing dusk. strong clambered to the top of the rock. "pop" migley brought the canoe alongside. the emperor gave a loud whistle of surprise. "dunmore's t-trout!" he said, soberly. he had found a "black gnat" embedded in the fish's mouth, its snell broken near the loop. he put the struggling fish back in the net and tied his handkerchief across the top of it. the migleys both agreed that they were ready for supper. the emperor got aboard and requested the elder migley to keep the fish under water, while he took his paddle and pushed for camp. they put their trout in a spring at the boat-house. the sports hurried to camp. master came down the path and met strong. "i've got d-dunmore's t-trout," said the latter. "good!" master answered; "that will give us an excuse to go and call on him." xiii that evening, while the others went out to sit by the camp-fire, silas strong put the children to bed and lay down beside them. they begged him for a story, he had neither skill nor practice in narration, he had, as the rustic merchant is wont to say, a desire to please. he knew that he had disappointed the children and was doing his best to recover their esteem. possibly he ought to try and be more like other folks. he rubbed his thin, sandy beard, he groped among the treasures of his memory. infrequently he had gone over them with sinth or the lady ann, but briefly and with halting words and slow reflection. he had that respect for the past which is a characteristic of the true historian, but, in his view, it gave him little to say of his own exploits. he was wont to observe, ironically, that others knew more of them than he knew himself. owing, it may be, to his little infirmity of speech, he had never been misled into the broad way of prevarication. brevity had been his refuge and his strength. he regarded with contempt the boastful narratives of woodsmen. now the siren voices of the little folks had made him thoughtful. had he nothing to give them but disappointment? he hesitated. then he fell, as it were, but, happily, for the sake of those two he had begun to love, and not through pride. it was a kind of modesty which caused him to reach for the candle and blow it out. then, boldly, as it were, he began to sing a brief account of one of his own adventures. he could sing without stammering, and therefore he sang an odd and almost tuneless chant. he accepted such rhyme and rhythm as chanced to drift in upon the monotonous current of his epic; but he turned not aside for them. he sang glibly, jumping in and out of that old, melodious trail of "the son of a gamboleer." strong called this unique creation of his "the story of the mellered bear. "one day yer uncle silas went for to kill a bear, an' a dog he took an' follered which his name was little zeb; bym-by we come acrost a track which looked as big as sin, an' zeb he hollered 'twas a bear, which i didn't quite believe in until i got down on my knee, an' then i kind o' laughed, for su'thin' cur'us showed me where he'd wrote his autygraft, an' which way he was travellin' all in the frosty snow; an' i follered zeb, the bear-dog, as fast as i could go, an' purty soon i see where the bear had tore his overcoat upon a hem lock-tree, an' left some threads behind him which fell upon his track, which i wouldn't wonder if he done a-scratchin' of his back, which caused me for to grin an' laugh all on ac count o' my feelin's." here came a pause, in which the singer sought a moment of relaxation, as it would seem, in a thoughtful and timely cough. "bym-by i come up kind o' dost an' where that i could see zeb was jumpin' like a rabbit an' a-hollerin' t' me; an' i could see the ol' bear's home all underneath a ledge, an' the track of his big moggasins up to the very edge. i took an' fetched some pine-knots an' a lot of ol' dead limbs, an' built a fire upon his door-step an' let the smoke blow in; an' then i took a piece o' rope an' tethered zeb away so's that he'd keep his breeches fer to use another day. an' purty soon i listened an' i heard the bear a-coughin', an' he sneezed an' bellered out as if he guessed he'd be excused. all t' once he bust out an' the rifle give a yell, an' i wouldn't wonder if he thought--" the narrator was halted for half a moment by another frog in his throat--as he explained. then he went on: "an' zeb he tore away an' took an' fastened on the bear, an' they rolled down-hill together, an' the critter ripped the air, an' i didn't dast t' shoot him for fear o' killin' zeb, so i clubbed my rifle on the bear an' mellered up his head." moist with perspiration, silas strong rose and stood by the bedside and blew. fifty miles with a boat on his back could not have taxed him more severely. he answered a few queries touching the size, fierceness, and fate of the bear. then he retreated, whispering as he left the door, "strong's ahead." zeb lay on the foot of the bed, and socky, being a little timid in the dark, coaxed him to lie between them, his paws on the pillow. with their hands on the back of zeb, they felt sure no harm could come to them. "do you love uncle silas?" it was the question of little sue. socky answered, promptly, "yes; do you?" "yes." "hunters don't never wear good clothes." so socky went on, presently, as if apologizing to his own spirit for the personal appearance of his uncle. "they git 'em all tore up by the bears an' panthers." "that's how he got his pants tore," sue suggested, thinking of his condition that day they met him on the trail. "had a fight with a 'kunk," socky answered, quickly. he had overheard something of that adventure at robin lake. they lay thinking a moment. then up spoke the boy. "i wisht he had a gold watch." with socky the ladder by which a man rose to greatness had many rounds. the first was great physical strength, the next physical appearance; the possession of a rifle and the sacred privilege of bathing the same in bear's-oil was distinctly another; symbols of splendor, such as watches, finger-rings, and the like, had their places in the ladder, and qualities of imagination were not wholly disregarded. sue tried to think of something good to say--something, possibly, which would explain her love. it was her first trial at analysis. "he wouldn't hurt nobody," she suggested. "he can carry a tree on his back"--so it seemed to socky. "he wouldn't let nothin' touch us," said sue, still working the vein of kindness which she had discovered. "he's the most terrible powerful man in the world," socky averred, and unconsciously twisted the soft ear of zeb until the latter gave a little yelp of complaint. "he can kill bears an' panthers an' deers an'--an' ketch fish," said sue. "he could swaller a whale," socky declared, as he thought of the story of jonah. "aunt sinthy has got a hole in her shoe." the girl imparted this in a whisper. both felt the back of zeb and were silent for a little. "she blubbers!" socky exclaimed, with a slight touch of contempt in the way he said it. "maybe she got her feet wet and uncle silas spanked her." "big folks don't get spanked," the boy assured sue. "do you like her?" he answered quickly, as if the topic were a bore to him, "purty well." sue had hoped for greater frankness. her own opinion of her aunt cynthia, while favorable, was unsettled. she thought of a thing in connection with her aunt which had given her some concern. she had been full of wonder as to its hidden potentialities. in a moment sue broached the subject by saying, "she's got a big mold on her neck." "with a long hair on it," socky added. "bet you wouldn't dast pull that hair." sue squirmed a little. that single hair had, somehow, reminded her of the string on a jumping-jack. she reflected a moment, "i put my finger on it," said she, boastfully. "that's nothing," socky answered. "uncle silas let me feel the shot what he got in his arm. gee, it was kind o' funny." he squirmed a little and thoughtfully felt his foot. sue recognized the superior attraction of the buried shot and held her peace a moment. both had begun to yawn. "wisht it was t'-morrow," said sue. "why?" "'cause i'm going to see the beautiful lady." "an' the crow, too," socky whispered. they were, indeed, to see her sooner than they knew--in dreamland. zeb now retired discreetly to the foot of the bed. after a little silence sue put her arms about her brother's neck and pressed him close. "wisht i was in heaven," she said, drowsily, with a little cry of complaint. "why?" "so i could see my mother." "she's way up a trillion miles beyond where the hawks fly," said the boy, as he gaped wearily. thereafter the room was silent, save for the muffled barking of zeb in his slumber. he, too, was dreaming, no doubt, of things far away. xiv they were a timely arrival--those new friends who had found edith dunmore. she was no longer satisfied with the narrow world in which her father had imprisoned her, and had begun to wander alone as if in quest of a better one. that hour of revelation on the shore of birch cove led quickly to others quite as wonderful. she had no sooner reached home than she told her grandmother of the young man and the children who had come with him to the shore of catamount and of a strange happiness in her heart. it was then that a sense of duty in the old scotchwoman broke away from promises to her son which had long suppressed it. as they sat alone, together, the old lady talked to her granddaughter of the mysteries of life and love and death. much in this talk the girl had gathered for herself, by inference, out of books--mostly fairy tales that her father had brought to her--and out of the evasions which had greeted her questioning and out of her own heart. her queries followed one another fast and were answered freely. she learned, among other things, a part of the reason for their lonely life--that her father was not like other men, not even like himself; that their isolation had been a wicked and foolish error; that men were not, mostly, children of the devil seeking whom they might destroy, but kindly, giving and desiring love; that she, edith dunmore, had a right to live like the rest of god's children, and to love and be loved and given in marriage and to have her part in the world's history. all this and much good counsel besides the old lady gave to the girl who sat a long time pondering after her grandmother had left her. in the miracle of birth and the storied change that follows dissolution she saw the magic of fairyland. to her paristan had been much more real than the republic in which she lived. she longed for the hour to come when she should again see those wonderful children and the still more wonderful being who had brought them in his canoe. next morning she set out early in the trail to catamount with her little guide and companion. she had named him roc, after the famous bird of oriental tradition. she arrived there long before the hour appointed. slowly she wandered to the trail over which master and the children would be sure to come. she approached the camp at lost river and stood peering through thickets of young fir, she saw the boy and girl at play, and watched them. soon master came out of one of the cabins. now, somehow, she felt a greater fear of him than before, yet she longed to look into his face--to feel the touch of his hand. the crow had taken his perch in a small tree beside his mistress. he seemed to be looking thoughtfully at the children, with now and then a little croak of criticism or of amusement, ending frequently in a sound like half-suppressed laughter. he raised a foot and slowly scratched his head, a gaze of meditation deepening in his eyes. suddenly his interest seemed to grow keener. he moved a step aside, rose in the air, and approached the children. darting to the ground, he picked up a little silver compass which, one of them had dropped, and quickly returned with it. the children called to master, and all three followed the crow. his mistress, scarcely knowing why, had run up the trail, and roc pursued her with foot and wing, croaking urgently, as if his life and spoil depended on their haste. reaching a thicket beside the trail, she hid under its sheltering cover and sat down to rest. the crow, following, scrambled upon her shoulder and dropped the bit of silver into her lap. she held his beak to keep him quiet when master and the children came near, but as the latter were passing they could hear the smothered laughter of roc. in a moment socky and sue ran to their new friend, while master waited near them. the crow spread his wings and seemed to threaten with a scolding chatter. the girl threw the bird in the air and took the hands of the children and drew them to her breast. she held them close and looked into their faces. "dear fairies!" said she, impulsively kissing them. "tell us where the cranes go with--with the young fairies," sue managed to say, her hands and voice trembling. miss dunmore sat looking down sadly for a little before she answered. sue, curiously, felt "the lady's" cheeks that were now rose-red and beautiful. "i will tell you what my father says," the latter began. "the cranes take them to slum-bercity on a great marsh and put them in their nests. the heads of the young fairies are bald and smooth and the cranes sit on them as if they were eggs. by-and-by wonderful thoughts and dreams come into them so that the fairies wake up and begin crying for they are very hungry. they remember the spring of milk, but they are so young and helpless they can only reach out their hands and cry for it. some of the cranes stand on one leg in the marsh and listen. the moment they hear the young fairies crying they fly away to find mothers for them. the unhappy little things are really not fairies any more--they are babies. some of the cranes come and dance around the nest to keep them quiet, and the babies sit up and open their eyes and begin to laugh, it is so very funny. and that night a big crane sits by the side of each baby and the baby creeps on his back and rides away to his mother. and he is so weary after his ride that he sleeps and is scarcely able to move, and when he wakes and smiles and laughs, he remembers how the cranes danced in the marsh." curiously, silently, the children looked into her face, while she, with wonder equal to their own, put her arms around them. "my father says that there are no people--that we are really nothing but young fairies asleep and dreaming up in the tops of the trees, and that the fairy heaven is not here." she gazed into the eyes of the boy a moment, all unconscious of his mental limitations. then she added, "you're nothing but a big fairy--you're so very young." socky drew away with a look of injury and threw out his chest. "i'm six years old," he answered, with dignity. "in a little while i'll be a man." miss dunmore drew them close to her and said, "i wish i could take you home with me." "have you any maple sugar there?" the little girl inquired. "yes, and a tame fox and a little fawn." "but you'ain't got no uncle silas," said the boy, boastfully. "ner no aunt sinth," sue ventured. then, with her tiny fingers, she felt the neck of "the beautiful lady" to see if there were a "mold" on it. she was thinking of one of the chief attractions of her aunt. in a moment she added, "ner no uncle robert." they had begun to call him uncle robert. "is he the man i saw?" the maiden asked. both children nodded affirmatively. "do you love him?" "yes; would you like to take him home with you, too?" socky asked, with a look of deep interest. if they were to go he would wish to have his new uncle with them, and sue saw the point. "he can carry you on his back and growl jes' like a bear," she urged. "he can put his mouth on your cheek and make such a funny noise." miss dunmore looked away, blushing red. it was a curious kind of love-making. she whispered in the ear of the little girl, "would you let me have him?" sue looked up into her eyes doubtfully. "she wants our uncle robert," socky guessed aloud. "but not to keep?" sue questioned, as if it were not to be thought of. the eyes of the children were looking into those of "the beautiful lady." "i couldn't have him?" the latter asked. "we'll give you our coon," sue suggested, by way of compromise. "i am sure he--your uncle--would not go with me," miss dunmore suggested. socky seemed now to think that the time had come for authoritative information. he broke away and called to his new uncle. the maiden rose quickly, blushing with surprise. she turned away as robert master came in sight, and stood for half a moment looking down. then, stooping, she picked a wild flower and timidly offered it. the act was full of childish simplicity. it spoke for her as her tongue could not. knowledge acquired since she saw him last had possibly increased her shyness. "she wants you," said the boy, with vast innocence, while he looked up at the young man. "i wish i could believe it were true," said master, as he came nearer by a step to the daughter of the woodland. she turned with a look of fear and said, "i must go," as she ran to the trail, followed by roc. a little distance away she turned, looking back at the young man. something in her eyes told of a soul beneath them lovelier than its nobly fashioned house. moreover, they proclaimed the secret which she would fain have kept. "shall we shake hands?" he asked. she took a step towards him and stopped. "no," she answered. "i must see you again," said master, with passionate eagerness, fearing that she was about to leave. she looked down but made no answer. the children put their arms about her knees as if to detain her. "you will not forget to come thursday?" he added. "the beautiful lady" stood looking at him, her left hand upon her chin, her arms bare to the elbows. a smile, an almost imperceptible nod, and the eloquence of her eyes were the only answer she gave him, but they were enough. "will you not speak to me?" the young man urged, as he came nearer. she stood looking, curiously, until he could almost have touched her. then, gently, she pushed the children away and fled up the trail, her pet following. in a moment she had gone out of sight. she was like the spirit of the woodland--wild, beautiful, silent. xv there was a great marsh around a set-back leading off the still water near lost river camp. there the children had seen many cranes, and they did not forget that certain of them had stood upon one leg. after supper that evening they sat together whispering awhile and presently stole away. there was a trail for frog-hunters that led to their destination. they ran, eagerly, and, just as the sun was going down, stopped on a high bank overlooking the marshes. it was a broad flat covered with pools and tall grasses and bogs, crowned with leaves of the sweet-flag and with cattails and pussy-willows. now it was still and hazy. the pools were like mirrors with the golden glow of the sky and soft, dark shadows in them. far out on the marsh they discovered a crane strolling leisurely among the bogs, and began to chatter about him. they looked and listened until the sun had gone below the tops of the trees. then cranes came flying homeward out of the four skies, and, one by one, lighted on the edge of a bog some two or three hundred feet from the children. sue uttered a little cry of joy. the cranes stood motionless with heads up. "they're listening," socky assured his sister. bull-frogs had begun croaking and a mud-hen was making a sound like that of a rusty pump. the children now sat on the side of the bank and leaned forward straining their eyes and ears. soon the far, shrill cry of some little animal rang above the chorus of the marsh. the children took it to be a baby, and seemed almost to writhe with suppressed laughter mingled with hopeful and whispered comment. in his excitement socky slipped off his perch and came near rolling down the side of the bank. one of the cranes began to shuffle about, his wings half open, like an awkward dancer. soon the whole group of birds seemed to be imitating him, and each shuffled on his long legs as if trying to be most ridiculous. the dusk was thickening, and the children could only just discern them. they sat close together and held each other's hands tightly, and looked out upon the marsh and were silent with awe and expectation. suddenly the cranes scattered into the bushes and the sedge. socky and sue were now watching to see them fly. it was almost dark and a big moon seemed to be peering through the tops of the trees. soon the great birds strode slowly in single file past the wonder-stricken two. "see the babies! see the babies!" sue cried out. they squirmed and shivered with awe, their lips and eyes wide with amazement. in the dim light they imagined that a baby sat on the back of each crane. sue had no sooner cried out than there came a flapping of wings that seemed to fill the sky. the feathered caravan had taken to the air and were swinging in a wide circle around the edge of the marsh. they quickly disappeared in the gloom. "gone to find mothers for 'em," said socky, in a trembling whisper. the children had suddenly become aware that it was quite dark, but neither dared speak of it. they still sat looking out upon the marsh and clinging hand to hand. soon a procession of grotesque and evil creatures began to pass them: the great bear of the woods who had swallowed alive all the little runaways, and who, having made them prisoners, only let them come out now and then to ride upon his back; the big panther-bird who lured children from their homes with berries and flowers and nuts and, maybe, raisins, and who, when they were in some lonely place, dropped stones upon their heads and slew them; odd, indescribable shapes, some having long, hairy necks and heads like cocoa-nuts; and, lastly, came that awful horned creature, with cloven hoofs and the body of a man, who carried a pitchfork and who, soon or late, flung all the bad children into a lake of fire. socky and sue covered their faces with their hands. suddenly a prudent thought entered the mind of the boy. "i'm going to be good," said he, in a loud but timid voice. "i love god best of every one." his sister gave a little start. in half a moment she suggested, her eyes covered with her hands, "you don't love god better than uncle silas?" socky hesitated. prudence and affection struggled for the mastery. "yes," he managed to say, although with some difficulty. "don't you?" sue hesitated. he nudged her and whispered, "say yes--say it out loud." the word came from sue in a low, pathetic wail of fear. "i ain't never goin' to tell any more lies," the boy asserted, in a firm, clear voice, "er swear er run away." they both gave a cry of alarm, for zeb had sprung upon them and begun to lick their faces. their aunt and uncle had missed them and zeb had led his master to where they sat. strong had heard the children choosing between him and their creator and understood. socky and sue, after the shock of zeb's sudden arrival, were encouraged by his presence and began to take counsel together. "we better go home," said socky. "what if we meet something?" "pooh! i'll crook my finger to him an' say, 'sile strong is my uncle,'" socky answered, confidently. "you'll see him run fast enough." it was a formula which his uncle had taught him, and he had tried it upon a deer and a hedgehog with eminent success. the emperor had planned to give them a scare by way of punishment, but now he had no heart for severity. he walked through the bushes whistling. he said not a word as he knelt before them--indeed, the man dared not trust himself to speak. with cries of joy they climbed upon his shoulders and embraced him. strong rose and slowly carried them through the dark trail. he could not even answer their questions. he. was thinking of their faith in him--of their love, the like of which he had-never known or dreamed of and was not able to understand. sinth was out with a lantern when they returned. the children were asleep in his arms. "sh-h-h! don't scold, sister," said he, in a voice so gentle it surprised himself. they put the children to bed and walked to the cook-tent. strong told of all he had heard them say. "i dunno but you'll have to whip 'em," said sinth. strong was drying the little boots of the boy. he touched them tenderly with his great hand. he smiled and shook his head and slowly stammered, "if we're g-goin't' be g-good'nough t' 's-sociate with them we got t' wh-whip ourselves." he rose and put a stick of wood on the fire. "th-they think i'm m-most as good as god," he added, huskily, and then he went out-ofdoors. before going to bed that night he made this entry in his memorandum-book: _"strong won't do he'll have to be tore down an' built over."_ xvi the migleys had engaged strong to take them out of the woods next day. they were going to the fourth-of-july celebration at hillsborough. master was going also, be orator of the day. strong, hearing the talk of the others, had "got to wishin'," as sinth put it, and had finally concluded to go on to hillsborough and witness the celebration. so master had sent for his guide to come and stay at lost river camp until the return of silas. the emperor was getting ready to go. some one had told him that a man at hillsborough was buying coons and foxes for the zoological gardens in new york. he considered whether he had better take his young pet coon with him. in that hour of expanding generosity when he had broken his bank, as the saying goes, he had forgotten his new responsibilities. there were the children, and that necessity which often awoke him at night and whispered of impending evil--he must leave his old home and find a new one somewhere in the forest. the little people would need boots and dresses, and why shouldn't they have a rocking-horse or some cheering toy of that character? such reflections began to change--to amend, as it were--his view of money. furthermore, sinth had no respect for coons. ever since the emperor had captured him, much of her ill-nature had been focussed upon the coon. "w-woods g-goin'," he mused, as he fed the little creature. "w-we got t' git t-tame." "you better take him along," said sinth, as she came out of the cook-tent. "jim warner got ten dollars for a coon down to canton las' summer." "c-come on, dick," said the hunter, with some regret in his tone as he fastened the coon's cage upon his basket. strong looped a cord through the wire and the buckles of both shoulder-braces. master had taken the river route, and would drive to hillsborough from tupper's. strong and the migleys were going out through pitkin. the "sports" had been on their way for more than half an hour. strong put his arms in the straps and followed them. he turned in the trail and called back: "b-better times!" he shouted. it was a cheerful sentiment which he often expressed in moments of parting with sinth. "don't believe it," sinth answered. "you s-see," he insisted, and then he disappeared in the timber. as the travellers went on, the migleys exhibited increasing respect for the law of gravitation. they gave their coats to the emperor, who studiously kept as far ahead or behind them as possible to avoid conversation. he was "tongue weary," and told them so. late in the afternoon they came to a new lumber-camp. "the warren job" had pushed its front across the old trail. what desolation had fallen where strong passed, two weeks before, in the shadow of the primeval wood! its green roof lay in scraggled, withering heaps; the under thickets had been cut away; the ferns lay flat, blackening on the sunburned soil. an old skeleton of pine lifted its broken arms high above the scene of desolation, and one could hear its bones creak and rattle in the breezy heavens. great shafts of spruce and pine were being sawed into even lengths and hauled to a skidway. busy men looked small as ants in the edge of the high forest. some swayed in pairs, "pulling the briar," as woodsmen say of those who work with a saw. strong and the migleys halted to watch the downfall of a great pine. soon the sawyers put their wedge in the slit and smote upon it. the sheet of steel hissed back and forth. then a few blows of the axe. the men gave a shout of warning and drew aside. the great tree began to creak and tremble. slowly it bent and groaned; its long arms seemed to clutch at the air. then it pitched headlong, its top whistling, its heavy stem shaking the ground upon which it fell. a voice of thunder seemed to proclaim its fate. the axemen lopped off its branches, and soon the long column lay stark, and the growth of two centuries had come to its end. strong and his companions stood a moment longer watching the scene. "huh!" the emperor grunted, with a sorry look as they passed on. near sundown they came into the cleared land--the sandy, god-forsaken barrens of tifton, robbed of root and branch and soil, of their glory, and the one crop nature had designed for them. the travellers passed a deserted cabin on a hot, stony hill. in its door-yard they could see a plough and an old wagon partly overgrown with weeds. some one had tried to live on the spoiled earth and had come to discouragement. where ten thousand men could have found healing and refreshment there was not enough growing to feed a dozen sheep. here a part of the great inheritance of man had been forever ruined. strong spoke of the pity of it. "can't be helped," said the elder migley. "a man has a right to cut and sell his timber." strong made no question of that, claiming only that the cutting should be "reg'lated," an expression which he rarely took the trouble to explain. it stood for a meaning well considered--that the forest belonged to the people, the timber to the owner of the land; that the right of the owner should be subject to restraint. he should be permitted to cut trees of a certain size only. so the forest would be made permanent, and the owner and the generations to follow him would get a crop of timber every eight or ten years. the sun was setting when they came into the little forest hamlet. the migleys put up at the pitkin general store, where one might have rude hospitality as well as merchandise. there strong left pack and coon behind the counter and hastened to the home of annette. the comely young woman rose from the supper-table and took both his hands in hers. "strong's ahead!" he answered, cheerfully, as she greeted him. in response to her invitation he sat down to eat. her father lighted his pipe and left them. silas told of the swishers and the big trout and the children. "m-me an' sinth is b-bein' cut over," here-marked, with a smile, as he thought of the children. "what do you mean?" "b-bein' cleared an' p-ploughed an' sowed." she laughed a little as the emperor unfolded his pleasantry. he thought of his improved account in the matter of swearing and of the better temper of sinth. "g-gittin' p-proper," he added. annette was amused. "g-got t' leave lost r-river," he said, presently. "got to leave lost river!" annette exclaimed. "ay-ah," strong answered. he looked down for a second, then he added, sorrowfully, "g-goin' to tear down the w-woods." "it's an outrage. couldn't you go to the plains?" "s-sold an' f-fenced." "how about the rag lake country?" "b-bein' cut." annette shook her head ruefully. "w-woods got t' g-go," said strong, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. . "what'll you do?" "g-git tame," strong answered, as he rose and went to the squirrel cage and began to play with his old pet. the little animal came to his wire gateway and stood upon the palm of the emperor's hand. "t-trespasser!" he remarked, stroking the squirrel. "th-they'll have me in a c-cage, too, purty s-soon." he put the squirrel away and offered his hand to annette. "s-some day," he whispered. "some day," she answered, with a sigh. "y-you're g-goin' to hear me d-do some t-talkin'," he assured her. the lady ann had often mildly complained of his reticence. they now stood in front of the little veranda. she was looking up at him. "it'll 'mount to s-suthin', t-too," he went on. it seemed as if he were making an honest effort to correct the idleness of his tongue. he was looking down at her and groping in his mind for some other cheerful sentiment. he seemed to make this happy discovery, and added, "w-won-derful good t-times comin'." with a full heart she pressed his great hand in both of hers. "k-keep ahead," said he, cheerfully, and bade her good-night. with this he left her and was happy, for the taming of sinth had seemed to bring that "some day" of his promise into the near future. at the pitkin general store his two companions had retired for the night, and he joined a group of woodsmen who occupied everything in the place which had a fairly smooth and accessible top on it. they were all in debt to the storekeeper and seemed to entertain a regard for him not unmingled with pity. this latter sentiment was, the historian believes, rather well founded. they called him "billy," with the inflection of fondness. two sat slouching, apologetically, on the counter. one rested his weight, as tenderly and considerately as might be, on a cracker-barrel. another reposed with a look of greater confidence on the end of a nail-keg. they were guides, two of whom had come out for provisions; the others, like strong, were on their way to hillsborough. "here's the old emp'ror," said one, as strong entered and returned their greetings and sat down astride the beam of a plough. "i'd like to know what he thinks of it," said a guide from the jordan lake country. strong looked up at him without a word. "a millionaire has bought thirty thousand acres alongside o' my camp," the guide explained. "he won't let me cross on the old trail. i had to go six mile out o' my way to git here." he smote the counter with his fist and coupled the name of the rich man with vile epithets. "my father and my grandfather travelled that trail before he was born," the angry woodsman declared. strong leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked at his hands without speaking. one laughed loudly, another gave out a sympathetic curse. "i'll git even with him--you hear me." so the aggrieved party expressed himself. "how?" strong inquired, looking up suddenly. "i'll git even. i'll send a traveller into that preserve who'll put him off it." he spoke with a sinister suggestion. "huh!" the emperor grunted. he understood the threat of the other, who clearly meant to set the woods afire. "ain't i right? what d' ye come to, anyway, when ye think it all over?" the words came hot and fast off the tongue of the com-plainer. "f-fool," strong stammered, calmly. there was something in his way of saying it that made the others laugh. a faint smile of embarrassment showed in the face of the angry woodsman. "me or the millionaire?" he inquired. "b-both," strong answered, soberly, as the storm ended in a little gust of laughter. strong had stripped the guide of his anger as deftly as a squirrel could take the shell off a nut. in the brief silence that followed he thought of another maxim for his memorandum-book, and soon it was recorded therein as follows: _"man that makes trouble sure to have most of it."_ presently he who sat on the cracker-barrel remarked, "if them air woods git afire now, they'll burn the stars out o' heaven." all eyes turned upon the once violent man. "of course, i wouldn't fire the woods," he muttered. he was now cool, and could see the folly and also the peril which lay in his threat. "i never said i'd set the woods afire, but the ol' trail has been a thoroughfare for nigh a hunderd year.-i believe i've got as good a right to use it as he has." "th-think so?" the emperor inquired. "yes, sir." "then d-do it," strong answered, dryly. there was much in those three words and in the look of the speaker. it said, plainly, that the other was to do what he thought to be right and never what he knew to be wrong. "lumbermen are more to blame," said another. "where they've been nobody wants to go. they cut everything down t' the size o' yer wrist an' leave the soil covered with tinder-stacks. they think o' nothin' but the profit. case o' fire, woods 'round 'em wouldn't hev a ghost of a show." "look at the weaver tract," said he who sat on the nail-keg. "four thousand acres o' dead tops--miles on 'em--an' all as dry as gunpowder. if you was t' touch a match there ye'd have to run fer yer life." "go like a scairt deer," said he of the cracker-barrel. "'fore it stopped i guess ye'd think the world was afire." "w-woods g-goin'," said the emperor, sadly. he thought of the cold springs at which he had refreshed himself in the heat of the summer day and which were to perish utterly; he thought of the brooks and rivers, slowing their pace like one stricken with infirmity, and, by-and-by, lying dead in the sunlight--lying in a chain of slimy pools across the great valley of the st. lawrence; he thought of green meadows which, soon or late, would probably wither into a desert. "what 'll become of us?" said he on the nail-keg. "have t' be sawed an' trimmed an' planed an' matched an' go into town." it was the voice above the cracker-barrel. "not me," said the occupant of the nail-keg. "too many houses an' folks an' too much noise. couldn't never stan' it." "village is a cur'ous place," said another, who had never been sober when he saw it. "steeples an' buildin's an' folks reel 'round in pairs. seems so the sidewalk flowed like a river, an' nothin' stan's still long 'nough so ye can see how 't looks." the speaker was interrupted by the proprietor of the pitkin general store, who came downstairs and flung himself on the top of the counter. "goin't' the fourth?" said he of the cracker-barrel. "might as well--got t' hev a tooth drawed." "i've got one that's been growlin' purty spiteful," said the nail-kegger. "dunno but i might as well go an' hev it tore out." "i got t' be snaked, too," said the cracker-barrel man. "reg'lar tooth-drawin' down thar to-morrer," said a voice from the counter. "beats all how the teeth git t' rairin' up ev'ry circus an' fourth o' july," said the nail-kegger. the laughter which now ensued seemed, as it were, to shake everybody off his perch. the counter and the cracker-barrel expressed themselves in a creak of relief, and all went abovestairs save the emperor. he cut a few boughs for a pillow, spread his blanket under the pine-trees, flung an end of it over his great body, and "let go," as he was wont to say. at any time of day or night he had only to lie down and "let go," and enjoy absolute forgetfulness. xvii at the break of day next morning, strong rose and called his fellow-travellers. beside the turnpike he built a fire, over which he began to cook fish and potatoes and coffee. when the migleys had come, all sat on a blanket within reach of their food and helped themselves in a fashion almost as ancient as the hills. then strong gave the coon his share, and washed the dishes and got his pack ready. it was a tramp of four miles to the station below pitkin. they arrived there, however, before the sun was an hour high. when they were seated in the end of the smoking-car, with coon and pack beside them, mr. migley began to reveal the plans of the great king, business. having increased his territory, he now felt the need of adding to his power. he must have more legislation, for there were to be ruthless changes of the map. those few really free and independent people who dwelt in and near the lost river country were to be his subjects and they must learn to obey. at least they must not oppose him and make trouble. gently his envoy began. "you know," said he, "there's to be a new member of assembly in our district." strong nodded. "i want my son to go," the elder migley went on, as he winked suggestively. "he's going to make his home in pitkin, and it's very necessary to his plans that you people should be with him. he's got the talent of a statesman. ask anybody who knows the boy." he paused a moment. the emperor made no reply. "level-headed and reliable in every spot an' place, an' a good-looker," migley continued, as if he were selling a road-horse, while he nudged the emperor. "look at him. i'd swap faces with that boy any day and give him ten thousand dollars to boot. wouldn't you?" mr. migley spoke in dead earnest. he pinched the knee of strong and waited for his reply. "w-wouldn't fit me," the emperor replied. "pop" migley took the answer as a compliment and gurgled with good feeling. "strong, you're a kind of a boss up here in the hills," said he. "there isn't a jay in the pine lands that wouldn't walk twenty miles to caucus if you asked him to." "dunno," strong answered, doubtfully. "i know what i'm talking about," said the lumberman, with a smile. "i want the vote o' the town o' pitkin. if we get that we can give 'em all the flag." strong was not unaccustomed to this kind of appeal. there were not many voters in his town, but they always followed the emperor. "you can get it for us," mr. migley insisted. "n-no." "why not?" "i've promised to help m-master." "oh, well, now, look here--you and i ought to be friends," said migley. "we ought to stand by each other. you look out for me and i'll look out for you." as he offered his alliance, migley tenderly pressed the shoulder of silas strong. then he put his index-finger on that square of latitude and longitude which indicated the region of his heart, and added, impressively, "i have the reputation of being true to my friends--ask anybody." the hunter sat filling his pipe in silence. "with what's pledged to us, if we get this town we can win easy." strong began to puff at his pipe thoughtfully. here sat a man who could make or break him. his face reddened a little. he shook his head. mr. migley had caught the eye of a man he knew--joe socket--postmaster and politician of moon lake. he rose, tapped the shoulder of strong, and said, "think it over." then he hurried down the aisle of the car. he leaned over and whispered into the ear of socket, "what kind of a man is strong?" "square," said the other, promptly. "a little cranky in some ways, but you can depend upon him. he'll do what he says--the devil couldn't turn him." "he says he's pledged to master--that chap who's come up here with a bag o' money. do you think master has bought him?" "i don't think so. i suppose he could be bought, but--but i never knew of his taking money. the boys of the back country swear by the emperor; they look up to him. fact is, sile strong is a --------good fellow." his oath seemed to contradict his affirmation. "he's like a rock," said migley. "the glad hand don't make any impression. what ye going to do with a man who won't drink or talk or swap lies with ye? i could put the poor devil out of house and home, but he don't seem to care." "we'll turn him over to the congressman," socket answered. "he'll bring him into camp. if not we can get along without him." the fact was the "emperor of the woods" was not like any other man they had to deal with--in history, character, and caliber. he used his brain for a definite purpose--"to think out thoughts with," as he was wont to say, and if his heart approved of them they were right, and he could no more change them than a tree could change its bark or its foliage. as yet the arts and allies of the flatterer had no power over him. he was content and without any false notion of his own importance. xviii what a fair of american citizenship was on its way to hillsborough this morning of the fourth of july! they that now crowded the train were like others travelling on all the main thoroughfares of the county--farmers and their wives, rustic youths and their sweethearts, mill-hands and mill-owners, teamsters, sawyers, axemen, guides, and storekeepers. they were celebrating a day's release from the tyranny of business, and were not deeply moved by the tyranny which their grandfathers had suffered. history, save that of the present hour, did not much concern them. they were mostly sound-hearted men. there were some who, in answer to the charge that a local statesman had got riches in the legislature, were wont to say, "he'd be a fool if he hadn't." he was "a good fellow," anyhow, and they loved a good fellow. all the men of wealth and place and power were in his favor, and had practised upon them the subtle arts of the friend-maker. they would not have accepted "a bribe"--these good people now on their way to hillsborough--but they could get all kinds of favors from joe socket and pop migley and horace dumay and other henchmen of the wealthy boss and legislator. they had yielded to the insidious briberies of friendship--warm greetings and handshakes, loans, small sinecures, compliments, pledges of undying esteem over clinking glasses, and similar condescension. they loved the forest and were sorry to see it go, but many of them got their bread-and-butter by its downfall--directly or indirectly--and then socket, dumay, and migley were nothing more or less than lumber, pulp, and water-power personified. they were like the lords and barons of the olden time--less arrogant but more powerful. indeed, strong was right--the tyrant of the modern world is that ruthless giant that he called "business," and his nobles are coal, iron, cotton, wool, food, power, paper, and lumber. these people on the edge of the woodland were slaves of power, paper, and lumber. with able and designing chiefs this great triumvirate gently drove the good people this way and that, and there was a little touch of irony in this journey of the latter to celebrate their freedom and independence. one who knew them could not help feeling that the old martial spirit of the day was wholly out of harmony with their own. they were a peace-loving people, purged of their fathers' hatred, and roars of defiance found no echo in any breast--save those overheated by alcohol. some wore flannel shirts and the livery of a woodsman's toil; some, unduly urged, no doubt, by a wife or sister, had ventured forth in more conventional attire. they sat, as if posing for a photograph, galled, hot, gloomy, suspicious, self-suppressed, silent, their necks hooped in linen, their bodies resisting the tight embrace of new attire. in the crowd were a number to whom the reaping of the ruined hills, on either side of the train, had brought wealth and an air of proprietorship. most of the crowd were in high spirits. the sounds of loud talk and laughter and the rankling smoke of cheap cigars filled the air above them. a lank youth under a dark, broad-brimmed hat, tilted backward, so as neither to conceal nor disarrange a rare embellishment of curls upon his brow, entered the car with another like him. his hair had the ginger-brown, ringletudinous look of spaniel fur. he began to whistle loudly and, as it would seem, prelusively. in a moment he was in full song on a ballad of the cheap theatres, with sentiment like his hair--frank, bold, oily, and outreaching. as the train stopped at hillsborough, strong rose and put on his pack and left with the crowd, coon in hand. the sidewalks were crowded, and strong took the centre of the street. there, at least, was comparative seclusion. silas had not travelled a block when, all unexpectedly, he became a centre of attraction. a group of whining dogs gathered about him, peering wistfully at the coon. they were shortly reinforced by a number of small boys, which grew with astonishing rapidity. cries of curiosity and derision rose around him. sportsmen who had visited his camp and who recognized him shouted their greeting to the "emperor of the woods." a "swisher" of some prominence in the little school of sportsmanship at lost river came and dispersed the boys. the emperor kicked at a dog and ran a little way in pursuit of him. he came back and set down the coon-cage and shook hands with his pupil. immediately a dog, approaching from behind, sprang at the cage and tipped it over, and leaped upon it and began to claw. strong seized and flung the dog away, and as he righted the cage its door came open and the coon escaped. dodging his enemy, the little animal sought refuge in a thicket of people. being pursued by dogs, and accustomed also to avoid peril by climbing, he straightway climbed, not a tree, but a tall sapling of a youth, from which the others broke away in a panic. they were opposite a little park, and the youth, not daring to lay hold of the animal, fled among the trees, pursued by strong and two dogs and a throng of brave spirits who shouted information as to what he had best do. for half a moment the frightened coon clung on a shoulder, his tail in the air, growling at the dogs. the latter leaped up at him, and he began to feel for more altitude. the youth, who had some knowledge of the nature of coons, ran to the nearest tree. quickly the coon sprang upon it and scrambled far out of reach. he ran up the smooth shaft of elm and settled on a swaying bough some forty feet above ground. a crowd of people were now looking up at him. "coon in a cage is worth two in a tree," a man shouted. strong sat down beneath the tree and lighted his pipe and "thought out" another bit of wisdom for his memorandum-book. it was: _"coon on yer shoulder worth less'n what he is anywhere."_he sat in meditation--as if, indeed, he were resting in the wilderness. a cannon, not a hundred feet away, shook the windows of hillsborough with a loud explosion for every star on the flag. a perpetual fusillade of fire-crackers seemed to suggest the stripes. accustomed to woodland silences, the emperor's feeling was, in a measure, like that of his coon. the "morning salute" ended presently, and then he uttered an exclamation which indicated clearly that he had been losing ground in his late struggle with satan. one of the guides with whom he had sat in the store at pitkin came near. "had yer tooth drawed?" was the question he put to the emperor. strong was now looking at the empty cage. "had my coon d-drawed," he answered. "where is he?" "up-s-stairs." strong pointed in the direction of the coon's refuge. silas was now the centre of an admiring company. his former pupil had brought the president of the corporation of hillsborough to meet him. the official invited strong to participate in the games. the emperor was willing to do anything to oblige, and walked with his new acquaintance to the public square. a trial at lifting and carrying was the first number on the programme. the contestants leaned, with hands behind them, while others on a raised platform began to heap bags of oats upon their backs and shoulders. loaded to the limit of their strength, they carried the burden as far as they were able and flung it down. one after another tried, and the last carried nine bags a distance of seven feet and was rewarded with many cheers. it was strong's turn now. he bent his broad back, and the loaders began to burden him. at ten they stopped, but strong called for more. three others were heaped upon him, and slowly he began to move away. one could see only his legs beneath his burden, which towered far above him. ten feet beyond the farthest mark he bore the bags and let them down. the people began cheering, and many came to shake his hand and feel the sinews in his arms and shoulders. of the trial at scale-lifting a woodsman who stood near gave this illuminating description, "when they all got through, strong put on two hundred more an' raised his neck an' lifted, an' the bar come up like a trout after a fly." silas strong stood, his coat off, his trousers tucked in his boots, looking soberly at the people who cheered him. one eye was wide open, the other partly closed. there were wrinkles above his wide eye, and his faded felt hat, tilted backward and to one side, left his face uncovered. he had a new and grateful sense of being "ahead," but seemed to wonder if so much brute strength were altogether creditable. master was to address the people, and strong was invited to sit behind the speaker's table with the select of the county. he accompanied the president of the corporation to the platform in the park, his pack-basket on his arm. more than a thousand men and women had gathered in front of them when the chairman introduced the young orator. the speech delighted silas strong, and he summed it up in his old memorandum-book as follows: _"folks cant be no better than the air they brethe "roots of a plant are in the ground but the roots of a man are in his lungs_ _"whair the woods ar plenty the air is strong an folks are stout an supple like our forefathers when they licked the british them days they got a powrful crop of folks sometimes fifteen in a famly the powr of the woods was in em. now folks live under a sky eight feet above their heads an take their air secont handed an drink at the bar instead of the spring an eat more than what they earn an travel on wheels an think so much of their own helth they aint got no time to think of their countrys when a man's mind is on his stummick it cant be any where else brains warnt made to digest vittles with old fashioned ways is best which strong says is so also that a man had not oughto eat any more than what he's earnt by hard labor."_ after the address strong went home to dinner with congressman wilbert, the leading citizen of hillsborough. that little town still retained the democratic spirit of old times. there one had only to be clean and honest to be respectable, and the mighty often sat at meat with the lowly. strong declined the invitation at first, on the plea that he had fried cakes in his pack-basket, and yielded only after some urging. the statesman's wife received the hunter cordially and presented him to her daughter. the girl led strong aside and began to entertain him. he had lost his easy, catlike stride, his unconscious control of bone and muscle. he looked and felt as if he were carrying himself on his own back. he seemed to be balancing his head carefully, for fear it would fall off, and had treated his hands like detached sundries in a camp-outfit by stuffing them into the side pockets of his coat. gradually he limbered in his chair and settled down. his confidence grew, and soon he "horsed" one knee upon the other and flung his hands around it as if to bind an invisible burden resting on his lap. he carried this objective treatment of his own, person to such an extreme that he seemed even to be measuring his breath and to find little opportunity for cerebration. when the young lady addressed him he often answered with the old formulas of "i tnum!" or "t-y-ty!" they eased the responsibility of his tongue, and, without seriously committing him, expressed a fair degree of interest and surprise. at the table strong behaved himself with the utmost conservatism. they treated him very tenderly, and he found relief in the fact that his embarrassment seemed not to be observed. he thought it the part of politeness to refuse nearly everything that was offered and to eat in a gingerly fashion. the congressman had often heard of silas and gave him many compliments, and finally asked what, in his opinion, should be done to protect the forest. briefly strong gave his views, and the other seemed to agree with him. "i'll do what i can for the woods and for you, too," said the statesman. "you ought to be a warden with a good salary." these kindly assurances flattered the "emperor of the woods." insidiously the great world power was making its most potent appeal to him. "i may ask you for a favor now and then," said wilbert. "i'd be glad if you'd do what you could to help migley. he needs the vote of your town." strong knew not what to say. "m-mind's m-made up," he stammered, after a little pause. when his mind was "made up" he had nothing further to do but obey its will. the other did not quite comprehend his meaning. strong in his embarrassment had put too much tabasco sauce on his meat. he blew, according to his custom in moments of distress, and took a drink of water. he looked thoughtfully at the small cylinder of glass. he tried to read its label. "small b-bore," he remarked, presently. "sh-shoots w-well," he added, after a moment of reflection. strong had begun to think of his coon, now clinging in a tree-top. suddenly he had become too proud to try to sell him, but he could not bear to abandon his old pet. so while the others talked together he began to contrive against the dogs of hillsborough. as he was about to leave, he asked mrs. wilbert where he could buy "one o' them l-little r-red guns," by which he meant a bottle of tabasco sauce. she immediately sent a servant to bring one, which the emperor accepted with her compliments. his host went with him to a store where strong invested some of his prize-money in "c'ris'mus presents"--so he called them--for sinth and the "little fawns," filling his pack well above the brim. then, forthwith, strong proceeded to the coon's refuge, in the public park, where, with the aid of a roman-candle, as he explained to sinth in the privacy of their cook-tent, he made the coon "l-let go all holts." the animal had been clinging high in the old elm, and, being stunned by his fall, strong caught and held him firmly by the nape of the neck while he covered him with an armor of liquid fire from the tabasco bottle. the fur of back and neck and shoulders had now the power to inflict misery sharper than a serpent's tooth. "d-dick," he whispered, "strong is 'shamed o' y-you. he c-can't 'sociate n-no more with c-coons in this v-village. but he won't let ye git t-tore up." strong carried his coon out of the park and let him down. in hillsborough popular enthusiasm had turned from revelry to refreshment. the crowd, having retired to home and hostelry, had left the streets nearly deserted. strong's coon set out in the direction of the river, and soon a bull-dog laid hold of him. the dog gave the coon a shake, and began, as it were, to lose confidence. he dropped the hot-furred animal, shook his head, and tarried the tenth part of a second, as if to make a note of the coon's odor for future reference, and then ran with all speed to the river. he heeded not the call of his master or the jeering of a number of small boys. they were no more to him than the idle wind. the coon proceeded on his way to the woods. farther on three other dogs bounded into trouble, and rushed for water. the coon passed two bridges and made his way across an open field in the direction of turner's wood. strong, whose hunger had not been satisfied, bought some cake and pie, and made for open country where he sat down by the road-side. tree-tops above him were full of chattering birds, driven out of town probably by its hideous uproar. the emperor, having appeased his hunger, took half an hour for reflection. before the end of it came he began for the first time in his life to suffer the penalty of idleness and high living. indigestion, the bane of towns and cities, had taken hold of him. before leaving he made these entries in his little book: _"july the 4 "this aint no place for strong "man might as well be in ogdensburg * as have ogdensburg in him. "strong's coon snaked out of his cage contrived to git even also coon made free and independent."_ his revenge was of such lasting effect that, some say, for a long time thereafter dogs in hillsborough fled terror-stricken at the sight of a coon-skin overcoat. * _it should be remembered that with the woods-loving and wholly mistaken emperor, ogdensburg meant nothing less than hell._ xix meanwhile socky and sue, in sunday costume, had gone out with their aunt for a holiday picnic in the forest. sinth had been busy until ten o'clock preparing a sumptuous dinner of roasted wild fowl and jelly, of frosted cake and sugared berries and crab-apple tarts. they went to the moss-covered banks of a little brook over in peppermint valley, half a mile or so from the camp. master's man carried their dinner and blankets, upon which they could repose without impairing the splendor of their dress. sinth had put on her very best attire--a sacred silk gown and paisley shawl which had come on a cheerful christmas day from her sister. "might as well show 'em to the birds an' squirrels," said she. "there ain't nobody else t' dress up for 'cept the little fawns." the man left them, to return later for their camp accessories. sinth played "i spy" and "hide the penny" and other games of her childhood with socky and sue. she had brought some old story-papers with her, and when the little folks grew weary they sat down beside her on the blankets while she read a tale. to her all things were "so" which bore the sacred authority of print, and she read aloud in a slow, precise, and responsible manner. it was a thunderous tale she was now reading--a tale of bloody swords and high-sounding oaths and epithets. socky began to feel his weapon. master had shaped a handle on a piece of lath and presented it for a sword to the little "duke of hillsborough." since then it had trailed behind the boy, fastened by a string to his belt. he sat listening with a serious, thoughtful look upon his face. at the climax of the tale he raised his weapon. presently, unable to restrain his heroic impulse, he sprang at zeb, sword in hand, and smote him across the ribs, shouting, "defend yourself!" zeb retreated promptly and took refuge in a fallen tree-top, out of which he peered, his hair rising. soon he satisfied himself that the violence of the duke was not a serious matter. socky ran upon him, waving his sword and crying, in a loud voice, "you're a coward, sir!" zeb rushed through the ferns, back and forth around the boy, growling and grimacing as if to show that he could be a swashbuckler himself. on his merry frolic he ran wide in thickets of young fir. suddenly he began barking and failed to return. they called to him, but he only barked the louder, well out of sight beyond the little trees. socky went to seek him, and in a moment the barking ceased, but neither dog nor boy came in sight of the others. sinth followed with growing alarm. back in a mossy glade, not a hundred feet from where they had been sitting, she stopped suddenly and grew pale with surprise. there sat a beautiful maiden looking down at the boy, who lay in her arms. sue, who had followed her aunt, now sprang forward with a cry of delight. the maiden rose, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment. "oh, aunt," said the boy, as he clung fondly to the hand of edith dunmore, "this is the beautiful lady." "what's your name?" sinth demanded. "edith dunmore." the girl's voice had a note of sadness. "my land! do you go wanderin' all over the woods like a bear?" sinth inquired. the maiden turned away and made no answer. "land sakes alive! you 'ain't got no business goin' around these woods an' meetin' strange men." "oh, silly bird!" croaked the little crow from a bough near them. "mercy!" exclaimed sinth, as she looked up at the ribboned crow. "it's enough to make the birds talk." there were tears in the maiden's eyes, and the children glanced from her to their aunt, sadly and reprovingly. sinth, now full of tender feeling, put her arms around the neck of the girl in a motherly fashion. "poor, poor child!" said she, her voice trembling. "i've laid awake nights thinkin' of you." something in the tone and touch of the woman brought the girl closer. another great need of her nature was for a moment satisfied. she leaned her head upon the shoulder of sinth, and her heart confessed its loneliness in tears and broken phrases. "i--i followed you. i couldn't--couldn't help it," said she. "poor girl!" sinth went on, as she patted the head of the maiden. "i've scolded mr. master. he oughter let you alone, 'less he's in love, which i wouldn't wonder if he was." "ah-h-h!" croaked the bird, as if to attract his mistress. "sakes alive!" exclaimed sinth, looking up at the crow with moist eyes. "that bird is like a human bein'. hush, child, you mus' come an' help us celebrate. come on now; we'll all set down an' have our dinner." socky and sue stood by the knees of the maiden looking up at her. gently the woman led her new acquaintance to their little camp, and bade her sit with the children. sinth had a happy look in her face while she hurried about getting dinner ready. "jes' straighten the end, please--that's right," said she as edith dunmore put a helping hand on the snowy table-cloth. sinth began to spread the dishes, and the maiden furtively embraced socky and sue. "my land! you do like childem--don't ye? so do i. they's jes' nothin' like 'em in this world." "dinner's ready," said sinth, when all the dainties had been set forth. "heavens an' earth! i'm so glad t' see a woman i could lay right down an' bawl." "you have made me as happy as a young fawn," said miss dunmore. "i am not afraid of you or the children." "are you afraid of _him?_" the maiden looked down, blushing, and almost whispered her answer. "yes; i am afraid." "he wouldn't hurt ye--he's jest as gentle as a lamb," said sinth. she paused to cut the cake, and added, with a far-away look in her eyes, "still an' all, i dunno what i'd do if he was to make love to me." sinth ate in silence for a moment and remarked, dreamily, "men are awful cur'is critters when they git love in 'em." for a little, one might have heard only the chatter of the children and the barking of zeb. by-and-by the maiden said, "i am sure that mr. master is--is a good man." "no nicer in the world," sinth answered. "pleasant spoke, an' he don't set around as if he wanted ye t' breathe fer him. he'll be a good provider, too." after a few moments the children took their cake and went away to share it with zeb and the tame crow. "do you--do you think he would care to see me again?" edith dunmore asked, blushing and looking down as she touched a wild rose on her breast. "'course he would," sinth answered, promptly. "can't sleep nights, an' looks kind o' sick an' dreamy, like a man with a felon." sinth looked into the eyes of the girl and added, soberly, "i guess _you're_ in love with him fast enough." "i do not know," said miss dunmore, with a sigh. "i--i know that all the light of the day is in his eyes--that i am lonely when i cannot find him." sinth nodded. "it's love," said she, decisively--"the real, genuwine, pure quill. don't ye let him know it." she sat looking down for a moment with a dreamy look in her eyes. "i know what 'tis," she went on, sadly. "had a beau myself once. went off t' the war." after a little pause she added, "he never come back--shot dead in battle." she began to pick up the dishes. having stowed them in a pail, she turned and said, in a solemn manner: "he was goin' t' bring me a gold ring with a shiny purple stone in it. not that i'd 'a' cared for that if i could have had him." that old look of sickliness and resignation returned to the face of sinth. "folks has to give fer their country," she added soon. "my father an' my gran'father an' my oldest brother an' my true love all died in the wars. i hope you'll never have to give so much." a great, earth-quaking roar from far down the valley of lost river sped over the hills, and shook the towers of the wilderness and broke the peace of that remote chamber in which they stood. it was business breaking through the side of a mountain to make a trail for the iron horse. "blastin'!" sinth exclaimed. "it's the king of the world coming through the woods--so my father tells me," said miss dunmore. then, as if fearful that he might arrive that day, she rose quickly and said: "i--must go home. i must go home." sinth kissed her, and the children came and bade her good-bye and stood calling and waving their hands as edith dunmore, with the ribboned crow, slowly went up the trail to catamount. xx on his way home at night strong was really nearing the city of destruction, like that pilgrim of old renown. shall we say that satan had filled the man with his own greatness the better to work upon him? however that may be, a new peril had beset the emperor. for long he had been conscious only of his faults. now the thought of his merits had caused him to forget them. turning homeward, the world in his view consisted of two parts--silas strong and other people. one regrets to say it was largely silas strong--the great lifter, the guide and hunter whose fame he had not until then suspected. master took the train with him that evening. this old-fashioned man--silas strong--whose mind was, in the main, like that of his grandfather--like that, indeed, of the end of the eighteenth century--sat beside one who represented the very latest ideals of the anglo-saxon. they were both descended from good pioneer ancestry, but the grandfather of one had moved to boston, while the grandfather of the other had remained in the woods. the boulevard and the trail had led to things very different. they had sat together only a few moments when the two migleys entered the car. these ministers of the great king got to work at once. "hello!" said the elder of them, addressing master. "i congratulate you. i told my son it was a great speech. ask him if i didn't." "i enjoyed your speech," said young migley. "but there's no use talking to us about saving the wilderness. if we did as you wish, we'd have nothing to do but twirl our thumbs." "on the contrary, you'd have a permanent business, whereas your present course will soon lead you to the end of it. i would have you cut nothing below twelve inches at the butt, and get your harvest as often as you can find it." "'twouldn't pay," said "pop" migley, with a shake of his head. "you condemn the plan without trial," master continued. "anyhow, if an owner wants his value at once, let us have a law under which he can transfer his timber-land to the state on a fair appraisal." "the state wouldn't pay us half we can make by cutting it." "probably not, but you'd have your time and capital for other uses. then, too, you should think of the public good. you're rich enough." "but not fool enough," said young mr. migley, in a loud voice. the train stopped to take water, and those near were now turned to listen. "i thought you were ambitious to be a public servant," said master, calmly. "but not as a professor of moral philosophy." this declaration of the young candidate was greeted with laughter. "and, of course, not as a professor of moral turpitude," said the woods lover. "the public is not to be wholly forgotten." "i'm for my part of the public, first, last, and always," young migley answered. it is notable that lawless feeling--especially after it has passed from sire to son--some day loses the shame which has covered and kept it from insufferable offence. two or three citizens who sat near began to whisper and shake their heads. one of them spoke out loudly and indignantly; "his part of the public is mostly himself. he is trying to buy his way into the assembly, and i hope he'll fail." there were hot words between the migleys and their accuser, until the lumbermen left the car. soon master fell asleep. strong took out his old memorandum-book and went over sundry events and reflections. when master awoke the emperor still sat with the worn book in his hands. "i've been asleep," said the young man. "what have you been doing?" "th-thinkin' out a few th-thoughts," strong answered, as he put the book in his pocket. the emperor began to speak of the congressman's courtesies in a tone of self-congratulation. master laughed heartily. "it was a pretty little plot," said he. "those common fellows couldn't manage you, and they passed you on. i'll bet he asked you to help migley." strong smiled and nodded. "you haven't made me any promise, and i want you to feel free to do what you think best," said the young man. the train pulled into bees' hill in the edge of the wilderness, and they left it and took quarters at the rustic inn. bees' hill was a new lumber settlement where there were two mills, three inns, a number of stores, and a post-office. the bar-room was crowded with brawny mill-hands from across the border, in varying stages of intoxication. the inn itself was full of the reek of cheap tobacco and the sound of cheaper oaths. the most offensive in the crowd were of the new generation of back-country americans. their boastfulness and profanity were in full flood. they used the sacred names with a cheerful, glib familiarity, as if they were only saying "bill" or "joe." the town had begun to ruin the woodsman as well as the woods. here were some of the sons of the pioneers--mostly "guides" and choremen of abundant leisure. every day they were "dressed up," and sat about the inn like one who patiently tries his luck at a fishing-hole. they had discovered themselves and were like a child with its first doll. they had, as it were, torn themselves apart and put themselves together again. they had experimented with cologne, hair-oil, poker, colored neckties, hotel fare, and execrable whiskey. they were in love with pleasure and had sublime faith in luck. they spent their time looking and listening and talking and primping and dreaming of sudden wealth and kitchen-maids. strong and master stood a moment looking at a noisy company of youths at the bar. "they speak of the president by his first name, and are rather free with the creator," said master. "j-jus' little mehoppers," strong remarked, with a look of pity. in his speech a conceited fellow, who spoke too frequently of himself, was always a "mehopper." "large heads!" master exclaimed, as he turned away. "like a b-balsam," strong stammered. "b-big top an' little r-roots." "and they can't stand against the wind," said master. before he went to bed the emperor made these entries in his memorandum-book: _"strong says he had just as soon be seen with a coon as a congressman also that a fool gits so big in his own eyes he dont never dast quarrell with himself. strong got to mehoppin. he has fit and conkered_ _"god never intended fer a man to see himself er else hed have set his eyes difernt."_ xxi in the morning, a little after sunrise, strong and master set out across the state land stretching from the railroad to lost river, a distance of some fourteen miles. not an hour's walk from the station, at bees' hill, they passed another lumber job, where, on the land of the state, nearly a score of men were engaged felling the tall pines and hauling them to skid ways. the emperor flung off his pack and hurried to the workers. "who's j-job?" he inquired. "migley's. we're working on a contract for the dead timber." "ca-call that dead?" strong waved his hand in the direction of a number of trees, newly felled, which had been as healthy as any in the forest. "q-quit, er i'll go to-day an' c-com-plain o' ye," he added. "you can go to -----if you like," said the foreman, angrily. quicker than the jaws of a trap strong's hand caught the boss by the back of his neck and flung him headlong. the dealer in hasty speech rose and took a step towards the emperor and halted. "b-better think it over," said strong, coolly. the boss turned to his men. he shouted at some eight or ten of them who had come near, "are you going to stand there and see me treated that way." "you fight your own battles," said one of them. "for my part, i think the emp'ror is right." "so do i," said another. "i've pulled the brier for you as long as i want to." the rest of the "gang" stood still and said nothing. "i'll go and see migley about this," declared the foreman, who was walking hurriedly in the direction of his camp. he turned and shouted to the toilers, "you fellers can go 'histe the turkey.'" one who had to pick up his effects and get out was told to "histe the turkey" there in the woods. strong and master had a few words with the men and resumed their journey to lost river. as they walked on a brush whip hit the emperor in the face. he stopped and broke it and flung it down with a word of reproof. he often did that kind of thing--as if the trees and brushes were alive and on speaking terms with him. sometimes he would stop and compliment them for their beauty. soon the young man spoke. "after all, the law is no better than they who make it," said he. the emperor turned as if not sure of his meaning. "bribery!" said master. "migley got a law passed which provides a fine so low for cutting state timber that he can pay it and make money." "b-business is k-king," said strong, thoughtfully. he perceived how even the state itself had become a subject of the great ruler. "and satan is behind the throne," master went on. "down goes the forest and the will of the people. i tell you, strong, the rich thief is a great peril; so many souls and bodies are mortgaged by his pay-roll and his favor. look out for him. he can make you no better than beef or mutton." they proceeded on their journey in silence, and, when the sun had turned westward and they sat down to drink and rest on the shore of lost river, strong began to write, slowly and carefully, in his old memorandum-book, some thoughts intended for his future guidance. and he wrote as follows _"july the 5 "strong says 'man that advises other folks to go to hell is apt to git thair first.' "also that 'a man who loses his temper aint got nothin left but a fool.' strong is shamed. "'taint nuff to look a gift hoss in the mouth better turn him rong side out and see how hes lined."_ having "thought out" these thoughts and set them down, the emperor rose and put the book in his pocket and hurried up the familiar trail, followed by his companion. a little farther on they met socky, sue, and sinth. "merry c'ris'mus!" the emperor shouted as he caught sight of them. he put his great hands upon their backs and drew the boy and girl close against his knees. "my leetle f-fawns!" he said, with a chuckle of delight, as he clumsily patted them. his eyes were damp with joy; his hands trembled in their eagerness to open the pack. he untied the strings and uncovered the rocking-horse and other trinkets. "whoa!" he shouted, as he put the little, dapple-gray, wooden horse on the smooth trail and set him rocking. cries of delight echoed in that green aisle of the woods. strong put the children on the back of the wooden horse and gave a brass trumpet to socky and buckled a girdle of silver bells around the waist of sue. then he put on his pack, lifted horse and children, and bore them into lost river camp. the laughter of the young man joined that of the children. "silas strong!" sinth exclaimed, as the emperor unloaded in front of the cook-tent. "p-present!" he answered, promptly. "can't hear myself think," said she, with a suggestion of the old twang in her voice. "n-now, t-try," said silas strong, as he gave her a little package. the expression of her face changed quickly. with slow but eager hands she undid the package. her mouth opened with surprise when she discovered a ring with a shiny, purple stone in it. "g-gold an' amethys'!" the emperor exclaimed, calmly and tenderly, his voice mellowed by affection. "gold an' amethyst," she repeated, solemnly. "uh-huh!" it was a low, affectionate sound of affirmation from the emperor, made with his mouth closed. her lips trembled, her face changed color, her eyes filled. it was oddly pathetic that so vain a trifle should have so delighted her--homely and simple as she was. since her girlhood' she had dreamed of a proud but impossible day that should put upon her finger a gold ring with a shiny, purple stone in it. strong knew of her old longing. he knew that she had never had half a chance in this world of unequal burdens, and he felt for her. "i tol' ye," said he, in a voice that trembled a little. "b-better times." she looked down at the ring, but did not answer. "that celebrates your engagement to the magic word," said master. she put it on her finger and gave it a glance of pride. then she said, "thank you, silas," and repaired to her quarters and sat down and wept. her brother shouldered the axe and went to cut some wood for the stove. she could hear him singing as he walked away slowly: "the green groves are gone from the hills, maggie, where oft we have wandered an' sung, an' gone are the cool, shady rills, maggie, where you an' i were young." xii the next was one of the slow-coming days that seem to be delayed by the great burden of their importance. with eager, impatient curiosity, master had looked 'orward. had he witnessed the first scenes of his own life comedy? if so, what would the next be? he rose early and dressed with unusual care, and was delighted to see a sky full of warm sunlight. the children were awake, and he helped them to put on their best attire while sinth was getting breakfast in the cook-tent. soon, with socky and sue in the little wagon, he was on the trail to catamount pond. strong was to come later and bring their luncheon and begin the construction of a camp. on the way master gathered wild flowers and adorned the children with gay colors of the forest floor. they found their canoe at the landing, and got aboard and pushed across the still water. the sky had never seemed to him so beautiful and silent. from far up the mountain he could hear the twittering of a bird--no other sound. the margin of the pond was white with lilies in full bloom. their perfume drifted in slow currents of air. his canoe moved in harmony with the silence. he could hear the bursting of tiny bubbles beneath his bow and around his paddle. soon they came in sight of birch cove. there stood the moss-covered rock at the edge of the pond, but no maiden. master felt a pang of disappointment. a fear grew in his heart. would she not come again? was it all a pleasant dream, and was there no such wonderful creature among the children of men? he shoved his bow on the little sand beach and helped the children ashore. in a moment they heard the voice of the crow laughing as if unable longer to control himself. "i'm going to find her," said socky, as he ran up the deer-trail followed by sue. in a moment they gave a cry of delight. edith dunmore had stepped from behind a thicket, and, stooping, had put her arms around the children and was kissing them. the cunning crow walked hither and thither and picked at the dead leaves and chattered like a child at play. "oh, it has been such a long time!" said "the beautiful lady," looking fondly into the faces of. the little folk. "where is he?" "over there," said socky, pointing in the direction of the canoe. "i'll go and tell him." "no," the maiden whispered, holding the boy closer. "he wants to see you," said the boy, "me?--he would like to see me?" she asked. "he wants you to go home with us," the boy went on, as if he were a kind of cupid--an ambassador of love between the two. he felt her hair curiously and with a sober face. "he has a beautiful watch an' chain," said socky. "an' a gol' pencil," said sue. "he's rich," the little cupid urged, in a quaint tone of confidence. "what makes you think he wants me?" the girl asked. "he told uncle silas--didn't he, sue?" the face of edith dunmore was now glowing with color. she drew the children close together in front of her. "don't tell him--don't tell him i am here," said she, under her breath, as she trembled with excitement. "he wouldn't hurt anybody," sue volunteered. the pet crow had wandered in the direction of the canoe. catching sight of master, he ran away cawing. the young man started slowly up the trail. for a moment the girl hid her face behind the children. as he came near she rose and timidly gave him her hand. quickly she turned away. his hand had been like those of the children--its touch had stirred new and slumbering depths in her. "if--if you wish to be alone with the children," he said, "i--i will go fishing." for a little she dared not look in his face. but since her talk with miss strong she was determined not to run away again for fear of him. she stood without speaking, her eyes downcast. "you do want her--don't you, uncle robert?" said the youthful ambassador. "you--you mustn't ask me to tell secrets," said the young man, as he turned away with a little laugh of embarrassment. "is your father at home?" he asked. "he will return saturday." "if he were willing, would--would you let me come to see you?" she hesitated, looking down at the green moss. "i--i think not," said she. "you are right--you do not know me. but, somehow, i--i feel as if i knew you very well." "where do you live?" "at clear lake in the summer--in new york city the rest of the year." "i have never seen a city," said she, turning and looking up at him. "my father has told me they are full of evil men." "there are both good and evil." "do you live in a palace?" "it is a very large house, although we do not call it a palace." "tell me--please tell me about it." then he told her of his home and life and people. she listened thoughtfully. when he had finished she said, "it must be like that wonderful land where people go when they die." from far away they could hear the sound of a steam-whistle. its echoes were dying in the near forest. "it is the whistle," said she, looking away, her eyes wide open. "every time i hear it i long to go. sometimes i think it is calling me." neither spoke for a moment. "it comes from a distant village where there are many people," she added. "yesterday i climbed the mountain. far away i could see the smoke and great white buildings." "i go to that village to-morrow," said master. she dropped her violets and looked down at them. "would you care if you never saw me again?" he asked. she turned away and made no answer. in the silence that followed the young man was thinking what he should say next. she was first to speak, and her voice trembled a little. "could i not see the children?" "if you would go to lost river camp." "i cannot," said she, with a touch of despair in her voice. "my father has told me never to go there." the young man thought a moment. she turned suddenly and looked up at him. "i know you are one of the good men," she declared. "i am at least harmless," he answered, with a smile, "and--and you will make me happy if you will let me be your friend." "tut, _tut!_" said the little crow as he flew into the tree above her head. "i would try to make you happier," the young man urged. "how?" she asked. "i could tell you about many wonderful things. you ought not to stay here in the woods," he went on. "do you never think of the future?" she turned with a serious look in her eyes. he continued: "you _cannot_ always live at buckhorn. your father is growing old." "and he is well," said she. "my father has always taught me that death comes only to those who think of him." in the distance they could hear the thunder of a falling tree. "even the great trees have to bow before him," said the young man. a moment of silence followed. "let me be your friend," he pleaded. she thought of what her grandmother had lately said to her and looked up at him sadly and thoughtfully. "but you--you would make me love you," said she, "and when you were like the heart in my breast--so i could not live without you--then--then you would leave me." "ah, but you do not know," he answered. "i love you, and, even now, you are like the heart in my breast--i cannot live without you." he approached her as he spoke and his voice trembled with emotion. she rose and ran a short distance up the trail and stopped. "will you not stay a little longer?" he pleaded. she looked back at him with a curious interest and the least touch of fear in her eyes. she moved her head slowly, negatively, as if to tell him that she would love to stay but dared not. "may i see you here to-morrow?" he asked. she smiled and nodded and waved her hand to him and ran away. the crow laughed as if her haste were amusing. master sat awhile after she had gone. he could not now endure the thought of leaving. he had planned to go with strong and visit a number of woodsmen at their camps, and talk to the mill-hands in a few villages on the lower river. it was a formality not to be neglected if one would receive the votes of pitkin, till-bury, and tifton. but suddenly he had become a candidate for greater happiness, he felt sure, than was to be found in politics. his election thereto depended largely on the vote of one charming citizen of a remote corner of till-bury township. her favor had now become more important, in his view, than that of all the voters in the county. he would delay his canvass over the week's end. so thinking, master put off in his canoe with the children, gathering lilies until he came at last to the landing. there sinth and the emperor had just arrived. "w-weasels," said strong, with a little nod in the direction of his sister, who stood on the shore. with him, as master knew, the weasel had come to be a symbol of needless worry. "about what?" master inquired. "l-little f-fawns." "keep thinkin' they're goin' to git lost or drownded," said she, giving each of the children a sugared cooky. "don't worry. i shall always take good care of the children," said master. "i know that, but i keep a-thinkin'. sometimes i wisht there wasn't any woods. i'm kind o' sick of 'em, anyway." those little people with the dress, talk, and manners of the town--with a subtle power in their companionship, in their very dependence upon her, which the woman felt but was not able to understand--were surely leading her out of the woods. they had increased her work; they had annoyed her with ingenious mischief; they had harassed her with questions, but they had awakened something in her which had almost perished in years of disappointment and utter loneliness. at first they had reminded her of her dead sister, and that, in a measure, had reconciled her to their coming. later, the touch of their hands, the call of their voices, had made their strong appeal to her. slowly she had begun to feel a mother's fondness and responsibility and a new interest in the world. again sound-waves of the great whistle at benson falls swept wearily through the silence above them. "makes me kind o' homesick," said sinth, as she listened thoughtfully. the emperor had begun, just faintly, to entertain a feeling akin to hers. master helped her up the hill on her way to camp with the children. he returned shortly and gave a hand to the building of his little home on the shore of catamount. it was to be an open shanty, leaning on the ledge, its pole roof covered with tar-paper, its floor carpeted with balsam boughs. "migleys have gone into c-camp at nick pond," said the emperor. "tol 'em i had t' go w-with you t'-morrer." "i'm sorry that we have to delay our trip a little," said the young man. strong laughed. "mellered!" said he, merrily. he shook his head as he added, "you ain't g-givin' her no slack line." after a little silence the hunter added: "don't t-twitch too quick." it was a phrase gathered from his experience as a fisherman. the young man blushed but made no answer. "k-keep cool an' use a l-long line," strong added. xxiii next morning, an hour after sunrise, master set out with the children. he promised sinth that he would keep them near him and bring them back before noon, they shut zeb in a cabin, and he stood on his hind feet peering out of the window and barking loudly as they went away. master brought his blankets, rifle, books, and cooking outfit, for that day he was to take possession of the new camp. strong had gone with the migleys and their outfit in the trail to nick. it was another hot, still morning, but the eastern shore of catamount lay deep under cool shadows when master dropped his pack at the shanty. a deer stood knee-deep in the white border of lilies. it looked across the cove at them, walked slowly along the margin of the shaded water, and disappeared in the tamaracks. master and the children crossed to birch cove, hallooed, but received no answer, and sat down upon the high, mossy bank. "maybe she won't come?" socky suggested. "she will come soon," said master. sue propped her little doll against a fern leaf and said: "oh, dear! i wish she'd never go 'way." "she's awful good"--that was the opinion of socky. "she wouldn't tell no falsehoods," sue suggested. "i wish she'd come an' live with us; don't you?" socky queried, turning to master. the little cupid was searching for another arrow. "wouldn't dare say--you little busybody!" the young man replied. "you'd go and tell on me." both looked up at him soberly. socky was first to speak. "where'bouts does 'the beautiful lady' live?" "way off in the woods." "at the home of the fairies?" "no, but on the road to it." "if she'd come an' live with us, she wouldn't have to fill no wood-box, would she?" sue inquired. "or pick up chips," socky put in, brushing one palm across the other with a look of dread. the children had discussed that problem in bed the night before. their aunt had made them fill the wood-box and bring in a little basket of chips every night and morning. it went well enough for a day or two, but the task had begun to interrupt other plans. "oh no," said master. "we'll be good to her." socky was noting every look and word--nothing escaped him. he felt grateful to his young lieutenant, and sat for a little time looking dreamily into the air. then, with thoughtful eyes, he felt the watch-chain of the young man. "you'd let her wear your watch--wouldn't you?" "gladly." "she could look at my aunt's album," sue suggested, as she thought of the pleasures of the camp. socky looked a bit doubtful. "she mustn't git no grease on it or she'll git spoke to," sue went on as she thought of the perils of the camp. "uncle silas has put the bear's-oil away," said socky, in a tone of regret. he thought a moment, and then added, "ladies don't never git spoke to." "you'd carry her on your back--wouldn't you, uncle robert?" inquired little sue. both children fixed him with their eyes. "oh no--that wouldn't do," said master. "men don't never carry ladies on their backs," socky wisely assured her. "uncle silas carries 'em," sue insisted. "that's only aunt sinthy," said the boy, now a little in doubt of his position. just then they heard the crow chattering away up the dusky trail. the children rose and ran to meet "the beautiful lady," and their voices rang in the still woods, calling, "hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo!" master slowly followed so as to keep in sight of them. when he saw edith dunmore come out of a thicket suddenly and embrace them, he turned back and stood where he could just hear the sound of their voices. she drew them close to her breast a moment, and a low strain of song sounded within her closed lips--that unconscious, irrepressible song of the mother at the cradle. "dear little brownies! i love you--i love you," she said, presently. then she whispered, "where is he?" "over there," the boy answered, pointing with his finger. "come, i'll show you," said sue. "fairy queen--i dare not follow you," the girl answered. "i am afraid." "he wants you to come and live with us--he does," the boy declared. "he'll be awful good to you--he said he would." "did he say that he liked me very much?" she asked. "i wouldn't tell," said the boy, with a winsome look as he thought of master's reproof. "you wouldn't tell me?" "'cause it's a secret." "you are like the little god i have read of!" miss dunmore exclaimed, drawing him closer. "will you never stop wounding me?" "please come," said sue. "you can sleep in our bed an' hear uncle silas sing." "where is your mother?" "dead," sue answered, cheerfully. "'way up in heaven," said socky, as he pointed aloft with his finger. "and your father?" "gone away," said the boy. "i give him all my money--more'n a dollar." "and you live at lost river camp?" socky nodded. "are they good to you?" "yes, ma'am." "i wonder why he doesn't come?" said miss dunmore, impatiently. "'fraid--maybe," sue suggested. "pooh! he ain't'fraid," socky declared, as he broke away and ran down the trail. miss dun-more tried to call him back, but he did not hear her. "'the beautiful lady'! she wants to see you," he said to master, his eyes glowing with excitement. the young man took the boy's hand. they proceeded up the trail in the direction whence socky had come. "you ain't'fraid, are you, uncle robert?" the boy asked, eager to clear his friend of all unjust suspicion. "oh no," master answered, with a nervous laugh. "he ain't 'fraid," the boy proclaimed as they came into the presence of edith dunmore. "he can kill a bear." "afraid only of interrupting your pleasure," said the young man as he approached her. she retreated a step or two and turned half away. the children began to gather flowers. "i tremble when i hear you coming," said she, timidly. "you are so--" she thought a moment. "strange," she added, with a smile. she looked up at him curiously. "so very strange to me, sir." "you are strange to me also," he answered. "i have seen no one like you, and i confess to one great fear." "what fear?" "that i may not see you again," the young man answered, with a smile. she stooped to pick a flower. every movement of her lithe, tall figure, every glance of her eye seemed to tighten her hold upon him. he stood dumb in the spell of her beauty, until she added, sorrowfully, "i am afraid of you, sir--i cannot help it." "i wish i were less terrible," he answered, with a sigh. "i will not see you again." "but--but i love you," he said, simply. "when i am here i am afraid--when i go away i am sorry." her voice trembled as she spoke. "i have no peace any more. i cannot enjoy books or music. i cannot stay at home. i wander--all day i wander, and the night is long--and i hear the voices of children--like those i have heard here--calling me." there was a note of sympathy in his voice when he answered, "it is the same with me, only it is your voice that i hear." she looked up at him, her face full of wonder. "i think no more of the many things i have to do, but only of one," he said, with feeling. miss dunmore seemed not to hear him. "i think only of coming here," he added. she stepped away timidly, and turned and stood straight as the young spruce, looking into his eyes. "i, too, have no more peace," he said, restraining his impulse to go further. "i must leave you--i must not speak to you any more," she answered. "stay," he pleaded. "i will be silent--i will say not a word unless you bid me speak--but let me look at you." she stood a moment as if thinking. "do you hear that bird song?" she asked, looking upward. "yes, it has a merry sound." "it is my answer to you," said she. "then i am sure you love me." as he came nearer she retreated a little. "i give you everything--everything but myself," said she. "and why not yourself?" her voice had a plaintive note in it when she said to him, "there are those who need me more." "i offer myself to you and to them also." she stood with averted eyes. in a moment she said, "tell me what are we to do when those we love die?" "i, too, and all the children of men have that same worry," said he. "there's an old eastern maxim, 'love as many as you can, so that death may not make you friendless.'" she walked away slowly. she stopped where the children sat playing and embraced them. "will you not say that you love me?" the young man urged. the girl went up the gloomy trail with lagging feet as if it were steep and difficult. that clear-voiced love-call of the children halted her, and she looked back. again the bird flung his song upon the silence. the sweet voice of the maiden rang like a bell in the still forest, as if answering the bird's message. "i love you--i love you," it said. then she turned quickly and ran away. xxiv edith dunmore wandered slowly through deep thickets, and where she could just see the lighted chasm of catamount between far tree-tops she lay down to weep and think and be alone. she was like some wounded creature of the forest who would hide, even from its own eyes, on the soft, kindly bosom of the great mother. she had learned enough to have some understanding of that strange power which of late had broken every day into seconds. these little fragments of time had all shades of color, from joy to despair. she lay recalling those which had been full of revelation. in a strange loneliness she thought of all robert master had said, of far more in that wordless, wonderful assurance which had passed from his soul to hers. she knew that to be given in marriage was to leave all for a new love. she knew better than they suspected--those few dwellers at buckhorn--how dear, how indispensable she was to them. she knew how soon that loneliness, which had often seemed to fill the heavens above her, would bear them down. yet she would not hesitate; she would go with him, and for this she felt a sense of shame. she lay longer than she knew, looking up at the sky through needled crowns of pine. that passion which has all the fabled power of fate was busy with her. a band of crows had alighted in a tree above her head and begun cawing. roc, who had gone to roost in a small fir, answered them. one dove into the great, dusky hall of the near woods and made it echo with his cawing. roc rose and followed through its green roof into the open sky. the maiden called to him, but he heeded only the call of his own people, and made his choice between flying and creeping, between loneliness and joy, between the paths of men and that appointed for him in the heavens. his had been like her own decision--so she thought--he had heard the one cry which he could not resist. lately she had neglected him. he had missed her caresses and begun to think of better company, again and again she called, but he had gone quickly far out of hearing. she listened, waiting and looking into the sky, but he came not. master had taken the children home and returned to his little' camp on the pond. she could hear the stroke of his axe; she could hear him singing. she fancied, also, that she could hear the children call--that little trumpet tone which had thrilled her when it rang in the woods. she rose and walked slowly towards the lighted basin below her. she could not bear to turn away from it. she would go down and look across from the edge of the thickets. she feared that she had too freely uncovered her feeling for him. soon she turned back, but then she seemed to be treading on her own heart. she ran towards the place where she had met him. she thought not of the children now, but only of the young man. she had heard her father say: "a man throws off his mask when he is alone. if we could see him then we should know what is in his soul." could she look into his face while he knew not of her being near she would know if he loved her. she tried to enlarge this fancy into a motive. it failed, however, to end her self-reproaches. soon, almost in tears, she began to whisper: "i do not care. i must see him again. i cannot go until i have seen him." moose-birds flew in the tops above her, scolding loudly, as if to turn her back. they annoyed her, and she stopped until they had flown away. she trembled as she drew near the familiar cove. stealthily she made her way, halting where they had talked together. a solemn silence brooded there. she felt the moss where his feet had stood. he had held this fragrant, broken lily in his hand. she picked it up and pressed it to her lips. she slowly crossed the deep, soft mat sloping to the water's edge, and peered between sprays of tamarack. the shadows had shifted to the farther shore. a sprinkle of hot light fell upon her shoulders. the disk of the sun was cut by dead pines on the bald ridge opposite. she heeded not the warning it gave her, but only looked and listened. she could hear master over at the landing, hidden by the point of birch cove. he was cutting wood for the night. under cover of thickets, she made her way along the edge of the pond. it was a walk of more than half a mile around the coves. by-and-by she could hear the tread of master's feet and the crackle of his fire. she moved with the stealth of a deer. soon she could smell the odor of frying meat and was reminded of her hunger. she passed a spring, above which a cup hung, and saw the trail leading to his camp. possibly very soon he would be going after water. she knelt in a thicket where she could see him pass, and waited. for a long time she waited. suddenly she rose and peered about her. she paled with alarm. it was growing dusk; she had forgotten that the day would have an end. it was a journey to buckhom, and her little guide--where was he? cautiously she retraced her steps along the shore. in a moment she' began to weep silently. when she tried to hurry the rustling of the brush halted her. had he heard it? what was that sound far up the ridge before her? she knelt and listened. it was a man coming in the distance. she could hear him whistling as he walked. slowly he approached, passing within a few feet of her. she had often hidden that way from unexpected travellers in the forest. she waited a little and hurried on. the thickets seemed now to hold her back as if to defeat her purpose. she got clear of them by-and-by and ran up the side of the ridge. she peered about her, seeking the familiar trail. the dusk had thickened--her alarm had grown. she stopped a moment to make sure of her way. again she hurried on. soon she entered the little six-mile thoroughfare from catamount to buckhorn. she ran a few rods down the trail and stopped. it was growing dark; she could scarcely see the ground beneath her; she might soon lose her way in the forest. she leaned against a tree-trunk and shook with sobs, thinking of her folly and of her friends at home. presently she ran back in the direction of master's camp. she left the trail and went slowly down the side of the ridge. she must go and tell him that she had lost her way and ask for a lantern. she could see the flicker of his fire. she groped through the bushes to a little cove opposite, where, across water some twenty rods away, she could see his camp. in the edge of the dark forest the girl sat gazing off at the firelight. she was weary and athirst; she was tortured with anxiety, but she could not summon courage to go. she could see the light flooding between tree columns, leaping into high tops, gilding the water-ripples. she could see shadows moving; she could hear voices. light and shadow seemed to beckon and the voices to invite her, but she dared not go. she would boldly rise and feel her way a few paces, only to sit down again. tales which her father had told her concerning the wickedness of men flashed out of her memory. that light was on the edge of the unknown world--full of mystery and peril. she could not goad herself nearer. xxv it was strong who had passed edith dunmore as night was falling over the hollow of catamount. he was returning from his day of toil at nick pond. "just in time," said the young man, who was eating supper at a rude table, from a pole above which two lighted lanterns hung. the great body of the emperor fell heavily on a camp-stool. he blew as he flung his hat off. "hot!" said he, and then with three or four great gulps he poured a dipper of water down his throat. master put a small flask on the table at which they sat. "opey-d-dildock?" strong inquired, softly. "the same," said master. "help yourself." the emperor obeyed him without a word. "how's that?" inquired the young man. "s-sassy," strong answered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "fall to," said master, putting the platter of trout in front of him. "here's f-fishin'," said strong, as he lifted a large trout by the tail. "good place to anchor. anything new?" "b-bear," strong stammered, with a little shake of his head. "where?" the emperor crushed a potato' and filled' his mouth. he chewed thoughtfully before he answered, "up t-trail." "how far?" strong pointed with his fork. he stopped chewing and turned and listened for a breath. "b-bout mile." he sighed and shook his head sorrowfully. "what's the matter?" "f-feelin's!" strong answered, pointing the fork towards his bosom. "no gun?" strong nodded. it was a moment of moral danger. he knew that satan would lay hold of his tongue unless it were guarded with great caution. he sat back and whistled for half a moment. "s-safe!" he exclaimed, presently, with a sigh, as he went on eating. "which way was he travelling?" "th-this way--limpin'," said strong. "limping?" "w-wownded," strong, added, softly, gently, as if he were still on dangerous ground. they finished their meal in silence and drew up to the fire and filled their pipes. he rose and lighted his pipe and returned to the table as soon as he had begun smoking. he took out his worn memorandum-book and thoughtfully wrote these words: _"july the 6 "see a bear--best way to kepe the ten commandments is to kepe yer mouth shet."_ strong resumed his chair at the camp-fire. suddenly he raised his hand. they could hear the cracking of dead brush across the cove. "s-suthin'," strong whispered. again the sound came to their ears out of the silent forest. "hearn it d-dozen times," said the emperor. they listened a moment longer. then strong rose. "b-bear!" he whispered. "light an' rifle." master tiptoed to the shanty. he lighted the dark lantern--a relic of deer-stalking days--with which he had found his way to catamount the night before. he adjusted the leathern helmet so its lantern rested 'above his forehead. he raised his rifle and opened the small box of light. a beam burst out of it and shot across the darkness and fell on a thicket. the spire of a little fir, some forty feet away, seemed to be bathed in sunlight. the beam glowed along the top of his rifle-barrel, and he stood a moment aiming to see if he could catch the sights. strong beckoned to him. the young man came close to the side of the hunter and suggested, "maybe it's a deer." "'t-'tain' no deer," strong whispered. "s-suthin' dif'er'nt." he listened again. "it's over on th-that air cove." he explained briefly that in his opinion the bear, being wounded, had come down for rest and water. he presented his plan. they would cross the cove in their canoe. when they were near the sound he would give the canoe a little shake, whereupon master should carefully open the slide and throw its light along the edge of the pond. if he saw the glow of a pair of eyes he was to aim between, them and fire. they tiptoed to the landing, lifted their canoe into water, and, without a sound louder than the rustle of their garments or the fall of a water-drop, took their places, master in the bow and strong in the paddle-seat behind him. the hunter leaned forward and felt for bottom and gave her a careful shove. then, with a little movement of his back, he tossed his weight against the cedar shell and it moved slowly into the black hollow of catamount. the hunter sank his paddle-blade. it pulled in little, silent, whirling slashes. the canoe sheared off into thick gloom, cleaving its way with a movement soundless and indistinguishable. for a few seconds master felt a weird touch of the soul in him--as if, indeed, it were being stripped of its body and were parting with the senses. then he could scarcely resist the impression that he had risen above the earth and begun a journey through the black, silent air. so, for a breath, his consciousness had seemed to stray from its centre; then, quickly, it came back. he began to know of that which, mercifully, in the common business of life, is just beyond the reach of sense. he could hear the muffled rivers of blood in his own body; he felt his heart-beat in the fibres of the slender craft beneath him, sensitive as a bell; he became strangely conscious of the great, oxlike body behind him--of moving muscles in arm and shoulder, of the filling and emptying of its lungs, of its stealthy, eager attitude. the night life of the woods was beginning--that of beasts and birds that see and wander and devour in the darkness.. from far away the faint, wild cry of one of them wavered through the woods. it was like the yell of a reveller in the midnight silence of a city. the sky was overcast. dimly master could see the dying flicker of his firelight on the mist before him. a little current of air, nearly spent, crept over the pine-tops and they began to whisper. the young man thought of the big, blue, tender eyes which had looked up at him that day, so full of childish innocence and yet full of the charm and power of womanhood. master turned his head quickly. near him he had heard the sound of a deep-drawn, shuddering breath, and then a low moan. he thought with pity of the poor creature now possibly breathing its last. he was eager to end its agony. he trembled, waiting for the signal to open his light. the bow brushed a lily-pad. he could feel the paddle backing with its muffled stroke. the canoe had stopped. again he heard a movement in the brush. it was very near; he could feel the canoe backing for more distance. then he felt the signal. that little shake in the shell of cedar had seemed to go to his very heart. he raised his hand carefully and opened the lantern-slide. the beam fell upon tall grass and flashed between little columns of tamarack. at the end of its misty pathway he could just dimly make out the foliage. he could see nothing clearly. again he felt the signal. he knew that the hunter had seen the game. now the light-beam illumined the top of his rifle-barrel. suddenly the trained eye of strong had caught the gleam of eyes--then the faint outline of lips dumb with terror. he struck with his paddle and swung his bow. the hammer fell. a little flame burst out of the rifle-muzzle, and a great roar shook the silences. a shrill cry rang in its first echo. the canoe bounded over lily-pads and flung her bow on the bank a foot above water. master sprang ashore followed by strong. they clambered up the bank. "strong, i've killed somebody," said the young man, his voice full of the distress he felt. he swept the shore with his light. it fell on the body of a young woman lying prone among the brakes. quickly he knelt beside her and threw the light upon her face. "my god! come here, strong!" he shouted, hoarsely. his friend, alarmed by his cry, hurried to him. master had raised the head of miss dun-more upon his arm and was moaning pitifully. he covered the beautiful white face with kisses. strong, who stood near with the lantern, had begun to stammer in an effort to express his thoughts. "k-keep c-cool," he soon succeeded in saying. "i switched the canoe an' ye n-never t-touched her. she's scairt--th-that's all." edith dunmore had partly risen and opened her eyes. master lifted her from the earth and held her close and kissed her. his joy overcame him so that the words he tried to utter fell half spoken from his lips. she clung to him, and their silence and their tears and the touch of their hands were full of that assurance for which both had longed. "t-y-ty!" strong whispered as he held the light upon them. for a long moment the lovers stood in each other's embrace. . . "i don't know why i came here," said she, presently, in a troubled voice. he took her hands in his and raised them to his lips. "i must go; i must go," she said. "come, we will go with you," said the young man. he put his arm around the waist of the girl. they walked slowly up the side of the ridge, with strong beside them, throwing light upon their path. master heard from her how it befell that darkness had overtaken her in the basin of catamount, and she learned from him why they had come out in their canoe. "you will not be afraid of me any more," he said. she stopped and raised one of his hands and held it against her cheek with a little moan of fondness. curiously she felt his face. "it is so dark--i cannot see you," she whispered. "i loathe the darkness that hides your beauty from me," said the young man. strong turned his light upon her face. tears glittered in the lashes of her eyes and a new peace and trustfulness were upon her countenance. "we shall see better to-morrow," the young man said. "my father is coming--he will be angry--he will not let me see you again--" her voice trembled with its burden of trouble. "leave that to me--no one shall keep us apart," he assured her. "i will see him tomorrow and tell him all." they walked awhile in silence. the whistle blew for the night-shift at benson falls. its epic note bellowed over the plains and up and down the timbered hills of the emperor. it seemed to warn the trees of their doom. she thought then of the great world, and said, "i will go with you." "and be my wife?" "yes. i am no longer afraid." "we shall go soon," he answered. a mile or so from the shore of buckhom they could hear the voice of a woman calling in the still woods, and they answered. soon they saw the light of a lantern approaching in the trail. for a moment master and the maiden whispered together. soon the old nurse and servant of edith dun-more came out of the darkness trembling with fear and anxiety. gently the girl patted the bare head of the woman as she whispered to her. in a moment all resumed their journey. when they had come to buckhom and could see the camp-lights, master launched a canoe and took the girl and her servant across the pond. he left them without a word and returned to the other shore. strong and he stood for a moment listening. then they set out for their homes far down the trail. the emperor was busy "thinking out thoughts." "mountaneyous!" he muttered, "g-great an' p-powerful." for the second time in his life he felt strongly moved to expression and seemed to be feeling for adequate words. master put his arm around the big hunter and asked him what he meant. "oh-h-h! oh-h-h!" strong murmured, in a tone of singular tenderness. "p-purty! purty! w-wonderful purty! she's too g-good fer this w-world. i jes' f-felt like t-takin' her on my b-back an' makin' r-right across the s-swamps an' hills fer heaven." the emperor wiped his eyes and added: "you're as handy with a g-gal as i am with a f-fish-rod." next day he noted this conclusion in his memorandum-book: _"strong cant wait much longer. he's got to have a guide for the long trail."_ xxvi next day master went to tillbury for his mail, a-walk of some twenty miles. he lingered for awhile near the shore of buckhom on his way, but saw nothing of her he loved. two fishermen had arrived at strong's, and the emperor had taken them to spring holes in the lower river. after supper that evening he built a big fire in front of the main camp, and sat down beside the fishermen with socky and sue in his lap. darkness had fallen when dunmore strode into the firelight. "dwellers in the long house," he said, removing his cap, "i am glad to sit by your council fire." "had supper?" strong inquired. "no--give me a doughnut and a piece of bread and butter. i'll eat here by the fire." he took the children in his arms while strong went to prepare his luncheon. "i love and fear you," said he. "you make me think of things forgotten." of late socky had thought much of the general subject of grandfathers. he knew that they were highly useful members of society. he had seen them carry children on their backs and draw them in little wagons. this fact had caused him to put all able-bodied grandfathers in the high rank of ponies and billy-goats. his uncles silas and robert had been out of camp so much lately they had been of slight service to him. the thought that a grandfather would be more reliable, had presented itself, and he had broached the subject to little sue. how they were acquired--whether they were bought or "ketched" or just given away to any who stood in need of them--neither had a definite notion. on this point the boy went to his aunt for counsel. she told him, laughingly, that they were "spoke for" in a sort of proposal like that of marriage. he had begun to think very favorably of mr. dunmore, and timidly put the question: "are--are you anybody's gran'pa?" "no." "mebbe you'd be my gran'pa," the boy suggested, soberly. . "maybe," said dunmore, with a smile. "we could play horse together when uncle silas is away," was the further suggestion of socky. "why not play horse with your sister?" "she's too little--she can't draw me." "gran'pas don't make the best horses," dunmore objected. "yes they do," socky stoutly affirmed. "may butler's gran'pa draws her 'round everywhere in a little cart." "well, that shows that old men can be good for something," said dunmore. "where's your wagon?" socky ran for the creaking treasure. "now get in--both of you," said the whitehaired man. socky and sue mounted the wagon. dunmore took the tongue-peg in both hands and began to draw them around the fire. their cries of pleasure seemed to warm his heart. he quickened his pace, and was soon trotting in a wide circle while zeb ran at his side and seemed to urge him on. when, wearied by his exertion, he sat down to rest, the children stood close beside him and felt his face with their hands, and gave him the silent blessing of full confidence. for dunmore there was a kind of magic in it all. somehow it faced him about and set him thinking of new things. that elemental appeal of the little folk had been as the sunlight breaking through clouds and falling on the darkened earth. in his lonely heart spring-time had returned. the children climbed upon his knees, and he began a curious chant with closed eyes and trembling voice. the firelight fell upon his face while he chanted as follows: "i hear the voices of little children ringing like silver bells, and the great bells answer them--they that hang in the high towers- the dusky, mouldering towers of the old time, of hope and love and friendship. they call me in the silence and have put a new song in my mouth." so he went on singing this rough, unmeasured song of the old time as if his heart were full and could not hold its peace. he sang of childhood and youth and of joys half forgotten. sinth stood waiting, with the food in her hands, before he finished. he let the children go and began eating. "this is good," said he, "and i feel like blessing every one of you. sometimes i think god looks out of the eyes of the hungry." after a moment he added: "strong, do you remember that song i wrote for you? it gives the signs of the seasons. i believe we called it 'the song of the venison-tree.'" the emperor looked thoughtfully at the fire and in a moment began to sing. it is a curious fact that many who stammer can follow the rut of familiar music without betraying their infirmity. his tongue moved at an easy pace in the song of the venison-tree [illustration: 0261] [illustration: 0262] [illustration: 0263] [illustration: 0264] [illustration: 0265] as the emperor ceased, dunmore turned quickly, his black eyes glowing in the firelight. raising his right hand above his head, he chanted these lines: "the wilderness shall pass away like babylon of old, and every tree shall go to build a thing of greater mould; the chopper he shall fall to earth as fell the mighty tree, and his timber shall be used to build a nobler man than he." "wh-what do ye mean by his t-timber?" strong asked. "his character," dunmore answered. "men are like trees. some are hickory, some are oak, some are cedar, some are only basswood. some are strong, beautiful, generous; some are small and sickly for want of air and sunlight; some are as selfish and quarrelsome as a thorn-tree. every year we must draw energy out of the great breast of nature and put on a fresh ring of wood. we must grow or die. you know what comes to the rotten-hearted?" "uh-huh," said the hunter. "there's good timber enough in you and in that little book of yours," dunmore went on. "if it's only milled with judgment--some of it would stand planing and polishing--there's enough, my friend, to make a mansion. believe me, it will not be lost." strong looked very thoughtful. he shook his head. "ain't nothin' b-but a woodpecker's drum," he answered. after a moment of silence he asked, "what'll become o' the country?" "without forests it will go the way of egypt and asia minor," said the white-haired man. "they were thickly wooded in the day of their power. now what are they? desert wastes!" dunmore rose and filled his lungs, and added: "as you said to me one day, 'people are no better than the air they breathe.' there's going to be nothing but cities, and slowly they will devour our substance. indigestion, weakness, impotency, degeneration will follow. "strong, i'm already on the downward path. half a day's walk has undone me. i'll get to bed and go home in the morning." xxvii dunmore was up at daybreak. he set out in the dusk and, as the sun rose, entered the hollow of catamount. master met him on the trail. they greeted each other. then said the young man, "i have something to say regarding one very dear to me and to you." promptly and almost aggressively the query came, "regarding whom?" "your daughter." dunmore took a staggering step and stopped and looked sternly at master. "i met her by chance--" the other began to say. dunmore interrupted him. "i will not speak with you of my daughter," he said. he turned away, frowning, and resumed his journey. "you are unjust to her and to me," said master. "you have no right to imprison the girl." the white-haired man hurried on his way and made no answer. master had seen a strange look come into the eyes of dunmore. that trouble, of which he had once heard, might have gone deeper than any one knew. it might have left him a little out of balance. full of alarm, the young lover hastened to lost river camp. he found his friend at the spring and told of his ill luck. without a word strong killed the big trout which he had taken that day he fished with the pouters. "d-didn't tell him 'bout that t-trout," he said to master as he wrapped the fish in ferns and flung him into his pack. "th-thought i b-better wait an' s-see." he asked the young man to "keep cool," and made off in the trail to buckhorn. always when starting on a journey he reckoned his task and set his pace accordingly and kept it up hill and down. he was wont to take an easy, swinging stride even though he was loaded heavily. woodsmen who followed him used to say that he could bear "weight an' misery like a bob-sled." that day he lengthened his usual stride a little and calculated to "fetch up" with dunmore about a mile from buckhorn. the older man had hurried, however, and was nearing the pond when strong overtook him. "what now?" dunmore inquired. "b-business," was the cheerful answer of strong. "it'll be part of it to paddle me across the pond. i'm tired," said the other. they walked in silence to the shore. strong launched a canoe and held it for the white-haired man. without a word he pulled to the camp veranda where dunmore's mother and daughter stood waiting. the old gentleman climbed the steps and greeted the two with great tenderness. "snares!" he muttered, as he touched the brow of his daughter. "the devil is setting snares for my little nun." edith and her grandmother went into the house. dunmore sat down with a stem, troubled look. "got s-suthin' fer you," said strong as he held up the big fish. "c'ris'mus p-present!" dunmore turned to the hunter, and instantly a smile seemed to brush the shadows from his wrinkled face. "it's your t-trout," the emperor added. "s-see there!" he opened the jaws of the fish and showed the encysted remnant of a black gnat. "bring him here," dunmore entreated, with a look of delight. strong mounted the steps and put the trout in his hands. "sit down and tell me how and where you got him," said dunmore. strong told the story of his capture, and the old gentleman was transported to that familiar place in the midst of the quick-water. the emperor had not finished his account when the other interrupted him. dunmore told of days, forever memorable, when he had leaned over the bank and seen his flies come hurtling up the current; of moments when he had heard the splash of the big trout and felt his line hauling; of repeated struggles which had ended in defeat. the white-haired man was in his best humor. strong saw his opportunity. "i w-want a favor," said he. dunmore turned with a look of inquiry. the emperor urged his lazy tongue. "master w-wants t' go t' albany an' f-fight them air cussed ballhooters. w-wisht you'd g-go out to caucus." a "ballhooter" was a man who rolled logs, and strong used the word in a metaphorical sense. "i don't vote," said dunmore, and in half a moment he added just what the emperor had hoped for: "what do you know about him?" "he's a g-gentleman--an' his f-father's a gentleman." a moment of silence followed. "he's the b-best chap that ever c-come to my camp," strong added. dunmore came close to the emperor and spoke in a low tone. "tell him," said he, "that i send apologies for my rudeness--he will understand you. tell him to let us alone awhile. i have been foolish, but i am changing. tell him if marriage is in his mind i cannot now bear to think of it. but i will try--" dunmore paused, looking down thoughtfully, his hand over his mouth. "i will try," he repeated, in a whisper, "and, if he will let us alone, some day i may ask you to bring him here. you tell him to be wise and keep away." strong nodded, with full understanding of all that lay behind the message. the old lady came out of the door and that ended their interview. she spoke to strong with a kindly query as to his sister, and then came a great surprise for him. "i wish she would come and visit me," said the old lady. "and i would love also to see those little children." dunmore took the hand of his mother and no word was spoken for half a moment. "it's a good idea," he said, thoughtfully. then, turning to strong, he added: "we shall ask them to come soon. i shall want to see those children again." in the moment of silence that followed he thought of those little people--of how they had begun to soften his heart and prepare him for what had come. the emperor paddled back to the landing and returned to lost river camp. xxviii master accepted the counsel of his friend and kept away from buckhom. he was, at least, relieved of the dark fears which dunmore's angry face had imparted to him. he left camp to look after his canvass and was gone a fortnight. strong had promised to let him know if any word came down the trail from their neighbors. the young man returned to his little shanty at catamount and suffered there a sublime sort of loneliness. the silence of dunmore seemed to fill the woods. every day master went to birch cove and wandered through the deer trails. every graceful thing in the still woods reminded him of her beauty and every bird-song had the music of her voice in it. he began to think of her as the embodied spirit of the woodland. she was like strong himself, but strong was the great pine-tree while she was like the young, white birches. one bright morning--it was nearly a month after strong had returned from buckhom---sinth put on her best clothes and started for the camp of dunmore alone. the emperor had gone away with some fishermen and master with the children. sinth had said nothing of her purpose. her heart was in the cause of the young people, and she had waited long enough for developments. the injustice and the folly of dunmore filled her with indignation. she had her own private notion of what she was going to say, if necessary, and was of no mind to "mince matters." she stood for a few moments at the landing on buckhom and waved her handkerchief. the old lady saw her and sent the colored manservant to fetch her across. dunmore and his mother welcomed her at the veranda steps. "my land! so you're mis' dunmore!" said sinth, coolly, as she took a chair and glanced about her. "yes, and very glad to see you.". "an' you've stayed fifteen years in this camp?" the old lady nodded. "it's a long time," said she. "it's a wonder ye ain't all dead--livin' here on the bank of a pond like a lot o' mushrats!" sinth went on. "cyrus dunmore, you ought t' be 'shamed o' yerself. heavens an' earth! i never heard o' nothin' so unhuman." a moment of silence followed. dunmore smiled. he had never been talked to in that way. the droll frankness of the woman amused him. "i mean jest what i say an' more too," sinth went on. "you 'ain't done right, an' if you can't see it you 'ain't got common-sense. my stars! i don't care how much trouble you've had. a man that can't take his pack full o' trouble an' keep agoin' is a purty poor stick. i know what 'tis to be disapp'inted. good gracious me! you needn't think you're the only one that ever got hurt. the lord has took away ev'rything i loved 'cept one. he 'ain't left me nothin' but a brother an' a weak back an' lots o' work t' do, an' a pair o' hands an' feet an' a head like a turnup. he's blessed you in a thousan' ways. he's gi'n ye health an' strength an' talents an' a? gal that's more like an angel than a human bein', an' you don't do nothin' but set aroun' here an' sulk an' write portry!" sinth gave her dress a flirt and flung a look of unspeakable contempt at him. the face of dunmore grew serious. her honesty had, somehow, disarmed the man--it was like the honesty of his own conscience. there had been a note of strange authority in her voice--like that which had come to him now and then out of the depths of his own spirit. "suppose every one that got a taste o' trouble was t' fly mad like a little boy an' say he wouldn't play no more," sinth went on. "my land! we wouldn't be no better than a lot o' cats an' dogs that's all fit out an' hid under a barn! cyrus dunmore, you act like a little boy. you won't play yerself an' ye won't let these women play nuther. you're as selfish as a bear. you 'ain't got no right t' keep 'em here, an' if you don't know it you better go t' school somewhere. now there's my mind right out plain an' square." she rearranged her paisley shawl with a little squirm of indignation. dunmore paced up and down for half a moment, a troubled look on his face. he stopped in front of sinth. "boneka, madam," said he, extending his hand. "i forgive," said sinth, quickly, "providin' you'll try to do better. it's nonsense to forgive any one 'less he'll quit makin' it nec'sary." "i acknowledge here in the presence of my mother," said dunmore, "that all you say is quite right. i have been a fool." sinth rose and adjusted her shawl as if to warn them that she must go. "wal, i'm glad you've come t' yer senses," said she, with a glance at the man. "'tain't none o' my business, but i couldn't hold in no longer. i've fell in love with that girl o' your'n. she's as purty as a yearling doe." "i don't know what i would have done without her," said the old lady. "since she was a little girl she's been eyes and hands and feet for me. i fear that i'm most to blame for her imprisonment." as she talked the indignation of sinth wore away. soon dunmore helped her into his canoe and set her across the pond. "i'll find out about the young man," said he, as they parted. "he'll hear from me." one day soon after that dunmore began to think of the children. in spite of himself he longed to see them again. he started for the camp at lost river, and planned while there to have a talk with strong and master. at nick pond, on his way down, he met the two migleys. after his interview with them he decided that he must have more information regarding the young man before going farther. xxix more than a month had passed since the journey of sinth to buck-horn; but nothing had come of it. silas, tramping with a party of fishermen, had met dunmore one day, but the latter had stopped only for a word of greeting. master had left his little camp and strong was to send for him on the arrival of important news. the candidate had canvassed every mill village among the foot-hills of the county but had found it up-hill work. many voters had lately become bosom friends of joe socket, the able postmaster at moon lake. once master had wandered into the emperor's camp with a plan to invade the stronghold of dunmore and release the girl if, perchance, she might desire to be free. strong had wisely turned the young man's thought from all violence. he had taken out his old memorandum-book and pointed to this entry: _"strong says the best thing fer a man to do in hell is kepe cool. excitement will increase the heat."_ so a foolish purpose had ended in a laugh. since midsummer some rain had fallen, but not enough to slake the thirst of the dry earth. now in the third week of september the tops were ragged and the forest floor strewn with new leaves and with great rugs of sunlight. big, hurtling flakes of red and gold fell slowly and shook out the odors of that upper, fairy world of which edith dunmore had told the children. one still, sunlit day of that week the old struggle between satan and silas strong reached a critical stage. sinth had gone for a walk with sue and socky, and young migley, coming down from his camp at nick, had found the emperor alone. he was overhauling a boat in his little workshop. . "well, colonel," said the young lumberman, "we want to know why you're fighting us." strong had lately gone over to the scene of his quarrel on the state land and plugged some of the pines with dynamite and posted warnings. he had rightly reckoned that thereafter the thieves would not find it easy to hire men for that job. "you're f-fightin' me," said strong, as he continued his work. "how's that?" "c-cause ye ain't honest." "look here, colonel, you'd better fight for us." the young man spoke with a show of feeling. "we'd like to be friendly with you." strong went on with his work, but made no answer. "we're only taking old trees that are dead or dying over there on the state land. some of 'em are stag-headed--full of 'widow-makers,'" said thomas migley. it should be explained that a big, dead branch was called a "widow-maker" by the woods folk. "we shall obey the law and pay a fine for every stump," the young man continued. "that's square." "n-no," said the emperor, firmly. "that l-law was intended to p-protect the forest." "you want us to be too -------honest to live," said young migley, with an oath. "n-no. i'll t-tell ye what's the matter with y-you," said strong. "y-you 'ain't got no r-res-pec' fer god, country, man, er f-fish." "you must agree to stand for us against all comers or get out of here to-morrow," the young man added. "th-that's quick," said strong, as he laid down his draw-shave and looked at thomas migley. "you can do as you like," said the latter. "we're willing to let you stay here as long as you want to." strong saw clearly that the words were a bid for his manhood. he weighed it carefully--this thing they were seeking to purchase--he thought of his sister and the children, of his talk with master on the journey from bees' hill. the skin upon his forehead was now gathered into long, deep furrows. his body trembled a little as he rose and slowly crossed the floor. there was a kind of gentleness in his hand as he touched the shoulder of the young man. he spoke almost tenderly one would have thought who heard him stammer out the one word, "run." suddenly his big hand shut like the jaws of a bear on migley's arm and then let go. the young man hesitated and was rudely flung through the open door. he scrambled to his feet and made for the trail in frantic haste. "r-run!" the emperor shouted, in hot pursuit of young thomas migley, whose feet flew with ridiculous animation. strong stopped at the edge of the clearing. he leaned against a tree-trunk and shook his head and stammered half an oath. soon he hurried into one of the cabins and sat down. he looked about him--at the fireplace and the mantel, at the straight, smooth timbers of young spruce, at the floor of wooden blocks, patiently fitted together, at the rustic chairs and tables, at the sheathing of riven cedar. he thought of all that these things had cost him and for a moment his eyes filled. he went to the cook-tent and found a map and spread it on the table. he could go over on the state land, pitch a couple of tents and build a shanty with a paper roof and siding, and make out for the rest of the summer. there would be two rivers and some rather wet land to cross. for a few moments he looked thoughtfully at the map. soon he took out his worn memorandum-book and wrote as follows: _"sep the 25. strong has a poor set of feel in's in him satans ahed but strong will flore him."_ he took his axe and saw and went to a big birch-tree which he had felled in the edge of the clearing a few days before. he cut a twelve-foot log out of the trunk and began to hollow it. he stuck his axe when he heard sinth and the children coming. he lifted socky and sue in his arms and carried them into camp. "g-goin' t' m-move," he said to sinth as he put them down. "move!" his sister exclaimed. "they're going to put us out?" gently, fearfully, he whispered, "ay-uh--" sinth turned and hurried into the cook-tent. it was curious that she, who had raised her voice against the camp whenever a new plan had been proposed, who had seen nothing but folly, one would think, in its erection or their life in it, should now lean her head upon the table and sob as if her dearest possession had been taken away. the emperor followed and sat down at the table, his faded crown of felt hanging over one ear--a dejected and sorrowful creature. "d-don't," he said, tenderly. the children stood with open mouths peering in at the door. sinth's emotion slowly subsided. "you've worked so, silas," sinth moaned, as she sat wiping her eyes. "you've had to carry ev'rything in here on your back." after all, it had been a tender thought of him which had inspired all her scolding and her weeping. he had always known the truth, but he alone of all the many who had falsely judged her had known it. strong sat looking down soberly in the silence that followed. his voice trembled a little when he spoke. "g-got 'nother house," said he, calmly. his voice sank to a whisper as he added, "couldn't b-bear t' see it t-tore down." failing to understand, she looked up at him. "myself," he added, as he rose and smote his chest with his heavy right hand. he explained in a moment--"m-migley wanted t' b-buy me." he put his hand on his sister's head and said, "b-better times." after a little silence he added, "you s-see." he left her sitting with her head leaning on her hand in deep and sorrowful meditation. he had built a fire in the stove and got their supper well under way before she joined him. while sinth was making her tearful protest, the children sat on a log outside the door and were much depressed. "somebody's gone and done something to her album," sue whispered. the album was, in her view, the storm-centre of the camp. after strong had gone to work getting supper ready the two came stealthily to the knees of their aunt. "aunt sinthy," socky whispered. "what?" she asked, turning and beginning to smooth his hair with her hand. "i'm going to buy you a new album." he spoke in a low, tentative, troubled tone. the boy's resources would seem to be equal to every need. sinth shook with silent laughter. in a moment she kissed the boy and girl and drew them to her breast with a little moan of fondness. then she rose and went to help her brother. a little before sundown they heard the report of a rifle which had been fired within a mile of camp. strong stood listening and could hear distant voices. he walked down the trail and returned in half an hour. "it's b-business," he said to sinth. "his army is c-comin'." xxx strong was chopping and hewing on his birch log until late bedtime. he was like noah getting ready for the destruction of the world. having finished, he took his lantern off a branch beside him and surveyed a singular device. he called it a boat-jumper, and, inspired by a thought of the children, whispered to himself, "uncle s-silas is improvin'." it was a mere shell about two inches thick, flat on the bottom and sheared on one end, canoe-fashion. it would serve as a jumper--a rough, sledlike conveyance--on the ground and as a boat on the rivers; it would carry sinth and the children, with tents, blankets, provisions, and bedding enough to last until he could return for more. he hurried to camp and helped his sister with the packing. when a dozen great bundles lay on the floor, ready for removal, sinth went to bed. but the tireless emperor had more work to do. he made two seats, with back-rests upon each, for the boat-jumper and fastened a whiffle-tree to the bow end of the same. on its stern he put two handles--like those of a plough--so that he might lay hold of them and steady the jumper in rough places. next morning a little before sunrise he made off on the trail to pitkin. at the general store and post-office in that hamlet he received a letter. it was from the forest, fish, and game commissioner, who thus addressed him: _"dear mr. strong,--i hear that timber thieves and deer-slayers are operating on state land near rainbow lake. i learn also that you are about to leave your camp at lost river. if that is true i wish you would accept an appointment as deputy for that district and go at once and do what you can to protect the valley of rainbow. the salary would be five hundred dollars. a letter just received informs me that 'red' macdonald is there with dogs. if you could deliver him into custody you would be a public benefactor, but i warn you that he is a desperate man. please let me hear from you immediately."_ this gave strong a new and grateful sense of being "ahead." before leaving the post-office he penned his acceptance of the offer. then he proceeded to the home of annette and found her gone for the day. he sat down at the dinner-table and wrote these lines with all the deliberation their significance merited: _"deer lady,--in ogdensburg an' anxious to move. patrick can snake me out. meet me at benson falls friday if possibul an' youll heare some talkin' done by yours hopin fer better times, "s. strong. "p.s. strong's ahed."_ meanwhile sinth was in trouble. young mr. migley had come, with a gang of sawyers and axemen, to dethrone the emperor and take possession. he had his customary get-off-the-earth air about him--an air that often accompanies the title to vast acreage. he found only sinth and the children and summarily ordered them to leave. then she gave him what she called "a piece of her mind." it was a good-sized piece, all truth and just measure. while the furniture was being thrown out-ofdoors she got ready to go. in the heart of sinth indignation had supplanted sorrow. it was in her countenance and the vigor of her foot-fall and in the way that she filled and closed and handled her satchel. some of the brawny woodsmen stood looking as she and the children came out-of-doors--a solemn-faced little company. something from the hearts of the men made sinth touch her eyes with her handkerchief. then a curious thing happened. some of the lumber-jacks dropped their saws and axes. those people could forgive much in "a good fellow"--they could forgive almost any infamy, it would seem, but the stony heart. let one do a mean thing and rouse their quick sympathies a little and their oaths were as a deadly, fateful curse upon him. they never forgot the tear of sympathy or the wrath of resentment. the sorrow of the weak now seemed to touch the hearts of the strong. the children, seeing the tears of their aunt as she turned for a last look at her home, followed slowly with an air of great dejection. then a strange pathos rose out of their littleness, and an ancient law seemed to be writ upon the faces of the men: "whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea." a murmur of disapproval arose, and suddenly one voice blared a sacred name coupled and qualified with curious adjectives--jumped up, livin', sufferin', eternal--as if it would be most explicit. "boys," the voice added, "i can't see no woman ner no childern treated that way." a man took the satchel out of sinth's hand. "you stay here," said he. "we won't stan' fer this." another burly woodsman had lifted little sue in his arms. "i'm goin' down the trail to wait fer silas," said sinth, brokenly. she put out her hand to take the satchel. "we'll carry it an' the childern too," said the woodsman, whose voice, which had been harsh and profane, now had a touch of gentleness. they made their way down the trail in silence. "he better try t' be a statesman," said one of the escort. "he ain't fit t' be a bullcook." they passed a second gang with horses and a big jumper bearing supplies for the camp. the emperor had surrendered; the green hills were taken. half a mile or so from the camp sinth halted. "i'll wait here, thank ye," said she. with offers of assistance the men left them and returned. all through the night sinth had been thinking of their new trouble and was in a way prepared for the worst. but now, as she was leaving forever the old, familiar trees and the still water she sat down for awhile and covered her face. already the saws had begun their work. she could hear them gnawing and hissing and the shouts and axes of the woodsmen. socky and sue came near their aunt and stood looking at her, their cheeks tear-stained, their sympathy now and then shaking them with half-suppressed sobs. the reason for their departure and for the coming of the woodsmen they were not able to understand. zeb lay lolling on his stomach, bored, but, like his master, hoping for better times. "aunt sinthy--you 'fraid?" sue ventured to ask, and her doll hung limp from her right hand. socky felt his sword and looked up into the face of his aunt. "where we goin'?" he asked, with another silent sob. "pon my soul, i dunno," sinth answered, wearily. "don't you be 'fraid," he said, waving his sword manfully. sinth took her knitting out of the satchel and sat down comfortably on a bed of leaves. zeb began to growl and run around them in a circle, like the cheerful jester that he was. it seemed as if he were trying to remind them that, after all, the situation was not hopeless. he continued his gyrations until socky and sue joined him. soon the big trees began falling and their thunder and the hoots of the "briermen" echoed far. the children came to their aunt. "what's that?" they asked, with awe in their faces. "the trees," sinth answered, solemnly. "they're a-mowin' of 'em down." in a moment, thinking of the young man who had heartlessly put her out, she added: "i guess he'll find he's hurt himself more'n he has us." "who?" socky asked. "that mehopper." the children turned with a look of interest. "what's a mehopper?" socky asked. sinth sat looking thoughtfully at her knitting. "he steals folks' albums," said sue, confidently, "an' he can run like a deer." "ain't a bit like a deer," sinth responded. "he can't go nowhere but down-hill--that's why ye always find him in low places--an' he's so 'fraid folks won't see him that he swears an' talks about himself." sue looked at her aunt as if she thought her a woman of wonderful parts. "he better look out for the sundayman," sinth continued. "who's the sundayman?" they both asked. "he's a wonderful hunter an' he ketches all the wicked folks," sinth answered. "an' them that swears he makes 'em into mehoppers, an' them that does cruel things he turns their hearts into stones, an' them that steals he takes away everything they have, an' if anybody lies he makes a fool of 'em so they b'lieve their own stories, an' he takes an' marks the face of every one he ketches so if ye look sharp ye can always tell 'em." in a moment they heard some one coming down the trail. it was young mr. migley who suddenly had found himself in the midst of a small rebellion. half his men had threatened to "histe the turkey" unless he brought back the "woman and the kids." it was not their threat of quitting that worried him, however--it was a consequence more remote and decisive. "miss strong, i was hot under the collar," he began. "i didn't mean to put you out. i want you to come back and stay as long as you like. we can spare you one of the cabins." "no, sir," sinth answered, curtly. "all right," said he, "you're the doctor." in a moment she asked, "what you goin' t' do with them sick folks that's camped over at robin?" "i won't hurry 'em," said he; "but they'll have t' git out before long." "it's a shame," sinth answered. "you oughto hev consumption an' see how you'd like it." "there are plenty of hotels east of here." "but they're poor folks an' can't afford to pay board, even if they'd let 'em in, which they wouldn't." "i can't help it--we've got to get these logs down to the river before snow flies--it's business." with him that brief assertion was the end of many disputes. they were few that even dared question the authority of the old tyrant whom silas had called business. the young man began to walk away. sinth sent a parting shot after him. "it's business," said she, "to think o' nobody but yerself." it was long past mid-day when silas came with the ox. he stood listening, his hands upon his hips, while sinth related the story of their leaving camp and of migley's effort to bring them back. "s-sawed himself off," said strong, with a smile. "you s-see." the dethroned emperor turned, suddenly, and drew a line across the trail with the butt of his ox-whip. "all t-toe the s-scratch," he demanded, soberly. he led sinth and sue forward and stopped them with their toes on the line. he motioned to socky, who took his place by the others. zeb sat in front of them. the boy seemed to wonder what was coming. his fingers were closed but his thumbs stood up straight according to their habit when the boy's heart was troubled. "th-thumbs down," strong commanded. he surveyed his forces with an odd look of solemnity and playfulness. "s. strong has been app'inted w-warden o' rainbow v-valley," said the exiled emperor. "f-forward march." his command was followed by a brief appeal to the ox. "purty good luck!" sinth exclaimed, with a look of satisfaction. "but they's a lot o' pirates over there--got t' look out fer 'em." "they'll m-move," said strong, as if he had no worry about that. slowly they went up the trail and soon reentered lost river camp. the young lumberman saw them coming and went off into the woods. some men, who had been at work near, gathered about the emperor and offered to stand by him as long as he wished to remain. strong shook his head. "w-we got t' g-go," he stammered. he looked sadly at the fallen tree-trunks--at the door-yard, now full of brush. "d-don't never w-want t' s-see this place ag'in," he muttered. he brought the boat-jumper into camp and loaded it. then with sinth on the bow seat and socky and sue behind her they set out, the men cheering as they moved away. a clear space at the stern afforded room for the emperor if he should wish to get aboard in crossing water and an axe and paddle were stored on either side of it. strong had tacked a notice on one of the trees, and it read as follows: s strong has moved to rainbow lake the camp was now in the shadow of long ridge. sinth and the emperor were silent. bird-songs that rang in the deep, shaded hall of the woods had a note of farewell in them. the children were laughing and chattering as ox and boat-jumper entered the unbroken forest. zeb stood in front of the children, his forefeet on the gunwale, and seemed to complain of their progress. it was, in a way, historic, that journey of the boat-jumper, that parting of the ancient wood and the last of its children. their expedition carried about all that was left of the spirit of the pioneer--his ingenuity, his dauntless courage, his undying hope of "better times." the hollow log, with its heart hewn out of it, groaning on its way to the sown land, suggested the fate of the forest. now, soon, the lost river country would have roads instead of trails, and its emperor would be a common millionaire. the jumper and the woodsman had had their day. slowly they pursued their way, skirting thickets and going around fallen trees, and stopping often to clear a passage. strong followed, gripping the handles that rose well above the stern of his odd craft, and so he served as a rudder and support. an ox is able to go in soft footing, and they struck boldly across a broad swamp nearly three miles down the river shore. it was near sundown when they camped for the night far down the outlet of catamount pond. strong put up a small tent and bottomed it with boughs while sinth was getting supper ready. their work done, they sat before the camp-fire and sinth told tales of the wilderness. sile sang again "the story of the mellered bear," and also an odd bit of nonsense which was, in part, a relic of old times. the first line of each stanza came out slowly and solemnly while the second ran as fast as he could move his tongue. in his old memorandum-book he referred to it as "the snaik song," and it ran as follows: [illustration: 0298] [illustration: 0299] strong whittled as he sang, and soon presented the girl with a straight rod of yellow osier upon which he had carved the brief legend, "su--her snaik stick." if she held to that, he explained, no snake would be able to swallow her. "i want one, too," said socky. "you m-mean a bear stick," strong answered. "girls have t' l-look out fer s-snakes an' boys for b-bears." they were all asleep on their bough beds before eight o'clock. at that hour which strong was wont to designate as "jes' daylight" he was on his feet again. whether early or late to bed he was always awake before dawn. some invisible watcher seemed to warn him of the coming of the light. he held to one ol the ancient habits of the race, for he began every day by kneeling to start a fire. he bent his head low and brought his lips near it as if the flame were a sacred thing and he its worshipper. for a time that morning he was careful not to disturb the others. but having attended to patrick, he hurried to call the children. he hurried for fear that sinth would forestall him. he loved to wake and wait upon them and hear their chatter. their confidence in his power over all perils had become a sweet and sacred sort of flattery in the view of silas. he had, too, a curious delight in seeing and feeling their little bodies while he helped them to dress. somehow it had all made him think less of the pleasures of the wild country and more of lady ann. that "someday" of his laconic pledge was drawing nearer and its light was in every hour of his life. the children were leading him out of the brotherhood of the forest into that of men. he lifted the sleeping boy in his arms and gently woke him. zeb had followed and put his cold nose on the ear of sue. soon the children were up and the emperor kneeling before them, while his great hands awkwardly held a "teenty" pair of stockings. sinth awoke and jealousy remarked, "huh! i should think you was plumb crazy 'bout them air childern." strong smiled and left them to her and began to prepare breakfast. soon all were on their way again, heading for the lower valley of lost river. they crossed two ridges and entered a wide swamp. there were many delays, for they encountered fallen trees which had to be cleared away with axe and lever, while here and there strong gave the ox a footing of corduroy. it was a warm day and the children fell asleep after an hour or so. sinth, who had been tossed about until speech wearied her tongue and put it in some peril, sank into sighful resignation. the jumper had stopped; strong had gone ahead to look out his way. reaching higher ground he saw man tracks and followed them to an old trail. soon a piece of white paper pinned to a tree-trunk caught his eye. he stopped and read this warning: _"to sile strong_ _"you haint goin t' find the rainbow country helthy place. if you go thare youll git hung up by the heels. i mean business."_ the emperor took off his faded crown. he scratched his head thoughtfully. that message was probably inspired by some lawless man who had felt the authority of the woods lover and who wanted no more of it. he had heard that migley had four camps on the middle branch, between there and rainbow, and that they were full of "cutthroats." that was a word that stood for deer-slayers and all dare-devil men. whoever had put this threat in the way of the emperor had probably heard of his appointment and was trying to scare him away. the offender might have been sent by migley himself. "w-we'll s-see," strong muttered, with a stern look, as he returned to the boat-jumper. many had threatened him, one time or another, but he never worried over that kind of thing. to-day, as on many occasions, he kept his tongue sinless by keeping his mouth shut, and, touching his discovery on the trail, said only the two words, "w-we'll see," and said them to himself. he didn't believe in spreading trouble. slowly they made their way to a bend in lost river far from the old camp. as they halted to seek entrance to the water channel strong came forward and poked the children playfully until they opened their eyes. then he put a hand on either shoulder of sinth and gave her a little shake. "how ye f-feelin'?" he asked. "redic'lous," she answered, "settin' here 'n a holler tree jest as if we was a fam'ly o' raccoons." it was the most impatient remark she had made in many days. "b-better times!" said the emperor. he smiled and sat down to rest on the side of the boat-jumper. he turned to the boy and asked, hopefully, "how 'bout yer uncle s-silas?" it had been rough, adventurous riding, but full of delight for the children. that morning their uncle had loomed into heroic and satisfactory proportions. socky had long been thinking of the little silver compass master had given him one day and which hung on a ribbon tied about his neck. he hoped they might be going where there would be other boys and girls. he had been considering how to give to his uncle's person a touch of grandeur and impressiveness fitting the story of the "mellered bear" and his power and skill as a hunter. soberly he removed the ribbon from his neck and presented the shiny trinket to his uncle. "put that on yer neck," said he, proudly. "wh-what?" his uncle stammered. "c'ris'mus present," said the boy, with a serious look. the emperor took off his faded crown. he put the ribbon over his head so that the compass dangled on his breast. "there," said socky, "that looks a little better." in a moment, with that prudence which always kept the last bridge between himself and happiness, he added, "you can let me have it nights." every night since it fell to his possession he had gone forth into the land of dreams with that compass held firmly in his right hand. "here's twenty-five cents," said sue, holding out the sacred coin which her nurse had given her, and which, on her way into the forest, had been set aside for a sacrifice to the great man of her dreams. at last the two had accepted him, without reserve, as worthy of all honor. they could still wish for more in the way of personal grandeur, supplied in part by the glittering compass, but something in him had satisfied their hearts if not their eyes. he was again their sublime, their wonderful emperor. "you better keep it; you're going to buy an album for aunt sinthy," the boy warned her. her little hand closed half-way on the silver; it wavered and fell in her lap. she seemed to weigh the coin between her thumb and finger. she looked from the man to the woman. socky saw her dilemma and felt for her. "i'll get her an album myself," he proposed. in that world of magic where he lived nothing could discourage his faith and generosity. their uncle lifted them in his arms and held them against his breast without speaking. "you've squeezed them childern till they're black in the face," said sinth, who now stood near him with a look of impatience. she took them out of his arms and held them closer, if possible, than he had done. at the edge of the stream he shouted, "all 'board!" the others took their seats, and the emperor sat in the stern with his paddle. socky faced him so that he could see the compass. he often asked, proudly, "which way we goin'?" and strong would look at the compass and promptly return the information, "sou' by east." the river ran shallow for more than a mile in the direction of their travel. patrick hauled them slowly down the edge of the current. strong steadied and steered with his paddle as they crept along, bumping over stones and grinding over gravel until, at a sloping, sandy beach on the farther shore, they mounted the bank and headed across huckleberry plain. noon-time had passed when they left the hot plain. they threaded a narrow fringe of tamaracks and entered thick woods again. at a noisy little stream near by they stopped for dinner. strong caught some trout and built a fire and fried them, and made coffee. sinth spread the dishes and brought sandwiches and cheese and a big, frosted cake and a can of preserved berries from the boat-jumper. they sat down to the reward of honest hunger where the pure, cool air and the sylvan scene and the sound of flowing water were more than meat to them, if that were possible. having eaten, they rose and pressed on with a happy sense of refreshment. a thought of it was to brighten many a less cheerful hour. half a mile from their camping-place they found a smooth trail which led across level country to the middle branch. socky and sue were again fast asleep on the bottom of the boat-jumper long before they reached the river. when they halted near its bank a broad stream of deep, slow water lay before them. strong unhitched the ox and led him along shore until he came to rapids where, half a mile below, the river took its long, rocky slope to lower country. there he tethered his ox and returned to fetch the others. he launched his boat-jumper and got aboard and paddled carefully down-stream. having doubled a point, they came in sight of a slim boy who stood by the water's edge aiming an ancient, long-barrelled gun. his head, which rested against the breech, seemed, as the emperor reported, "'bout the size of a pippin." "e-look out!" strong shouted, as the boy lowered his gun to regard the travellers with an expression of deep concern. "see any mushrats?" the boy asked, eagerly. "n-no; who're you?" "jo henyon." strong had heard of old henyon, who was known familiarly as "mushrat bill." for years bill had haunted the middle branch. "wh-where d' ye live?" "yender," said the boy, pointing downstream as he ran ahead of them. presently they came to an old cabin near the water's edge with a small clearing around it. a woman wearing a short skirt and shaker bonnet stood on one leg looking down at them. children were rushing out of the cabin door. "my land! where's her other leg?" sinth mused. the emperor looked thoughtfully at the strange woman. "f-folks are like cranes over in this c-country," strong answered. "always rest on one leg." he drove his bow on a sloping, sandy beach. the woman hopped into the cabin door. her many children hurried to the landing. a man with head and feet bare followed them. an old undershirt, one suspender, and a tattered pair of overalls partly covered his body. he walked slowly towards the shore. he was the famous trapper of the middle branch. "f-fur to rainbow t-trail?" strong inquired of him. the latter put his hand to his ear and said, "what?" strong repeated his query in a much louder voice. "fur ain't very thick," the stranger answered. strong perceived that the man was very deaf and also that he was devoted to one idea. "b-big fam'ly," he shouted, as he began to push off. the trapper, with his hand to his ear and still looking a bit doubtful, answered, "ain't runnin' very big this year." thereafter the word "mushrats," in the vocabulary of strong, stood for unworthy devotion to a single purpose. down-stream a little the ox took his place again at the bow of the boat-jumper. they struck off into thick woods reaching far and wide on the acres of uncle sam. a mile or so inland they came to rainbow trail, and thereafter followed it. timber thieves had been cutting big pines and spruces and had left a slash on either side of the trail. the travellers dipped down across the edge of a wide valley, and after climbing again were in the midst of burned ground on the top of a high ridge. below them they could see rainbow lake and the undulating canopy of a great, two-storied forest reaching to hazy distances. mighty towers of spruce and pine and hemlock rose into the sunlit, upper heavens. it was growing dusk when, below them and well off the trail, they saw a column of smoke rising. they halted, and strong stood gazing. the smoke grew in volume and he made off down the side of the ridge. he came in sight of the fire and stopped. some one had fled through thickets of young spruce and zeb was pursuing him. strong looked off in the gloomy forest and shouted a fierce oath at its invisible enemy. near him flames were leaping above a fallen top and running in tiny jets over dry duff like the waste of a fountain. swiftly strong cut branches of green birch and began to lay about him. he stopped the flames and then dug with his hatchet until he struck sand. he scooped it into his hat and soon smothered the cinders. his face had a troubled expression as he returned to the boat-jumper. "who you been yellin' at?" sinth asked. "c-careless cuss," he answered, evasively. socky wore a look of indignation. he glibly repeated the oath which he had heard his uncle use. "hush! the sundayman'll ketch you," sinth answered, severely. strong gave a whistle of surprise. "uncle silas ain't 'fraid o' no sundayman," socky guessed. "y-yes i be--could kill me with a s-snap of his finger," strong declared. socky trembled as he thought of that one inhabitant of the earth who was greater than his uncle silas and said no more. "s-see here, boy," said strong, as he put his fingers under socky's chin and raised his head' a little, "i w-won't never swear ag'in if y-you won't." he held out his great hand and socky took it. "y-you agree?" socky nodded with a serious look, and so it happened that silas became the master of his own tongue. he had "boiled over" for the last time--so he thought. the old habit which had grown out of a thousand trials and difficulties must give way, and henceforth he would be emperor of his own spirit. as to the fire and the man who had fled before him, strong was perplexed, but kept his own counsel. he knew that the law permitted lumbermen to enter burned lands on the state preserve and take all timber which fire had damaged. a fire which might only have scorched the trunks while it devoured the crowns above them gave a rich harvest to some lucky lumberman. having gained access, he stripped the earth, helping himself to the living as well as the dead trees. _fire, therefore, had become a source of profit wherein lay the temptation to kindle it._ silas strong knew that his land of refuge was doomed--that the forerunner of its desolation was even then hiding somewhere in the near, dusky woods. he thought of the peril after a dry summer. the mould of the forest would burn like tinder. the dethroned emperor reached the shore of rainbow, put up a tent, and helped to get supper ready. after supper he lay down to rest in the firelight, and told the children about the great bear and the panther-bird. sinth, weary after that long day of travel, had gone to sleep. after an hour or so strong rose and looked down at her. "sh-sh!--don't w-wake her," he warned them. "i'll put ye t' b-bed." he helped them undress. "you'll have to hear our prayers," socky whispered. strong nodded. he sat on a box and they knelt between his knees and he put his hands on their heads and bowed his own. when they had finished he bent lower and dictated this brief kind of postscript, "an' keep us from all d-danger this n-night." they repeated the words with no suspicion of what lay behind them. then socky whispered, "say something 'bout the sundayman." "an' keep the sundayman away," strong added. they repeated the words, and then, as if his heart were still unsatisfied, socky added these, "an' please take care o' my uncle silas." the emperor lay thinking long after his weary companions had gone to sleep. he thought of that angry outcry and his heart smote him; he thought of the danger. perhaps, after all, they would not dare to burn the woods now. but strong resolved to keep awake and be ready for trouble if it came. by-and-by he lighted a lantern and wrote in his old memorandum-book as follows: _"strong use to say prufanity does more harm when ye keep it in than when ye let it natcherly drene off but among childem it's as ketchin' as the measles. sounds like thunder when it comes out of a boy's mouth an hits like chain lightnin."_ long before midnight rain began to fall. strong rose and went out under the trees and lifted his face and hands, in a picturesque and priestlike attitude, to feel the grateful drops and whispered, "thank god!" it was a gentle shower but an hour of it would be enough. he went back to his bed and lay listening. the faded leaves that still clung in the maple-tops above them rattled like a thousand tambourines. after an hour of the grateful downpour strong's fear abated and he "let go" and sank into deep slumber. almost the last furrow in the old sod of his character had been turned. xxxi the sun rose clear next morning. although a long shower of rain had come one could see no sign of it save in the drifted leaves. the earth had drunk it down quickly and seemed to be drying with its own heat. strong felt the soil and the leaves. he blew and shook his head with surprise. while the others lay sleeping in their tent, he made a fire and set out in quest of a spring. half a mile or so up the lake shore a bear broke out of a thicket of young firs just ahead of him. strong was caught again without his rifle. satan came as swiftly as the bear had fled, but could not prevail against him. strong was delighted with this chance of showing the strength of his new purpose. in among the fir-trees he found the carcass of a buck upon which the bear had been feeding. "p-paunchers!" strong muttered. he climbed the side of the ridge and presently struck the trail leading into camp. soon he could hear some one coming, and sat on a log and waited. it was master, who had gone to lost river camp and then followed the trail of the boat-jumper. "slept last night in a lean-to over on the middle branch," said he. "been travelling since an hour before daylight and i'm hungry." "n-news from the gal?" "no. have you?" strong shook his head solemnly. "they've t-took the hills, an' i've come over here t' work fer uncle s-sam," said he. "warden?" "uh-huh--been app'inted," strong answered, with a look of sadness and satisfaction. "they're very cunning--wilbert and the rest of them," master said. "they've put a little salve on you and sent you out of the way. you're too serious-minded for them. that dynamite trick of yours set 'em all thinking. they won't keep you here long--you're too dead in earnest. but there's room enough for you over in the clear lake country, and when they get ready to shove you out come and be at home with us." a moment of silence followed. the simple mind of the woodsman was looking deep into the darkness that surrounded the throne of the great king. "you're camp looks as if it had been struck by lightning," master added. strong showed the letter containing his appointment, and told of the threat to hang him up by the heels. "the commissioner is on the square--he means well," said master, "but they're using him. these lumbermen intend to drive you out of the woods, and they've got you headed for the clearing. you won't stay here long. in my opinion they'll burn this valley." strong looked into the face of the young man. "what makes ye think so?" he asked. "because they want the timber, and because they've got you here," said master. "i heard of your appointment. i heard, too, that joe socket and pop migley and dennis mulligan thought you were the right man for the place. i knew there'd be something doing, and i came in here to warn you. don't ever trust the benevolence of satan." "by--" strong paused and gave his thigh a slap. "i know w-what they're up to," he muttered, thoughtfully. "they'll make it too hot f-fer m-me here." he told of the fire and the man who fled in the bushes. "they're going to fire the valley, and don't intend to give you time to sit down," said master. "it's a dangerous country just now." "have t' take sinth an' the ch-childem out o' here r-right off," the hunter answered. "if you'll stay with 'em t'-day, i'll go an' g-git some duffle an' we'll p-put over the r-ridge with 'em t'-night." back at the old camp there were things he needed sorely, and he reckoned that he could make the round trip with a pack-basket by five in the afternoon. "it's still and the leaves are d-damp," strong mused. "fire wouldn't run much t'-day." "to-morrow i'll get a force of men and we'll surround this valley," said master. they hurried into camp and were greeted with merry cries. soon they were sitting on a blanket beside the others, eating in the ancient fashion of the pioneer. the young man had brought a letter from gordon which contained a sum of money and welcome news. sinth read the letter aloud. "'my dear friends,'" she read, "'i had hoped to write you long ago, but i have been waiting for better news to tell. my struggle is over and i am now master of myself. i paid to my creditors all the money you gave me.'" "did you give him money?" sinth looked up to inquire. "uh-huh," strong answered. "how much?" "all i had." "you're a fool!" sinth exclaimed, and went on reading as follows:' "'socky had given me his little tin bank. it contained just a dollar and thirty-two cents. the sacred sum paid my fare to benson falls and bought my dinner. i got a job there in the mill and soon i expect to be its manager. i'm a new man. if you want a job i can place you here at good pay. in a week or two i shall--'" sinth stopped reading and covered her face with her apron. "what does it s-say?" silas inquired, soberly. she handed the letter to him, and he read the last words: "'i shall come after the children and will then pay you in full with interest. no, i can never pay you in full, for there's something better than money that i owe you.'" strong's face changed color. he dropped the letter and rose. "w-well," he stammered. "he sha'n't have 'em," said sinth, decisively. "tut, tut!" silas answered. he raised the boy in his arms and kissed him. "w-we're both f-fools," he said, huskily. "you ain't exac'ly fools, but yer both childern," said sinth, wiping her eyes. "well, you know the bible says we must become as a little child," said master. "after all, money is only a measure of value, and one thing it does with absolute precision--a man's money measures the depth of his heart." xxxii strong left camp with his pack and rifle and two bear-traps. he was nearing the dead buck when a shot stopped him, and a bullet cut through his left fore-arm. the deadly missile came no swifter than his understanding of it. he dropped as if a death-blow had struck him, and, clinging to his rifle, crept in among the firs. he flung off the straps of his basket. he lay still a moment and then cautiously got to his knees. blood was trickling down his hand, but he gave no heed to it. the ball had come from higher ground, towards which he had been walking. the man who had tried to kill him could not have stood more than two hundred feet away. strong sat, rifle in hand, peering through the fir branches--alert as a panther waiting for its prey. soon he caught a glimpse of his enemy fleeing between distant tree columns. the sight seemed to fill him with deadly anger. he leaped to his feet, seized his pack-basket, and started swiftly in pursuit of him. he gained the summit of the high ground and saw a broad slash covered with berry bushes and sloping to the flats around bushrod creek. a trail cut through it from the edge of the woods near him. he stopped and listened. he could hear the sound of retreating footsteps and could see briers moving some thirty rods down the slash. his heart had shaken off its rage. he was now the cunning, stealthy, determined hunter. he saw a dry, stag-headed pine in the edge of the briers near him and hurried up its shaft like a bear pressed by the dogs. on a dead limb, some thirty feet above ground, he halted and looked away. he could see nothing of his unknown foe. slowly strong descended from the dead tree. he had just begun to feel the pain of his wound. blood was dripping fast from it; he looked like a butcher in the midst of his task. he muttered as he began to roll his sleeve, "g-guess they do inten't' shove me out o' this c-country." he blew as he looked at the wound. "b-business is p-prosperin'," he went on, as he held one end of a big red handkerchief between his teeth and wound it above the torn muscles and firmly knotted the ends. "w-war!" he muttered, as he went to the near bushes and began to gather spiders' webs. it is to be regretted that for a moment he forgot his promise to socky and "boiled over" from the heat of his passion. he sat on the ground and with his knife scraped away the blood clots. "d-damn soft-nose bullet!" he muttered, with a serious look, smoothing, down the fibres of torn flesh. he spread the webs upon his wound, and held them close awhile under his great palm. soon he moistened a lot of tobacco and put it on the webs and held it there. after an hour or so the blood stopped. then, gradually, he relieved the tension of his handkerchief, and by-and-by used it for a bandage on his wound. he rose and shouldered his pack and began to search for the tracks of his enemy. he soon discovered those of the bear which had fled before him that morning. "s-see here, strong," he muttered, "th-this won't scurcely do. i arrest you, s. strong, esquire. y-you're my prisoner. t-tryin' t' kill a man--you b-bloodthirsty devil! c-come with me. we'll hunt fer b-bears." the emperor had often addressed himself with severe and even copious condemnation, but this was the first time that he had ever taken s. strong by the coat-collar and violently faced him about. he could see clearly where the bear had broken through the wet briers on his way down to the flat country. it was a moment of peril, and he gave himself no time for argument. he hurried away in the trail of the bear. it lay before him, unmistakable as the wake of a boat, and would show where the animal was wont to cross the water below. he came soon to a great log lying from shore to shore of that inlet of rainbow which was called bushrod creek. he could see tracks near the end of the log, and there, with a spruce pole for a lever, he set his traps in the sand so that, if the first were not sprung, the second would be sure to take hold. he covered the great, yawning, seven-toothed jaws of steel and fastened heavy clogs upon both trap chains. then he took the piece of bacon from his pack and hung it on a branch above the traps. shrewdly the hunter had made his plan. that bear would probably return to the dead buck, and the scent of the bacon would attract him to that particular crossing. he tore two pages from his memorandum-book, and wrote this warning on each: stop traps ahed s. strong. he fastened them to stakes and posted them on two sides of the point of danger. it was then past eleven and too late for the long journey to lost river camp. he decided to go to henyon's on the middle branch and get the trapper to come and keep watch while he took sinth and the children to benson falls. on his way out of the slash he killed a deer, and dressed and hung him on a tree. then he set out for the trail to henyon's. he had walked for an hour or so when his pace began to slacken. "t-y-ty!" he whispered, stopping suddenly. "s. strong, what's the m-matter? yer all of a-tremble." strong felt sick and weary, and took off his pack and sat down to rest on a bed of leaves. then he discovered that the handkerchief upon his arm was dripping wet. again he stopped the blood by cording. he lay back on the ground suffering with faintness and acute pain. soon obeying the instinct of man and beast, which prompts one to hide his weakness and even his death-throes, he crept behind the top of a fallen tree. his heart had been overstrained of late by worry and heavy toil. now for the first time he could feel it laboring a little as if it missed the blood which had been dripping slowly but steadily from his arm. at last a day was come that had no pleasure in it--a day when the keepers of the house had begun to tremble. soon the warm sunlight fell through forest branches on the great body of strong, who had lost command of himself and become the prisoner of sleep. in the memorandum-book there is an entry without date in a script of unusual size. those large letters were made slowly and with a trembling hand. it was probably written while he sat there in the lonely, autumn woods before giving up to his weakness. this is the entry: _"theys days when i dont blieve god is over per-ticklar with a man bout swearin."_ xxxiii soon after breakfast that morning master had hitched the ox to the boat-jumper. "my land! where ye goin'?" sinth inquired. "to-morrow we're going out to benson falls with you and the children," said master. "i thought we'd better take the ox and what things you need to-day as far as link harris's. that's about four miles down the leonard trail. the ox will have all he can do to-morrow if he starts from harris's." the young man said nothing of another purpose which he had in mind--that of learning, as soon as possible, the nearest way out of the rainbow country. "what does that mean?" sinth asked. "only this--we may have trouble with these pirates, and we want to get you out of the way. we'll have to travel, and we can't leave you in the camp alone. you and the children can ride over, and we'll come back afoot." so sinth packed her satchels and a big camp-bag, and all made the journey to harris's where they left the ox and the jumper. it was near six o'clock when they returned to the little camp at rainbow. strong was not there, and after supper, while the dusk fell, they sat on a blanket by the fire, and sinth raked the old scrap-heap of family history to which a score of ancestors had contributed, each in his time. it was all a kind of folk-lore--mouldy, rusty, distorted, dreamlike. it told of bears in the pig-pen, of moose in the door-yard, of panthers glaring through the windows at night, of indians surrounding the cabin, and of the torture by fire and steel. at bedtime silas had not arrived. sinth, however, showed no sign of worry. he knew the woods so well, and there were bear and fish and sundry temptations, each greater than his bed. "mebbe he's took after a bear," sinth suggested, while she began to undress the children. "you remember we heard him shoot soon after he left here," said master. "it may be he wounded a bear and followed him." "like as not," she answered. in a moment she put her hand on master's arm and whispered to him. "say!" said she, "i don't want to make trouble, but if i was you i wouldn't wait no longer for that old fool." she stalled the needles into her ball of yarn and rolled up her knitting. she continued, with a sigh of impatience: "i'd go over to buckhom an' git that girl, if i had to bring 'er on my back." "that's about what i propose to do," said the young man, with a laugh. "i'm sick o' this dilly-dally in'," said sinth, "an' i guess she is, too." with that she led socky and sue into the tent. when the others had gone to bed master began to think of the shot which had broken the silence of the autumn woods that morning. he lighted a lantern and followed as nearly as he could the direction his friend had taken. by-and-by he stopped and whistled on his thumb and stood listening. the woods were silent. soon he could see where strong had crossed a little run and roughed the leaves beyond it. master followed his tracks and came to the dead deer. he saw that a bear had found it, and near by there were signs of a struggle and of fresh blood. now satisfied that strong had shot and followed the bear, he hurried back to camp. he spread a blanket before the fire and laydown to think and rest in the silence. buck-horn was only four miles from the upper end of rainbow. one could put his canoe in the middle branch and go without a carry to the outlet of slender lake--little more than a great marsh--then up the still water to a landing within half an hour of dunmore's. he would make the journey in a day or two, and, if possible, take the girl out of the woods. the night was dark and still. he could hear now and then the fall of a dead leaf that gave a ghostly whisper as it brushed through high branches on its way down. suddenly another sound caught his ear. he rose and listened. it was a distant, rhythmic beat of oars on the lake. who could be crossing at that hour? he walked to the shore and stood looking off into inky darkness. he could still hear the sound of oars. some one was rowing with a swift, nervous, jumping stroke, and the sound was growing fainter. somehow it quickened the pulse of the young, man a little--he wondered why. xxxiv master returned to the fire and lay back on his blanket. little puffs of air had begun to rattle the dead leaves above him. soon he could hear a wind coming over the woodland. it was like the roar of distant sea-billows. waves of wind began to whistle in the naked branches overhead. in a moment the main flood of the gale was roaring through them, and every tree column had begun to creak and groan. master rose and looked up at the sky. he could see a wavering glow through the tree-tops. the odor of smoke was in the air. he ran to call miss strong, and met her coming out of her tent. she had smelled the smoke and quickly dressed. "my land, the woods are afire!" she cried. the sky had brightened as if a great, golden moon were rising. sinth ran back into her tent and woke the children. with swift and eager hands the young man helped her while she put on their clothes. she said not a word until they were dressed. then, half blinded by thickening smoke and groping on her way to the other tent, she said, despairingly, "i wonder where silas is?" a great, feathery cinder fell through the tree-tops. "come quick, we must get out of here," master called, as he lifted the crying children. "we've no time to lose." she flung some things in a satchel and tried to follow. in the smoke it was difficult to breathe and almost impossible to find their way. master put down the children and tore some rope from a tent-side and tied it to the dog's collar. then he shouted, "go home, zeb!" they clung to one another while the dog led them into the trail. master had socky and sue in his arms. he hurried up the long slope of rainbow ridge, the woman following. they could now hear the charge and raven of the flames that were tearing into a resinous swamp-roof not far away. "comin' fast!" sinth exclaimed. "can't see or breathe hardly." "drop your satchel and cling to my coat-tails," master answered, stopping to give her a hold. a burning rag of rotten timber, flying with the wind, caught in a green top above them. it broke and fell in flakes of fire. master flung one off his coat-sleeve, and, seizing a stalk of witch-hopple, whipped the glow out of them. on they pressed, mounting slowly into better air. just ahead of them they could see the wavering firelight on their trail. on a bare ledge near the summit they stopped to rest their lungs a moment. they were now above the swift army of flame and a little off the west flank of it. they could see into a red, smoky, luminous gulf, leagues long and wide, beneath the night-shadow. ten thousand torches of balsam and spruce and pine and hemlock sent aloft their reeling towers of flame and flung their light through the long valley. it illumined a black, wind-driven cloud of smoke waving over the woodland like a dismal flag of destruction. a great wedge of flame was rending its way northward. sparks leaped along the sides of it like fiery dust beneath the feet of the conqueror. they rose high and drifted over the lake chasm and fell in a sleet of fire on the lighted waves. the loose and tattered jacket of many an old stub was tom into glowing rags and scattered by the wind. some hurtled off a mile or more from their source, and isolated fountains of flame were spreading here and there on balsam flats near the lake margin. some of the tall firs, when first touched by the cinder-shower, were like great christmas-trees hung with tinsel and lighted by many candles. new-caught flames, bending in the wind, had the look of horses at full gallop. ropes and arrows and spears and lances of fire were flying and curveting over the doomed woods. the travellers halted only for a moment. they could feel the heat on their faces. black smoke had begun to roll over the heights around them. "it'll go up the valley in an hour an' cut silas off," sinth whimpered as they went on. "he must have crossed the valley before now," the young man assured her. the woman ran ahead and called, loudly, "silas! silas!" she continued calling as they hurried on through thickening smoke. they halted for a word at leonard's trail, which left the main thoroughfare to rainbow, and, going down the east side of the ridge, fared away some ten miles over hill and dale to the open country. it was at right angles with the way of the wind and would soon lead them out of danger. "make for benson falls with the childem!" cried sinth. "i'm goin' after silas." she knew that her brother would surely be coming--that, seeing the fire, he would take any hazard to reach them. master knew not what to do. he had begun to worry about the people at buckhom, but his work was nearer to his hand. it was there at the fork in the trail. he sent a loud, far-reaching cry down the wind, but heard no answer. "he'll take care of himself--you'd better get away from this valley," he called. an oily top had taken fire below and within a hundred yards of them. "go, go quick, an' save them childern!" she urged. then she ran away from him. she hurried along the top of the ridge, calling as she went. a dim, misty glow filled the cavern of the woods around her. just ahead drops of fire seemed to be dripping through the forest roof. it failed to catch. it would let her go a little farther, and she pressed on. a fold of the great streamer of smoke was rent away and rolled up the side of the ridge and covered her. she sank upon her knees, nearly smothered, and put her skirt over her face. the cloud passed in a moment. her sleeve caught fire and she put it out with her hand. she felt her peril more keenly and tried to run. she heard zeb sniffing and coughing near. master had let him go, thinking that he might help her in some way. she stooped and called to him and took hold of the dragging rope. the dog pressed on so eagerly that he carried part of her weight. a broken bough in a tree-top just ahead of her had caught fire and swung like a big lantern. she had no sooner passed than she heard the tree burst into flame with a sound like the frying of fat. she felt her hand stinging her and saw that a little flame was running up the side of her skirt. she cried, "mercy!" and knelt and smothered it with her hands. gasping for breath, she fell forward, her face upon the ground. "silas strong," she moaned, "you got to come quick or i won't never see you again." the dog heard her and licked her face. down among the ferns and mosses she found a stratum of clear air, and in a moment rose and reeled a few steps farther. the flank of the invader had overrun the heights. her seeking was near its end. showers of fire were falling beyond and beside her. she lay down and covered her face to protect it from heat and smoke. she rose and staggered on, calling loudly. then she heard a bark from zeb and the familiar halloo of silas strong. through some subtle but sure intuition the two had known what to expect of each other and had clung to the trail. she saw him running out of the smoke-cloud and whipping his arms with his old felt hat. one side of his beard was burned away. he picked her up as if she had been a child and ran down the east side of the ridge with her, leaping over logs and crashing through fallen tops. beyond the showering sparks he stopped and smothered a circle of creeping fire on her skirt. sinth lay in his arms moaning and sobbing. he shook her and shouted, almost fiercely, "the leetle f-fawns--wh-where be they?" "gone with him on leonard's trail," sinth answered, brokenly. he entered a swamp in the dim-lighted forest, now running, now striding slowly through fallen timber and up to his knees in the damp earth. every moment the air was growing clearer. he ran over a hard-wood hill and slackened pace while he made his way half across a wide flat. when he struck the trail to benson falls the fire-glow was fainter. now and then a great, rushing billow of light swept over them and vanished. he stopped and blew and put sinth on her feet. "hard n-night, sis," said he, tenderly. she stood and made no answer. in a flare of firelight he saw that she was holding out one of her hands. he struck a match and looked at it and made a rueful cluck. the fire of the match seemed to frighten her; she staggered backward and fell with a cry. he caught her up and strode slowly on. soon she seemed to recover self-control and lay silent. he was in great pain; he was reeling under his burden, but he kept on. she put up a hand and felt his face. "why, silas," she said, in a frightened voice, "you're crying." it was then that he fell to the ground helpless. xxxv terror had begun to spread in the wilderness north of rainbow. the smoky wind, the growing firelight had roused all the children of the forest. chattering birds rose high and took the way of the wind to safety. one could see flying lines of wild-fowl in the lighted heavens; faintly, as they passed, one could hear their startled cries. deer ran aimlessly through the woods like frightened sheep. from scores of camps on lake and pond and river--from buckhorn, from barsook, from five ponds, from sabattis, from big and little sandy, from lost river--people, who had seen the fire coming, were on their way out of the woods. master ran at first down leonard's trail with the boy and girl in his arms. soon his thoughts halted him. he had withstood the severest trial that may be set before a man. to be compelled to seek safety with the children, while a woman took the way of peril before his eyes, had made him falter a moment. he hoped that sinth had left the ridge, now overrun with flames, and fled down the slope. if so she would be looking for leonard's trail. he stopped every few paces and sent a loud halloo into the woods. fire was crackling down the side of the ridge. as he looked back it seemed to him that the great lake of hell must be flooding into the world. soon the trail led him to sinth, who was on her knees and sobbing beside her brother. that wiry little woman had struggled there alone with energy past all belief. she thought only of the danger and forgot her pain. she had toiled with the heavy body of her brother, as the ant toils with a burden larger than itself, dragging it slowly, inch by inch, in the direction of harris's. she had moved it a distance of some fifty feet before she heard the call of master. then she fell moaning and clinging to the hands of him she loved better, far better even, than she had ever permitted herself to know. it may well be doubted--o you who have probably lost patience with her long ago!--if anything in human history is more wonderful than the lonely struggle of hers in that dim, flaring, threatening hell-glow. master quickly knelt by the fallen emperor. "what's the matter?" he asked. "he's gi'n out--done fer me until he can't do no more," she wailed. she put her arms around the great breast of the man and laid her cheek upon it tenderly. then her heart, which had always hidden its fondness, spoke out in a broken cry: "silas strong--speak t' me. i can't--i can't spare ye nohow--i can't spare ye." the children knelt by her and called with frightened voices: "uncle silas! uncle silas!" strong began to move. those beloved voices had seemed to call him back. he put his hand on the head of sinth and drew it close to him. "b-better times!" he whispered. "b-better times, i tell ye, s-sis!" he struggled to his knees. "s-say," he said to master, "i've been shot. t-tie yer han'kerchief r-round my arm quick." the young man tied his handkerchief as directed. then strong tried to rise, but his weight bore him down. "lie still," said master. "i can carry you." he took the rope from zeb's collar and looped it over the breast of the helpless man and drew its ends under his arms and knotted them. then, while sinth supported her brother, the young man reached backward over his shoulders and, grasping the rope, lifted his friend so their backs were against each other, and, leaning under his burden, struggled on with it, the others following. it was a toilsome, painful journey to harris's. but what is impossible when the strong heart of youth, warmed with dauntless courage, turns to its task? we that wonder as we look backward may venture to put the query, but dare not answer it. often master fell to his knees and there steadied himself a moment with heaving breast, then tightened his thews again and rose and measured the way with slow, staggering feet. an hour or so later a clear-voiced call rang through the noisy wind. they stopped and listened. "somebody coming," said master. he answered with, a loud halloo as they went on wearily. soon they saw some one approaching in the dusky trail. "who's there?" the young man asked. "edith dunmore," was the answer that trembled with gladness. "oh, sir! i would have gone through the fire." "i know," said he, "you would have gone through the fire." "for--for you," she added, brokenly. master dared not lay down his burden. he toiled on, his heart so full that he could not answer. the girl walked beside him for a moment of solemn, suggestive silence. she could dimly see the prostrate body of strong on the back of her lover, and understood. what a singular and noble restraint was in that meeting! "i love you--i love you, and i want to help you," she said, as she walked beside him. "help miss strong," he answered. "she is badly burned." little sue was overcome with weariness and fear, and could not be comforted. the maiden carried her with one arm and with the other supported sinth. so, slowly, they made their way over the rough trail. "how came you here?" master inquired, presently. "we saw the fire coming and hurried to slender lake, and fled in boats and came down the river." when, late in the night, the little band of lovers reeled across the dimlit clearing, it was in sore distress. their feet dragged, their hearts and bodies stooped with heaviness. a company of woods-folk, who stood in front of harris's looking off at the fire, ran to meet them. they lifted the dragging emperor and helped the young man carry him in-doors. master was no sooner relieved of his burden than he fell exhausted on the floor. edith dunmore knelt by him and raised his hands to her lips. she helped him rise, and then for a moment they stood and trembled in each other's arms, and were like unto the oak and the vine that clings to it. dunmore and his mother stood looking at them. the white-haired man had taken the children in his arms. "i thought she went to bed and to sleep long ago," he muttered. "without her we should have perished," said the old lady. . "yes, and she shall have her way," he answered. "one might as well try to keep the deer out of the lily-pads." he kissed the boy and girl, and added, with a sigh, "this world is for the young." xxxvi all stood aghast for a moment in the light of the lamps around the bed of strong. his clothes were burned, bloody, and torn--they lay in rags upon him. his face and hands were swollen; part of his hair and beard had been shorn off in the storm of fire through which he had fought his way. he spoke not, but there was the grim record of his fight with the flames--of the terrible punishment they had put upon him while the sturdy old lover sought his friends. all hands made haste to do what they could for him and for the woman he had carried out of the fire of the pit. he had told master that annette was waiting for him at the falls. the young man sent harris to bring her with horse and buckboard. strong lay like one dead while they gave him spirits and bathed his face and hands in oil. soon he revived a little. "it's business," he muttered. in a moment his thoughts began to wander in a curious delirium filled with suggestions of the old cheerfulness. he sang, feebly: "the briers are above my head, the brakes above my knee, an' the bark is gettin' kind o' blue upon the ven'son tree." rain had begun falling and daylight was on the window-panes. the dethroned emperor continued to sing fragments of old songs so familiar to all who knew him. "it was in the summer-time when i sailed, when i sailed," he sang. socky stood by the bed of his uncle with a sad face. "th-thumbs down," strong demanded, faintly. master went out on the little veranda and looked down the road. he could hear the voice of his friend singing: "the green groves are gone from the hills, maggie." "it is true," thought the young man as he looked off at the smouldering woods. "they are gone and so are the green hearts." annette came presently and strong rose on his elbow and looked at her. "ann," he called, as she knelt by his bedside. "to-day--to-day! it's n-no' some day any m-more. it's to-day." he sank back on his pillow when he saw her tears, and whispered, almost doubtfully, "better t-times!" he leaned forward and put up his hands as if to relieve the pressure of his pack-straps, and in a moment he had gone out of hearing on a trail that leads to the "better times" he had hoped for, let us try to believe. so ends the history of silas strong, guide, contriver, lover of the woods and streams, of honor and good-fellowship. he was never to bow his head before the dreaded tyrant of this world. we may be glad of that, and remember gratefully and with renewed thought of our own standing that strong was ahead. a curious procession made its way out of the woods that morning. socky and sue walked ahead. master and edith and her father followed. then came the boat-jumper with sinth and all that remained of silas strong in it; then the buckboard that carried harris and old mrs. dunmore and the servants. slowly they made their way towards the sown land. "what ye cryin' fer?" a stranger asked the children as he passed them. "our uncle silas died," was the all-sufficient reply of socky. soon they could hear the roar of the saws. "look!" said dunmore to his daughter, as they came in sight of the mill chimney. "there's the edge of the great world." he looked thoughtfully at the children a moment and added: "it all reminds me of the words of a mighty teacher, 'a little child shall lead them.'" and what of migley and the rest? word of his harshness in driving sinth and the children out of their home had travelled over the land, and not all the king's money could have saved him. master went to the legislature--where god prosper him!--and the young lumberman was condemned to obscurity. master and edith live at clear lake most of the year, and the cranes have brought them a young fairy regarded by socky and sue, who often visit there, with deep interest and affection. sinth will spend the rest of her days, probably, in the home of gordon at benson falls. as to annette, like many daughters of the puritan, she lives with a memory, and her hope is still and all in that "some day," gone now into the land of faith and mystery. the once beautiful valley of rainbow was turned into black ruins that night of the fire. soon a "game pirate," who had "blabbed" in a spree, was arrested for the crime of causing it. the authorities promised to let him go if he would tell the truth. he told how he had been with "red" macdonald that night and saw him fire the woods. they fled to the shore of rainbow and crossed in a boat. near the middle of the lake they broke an oar, and a mile of green tops had begun to "fry" before they landed. they ran eastward in a panic. they crossed bushrod creek on a big log that spanned the water. at the farther end of it macdonald, who was in the lead, put his foot in one bear-trap and fell into another. his friend tried to release him, but soon had to give up and run for his life. he went with an officer and found the heap of bones that lay between two rusty traps in the desolate valley. "after all, he got exac'ly what was comin' to him," said he, looking down at the ghastly thing. "it was him shot the 'emp'ror o' the woods.'" who was to pay macdonald for his work? that probably will never be known. 