"Poor isn't the word for it. Why, I've seen Freme when he's been broke so he didn't have the price of a glass of beer at Pat's, build a dog house for some of the children, or help the hired girl by stacking a pile of wood handy for her." It was a new doctrine for the banker--one he had never been accustomed to; and yet when he thought it over, and recalled the look in the old trapper's face and the hearty humour and independence of the Clown, he felt instantly that Holcomb was right. Something else must be done for them--but not money. For some moments he sat gazing into the weird stillness, then he asked in one of his restful tones: "Billy--who owns this place?" "You mean the shanty?" "I mean as far as we can see." "Well," answered Holcomb, "as far as we can see is a good ways. Morrison owns part of it--that is from the South Branch down to the State Road, and--let's see--after that there's a couple of lots belonging to some parties in Albany; then, as soon as you get across above the big falls it is all state land clear to Bear Brook--yes, clear to the old military road, in fact." "Are there any ponds?" asked Thayer. "Yes--four," replied Holcomb. "Lily Pond, and little Moose and Still Water and--" "I see," interrupted Thayor. "Why do you ask?" inquired Holcomb, wondering at the drift of Thayor's inquiry. "Oh, nothing. That is, nothing now. How many acres do you think it all covers?" "I should say about fifteen thousand," replied Holcomb. "Only fifteen thousand, eh?" For an instant he paused and looked out over the sweep of forest, with the gaunt trees standing like sentinels. Then he raised his hands above his head and in a half-audible voice murmured: "My God, what freedom! I'll turn in now if you don't mind, Billy." And so ended the banker's first day in the wilderness. CHAPTER FIVE All through the night that followed Sam Thayor slept soundly on his spring bed of fragrant balsam, oblivious to the Clown's snoring or the snapping logs burning briskly in the stove, his head pillowed on his boots wound in his blanket. Beneath the canopy of stars the torrent roared and the great trees whined and creaked, their shaggy tops whistling in the stiff breeze. Not until Hite laid his rough hand on his shoulder and shook him gently did he wake to consciousness. "Breakfus's most ready," announced the trapper cheerfully. Thayor opened his eyes; then, with a start, he sat up, remembering where he was. As he grew accustomed to the light he caught a glimpse outside of Billy and the Clown busy over the frying pan, and the steaming pail of coffee. Its fragrance and the pungent smoke from the fire now brought him fully awake. "How'd ye sleep, friend?" inquired Hite, his weather-beaten face wrinkled in a kindly grin. "How did I sleep?" returned the millionaire smiling; "like a top--really I don't know; I don't remember anything after Holcomb covered me up." "Breakfast!" shouted the Clown from without.