The farmer raised his eyes from the fragrant screed of birch-bark. "No, lassie," he said tenderly, "he does not forget." Then he fell silent, reading and re-reading the boyish scrawl, while Mrs. Collinson watched him with secret uneasiness. He was almost especially gentle to the girl that evening; but as soon as possible he drew his wife aside, and spoke to her in his gruff whisper. "We must keep up Steenie's heart," he said, "but it's my opinion, Mrs. C., that the boy won't be back for many a long day." "We must not let Stephanie think that," echoed his wife sadly. But they need not have troubled. Stephanie was confident. Dick did not forget her, and she could trust his welfare to a greater love than her own. So thereafter she watched and waited with a new and confident patience, comforted and strengthened, not to be shaken in her hope and trust. And thus for a time we will leave her. For, meanwhile, how had Dick fared? CHAPTER VIII. A Wood's Adventure. From the night of Peter Many-Names' arrival at the sugar-camp, Dick had yielded himself utterly to his dreams. Home, duty, Stephanie, all this had become as a shadow before the wonder and delight which the thought of freedom held. And when the time came, he had shaken off all ties of affection, all thoughts of right and gratitude, and had turned north to the country of his longings. At last, at last, the skies were blue for him, the airs were fresh for him, the world was wide for him, he could follow where he would and none should call him back. Of probable consequences he did not think. The struggle was over, and, though he knew he had chosen ill instead of good, the knowledge troubled him little. Was it not enough that the humdrum round of toil lay far behind him, and that all before and on every side of the land was fair with spring? At the time he found it enough--enough to fairly intoxicate him with delight. In this spirit he began his wanderings, and the days passed in golden dreams of beauty and of freedom. He followed in utter content wherever Peter Many-Names chose to lead, caring nothing so that he might eat and sleep and dream and wander on again, guided by any stream that ran, any wind that blew. After a while he lost count of time, lost count of distance, and was still content. Left to himself, he would have gone on thus indefinitely; but he was held by a keener, harder intellect than his own. Peter allowed matters to go on thus for some days. He was contemptuously fond of Dick, willing to indulge him to a certain extent. So for nearly two weeks they idled northwards through the awakening woods, killing for food as they required it, with the Indian to do all the hard work and bear most of the burdens.