an and his friend were alone in their teepee. His arm was
bound up, and proud he was of those bandages and delighted with the
trifling red spots that appeared yet on the last layer; but he was not
in pain, nor, indeed, the worse for the adventure, for, thanks to his
thick shirt, there was no poisoning. He slept as usual till long after
midnight, then awoke in bed with a peculiar feeling of well-being and
clearness of mind. He had no bodily sense; he seemed floating alone,
not in the teepee nor in the woods, but in the world--not dreaming,
but wide awake--more awake than ever in his life before, for all his
life came clearly into view as never before: his stern, religious
training; his father, refined and well-meaning, but blind, compelling
him to embark in a profession to which he was little inclined, and to
give up the one thing next his heart--his Woodcraft lore.

Then Raften stepped into view, loud-voiced, externally coarse, but
blessed with a good heart and a sound head. The farmer suffered sadly
in contrast with the father, and yet Yan had to suppress the wish that
Raften were his father. What had they in common? Nothing; and yet
Raften had given him two of the dearest things in life. He, the
head of the house, a man of force and success, had treated Yan with
respect. Yan was enough like his own father to glory in the unwonted
taste; and like that other rugged stranger long ago in Glenyan, Raften
had also given him sympathy. Instead of considering his Woodcraft
pursuits mere trifling, the farmer had furthered them, and even joined
to follow for a time. The thought of Bonnerton came back. Yan knew he
must return in a year at most; he knew that his dearest ambition of a
college course in zoology was never to be realized, for his father
had told him he must go as errand boy at the first opening. Again his
rebellious spirit was stirred, to what purpose he did not know. He
would rather stay here on the farm with the Raftens. But his early
Scriptural training was not without effect. "Honour thy father and
thy mother" was of lasting force. He felt it to be a binding duty. He
could not rebel if he would. No, he would obey; and in that resolution
new light came. In taking him from college and sending him to the farm
his father had apparently cut off his hope of studies next his heart.
Instead of suffering loss by this obedience, he had come to the
largest opportunity of his life.

Yes! He would go back--be errand boy or an