"It's natur," Old Cy observed when morning came, "an' home is the hardest spot in the world to fergit. Amzi's lived in that old shack all 'lone for twenty years. He's got wonted to it like a dog to his kennel, an' all the powers o' the univarse can't break up the feelin'." It seemed an indisputable, if disappointing, fact, and Martin led his party back to the hermit's home once more. Another plan was now considered by Martin--to buy the township, or at least a large tract enclosing this lake, build a more commodious log cabin for the use of himself and his wife, and spend a portion of each summer there. There were several reasons other than those of affection for this decision. This lake, perhaps half a mile in diameter, teemed with trout. The low mountains enclosing it were thickly covered with fine spruce and fir, groves of pine with some beech and birch grew in the valleys; deer, moose, and feathered game abounded here, and best of all, no vandal lumbermen ever encroached upon this region. It was, all considered, a veritable sportsman's paradise. Most likely a few thousand dollars would purchase it, and so, for these collective reasons, Martin decided to buy it. Old Cy was left to keep the hermit company; Martin, his wife, and Ray, with Levi, started for civilization to obtain needed supplies, and had been four days upon the way when this much-abused waif appeared on the scene. The party were journeying in two canoes, one manned by Ray, who had already learned to wield a paddle, which carried the tents and luggage; while the other was occupied by Martin, his wife, and Levi. The only available seat for the new arrival was in Ray's canoe, and when breakfast was disposed of and the voyagers ready to start, she was given a place therein. The river at this point was broad and of slow current, only two days' journey was needful to reach the settlement, and no cause for worry appeared--but Levi felt otherwise. "You'd best hug the futher shore," he observed to Ray quietly when the boy pushed off, "an' don't git out o' sight o' us." "I ain't sartin 'bout the outcome o' this matter," he said to Martin later. "I know that half-breed, Bolduc, and he's a bad 'un. From the gal's story he paid big money fer her. He don't know the meanin' o' law, and if he follers down the tote road, as I callate he will, 'n' ketches sight o' her, the first we'll know on't 'll be the crack o' a rifle. The wonder to me is he didn't ketch her 'fore she got to us. He could track her faster'n she could run. I don't want to 'larm you folks, but I shan't feel easy till we're out o' the woods." It wasn't reassuring. But no thought of this came to Ray, at least, and these two young people, yielding to the magic of the morning, the rippled river that bore them onward, the birds singing along the fir-clad banks, and all the exhilaration of the wilderness, soon reached the care-free converse of youthful friends.