, such as he
had not experienced for long years gone by. He was not to be deserted
by his rescuers from the whirlpool, and that was comfort enough for the
moment.

Thanks to that guidance, but little time was cut to waste, Professor
Featherwit taking the flying-machine away from the shore of the lake,
floating slowly above the tree-tops, guiding his movements by those
below, finally effecting a safe landing in a miniature glade, at no
great distance from the "den" alluded to by their new-found friend.

"It will be perfectly safe here," the exile hastened to give assurance,
as that landing was made. "Then, too, this is the only spot nigh at
hand from which a hasty ascent could well be made, even with such an
admirable machine as yours. Ah, me!" with a long breath which lacked but
little of being a sigh, as he keenly, eagerly examined the aerostat. "A
marvel! Who would have dared predict such another, only a dozen years
ago? I thought we had drawn very close to perfection while I was in the
profession, but this,--marvellous!"

Both words and manner gave the keen-witted professor a clew to one
mystery, and he quickly spoke:

"Then you were familiar with aerostatics, sir? Your name is--"

"Edgecombe,--Cooper Edgecombe."

"What?" with undisguised surprise in face as in voice. "Professor
Edgecombe, the celebrated balloonist who was lost so long ago?"

"Ay! lost here in this thrice accursed wilderness!" passionately cried
the exile; then, as though abashed by his own outburst, he turned away,
pausing again only when at the entrance to his dreary refuge of many
years.

"Give the poor fellow his own way until he has had time to rally, boys,"
muttered uncle Phaeton, in lowered tones, before following that lead. "I
can understand it better, now, and this is--still is the terra incognita
of which I have dreamed so long!"

That refuge proved to be a large, fairly dry cavern, the entrance to
which was admirably masked by vines and creepers, while the stony soil
just there retained no trace of footprints to tell dangerous tales.

Mr. Edgecombe vanished, but not for long. Then, showing a light, formed
of fat and twisted wick in a hollowed bit of hardwood, he begged his
rescuers to enter.

No second invitation was needed, for even the professor felt a powerful
curiosity to learn what method had been followed by this enforced exile;
how he had managed to live for so many weary years.

With only that smoky lamp to shed ligh