lake below, and I took
note of his emaciated form and his features so haggard and drawn, I
seemed for the first time to realise fully the condition to which the
boy had been brought by his sufferings. And while I stood there, still
unobserved, I heard him softly humming to himself:

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee."

How strangely the old hymn sounded among those solitudes! After a
little I again started to advance, and as I stepped upon a dry branch
Hubbard stopped his singing and looked up quickly.

"Wallace," he exclaimed, "I'm glad to see you! George and I have been
having a long Sunday talk and we missed you. We were wishing you'd
come. No luck?"

"No," said I; "nothing but old trails; not a fresh track anywhere. What
were you talking about?"

"We had a chapter from the Bible and a little talk about it. I've been
thinking about my class of boys in the Sunday-school at Congers, and
how glad I'll be to get back to them again; I've a lot I want to tell
them. It's restful just to think of that little church, and this
Sunday afternoon I've been thinking about it a good deal."

George was lying in the tent, and Hubbard and I joined him and
continued our conversation there. Hubbard spoke of the luck we had had
in catching trout, saying: "It's God's way of taking care of us so long
as we do our best." It was wonderful to see how, as his body became
weaker, his spirit grew brighter. Steadily he became more gentle and
affectionate; the more he suffered the more his faith in the God of his
youth seemed to increase.

Early the next morning (September 28th) George, who was the first to be
stirring, poked his head into the tent, and with an air of mystery
asked me for my pistol. A moment later we heard a shot. Hubbard and I
both looked out, to see George returning with empty hands and an
expression of deep chagrin.

"What are you shooting at now?" asked Hubbard.

"The blackest marten I ever saw," said George. "I knocked him over,
but he got on his feet again and was into the lake and away before I
could reach him. The beggar was right here in camp tryin' to make off
with that fish with sores we threw away. He might have made good
eatin' if we'd got him."

As the day was squally with snow, and a heavy wind was kicking up a sea
on the lake, we decided to remain in camp another day and smoke the
fish a little more. While we kept the smoke going under the stage, we
sat by th