"They have never left the woods?" said Master, as if it were too incredible. "Dunmore goes to New York, but not oftener than once a year," Gordon went on. "He has property--a good deal of property, I suppose, and has to give it some attention. The others have never left the woods." "Sends home b-big boxes, an' I t-tote 'em in," Silas explained. "Do you mean to tell me that Dunmore's daughter has never seen the clearing since she was a baby?" Strong's interest was thoroughly aroused. He took off his coat and laid it down carefully, as if he were about to go in swimming. He was wont to do this when his thoughts demanded free and full expression. "B-been t' Tillbury post-office w-with the ol' man--n-no further," Strong explained. "Dunmore says she 'ain't never s-seen a child 'cept one. That was a b-baby. Some man an' his w-wife come through here w-with it from the n-north th-three year ago." "Fact is, I think he feared for a long time that his wife would try to get possession of the child," said Gordon. "Late years, I understand, the girl has had to take care of the old lady. In a letter to me once Dunmore referred to his daughter as the 'little nun of the green veil,' and spoke of her devotion to her grandmother." Gordon rose and went to his bed in one of the cabins. Strong and the young man kept their seats at the camp-fire, talking of Dunmore and his daughter and their life in the woods. The Emperor, who felt for this lonely child of the forest, talked from a sense of duty. "S-sail in," he presently said. "S-sail in an' t-tame her." "I don't know how to begin." "She'll be there t-to-morrer sure," Strong declared. "So shall I," said the young man. "C-cal'late she's w-wownded, too," Strong suggested. "B-be careful. She's like a w-wild deer." They were leaving the fire on their way to bed. The young man stopped and repeated the words incredulously--"Like a wild deer!" "T-take the ch-childem with ye," Strong advised. "She'll w-want t' look 'em over." X SOCKY woke early next morning, and lay looking up at the antlers, guns, and rifles which adorned the wall. On a table near him were some of the treasures of that sylvan household--a little book entitled _Melinda_, a dingy Testament, a plush-covered photograph-album, and a stuffed bird on a wire bough. Sinth and the album were inseparable. She sometimes left the dingy Testament or the little book entitled _Melinda_ at her Pitkin home, but not the plush-covered album. That was the one link which connected her, not only with the past, but with a degree of respectability, and even with a vague hope of paradise. What a pantheon of family deities! What a museum of hair and whiskers! What a study of the effect of terror, headache, rheumatism, weariness, Sunday apparel, tight boots, and reckless photography upon the human countenance!