p with the first words. The dancing flames
lit up his poor, haggard, brown face; but upon it now there was no look
of suffering; it was radiant with peace.

George lay by his side, also asleep. Thus I began a night of weary
vigil and foreboding. My heart was heavy with a presentiment of
something dreadful. In the forest beyond the fire the darkness was
intense. There was a restless stir among the fir tops; then a weary,
weary sighing. The wind had arisen. I dozed. But what was that! I sat
suddenly erect.

On the canvas above me sounded a patter, patter, patter. Rain!

Gradually the real and the seeming became blended. Beyond the
fire-glow, on the edge of the black pall of night, horrid shapes began
to gather. They leered at me, and mocked me, and oh! they were telling
me something dreadful was going to happen. A sudden jerk, and I sat up
and stared wildly about me. Nothing but the sighing tree-tops, and the
patter, patter, patter of the rain. The fire had died down. I
struggled to my feet, and threw on more wood.

Again the horrid shapes leered at me from out the gloom. Then I heard
myself exclaiming, "No, no, no!" The nameless dread was strong upon me.
I listened intently for Hubbard's breathing. Had it ceased? I crawled
over and peered long and anxiously at his face--his face which was so
spectral and wan in the uncertain firelight. Twice I did this. A
confused sense of things evil and malicious, a confused sense of
sighing wind and pattering rain, a confused sense of starts and jerks
and struggles with wood, and the night wore on.

The black slowly faded into drab. The trees, dripping with moisture,
gradually took shape. The day of our parting had come.

XVII. THE PARTING

It was a drizzling rain, and the sombre clouds hung low in the sky.
The wind appeared to be steadily increasing. The day was Sunday,
October 18th. Presently George sat up, rubbed his eyes and gazed about
him for a moment in bewilderment.

"Mornin', Wallace," he said, when he had collected his senses, "that
blamed rain will make the travellin' hard, won't it?"

He tied the pieces of blanket to his feet, and started for the river to
get a kettle of water with which to reboil the bones. The movement
aroused Hubbard, and he, too, sat up.

"How's the weather, b'y?" he asked.

"It makes me think of Longfellow's 'Rainy Day,"' I replied. "'The day
is cold, and dark, and dreary.'"

"Yes," he quickly returned; "but