He was roused from his reverie by a fearful clamour that broke out among the farm buildings. All the geese hissed and screamed as if they had another Rome to save, and the hens fluttered and clucked, and squawked after the manner of their foolish kind. Roger hurried out with a shot-gun, and he and Dick ran towards the scene of the tragedy. But they were too late. The fox had already gone, and with him had departed a venerable gander. "We have got to get you, my friend," growled Roger, "or we shan't have a bird left. And I repaired the fencing myself. Oh, you villain!" "Let me go to-morrow," said Dick promptly. The older boy looked at him and laughed, with one of the flashes of insight which sometimes comes to slow people. "I can see you would rather be a mighty hunter before the Lord than a humble tiller of the soil," he said, "and if my father says yes, you might as well catch the thief if you can. But you had better take Peter Many-Names with you." "Who is he?" asked Dick. "Well," answered Roger slowly, "he is--himself. An Indian boy about my own age, and the cleverest fellow with a gun or a snare or a paddle that I ever saw. But beyond that--well, he's an Indian, so I don't know anything more about him. He's been round here lately, selling fish. He wraps them in wet leaves and brings them over from the river--the Otonabee, you know. There are a lot of settlers over there now, I 've heard, and I wish we were nearer the river ourselves. Peter has promised to bring mother some fish to-morrow, and if he turns up you ask him to go fox-hunting with you, and you will have good sport after a fashion. His methods are funny, but they 're interesting, and a day in the woods with him is always jolly." So it was arranged that next day, if the Indian arrived, he and Dick were to go and catch the marauding fox. They returned to the house, Dick in great glee. All his dreams that night were of the delight and freedom of the forests. And miles away in the woods, an Indian lad slept beside his fire, with a basket of fish hung up on a branch in the shadow overhead. Next day these two were to meet. What would be the outcome of the meeting? CHAPTER IV. A Day in the Woods. The following morning Dick was up and out before even the early rising Collinsons were stirring. It was one of those mornings in late November which seem to be a faint, sad recollection of spring. The sun had not yet appeared above the far-off edge where the misty forest lands faded into mistier skies, but the promise of his approach thrilled the leafless, songless world to deeper quiet. Everything was hushed and dark; but in the east a clear bar of amber broadened and brightened slowly.