STRONG was chopping and hewing on his birch log until late bedtime. He was like Noah getting ready for the destruction of the world. Having finished, he took his lantern off a branch beside him and surveyed a singular device. He called it a boat-jumper, and, inspired by a thought of the children, whispered to himself, "Uncle S-Silas is improvin'." It was a mere shell about two inches thick, flat on the bottom and sheared on one end, canoe-fashion. It would serve as a jumper—a rough, sledlike conveyance—on the ground and as a boat on the rivers; it would carry Sinth and the children, with tents, blankets, provisions, and bedding enough to last until he could return for more.
He hurried to camp and helped his sister with the packing. When a dozen great bundles lay on the floor, ready for removal, Sinth went to bed. But the tireless Emperor had more work to do. He made two seats, with back-rests upon each, for the boat-jumper and fastened a whiffle-tree to the bow end of the same. On its stern he put two handles—like those of a plough—so that he might lay hold of them and steady the jumper in rough places.
Next morning a little before sunrise he made off on the trail to Pitkin.
At the general store and post-office in that hamlet he received a letter. It was from the forest, fish, and game commissioner, who thus addressed him:
"Dear Mr. Strong,—I hear that timber thieves and deer-slayers are operating on State land near Rainbow Lake. I learn also that you are about to leave your camp at Lost River. If that is true I wish you would accept an appointment as deputy for that district and go at once and do what you can to protect the valley of Rainbow. The salary would be five hundred dollars. A letter just received informs me that 'Red' Macdonald is there with dogs. If you could deliver him into custody you would be a public benefactor, but I warn you that he is a desperate man. Please let me hear from you immediately."
This gave Strong a new and grateful sense of being "ahead." Before leaving the post-office he penned his acceptance of the offer. Then he proceeded to the home of Annette and found her gone for the day. He sat down at the dinner-table and wrote these lines with all the deliberation their significance merited:
"Deer lady,—In Ogdensburg an' anxious to move. Patrick can snake me out. Meet me at Benson Falls Friday if possibul an' youll heare some talkin' done by yours hopin fer better times,
"S. Strong.
"P.S. Strong's ahed."
Meanwhile Sinth was in trouble. Young Mr. Migley had come, with a gang of sawyers and axemen, to dethrone the Emperor and take possession. He had his customary get-off-the-earth air about him—an air that often accompanies the title to vast acreage. He found only Sinth and the children and summarily ordered them to leave. Then she gave him what she called "a piece of her mind." It was a good-sized piece, all truth and just measure.
While the furniture was being thrown out-ofdoors she got ready to go. In the heart of Sinth indignation had supplanted sorrow. It was in her countenance and the vigor of her foot-fall and in the way that she filled and closed and handled her satchel. Some of the brawny woodsmen stood looking as she and the children came out-of-doors—a solemn-faced little company. Something from the hearts of the men made Sinth touch her eyes with her handkerchief. Then a curious thing happened. Some of the lumber-jacks dropped their saws and axes.
Those people could forgive much in "a good fellow"—they could forgive almost any infamy, it would seem, but the stony heart. Let one do a mean thing and rouse their quick sympathies a little and their oaths were as a deadly, fateful curse upon him. They never forgot the tear of sympathy or the wrath of resentment.
The sorrow of the weak now seemed to touch the hearts of the strong. The children, seeing the tears of their aunt as she turned for a last look at her home, followed slowly with an air of great dejection. Then a strange pathos rose out of their littleness, and an ancient law seemed to be writ upon the faces of the men: "Whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in Me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea."
A murmur of disapproval arose, and suddenly one voice blared a sacred name coupled and qualified with curious adjectives—jumped up, livin', sufferin', eternal—as if it would be most explicit.
"Boys," the voice added, "I can't see no woman ner no childern treated that way."
A man took the satchel out of Sinth's hand.
"You stay here," said he. "We won't stan' fer this."
Another burly woodsman had lifted little Sue in his arms.
"I'm goin' down the trail to wait fer Silas," said Sinth, brokenly.
She put out her hand to take the satchel.
"We'll carry it an' the childern too," said the woodsman, whose voice, which had been harsh and profane, now had a touch of gentleness. They made their way down the trail in silence.
"He better try t' be a statesman," said one of the escort. "He ain't fit t' be a bullcook."
They passed a second gang with horses and a big jumper bearing supplies for the camp. The Emperor had surrendered; the green hills were taken. Half a mile or so from the camp Sinth halted.
"I'll wait here, thank ye," said she.
With offers of assistance the men left them and returned.
All through the night Sinth had been thinking of their new trouble and was in a way prepared for the worst. But now, as she was leaving forever the old, familiar trees and the still water she sat down for awhile and covered her face. Already the saws had begun their work. She could hear them gnawing and hissing and the shouts and axes of the woodsmen. Socky and Sue came near their aunt and stood looking at her, their cheeks tear-stained, their sympathy now and then shaking them with half-suppressed sobs. The reason for their departure and for the coming of the woodsmen they were not able to understand. Zeb lay lolling on his stomach, bored, but, like his master, hoping for better times.
"Aunt Sinthy—you 'fraid?" Sue ventured to ask, and her doll hung limp from her right hand.
Socky felt his sword and looked up into the face of his aunt.
"Where we goin'?" he asked, with another silent sob.
"Pon my soul, I dunno," Sinth answered, wearily.
"Don't you be 'fraid," he said, waving his sword manfully.
Sinth took her knitting out of the satchel and sat down comfortably on a bed of leaves. Zeb began to growl and run around them in a circle, like the cheerful jester that he was. It seemed as if he were trying to remind them that, after all, the situation was not hopeless. He continued his gyrations until Socky and Sue joined him. Soon the big trees began falling and their thunder and the hoots of the "briermen" echoed far. The children came to their aunt.
"What's that?" they asked, with awe in their faces.
"The trees," Sinth answered, solemnly. "They're a-mowin' of 'em down."
In a moment, thinking of the young man who had heartlessly put her out, she added:
"I guess he'll find he's hurt himself more'n he has us."
"Who?" Socky asked.
"That mehopper."
The children turned with a look of interest.
"What's a mehopper?" Socky asked.
Sinth sat looking thoughtfully at her knitting.
"He steals folks' albums," said Sue, confidently, "an' he can run like a deer."
"Ain't a bit like a deer," Sinth responded. "He can't go nowhere but down-hill—that's why ye always find him in low places—an' he's so 'fraid folks won't see him that he swears an' talks about himself."
Sue looked at her aunt as if she thought her a woman of wonderful parts.
"He better look out for the Sundayman," Sinth continued.
"Who's the Sundayman?" they both asked.
"He's a wonderful hunter an' he ketches all the wicked folks," Sinth answered. "An' them that swears he makes 'em into mehoppers, an' them that does cruel things he turns their hearts into stones, an' them that steals he takes away everything they have, an' if anybody lies he makes a fool of 'em so they b'lieve their own stories, an' he takes an' marks the face of every one he ketches so if ye look sharp ye can always tell 'em."
In a moment they heard some one coming down the trail. It was young Mr. Migley who suddenly had found himself in the midst of a small rebellion. Half his men had threatened to "histe the turkey" unless he brought back the "woman and the kids." It was not their threat of quitting that worried him, however—it was a consequence more remote and decisive.
"Miss Strong, I was hot under the collar," he began. "I didn't mean to put you out. I want you to come back and stay as long as you like. We can spare you one of the cabins."
"No, sir," Sinth answered, curtly.
"All right," said he, "you're the doctor."
In a moment she asked, "What you goin' t' do with them sick folks that's camped over at Robin?"
"I won't hurry 'em," said he; "but they'll have t' git out before long."
"It's a shame," Sinth answered. "You oughto hev consumption an' see how you'd like it."
"There are plenty of hotels east of here."
"But they're poor folks an' can't afford to pay board, even if they'd let 'em in, which they wouldn't."
"I can't help it—we've got to get these logs down to the river before snow flies—it's business."
With him that brief assertion was the end of many disputes. They were few that even dared question the authority of the old tyrant whom Silas had called Business.
The young man began to walk away. Sinth sent a parting shot after him.
"It's business," said she, "to think o' nobody but yerself."
It was long past mid-day when Silas came with the ox. He stood listening, his hands upon his hips, while Sinth related the story of their leaving camp and of Migley's effort to bring them back.
"S-Sawed himself off," said Strong, with a smile. "You s-see." The dethroned Emperor turned, suddenly, and drew a line across the trail with the butt of his ox-whip.
"All t-toe the s-scratch," he demanded, soberly.
He led Sinth and Sue forward and stopped them with their toes on the line. He motioned to Socky, who took his place by the others. Zeb sat in front of them. The boy seemed to wonder what was coming. His fingers were closed but his thumbs stood up straight according to their habit when the boy's heart was troubled.
"Th-thumbs down," Strong commanded.
He surveyed his forces with an odd look of solemnity and playfulness.
"S. Strong has been app'inted W-warden o' Rainbow V-valley," said the exiled Emperor. "F-forward march." His command was followed by a brief appeal to the ox.
"Purty good luck!" Sinth exclaimed, with a look of satisfaction. "But they's a lot o' pirates over there—got t' look out fer 'em."
"They'll m-move," said Strong, as if he had no worry about that.
Slowly they went up the trail and soon reentered Lost River camp. The young lumberman saw them coming and went off into the woods.
Some men, who had been at work near, gathered about the Emperor and offered to stand by him as long as he wished to remain. Strong shook his head. "W-we got t' g-go," he stammered. He looked sadly at the fallen tree-trunks—at the door-yard, now full of brush. "D-don't never w-want t' s-see this place ag'in," he muttered.
He brought the boat-jumper into camp and loaded it. Then with Sinth on the bow seat and Socky and Sue behind her they set out, the men cheering as they moved away.
A clear space at the stern afforded room for the Emperor if he should wish to get aboard in crossing water and an axe and paddle were stored on either side of it.
Strong had tacked a notice on one of the trees, and it read as follows:
S STRONG
HAS MOVED TO RAINBOW LAKE
The camp was now in the shadow of Long Ridge. Sinth and the Emperor were silent. Bird-songs that rang in the deep, shaded hall of the woods had a note of farewell in them. The children were laughing and chattering as ox and boat-jumper entered the unbroken forest. Zeb stood in front of the children, his forefeet on the gunwale, and seemed to complain of their progress.
It was, in a way, historic, that journey of the boat-jumper, that parting of the ancient wood and the last of its children. Their expedition carried about all that was left of the spirit of the pioneer—his ingenuity, his dauntless courage, his undying hope of "better times." The hollow log, with its heart hewn out of it, groaning on its way to the sown land, suggested the fate of the forest. Now, soon, the Lost River country would have roads instead of trails, and its emperor would be a common millionaire. The jumper and the woodsman had had their day.
Slowly they pursued their way, skirting thickets and going around fallen trees, and stopping often to clear a passage. Strong followed, gripping the handles that rose well above the stern of his odd craft, and so he served as a rudder and support. An ox is able to go in soft footing, and they struck boldly across a broad swamp nearly three miles down the river shore.
It was near sundown when they camped for the night far down the outlet of Catamount Pond. Strong put up a small tent and bottomed it with boughs while Sinth was getting supper ready. Their work done, they sat before the camp-fire and Sinth told tales of the wilderness. Sile sang again "The Story of the Mellered Bear," and also an odd bit of nonsense which was, in part, a relic of old times. The first line of each stanza came out slowly and solemnly while the second ran as fast as he could move his tongue. In his old memorandum-book he referred to it as "The Snaik Song," and it ran as follows:
0298m
0299m
Strong whittled as he sang, and soon presented the girl with a straight rod of yellow osier upon which he had carved the brief legend, "Su—her snaik stick." If she held to that, he explained, no snake would be able to swallow her.
"I want one, too," said Socky.
"You m-mean a bear stick," Strong answered. "Girls have t' l-look out fer s-snakes an' boys for b-bears."
They were all asleep on their bough beds before eight o'clock.
At that hour which Strong was wont to designate as "jes' daylight" he was on his feet again. Whether early or late to bed he was always awake before dawn. Some invisible watcher seemed to warn him of the coming of the light. He held to one ol the ancient habits of the race, for he began every day by kneeling to start a fire. He bent his head low and brought his lips near it as if the flame were a sacred thing and he its worshipper.
For a time that morning he was careful not to disturb the others. But having attended to Patrick, he hurried to call the children. He hurried for fear that Sinth would forestall him. He loved to wake and wait upon them and hear their chatter. Their confidence in his power over all perils had become a sweet and sacred sort of flattery in the view of Silas. He had, too, a curious delight in seeing and feeling their little bodies while he helped them to dress. Somehow it had all made him think less of the pleasures of the wild country and more of Lady Ann. That "someday" of his laconic pledge was drawing nearer and its light was in every hour of his life. The children were leading him out of the brotherhood of the forest into that of men.
He lifted the sleeping boy in his arms and gently woke him. Zeb had followed and put his cold nose on the ear of Sue. Soon the children were up and the Emperor kneeling before them, while his great hands awkwardly held a "teenty" pair of stockings.
Sinth awoke and jealousy remarked, "Huh! I should think you was plumb crazy 'bout them air childern."
Strong smiled and left them to her and began to prepare breakfast.
Soon all were on their way again, heading for the lower valley of Lost River. They crossed two ridges and entered a wide swamp. There were many delays, for they encountered fallen trees which had to be cleared away with axe and lever, while here and there Strong gave the ox a footing of corduroy. It was a warm day and the children fell asleep after an hour or so. Sinth, who had been tossed about until speech wearied her tongue and put it in some peril, sank into sighful resignation.
The jumper had stopped; Strong had gone ahead to look out his way. Reaching higher ground he saw man tracks and followed them to an old trail. Soon a piece of white paper pinned to a tree-trunk caught his eye. He stopped and read this warning:
"To Sile Strong
"You haint goin t' find the Rainbow country helthy place. If you go thare youll git hung up by the heels. I mean business."
The Emperor took off his faded crown. He scratched his head thoughtfully. That message was probably inspired by some lawless man who had felt the authority of the woods lover and who wanted no more of it. He had heard that Migley had four camps on the Middle Branch, between there and Rainbow, and that they were full of "cutthroats." That was a word that stood for deer-slayers and all dare-devil men.
Whoever had put this threat in the way of the Emperor had probably heard of his appointment and was trying to scare him away. The offender might have been sent by Migley himself.
"W-We'll s-see," Strong muttered, with a stern look, as he returned to the boat-jumper. Many had threatened him, one time or another, but he never worried over that kind of thing. To-day, as on many occasions, he kept his tongue sinless by keeping his mouth shut, and, touching his discovery on the trail, said only the two words, "W-we'll see," and said them to himself. He didn't believe in spreading trouble.
Slowly they made their way to a bend in Lost River far from the old camp. As they halted to seek entrance to the water channel Strong came forward and poked the children playfully until they opened their eyes. Then he put a hand on either shoulder of Sinth and gave her a little shake.
"How ye f-feelin'?" he asked.
"Redic'lous," she answered, "settin' here 'n a holler tree jest as if we was a fam'ly o' raccoons." It was the most impatient remark she had made in many days.
"B-Better times!" said the Emperor. He smiled and sat down to rest on the side of the boat-jumper. He turned to the boy and asked, hopefully, "How 'bout yer Uncle S-Silas?"
It had been rough, adventurous riding, but full of delight for the children. That morning their uncle had loomed into heroic and satisfactory proportions. Socky had long been thinking of the little silver compass Master had given him one day and which hung on a ribbon tied about his neck. He hoped they might be going where there would be other boys and girls. He had been considering how to give to his uncle's person a touch of grandeur and impressiveness fitting the story of the "mellered bear" and his power and skill as a hunter. Soberly he removed the ribbon from his neck and presented the shiny trinket to his uncle.
"Put that on yer neck," said he, proudly.
"Wh-what?" his uncle stammered.
"C'ris'mus present," said the boy, with a serious look.
The Emperor took off his faded crown. He put the ribbon over his head so that the compass dangled on his breast.
"There," said Socky, "that looks a little better."
In a moment, with that prudence which always kept the last bridge between himself and happiness, he added, "You can let me have it nights."
Every night since it fell to his possession he had gone forth into the land of dreams with that compass held firmly in his right hand.
"Here's twenty-five cents," said Sue, holding out the sacred coin which her nurse had given her, and which, on her way into the forest, had been set aside for a sacrifice to the great man of her dreams. At last the two had accepted him, without reserve, as worthy of all honor. They could still wish for more in the way of personal grandeur, supplied in part by the glittering compass, but something in him had satisfied their hearts if not their eyes. He was again their sublime, their wonderful Emperor.
"You better keep it; you're going to buy an album for Aunt Sinthy," the boy warned her.
Her little hand closed half-way on the silver; it wavered and fell in her lap. She seemed to weigh the coin between her thumb and finger. She looked from the man to the woman. Socky saw her dilemma and felt for her.
"I'll get her an album myself," he proposed. In that world of magic where he lived nothing could discourage his faith and generosity. Their uncle lifted them in his arms and held them against his breast without speaking.
"You've squeezed them childern till they're black in the face," said Sinth, who now stood near him with a look of impatience.
She took them out of his arms and held them closer, if possible, than he had done.
At the edge of the stream he shouted, "All 'board!" The others took their seats, and the Emperor sat in the stern with his paddle. Socky faced him so that he could see the compass. He often asked, proudly, "Which way we goin'?" and Strong would look at the compass and promptly return the information, "Sou' by east." The river ran shallow for more than a mile in the direction of their travel. Patrick hauled them slowly down the edge of the current. Strong steadied and steered with his paddle as they crept along, bumping over stones and grinding over gravel until, at a sloping, sandy beach on the farther shore, they mounted the bank and headed across Huckleberry Plain.
Noon-time had passed when they left the hot plain. They threaded a narrow fringe of tamaracks and entered thick woods again. At a noisy little stream near by they stopped for dinner. Strong caught some trout and built a fire and fried them, and made coffee. Sinth spread the dishes and brought sandwiches and cheese and a big, frosted cake and a can of preserved berries from the boat-jumper. They sat down to the reward of honest hunger where the pure, cool air and the sylvan scene and the sound of flowing water were more than meat to them, if that were possible.
Having eaten, they rose and pressed on with a happy sense of refreshment. A thought of it was to brighten many a less cheerful hour. Half a mile from their camping-place they found a smooth trail which led across level country to the Middle Branch. Socky and Sue were again fast asleep on the bottom of the boat-jumper long before they reached the river. When they halted near its bank a broad stream of deep, slow water lay before them. Strong unhitched the ox and led him along shore until he came to rapids where, half a mile below, the river took its long, rocky slope to lower country. There he tethered his ox and returned to fetch the others. He launched his boat-jumper and got aboard and paddled carefully down-stream.
Having doubled a point, they came in sight of a slim boy who stood by the water's edge aiming an ancient, long-barrelled gun. His head, which rested against the breech, seemed, as the Emperor reported, "'bout the size of a pippin."
"E-look out!" Strong shouted, as the boy lowered his gun to regard the travellers with an expression of deep concern.
"See any mushrats?" the boy asked, eagerly.
"N-no; who're you?"
"Jo Henyon."
Strong had heard of old Henyon, who was known familiarly as "Mushrat Bill." For years Bill had haunted the Middle Branch.
"Wh-where d' ye live?"
"Yender," said the boy, pointing downstream as he ran ahead of them.
Presently they came to an old cabin near the water's edge with a small clearing around it. A woman wearing a short skirt and Shaker bonnet stood on one leg looking down at them. Children were rushing out of the cabin door.
"My land! where's her other leg?" Sinth mused.
The Emperor looked thoughtfully at the strange woman.
"F-folks are like cranes over in this c-country," Strong answered. "Always rest on one leg."
He drove his bow on a sloping, sandy beach. The woman hopped into the cabin door. Her many children hurried to the landing. A man with head and feet bare followed them. An old undershirt, one suspender, and a tattered pair of overalls partly covered his body. He walked slowly towards the shore. He was the famous trapper of the Middle Branch.
"F-fur to Rainbow T-Trail?" Strong inquired of him.
The latter put his hand to his ear and said, "What?" Strong repeated his query in a much louder voice.
"Fur ain't very thick," the stranger answered.
Strong perceived that the man was very deaf and also that he was devoted to one idea.
"B-big fam'ly," he shouted, as he began to push off.
The trapper, with his hand to his ear and still looking a bit doubtful, answered, "Ain't runnin' very big this year."
Thereafter the word "mushrats," in the vocabulary of Strong, stood for unworthy devotion to a single purpose.
Down-stream a little the ox took his place again at the bow of the boat-jumper. They struck off into thick woods reaching far and wide on the acres of Uncle Sam. A mile or so inland they came to Rainbow Trail, and thereafter followed it. Timber thieves had been cutting big pines and spruces and had left a slash on either side of the trail.
The travellers dipped down across the edge of a wide valley, and after climbing again were in the midst of burned ground on the top of a high ridge. Below them they could see Rainbow Lake and the undulating canopy of a great, two-storied forest reaching to hazy distances. Mighty towers of spruce and pine and hemlock rose into the sunlit, upper heavens.
It was growing dusk when, below them and well off the trail, they saw a column of smoke rising. They halted, and Strong stood gazing. The smoke grew in volume and he made off down the side of the ridge. He came in sight of the fire and stopped. Some one had fled through thickets of young spruce and Zeb was pursuing him.
Strong looked off in the gloomy forest and shouted a fierce oath at its invisible enemy.
Near him flames were leaping above a fallen top and running in tiny jets over dry duff like the waste of a fountain. Swiftly Strong cut branches of green birch and began to lay about him. He stopped the flames and then dug with his hatchet until he struck sand. He scooped it into his hat and soon smothered the cinders.
His face had a troubled expression as he returned to the boat-jumper.
"Who you been yellin' at?" Sinth asked.
"C-careless cuss," he answered, evasively.
Socky wore a look of indignation. He glibly repeated the oath which he had heard his uncle use.
"Hush! The Sundayman'll ketch you," Sinth answered, severely.
Strong gave a whistle of surprise.
"Uncle Silas ain't 'fraid o' no Sundayman," Socky guessed.
"Y-yes I be—could kill me with a s-snap of his finger," Strong declared.
Socky trembled as he thought of that one inhabitant of the earth who was greater than his Uncle Silas and said no more.
"S-see here, boy," said Strong, as he put his fingers under Socky's chin and raised his head' a little, "I w-won't never swear ag'in if y-you won't."
He held out his great hand and Socky took it.
"Y-you agree?"
Socky nodded with a serious look, and so it happened that Silas became the master of his own tongue. He had "boiled over" for the last time—so he thought. The old habit which had grown out of a thousand trials and difficulties must give way, and henceforth he would be emperor of his own spirit.
As to the fire and the man who had fled before him, Strong was perplexed, but kept his own counsel. He knew that the law permitted lumbermen to enter burned lands on the State preserve and take all timber which fire had damaged. A fire which might only have scorched the trunks while it devoured the crowns above them gave a rich harvest to some lucky lumberman. Having gained access, he stripped the earth, helping himself to the living as well as the dead trees. Fire, therefore, had become a source of profit wherein lay the temptation to kindle it.
Silas Strong knew that his land of refuge was doomed—that the forerunner of its desolation was even then hiding somewhere in the near, dusky woods. He thought of the peril after a dry summer. The mould of the forest would burn like tinder.
The dethroned Emperor reached the shore of Rainbow, put up a tent, and helped to get supper ready. After supper he lay down to rest in the firelight, and told the children about the great bear and the panther-bird. Sinth, weary after that long day of travel, had gone to sleep. After an hour or so Strong rose and looked down at her.
"Sh-sh!—don't w-wake her," he warned them. "I'll put ye t' b-bed."
He helped them undress.
"You'll have to hear our prayers," Socky whispered.
Strong nodded. He sat on a box and they knelt between his knees and he put his hands on their heads and bowed his own.
When they had finished he bent lower and dictated this brief kind of postscript, "An' keep us from all d-danger this n-night."
They repeated the words with no suspicion of what lay behind them.
Then Socky whispered, "Say something 'bout the Sundayman."
"An' keep the Sundayman away," Strong added.
They repeated the words, and then, as if his heart were still unsatisfied, Socky added these, "An' please take care o' my Uncle Silas."
The Emperor lay thinking long after his weary companions had gone to sleep. He thought of that angry outcry and his heart smote him; he thought of the danger. Perhaps, after all, they would not dare to burn the woods now. But Strong resolved to keep awake and be ready for trouble if it came. By-and-by he lighted a lantern and wrote in his old memorandum-book as follows:
"Strong use to say prufanity does more harm when ye keep it in than when ye let it natcherly drene off but among childem it's as ketchin' as the measles. Sounds like thunder when it comes out of a boy's mouth an hits like chain lightnin."
Long before midnight rain began to fall. Strong rose and went out under the trees and lifted his face and hands, in a picturesque and priestlike attitude, to feel the grateful drops and whispered, "Thank God!" It was a gentle shower but an hour of it would be enough. He went back to his bed and lay listening. The faded leaves that still clung in the maple-tops above them rattled like a thousand tambourines. After an hour of the grateful downpour Strong's fear abated and he "let go" and sank into deep slumber.
Almost the last furrow in the old sod of his character had been turned.
