"Why, Bub, you look tired," said Uncle Peabody as he gave me that familiar hug of his.

I did not greet him with the cheerful warmth which had characterized our meetings, and seeing the disappointment in his look I kissed him rather flippantly.

"Lay down on this old sheep skin and take a nap," said he. "It's warm in here."

He spread the sheep skin on the balsam boughs back under the lean-to and I lay down upon it and felt the glow of the fire and heard the talk of the men but gave no heed to it. I turned my face away from them and lay as if asleep, but with a mind suddenly estranged and very busy.

Now I know what I knew not then, that my soul was breaking camp on the edge of the world and getting ready to move over the line. Still no suspicion of the truth reached me that since I came to live with him my uncle had been bitting and breaking his tongue. It occurred to me that Bill Seaver, whom I secretly despised, had spoilt him and that I had done wrong in leaving him all the afternoon defenseless in bad company.

I wondered if he were beyond hope or if he would have to fry and smoke and yell forever. But I had hope. My faith in Aunt Deel as a corrector and punisher was very great. She would know what to do. I heard the men talking in low voices as they cooked the supper and the frying of the fish and bacon. It had grown dark. Uncle Peabody came and leaned over me with a lighted candle and touched my face with his hand. I lay still with closed eyes. He left me and I heard him say to the others:

"He's asleep and his cheeks are wet. Looks as if he'd been cryin' all to himself there. I guess he got too tired."

Then Mr. Wright said: "Something happened to the boy this afternoon. I don't know what. I stopped at the brook to clean the fish and he ran on toward the camp to surprise you. I came along soon and found him sitting alone by the trail out there. He looked as if he hadn't a friend in the world. I asked him what was the matter and he said it was a secret."

"Say, by--" Uncle Peabody paused. "He must a stole up here and heard me tellin' that--" he paused again and went on: "Say, I wouldn't 'a' had him hear that for a thousan' dollars. I don't know how to behave myself when I get in the woods. If you're goin' to travel with a boy like that you've got to be good all the time--ye can't take no rest or vacation at all whatever."

"You've got to be sound through and through or they'll find it out,"

said the Comptroller. "You can't fool 'em long."

"He's got a purty keen edge on him," said Bill Seaver.

"On the whole I think he's the most interesting child I ever saw," said Mr. Wright.

I knew that these words were compliments but their meaning was not quite clear to me. The words, however, impressed and pleased me deeply and I recalled them often after that night. I immediately regretted them, for I was hungry and wanted to get up and eat some supper but had to lie a while longer now so they would not know that my ears had been open.

Nothing more was said and I lay and listened to the wind in the tree-tops and the crackling of the fire, and suddenly the day ended.

I felt the gentle hand of Uncle Peabody on my face and I heard him speak my name very tenderly. I opened my eyes. The sun was shining. It was a new day. Bill Seaver had begun to cook the breakfast. I felt better and ran down to the landing and washed. My uncle's face had a serious look in it. So had Mr. Wright's. I was happy but dimly conscious of a change.

I remember how Bill beat the venison steak, which he had brought in his pack basket, with the head of his ax, adding a strip of bacon and a pinch of salt, now and then, until the whole was a thick ma.s.s of pulp which he broiled over the hot coals. I remember, too, how delicious it was.

We ate and packed and got into the boats and fished along down the river. At Seaver's we hitched up our team and headed homeward. When we drove into the dooryard Aunt Deel came and helped me out of the buggy and kissed my cheek and said she had been "terrible lonesome." Mr.

Wright changed his clothes and hurried away across country with his share of the fish on his way to Canton.

"Well, I want to know!--ayes! ain't they beautiful! ayes!" Aunt Deel exclaimed as Uncle Peabody spread the trout in rows on the wash-stand by the back door.

"I've got to tell you something," I said.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I heard him say naughty words."

"What words?"

"I--I can't say `em. They're wicked. I'm--I'm 'fraid he's goin' to be burnt up," I stammered.

"It's so. I said 'em," my uncle confessed.

Aunt Deel turned to me and said: "Bart, you go right down to the barn and bring me a strap--ayes!--you bring me a strap--right away."

I walked slowly toward the barn. For the moment, I was sorry that I had told on my uncle. Scalding tears began to flow down my cheeks. I sat on the steps to the hay loft for a moment to collect my thoughts.

Then I heard Aunt Deel call to me: "Hurry up, Bart."

I rose and picked out the smallest strap I could find and walked slowly back to the house. I said, in a trembling voice, as I approached them, "I--I don't think he meant it."

"He'll have to be punished--just the same--ayes--he will."

We went into the house together, I sniffling, but curious to see what was going to happen. Uncle Peabody, by prearrangement, as I know now, lay face downward on the sofa, and Aunt Deel began to apply the strap.

It was more than I could bear, and I threw myself between my beloved friend and the strap and pleaded with loud cries for his forgiveness.

Uncle Peabody rose and walked out of the house without a word and with a sterner look in his face than I had ever seen there. I searched for him as soon as my excitement had pa.s.sed, but in vain. I went out back of the cow barn and looked away down across the stumpy flats. Neither he nor Shep were in sight. All that lonely afternoon I watched for him. The sun fell warm but my day was dark. Aunt Deel found me in tears sitting on the steps of the cheese house and got her Indian book out of her trunk and, after she had cautioned me to be very careful of it, let me sit down with it by myself alone, and look at the pictures.

I had looked forward to the time when I could be trusted to sit alone with the Indian book. In my excitement over the picture of a red man tomahawking a child I turned a page so swiftly that I put a long tear in it. My pleasure was gone. I carefully joined the torn edges and closed the book and put it on the table and ran and hid behind the barn.

By and by I saw Uncle Peabody coming down the lane with the cows, an ax on his shoulder. I ran to meet him with a joy in my heart as great as any I have ever known. He greeted me with a cheerful word and leaned over me and held me close against his legs and looked into my eyes and asked:

"Are you willin' to kiss me?"

I kissed him and then he said:

"If ye ever hear me talk like that ag'in, I'll let the stoutest man in Ballybeen hit me with his ax."

I was not feeling well and went to bed right after supper. As I was undressing I heard Aunt Deel exclaim: "My heavens! See what that boy has done to my Indian book--ayes! Ain't that awful!--ayes!"

"Pretend ye ain't noticed it," said Uncle Peabody. "He's had trouble enough for one day."

A deep silence followed in which I knew that Aunt Deel was probably wiping tears from her eyes. I went to bed feeling better.

Next day the stage, on its way to Ballybeen, came to our house and left a box and a letter from Mr. Wright, addressed to my uncle, which read:

"DEAR SIR--I send herewith a box of books and magazines in the hope that you or Miss Baynes will read them aloud to my little partner and in doing so get some enjoyment and profit for yourselves.

"Yours respectfully, S. WRIGHT, JR.

"P.S.--When the contents of the box has duly risen into your minds, will you kindly see that it does a like service to your neighbors in School District No. 7? S.W., JR."

"I guess Bart has made a friend o' this great man--sartin ayes!" said Aunt Deel. "I wonder who'll be the next one."

CHAPTER V

IN THE LIGHT OF THE CANDLES

I remember that I tried to walk and talk like Silas Wright after that day. He had a way of twisting little locks of his hair between his thumb and finger when he sat thinking. I practised that trick of his when I was alone and un.o.bserved.