jeering at the unhappy thief.

When the man was unhitched, unbound, and set upon his feet,--not
physically the worse for his punishment save that, presumably, his
wrists ached somewhat,--he was given a bundle containing his scanty
belongings, and told to "streak" for home. As he seemed reluctant to
obey, he was kicked into something like alacrity.

When he had got well out of sight the woodmen returned to their camp. As
for the wretched Gillsey, after the lamentations wherewith he enlivened
his tramp had sunk to silence, he began to think his bundle remarkably
heavy. He sat down on a stump to examine it. To his blank amazement he
found a large lump of pork and a small bag of flour wrapped up in his
dilapidated overalls.

The snow was unusually deep in the woods that winter, and toward spring
there came a sudden, prolonged, and heavy thaw. The ice broke rapidly
and every loosened brook became a torrent. Past the door of the camp,
which was set in a valley, the Gornish River went boiling and roaring
like a mill-race, all-forgetful of its wonted serene placidity.

From the camp to Gillsey's wretched cabin was only about ten miles
across the mountain, but by the stream, which made a great circuit to
get around a spur of the hills, it was hardly less than three times as
far.

To Gillsey, in his log hut on a lofty knoll by the stream, the winter
had gone by rather happily. The degradation of his punishment hardly
touched him or his barbarous brood; and his wages had brought him food
enough to keep the wolf from the door. He had nothing to do but to sit
in his cabin and watch the approach of spring, while his lean boys
snared an occasional rabbit.

At last, on a soft moonlight night, when the woods were full of the
sounds of melting and settling snow, a far-off, ominous roaring smote
his ear and turned his gaze down to the valley. Down the stream, on the
still night, came the deadly, rushing sound, momently increasing in
volume. The tall girl, she who had carried off the pork, heard the
noise, and came to her father's side.

"Hackett's dam's bust, shore!" she exclaimed in a moment.

Gillsey turned upon her one of his deprecating, toothless smiles. "'T
aint a-goin' ter tech us here," said he; "but I'm powerful glad ter be
outer the Gornish Camp ter night. Them chaps be a-goin' ter ketch it,
blame the'r skins!"

The girl--she was a mere overgrown child of fourteen or fifteen--looked
thoughtful a moment, and then darte