"Where is he?" "Dead on the floor there." She covered her face with the blankets. "I'm going to have a pair o' moccasins an' a rifle, an' I'll carry you on my b-back." He had stammered on the last word after the manner of his uncle. Just then they heard a singular creaking outside the door, and before either had time to speak it was flung open. They were both sitting up in bed as their Uncle Silas entered. "I tnum!" said he, cheerfully. Suddenly he saw the bird and the books and the table-top and the potatoes and the ramrod and the hands of Socky. He whistled ruefully; his smile faded. "W-well greased!" he said, looking down at the books and the bird. He found a gun-rag and wiped up the oil as best he could. "She'll r-raise--" The remark ended in a cough as he wiped the books. Then he covered them with an empty meal-bag. The children began to dress while Strong went half-way up the ladder and called to Gordon, still asleep in the loft above. Then he sat on the bed and helped the boy and girl get their clothes buttoned.. "My little f-fawns!" he muttered, with a laugh. He had sat up until one o'clock at work in his little shop by the light of a lantern. He had sawed some disks from a round beech log and bored holes in them. He had also made axles and a reach and tongue, and put them together. Then he had placed a cross-bar and a pivot on the front axle and fastened a starch-box over all. The result was a wagon, which he had arisen early to finish, and with which he had come to wake "the little fawns." Now, when they were dressed, he sat them side by side in the wagon-box and clattered off down the trail. At first the children sat silent, oppressed as they were by the odor of bear's-oil, not yet entirely removed from their hands and faces. As the wagon proceeded they began to laugh and call the dog. Zeb peered from under the friendly cover of the boat, and gave a yearning bark which seemed to express regret, not wholly unmingled with accusation, that on account of other engagements he would be unable to accept their kind invitation. At the boat-house were soap and towel and glad deliverance from the flavor of the bear. On their return "Mis' Strong" met them at the door of the cook-tent. She raised both hands above her head. "My album!" she gasped. "T-y-ty!" the Emperor whispered. "An' the book my mother gave me!" she exclaimed, her tone rising from despair to anger. "They're ruined--Silas Strong!" "N-nonsense," said her brother, calmly. "Nonsense!" she exclaimed, tauntingly. "Silas Strong, do you know what has been done to 'em?" "G-greased," he answered, mildly. "D-do 'em good." She ran into the cook-tent and returned with the sacred album. There was an odd menace in her figure as she displayed the book. She spread it open. "Look at my grandfather!" she demanded.