S.

George Melville had no definite destination. He was traveling, not for
pleasure, but for health, and his purpose was to select a residence
in some high location, where the dry air would be favorable for his
pulmonary difficulties.

A week later he had found a temporary home. One afternoon Herbert and
he, each on horseback, for at that time public lines of travel were
fewer than at present, came suddenly upon a neat, one-story cottage in
the edge of the forest. It stood alone, but it was evidently the home
of one who aimed to add something of the graces of civilization to the
rudeness of frontier life.

They reined up simultaneously, and Melville, turning to Herbert, said:
"There, Herbert, is my ideal of a residence. I should not be satisfied
with a rude cabin. There I should find something of the comfort which we
enjoy in New England."

"The situation is fine, too," said Herbert, looking about him
admiringly.

The cottage stood on a knoll. On either side were tall and stately
trees. A purling brook at the left rolled its silvery current down a
gentle declivity, and in front, for half a mile, was open country.

"I have a great mind to call and inquire who lives here." said Melville.
"Perhaps we can arrange to stay here all night."

"That is a good plan, Mr. Melville."

George Melville dismounted from his horse, and, approaching, tapped with
the handle of his whip on the door.

"Who's there?" inquired a smothered voice, as of one rousing himself
from sleep.

"A stranger, but a friend," answered Melville.

There was a sound as of some one moving, and a tall man, clad in a rough
suit, came to the door, and looked inquiringly at Melville and his boy
companion.

Though his attire was rude, his face was refined, and had the
indefinable air of one who would be more at home in the city than in the
country.

"Delighted to see you both," he said, cordially, offering his hand. "I
don't live in a palace, and my servants are all absent, but if you will
deign to become my guests I will do what I can for your comfort."

"You have anticipated my request," said Melville. "Let me introduce
myself as George Melville, an invalid by profession, just come from New
England in search of health. My young friend here is Herbert Carr, my
private secretary and faithful companion, who has not yet found out what
it is to be in poor-health. Without him I should hardly have dared to
come so far alone."

"You are very welcom