Part 4

"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.