water was nearly
up to the camp door.

"If only we had a boat, we could put Halse in it and go home," Addison
said.

We discussed making a raft, for if we could navigate the stream we could
descend it to within four miles of the old farm. But the roaring yellow
torrent was clearly so tumultuous that no raft that we could build would
hold together for a minute; and we resigned ourselves to pass another
night in the camp.

The end of the thaw was at hand, however; at sunset the sky lightened,
and during the evening the stars came out. At midnight, while
replenishing the fire, I heard smart gusts of wind blowing from the
northwest. It was clearing off cold. Noticing that it seemed very light
outside, I went to the door and saw the bright arch of a splendid aurora
spanning the whole sky. It was so beautiful that I waked Addison to see
it.

By morning winter weather had come again; the snow slush was frozen. The
stream, however, was still too high to be crossed, and the swamps and
meadows were also impassable. We now bethought ourselves of another
route home, by way of a lumber trail that led southward to Lurvey's
Mills, where there was a bridge over the stream.

"It is five miles farther, but it is our only chance of getting home
this week," Addison said.

We were busy bundling Halstead up for the sled trip when the door opened
and in stepped Asa Doane, one of our hired men at the farm, and a
neighbor named Davis.

"Well, well, here you are, then!" Asa exclaimed in a tone of great
relief. "Do you know that the old Squire's got ten men out searching the
woods for you? Why, the folks at home are scared half to death!"

We were not sorry to see Asa and Davis, and to have help for the long
pull homeward. We made a start, and after a very hard tramp we finally
reached the old farm, thoroughly tired out, at eight o'clock that
evening.

Theodora and grandmother were so affected at seeing us back that they
actually shed tears. The old Squire said little; but it was plain to see
that he was greatly relieved.

If the day had been a fatiguing one for us, it had been doubly so for
poor Halstead. We carried him up to his room, put him to bed and sent
for a doctor. He did not leave his room again for three weeks and
required no end of care from grandmother and the girls.

Little was ever said among us afterwards of this escapade of Halstead's.
As for Alfred, he came sneaking home about a month later, but had the
decency,