"It was a good many years after the place was deserted that I was there, but it made a tremendous impression upon me. I had the blues for days afterward. Old, tumbled-down houses, the windows knocked out and the doors hanging on leather hinges. I remember one building that had been a saloon. The great mirrors back of the bar had never been removed, and the rains of many seasons had peeled the mercury from the plate glass and the gilt frames were faded. We entered the old hotel, and were surprised to find some of the fittings still there. In the attic we found an old chest of letters--and, speaking of strange coincidences, a large number of those letters were written and signed by Daddy Wright. Away up in the back corner of the attic sat an old owl. He looked down on us from his perch in a reproving manner, to think we would disturb the haunts of the past in that crude way. He was a weird looking old fellow as he sat there, blinking his big yellow eyes, and I couldn't help thinking that the owl of wisdom perhaps a good many times might be found perched in the dark attics of the past, instead of spending his time in the sunlight of the great and active present." The afternoon passed, and soon the sun began to settle behind the western peaks. It was just six o'clock when the party came to the Little Fountain and chose their camping spot on a little green knoll of high ground, right by the water's edge. Some one suggested a dip, and so, in the quiet coolness of a perfect summer twilight, with a cheerful fire burning on the bank, clothes were stripped and a bath taken. Then came the evening meal, the usual round of stories, the message from the letter of the Great Spirit, then to sleep. As Willis and Mr. Allen lay watching the firelight and listening to the thousand sounds of the night, the night breeze began to rise and to sing to them through the balsam boughs overhead. "Do you know what I think of when I lie out in the woods on such a night and listen to the gentle sighing of the night wind?" asked Mr. Allen. "No," replied Willis. "What do you think of?" "It is kind of fanciful, I suppose, but I like to believe that it is God blowing His breath down on us just to let us know that He is very near and cares for us." Willis did not answer; he was thinking. CHAPTER IX The Third Day Out