of the office building and Miss
Miller had scholars who were eager to study, for not one of them wished
to be detained after school; there were too many wonderful things to be
done, and being detained after school hours meant the missing of some of
the wonders.

After the first week in camp the children became quite resigned to the
early rising and breakfast, for it seemed to lengthen out the hours of
the day so that a great deal more could be crowded into the time for fun
and play.

On the second Sunday in camp everyone was sitting in the dining-room
listening while Mr. Latimer read the service. He had finished the Bible
reading and suggested a hymn that all of the men knew by heart, when the
door opened at one end of the shed and a queer old face peered in.

Don sat nearest the door and, seeing a stranger at the door, nudged his
twin. She leaned over and stared at the wrinkled skin, twinkling eyes,
and long straight hair.

"Why, Don, it's an Injun!" whispered Dot, with surprise.

By this time the door had opened far enough to admit the stranger and he
stepped in and squatted down just inside.

Most of the men sitting with faces toward the door saw him but the
reader and part of his audience were not aware of the visitor. Dot
nudged her father and whispered about the Indian's presence. The service
continued, however, without interruption, to the final song. Then many
of the men rose and came over to the visitor.

"Hello, Wilotemike! Where'd you come from?"

"Wilotemike! Let me see him!" exclaimed Mr. Starr, in great surprise. He
stepped out before the old Indian and saw the same friendly trapper that
had advised his friend Dean about the flooded river, and entertained
them for a week. He came forward and held out a welcoming hand.

"Well, well, I don't believe you know me, Mike, do you?" asked Mr.
Starr, grasping the old man's hand.

After thinking deeply for a few moments, the Indian's face lit up and he
smiled recognition at Mr. Starr.

"Mike know friend! Many moons he not come back!" said the Indian
reprovingly.

"Not my fault, Mike. Me want to come but find a nice squaw and she keep
me home," laughed Mr. Starr, beckoning for his wife to join him.

Of course the children were shown to Mike and the old Indian smiled as
he allowed his hand to light gently upon Bab's yellow curls.

Most of the timber men knew Mike, or had heard of the trapper, and he
was generally welcomed at any camp he visited. In th