n the situation had almost reached the breaking point
of hysteria, he began.

His voice ordinarily was rather a good tenor. Now he pitched it too
high; and went on straining at the high notes to the very end. Instead
of offering one of the typical woods chanteys, he conceived that before
so grand an audience he should give something fancy. He therefore struck
into a sentimental song of the cheap music-hall type. There were nine
verses, and he drawled through them all, hanging whiningly on the
nasal notes in the fashion of the untrained singer. Instead of being
a performance typical of the strange woods genius, it was merely an
atrocious bit of cheap sentimentalism, badly rendered.

The audience listened politely. When the song was finished it murmured
faint thanks.

"Oh, give us 'Jack Haggerty,' Archie," urged Thorpe.

But the woodsman rose, nodded his head awkwardly, and made his escape.
He entered the men's camp, swearing, and for the remainder of the day
made none but blasphemous remarks.

The beagles, however, were a complete success. They tumbled about, and
lolled their tongues, and laughed up out of a tangle of themselves in a
fascinating manner. Altogether the visit to Camp One was a success, the
more so in that on the way back, for the first time, Thorpe found that
chance--and Mrs. Cary--had allotted Hilda to his care.

A hundred yards down the trail they encountered Phil. The dwarf stopped
short, looked attentively at the girl, and then softly approached. When
quite near to her he again stopped, gazing at her with his soul in his
liquid eyes.

"You are more beautiful than the sea at night," he said directly.

The others laughed. "There's sincerity for you, Miss Hilda," said young
Mr. Morton.

"Who is he?" asked the girl after they had moved

"Our chore-boy," answered Thorpe with great brevity, for he was thinking
of something much more important.

After the rest of the party had gone ahead, leaving them sauntering more
slowly down the trail, he gave it voice.

"Why don't you come to the pine grove any more?" he asked bluntly.

"Why?" countered Hilda in the manner of women.

"I want to see you there. I want to talk with you. I can't talk with all
that crowd around."

"I'll come to-morrow," she said--then with a little mischievous laugh,
"if that'll make you talk."

"You must think I'm awfully stupid," agreed Thorpe bitterly.

"Ah, no! Ah, no!" she protested softly. "You must not say that."