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.