"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.