The wavering image of the overhanging forest was fading in the somnolent, foam-dappled eddies circling lazily past Lost Farm Camp when Jim Cameron’s team, collars creaking and traces clinking, topped the ridge and plodded heavily across the clearing. Smoke swayed to the pitch and jolt of the wagon, head up and nose working with the scent of a new habitation. As the horses stopped, David and Smoke leaped down. Beelzebub immediately scrambled to his citadel in the eaves, where he ruffled to fighting size, making small unfriendly noises as he walked along the roof, peering curiously over the edge at the broad back of the bull-terrier. Cameron unhitched the team leisurely, regretting the necessity for having to stable them out of earshot from the cabin. “I’ll find out what a ‘loungeree’ is or bust,” he confided to the horses, as he whisked the rustling hay from mow to manger.

“We been keepin’ supper fur you,” said Avery, as David came in, laden with bundles. “Set right down. Jim won’t keep you waitin’ long if he’s in his reg’lar health. But where, this side of the New Jerusalem, did you git the dog?”

“That’s Smoke. Here, Smoke, come and be introduced.”

The dog allowed Swickey and her father to pat him, but made no overtures toward friendship. Avery eyed the animal critically.

“He’s a born fighter. Kin tell it by the way he don’t wag his tail at everything goin’ on. Likewise he don’t make up to be friends in a hurry, like some dogs, and folks.”

“I hope he won’t bother Beelzebub,” said David, as Smoke, mouth open and tongue lolling, watched the kitten peek at him from the doorway.

“They’ll be shakin’ hands afore long,” said Avery. “Thet cat’s got spunk and he ain’t afraid of nothin’ reason’ble, but he ain’t seen no dogs yit. He’ll get sorter used to him, though.”

When Cameron came in he glanced at the end of the table. None of the bundles had been opened. He ambled out to the wash-bench and made a perfunctory ablution. Judging by the sounds of spouting and blowing which accompanied his efforts, he was not far from that state of godliness which soap and water are supposed to encourage, but the roller-towel, which he patronized generously, hung in the glare of the lamp, its limp and gloomy folds suggesting that nothing remained for it but kindly oblivion. In fact, David, who succeeded Cameron at the wash-basin, gazed at the towel with pensive interrogation, illumined by a smile as hand over hand he pulled it round and round the creaking roller, seeking vainly for an unstaked claim.

Supper over, the men moved out to the porch and smoked. Swickey, busy with the dishes, glanced frequently at the bundles on the table, wondering which one contained her precious book and the “specs fur Pop.” The dishes were put away hurriedly and she came out and joined the men.

“Now, Swickey,” said her father, “you jest tell Jim how you shot the ba’r. Me and Dave’s got them things to put away and you kin keep Jim comp’ny.”

Swickey, fearing that she would miss the opening of the bundles, gave Cameron a somewhat curtailed account of her first bear hunt, and Cameron, equally solicitous about a certain mysterious package, listened with a vacant gaze fixed on the toe of his dusty boot.

In the cabin David and Avery were inspecting the purchases.

“Glad you got a .45,” he said, handling the new rifle. “They ain’t no use diddlin’ around with them small bores. When you loose a .45 at anything and you hit it, they’s suthin’ goin’ to happen direct. But did you get the dresses?”

“Only one,” replied David. “The other will be ready for us the next time we go to Tramworth. But I want to talk business with you. I met a friend to-day,—a Mr. Bascomb of the new railroad survey.”

Avery hitched his chair nearer.

“You don’t say?” he exclaimed a few minutes later. “Wal, it’s ’bout what I figured, but I can’t make out jest why they’s so mighty pa’tic’lar to get the whole piece of land. You see, if they ain’t suthin’ behind it, land up here ain’t wuth thet money, mine or anybody else’s.”

Cameron came in and took down the drinking-dipper. Over its rim he surveyed the table. The bundles were still unopened. With an expression of disgust he walked to the door and threw half the contents of the dipper on the grass. Then he sat down beside Swickey, moodily silent and glum.

Again he arose and approached the dipper. Still the partners were talking in guarded tones. He drank sparingly and returned the dipper to its nail. The parcels were as he had seen them before.

“Drivin’ team makes a man pow’ful thirsty, eh, Jim?”

“That’s what,” replied Cameron. “’Sides, they’s a skunk prowlin’ round out there,” he added, pointing through the doorway, “and a skunk jest sets my stomach bilin’.”

“Thought I smelled suthin’,” said Avery, with a shrewd glance at the teamster.

“Skunks is pecooliar things,” said Cameron, endeavoring to prolong the conversation.

“Thet’s what they be,” said Avery, turning toward David.

“Them ‘loungerees’ is pecooliar actin’ things, too, ain’t they?” said Cameron.

The old man rose to the occasion superbly, albeit not altogether familiar with the species of animal so called.

“Yes, they be,” he remarked decisively. “I et one onct and it liked to kill me. Reckon it hung too long afore it was biled.”

David had immediate recourse to the drink-dipper. The cough which followed sounded suspiciously like a strangled laugh to Cameron’s sensitive ears.

“Huh!” he exclaimed, with some degree of sarcasm; “sounds as if he’d et one hisself to-day.”

He sat down, filled his pipe and smoked, feeling that if he was not entitled to their confidence he was at least entitled to their society. Presently his pipe fell to the floor as his head nodded in slumber.

“Guess I’ll turn in, Hoss,” he remarked, recovering the pipe and yawning abysmally.

“I fixed up the leetle cabin fur you,” replied Avery. “I’ll go ’long out and onlock it. Keep it locked account of skunks comin’ in and makin’ themselves to home.”

As the teamster and Avery went out, Swickey ran to David. “Where be they?” she whispered. “Quick! afore Pop comes!”

He pointed to the package. She broke the string and whisked off the paper. She opened the book, unfortunately for her first impression, at a picture of the “Man Friday,” clothed with “nothing much before and a little less than half of that behind.” A shade of disappointment crossed her eager face. Evidently there were rudiments to master, even in dressmaking. But it was her book. She had earned it, and her face glowed again with the buoyant rapture of childhood as she clasped the volume to her breast and marched to her room. She dropped it quickly on the bed, however, and returned. “I ’most forgot the ‘specs,’” she said self-accusingly. She untied the smaller package and drew them out, “one, two, three, four,” six pair of glittering new glasses. Evidently the potency of money was unlimited. She laid them down, one at a time, after vainly endeavoring to see through them.

“Your father’s eyes are different,” explained David.

She danced gleefully across the room and back again. Smoke followed her with deliberate strides. He knew they were to be the friends of that establishment. She ran to the bedroom and returned with her book. Assuming a serious demeanor, one leg crossed over the other, book on knee and a pair of glasses perched on her nose, she cleared her throat in imitation of her father.

“Is he comin’?” she asked.

“Yes, I hear him,” replied David.

“S-s-h!” She held up a warning finger.

Avery had the kitten in his arm when he entered. “Fished him off the eaves and brung him in to get acquainted with the dog—Sufferin’ catfish!” he exclaimed, as he gazed at Swickey. “Where’d you—?” He glanced at David, who nodded meaningly.

Slowly the old man stepped to his daughter’s chair. He took the “specs” and the book gently from her, and laid them on the table. She felt that her father was pleased, yet she knew that if she didn’t laugh right away, she would surely cry. He was so quiet, yet he smiled.

Presently he held out his hands. She ran to him and jumped into his arms, her black hair mingling with his snowy beard as he carried her to her room.

When he returned, he sat down, shading his eyes from the light of the lamp. Presently he chuckled.

“Wal, a feller’s a fool anyway till he’s turned forty. And then if he is a mind to he can look back and say so,—to hisself, quiet-like, when nobody is a-listenin’,—and even then I reckon he won’t believe hisself.”

“Thinking of Cameron?” said David.

“No,” replied Avery sententiously; “wimmen folks.”

David pushed the parcel containing the “loungeree” toward him. Avery untied it and spread the dress across his knees, smoothing it reverently, as the newness of the cloth came to his nostrils. “Makes me think of her mother.” His voice deepened. “And my leetle gal’s growin’ up jest like her.” He sat with his head bent as though listening. Then from the interior of the cabin came Swickey’s laugh, full, high, and girlish. Avery folded the dress carefully and went to her room.

As David arose to go to his cabin, he started and checked an exclamation. Smoke and Beelzebub stood facing each other, the dog rigid and the kitten’s tail fluffed beyond imagination. Beelzebub advanced cautiously, lifted a rounded paw, and playfully touched the dog’s nose.

Smoke moved his head a fraction of an inch to one side. The kitten tilted his own head quizzically, as though imitating the dog. Then he put up his pert, black face and licked Smoke’s muzzle. The dog sniffed condescendingly at the brave little adventurer, who danced away across the floor in mimic fright and then returned as the dog laid down, stretching his forelegs and yawning. The kitten, now that a truce was proclaimed, walked back and forth in front of Smoke, flaunting his perpendicular tail with no little show of vanity.

David spoke to the dog. With an almost shamefaced expression the big terrier got up and followed his master out, across the cool grass, and into still another abode.

To him the man-thing was a peculiar animal. He had one place to eat in, another to sleep in. The man-thing also protected impudent, furry, disconcerting kittens that it wouldn’t do to kill—