"Ye should have seen his face an' eyes," he chuckled. "It was as good as a circus. Thar was no stamp on the letter, an' when I told 'im to go himself an' deliver it, he jist stared at me. Ha, ha, it was too funny fer anything."

But Dan, as he stood in the road watching Tower drive away, did not see anything funny. His faith in the postman had received a rude shock. His hero was made of common clay after all. He sighed as he walked back to the house, clutching in his hands the little crumpled piece of paper. As the days pa.s.sed and the new trouble arose at the Rectory, Dan became very restless. He knew of everything that was going on, and when the Bishop arrived he gazed upon him with awe mingled with fear and anger. Often he would draw forth the letter, from a deep, capacious pocket, and look long and carefully upon it.

At length the moment arrived when his mind was fully made up. He bade Nellie and her father good-night, and crept upstairs to his own little room. For some time he sat upon the bed lost in thought. He heard Nellie come up the stairs and enter her own room. Drawing up the blind and turning down the light, he looked out of the window. How dark it was, and dismal. He would wait awhile until it became lighter. Throwing himself upon the bed without undressing, he drew a quilt over him and ere long was fast asleep. When he opened his eyes a dim light was struggling in through the window, and contending slowly with the blackness of night. Dan was sleepy, and the bed so comfortable, that he longed to stay where he was.

But this feeling was soon overcome, and springing to his feet he stood listening and alert, as a creature of the wild startled from its lair. Not a sound disturbed the house. Everything was wrapped in silence. Quietly he moved out of his room, and crept softly down the stairs, fearful lest at every creak Nellie should be aroused. Reaching the kitchen he put on his shoes, which he had left by the stove. Next he went into the pantry, found some cold meat, bread, cheese and biscuits. A paper bag lying near was soon filled and securely tied with a stout string. Dan sighed as he donned his cap, drew on his mittens, closed the back door, and stood by the little outside porch. In his heart he felt it was wrong to go away without telling Nellie and her father where he was going. But on the other hand he was quite sure they would not be willing for him to go so far away, and besides he did not wish to tell them anything until the deed had been accomplished.

The early morning air was cool, clear and crisp. The sun had not yet risen, but far away in the eastern sky the glory of another new-born day was clearly visible. Dan's heart responded to the freshness and the beauty which lay around him. As the daylight increased the feeble chirp of half-awakened birds fell upon his ears. The old longing for the wild filled his soul. He thought of his father, the little cabin in the valley, and the woodland haunts he knew and loved so dearly. His eyes sparkled with animation, and the blood tingled and surged through his body. He felt like shouting at the mere joy of being alive.

"Guess I must be like the bears," he thought. "They stay in their dens all winter and come out in the spring. I'm just like one now."

He knew the direction, for had he not listened time and time again to the conversations in the store? The talk had often turned upon Rodgers & Peterson's big lumbering operations in Big Creek Valley. Yes, he was sure he could find the place. Up the river to Rocky Point, from thence along a big cove, then over a hill and down into a valley. He had dreamed of the way; how long it would take him, and what he would say when he got there.

All day long he plodded steadily onward, and when night shut down he stopped by a large stack of hay which had been brought from the lowlands when the river was frozen. He was tired, and the soft hay inviting. Into this he crawled, and ere long was fast asleep. Early the next morning he was up and on again. His supply of food was now getting low. At noon he ruefully viewed the little that was left. "Enough only for supper," he murmured. "Maybe I'll get there to-morrow."

During the day he learned from several people he met that he was on the right road. They had looked with interest upon the little figure, and asked him numerous questions. But Dan gave only indefinite answers. He wished to go to Big Creek Valley to Rodgers & Peterson's lumber camp. When the second night arrived he was very weary and footsore. He had eaten his last sc.r.a.p of food before sundown, and as he trudged on he wondered what he would do in the morning. He disliked the idea of asking at any of the farm-houses for food. His father had always scoffed at tramps and beggars.

"They are spongers," he had often said, "and people cannot afford to have such useless people around."

That word "sponger" as it came to Dan caused him to straighten himself up and step forward more quickly. He was not a sponger now. His face flushed at Farrington's insult. He would show the whole world that he could pay for his keep, and if he could not do it in one way, he would in another.

That night no friendly haystack stood by the road-side, but over there in the field he saw a barn near a farm-house. He could find shelter in that.

Waiting until it was dark, he crept cautiously through a small sheep door, and entered. He heard in another part of the building the cattle munching the last of their evening meal. It was good to know that they were near, and that he was not altogether alone. As he threw himself upon a small bunch of straw which he found as he felt around with his hands, a great feeling of loneliness came over him. He longed for the Rectory and a glimpse of Nellie's face. Was she thinking of him, he wondered, or had she forgotten him, and believed him to be an ungrateful scamp? He clenched his hands, and the blood surged to his face as he thought of it. No, he would show her he was not a scamp, but a real man. Oh, she should know what he could do!

Thinking thus he found himself no longer in the barn, but back again at the Rectory. He could see the fire burning brightly on the hearth, and a number of people standing around. They were all looking upon him, and he saw the doctor there, too. But Nellie's face riveted his attention. She was gazing upon him with such a deep look of love. And yet it did not seem altogether like Nellie, and, when she spoke, it was a different voice.

Suddenly a strange sound fell upon his ears. The room at the Rectory faded, and in ita stead there was the rough barn floor, and the bunch of straw on which he was lying. For an instant he gazed around him in a bewildered manner. He could not realize just where he was. A childish laugh caused him to turn his head, and there looking in at him from a small door to the left was a little maiden, with curly, auburn hair and cheeks twin sisters to the rosiest apples that ever grew.

"Oo azy ittle boy!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Oo must det up. Turn, daddy, tee azy, azy ittle boy."

Presently there appeared at her side, a large man, holding a pail in his left hand.

"What is it, dearie?" he asked. "What's all the fun and chattering about?"

"Tee, tee, azy boy," and she pointed with a fat little finger to the corner of the barn floor.

By this time Dan had leaped to his feet, and stood confronting the man. He felt that he was a trespa.s.ser, and perhaps he would be punished. But as he looked into the big man's eyes he read with the instinct of a wild animal that he had nothing to fear, for only pity shone in those clear, grey depths.

"Did you sleep there all night?" the man asked, pointing to the straw.

"Yes, sir," was the reply. "I hope you're not cross."

"I'm cross, boy, to think that you didn't come to the house and ask for a bed."

"I didn't like to, sir. I didn't like to bother anybody. But I knew whoever owned the barn wouldn't mind if I slept here. It's a comfortable place, and I was tired."

"Did you have any supper last night?" the man asked, looking keenly into Dan's face.

"Yes, sir; a piece of bread."

"What, nothing more?"

"No. But I had a grand drink from that spring back yonder, and with the good sleep I've had, I think I can manage to-day."

"Look here, boy, you'll not leave this place until you have your breakfast. So come. Marion, you found this little stranger, and you must take him to the house."

But Dan drew back, as the little maiden toddled up to take him by the hand.

"I can't go," he stammered. "I've got no money, and I won't be a sponger."

"A what?" asked the man.

"A sponger. I hate a sponger, and so did my father. I'll split wood for my breakfast if you'll let me, sir, for I am hungry."

"That's a bargain," said the man, much pleased at the spirit of the boy.

"So hurry off now. I haven't much time to lose."

Proudly the little maiden conducted her charge to the house, and told in broken language about her marvellous find. Dan felt much at home with Marion's mother, and during breakfast he told her where he was going.

"What! to Rodgers & Peterson's camp!" exclaimed: the big man at the head of the table. "That's where I'm going myself, and that's why I'm up so early this morning. I'm glad to hear of that, for I'll have company."

"But I must split the wood," Dan insisted. "I shall try to earn my breakfast, but what about the ride?"

"Oh, I'll give you work along the way," laughed the man. "You'll have plenty to do, so don't worry."

While the horses were being harnessed Dan vigorously swung the axe in the wood-house. Perched upon the door-step Marion watched him with admiring eyes. He knew that she was looking at him, and his bosom swelled with pride. He was not a sponger, but a man working for his breakfast. At times he stole a glance at the little figure sitting there. "How pretty she is,"

he thought. "I wish I had a sister like her. He longed to stay there, to be near the little maiden, and to work for the big, kind man. He sighed as he laid down the axe, and gazed at the wood he had chopped.

"It ain't much," he remarked, as he stood ready to climb into the waggon.

"Wish I had more time."

"It will do," responded the big man. "I am satisfied if you are."

Dan had no time to answer, for at that instant a little voice sounded forth. Looking quickly around he beheld Marion hurrying towards him holding in her hand a small rose.

"Me div dis to oo, ittle boy," she cried. "It's off my own woes bus. Oo must teep it."

Hardly knowing what he did Dan took the little flower, and stood staring at Marion.

"Come, la.s.sie," cried her father, catching her in his arms and giving her a loving hug and a kiss. "Take good care of mother. We must be off."

"Oo div me tiss, too," and she lifted up her lips to Dan's.

The latter's face flushed scarlet, and he trembled. Never in his life had he kissed a little girl like that. What should he do? He longed for the ground to open or something dreadful to happen. He would have welcomed anything just then.

"Tiss me, ittle boy," urged Marion. She had him by the coat now with both hands, drawing him down to her. There was nothing for him to do. He must go through the ordeal. Suddenly he bent his head and shut his eyes. His face came close to hers; he felt her lips touch his cheek, and heard her childish laugh of delight.

"Dood ittle boy!" she exclaimed. "Now dood-by. Don't lose my pitty fower."

Too much confused to say a word Dan scrambled into the waggon, and soon the horses were speeding off down the lane to the road. For some time he sat bolt upright on the seat, silent and thoughtful, clutching in his hand that tiny rose. The big man at his side asked no questions, but seemed intent solely upon managing his horses. But not a motion of the little lad at his side escaped his notice. He loved children, and had the rare gift of understanding them. A faint smile played about his mouth as from the corner of his eye he saw Dan take a piece of paper from his pocket, shyly place the rose between the folds and then return it to its former place.

He could not hear the boy's heart thumping hard beneath his jacket, but he understood, and what more was needed?