rom the terrible experience through which he had
passed almost two weeks before. He was slowly recovering, and his mind
was now as clear as ever, for the cloud had lifted on the second day
after the fire. His foot was still painful, and he could not yet bear
to touch it to the ground. He liked this place at the rear of the
house. It was quiet and hidden from all inquisitive eyes of passers-by
on the main highway.

The fire around Island Lake, and the thrilling escape from death of
Henry Randall and the two women had stirred the country for miles
around. For days it was the principal topic of conversation in
numerous homes, at the church door on Sunday, and other places where
people were in the habit of congregating. Although John Hampton was
accorded much commendation for saving the life of the lumber merchant
on the blueberry plains, it was Eben Tobin who received the unstinted
praise of all, in so nobly rescuing the women from the island. Every
day anxious inquiries were made for the lad, and all were greatly
pleased to learn of his steady improvement. The doctor, however,
reported that it would be months before he could fully recover from his
serious burns, and that his face and body would be scarred for the rest
of his life.

The city newspapers made much of the affair, and the day after the fire
contained special articles, with big headlines. The fact that Henry
Randall, a leading citizen, was one of the chief actors, and that he
was searching for his daughter who had taken refuge in the wilderness,
created a sensation. It was the first knowledge that the public had
that the girl was not drowned, and every scrap of information was
seized upon with avidity. That it was a love-affair of no ordinary
nature was quite apparent, and this added to the intense interest which
prevailed. Great credit was given to John Hampton and Eben Tobin for
their part in the rescue, although it was hinted that the former was in
a large measure responsible for the trouble.

Henry Randall made no comment about these newspaper articles when he
was able to read them. Had they appeared three weeks before he would
have been very indignant, and would have angrily resented the intrusion
into his family affairs. But he had changed greatly since then. His
blustering, dominating manner had disappeared, and he would sit by the
hour beneath the shade of the old tree, either gazing straight before
him, or intently watching the birds,