it, and Joe Blunt knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong
with his master, although he could not exactly make out what it was.
But Crusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory. He jotted
down the peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care and
minute exactness of a physician, and, we doubt not, ultimately
added the knowledge of the symptoms of home-sickness to his already
well-filled stores of erudition.

It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that
Dick Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the
beautiful prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and
galloped over the greensward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick
ventured to tell Joe Blunt what his feelings had been.

"D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steed
after a sharp gallop--"d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for some
time past."

"I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which there
was a dash of something that implied he knew more than he chose to
express.

Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could have
bin. I never felt so before."

"'Twas home-sickness, boy," returned Joe.

"How d'ye know that?"

"The same way as how I know most things--by experience an'
obsarvation. I've bin home-sick myself once, but it was long, long
agone."

Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by such a bronzed
veteran, and, the chords of sympathy having been struck, he opened up
his heart at once, to the evident delight of Henri, who, among other
curious partialities, was extremely fond of listening to and taking
part in conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, and were hard
to be understood. Most conversations that were not connected with
eating and hunting were of this nature to Henri.

"Hom'-sik," he cried, "veech mean bein' sik of hom'! Hah! dat is fat I
am always be, ven I goes hout on de expedition. Oui, vraiment."

"I always packs up," continued Joe, paying no attention to Henri's
remark--"I always packs up an' sets off for home when I gits
home-sick. It's the best cure; an' when hunters are young like
you, Dick, it's the only cure. I've knowed fellers a'most die o'
home-sickness, an' I'm told they _do_ go under altogether sometimes."

"Go onder!" exclaimed Henri; "oui, I vas all but die myself ven I
fust try to git away from hom'. If I have not git away, I not be here
to-day."

Henri's idea