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.