e bitter grief of both children, the
companionship had at length been stopped by unalterable decree of the
master of the frame house.

Hence it had come to pass that the little boy was unaware of his
comrade's departure. Yielding at last to an eager longing for that
comrade, he had stolen away late in the afternoon, traversed with
endless misgivings the lonely stretch of wood road and reached the cabin
only to find it empty. The door, on its leathern hinges, swung idly
open. The one room had been stripped of its few poor furnishings. After
looking in the rickety shed, whence darted two wild and hawklike
chickens, the child had seated himself on the hacked threshold, and
sobbed passionately with a grief that he did not fully comprehend. Then
seeing the shadows lengthen across the tiny clearing, he had grown
afraid to start for home. As the dusk gathered, he had crept trembling
into the cabin, whose door would not stay shut. When it grew quite dark,
he crouched in the inmost corner of the room, desperate with fear and
loneliness, and lifted up his voice piteously. From time to time his
lamentations would be choked by sobs, or he would grow breathless, and
in the terrifying silence would listen hard to hear if any one or
anything were coming. Then again would the shrill childish wailings
arise, startling the unexpectant night, and piercing the forest depths,
even to the ears of those great beasts which had set forth to seek their
meat from God.

The lonely cabin stood some distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile, back
from the highway connecting the settlements. Along this main road a man
was plodding wearily. All day he had been walking, and now as he neared
home his steps began to quicken with anticipation of rest. Over his
shoulder projected a double-barrelled fowling-piece, from which was
slung a bundle of such necessities as he had purchased in town that
morning. It was the prosperous settler, the master of the frame house.
His mare being with foal, he had chosen to make the tedious journey on
foot.

The settler passed the mouth of the wood road leading to the cabin. He
had gone perhaps a furlong beyond, when his ears were startled by the
sound of a child crying in the woods. He stopped, lowered his burden to
the road, and stood straining ears and eyes in the direction of the
sound. It was just at this time that the two panthers also stopped, and
lifted their heads to listen. Their ears were keener than those of the