"Oh, mother, I did not; it was you and little Hendrick!" and Annette
turned her scarlet cheeks away.

October, with its trees of flame and gold, was on the hills; purple and
orange, the oaks and the birches; blue blocked with white was the sky
above, and the blue, bright lake was limpid.

"Oh, God of my fathers," Quonab used to pray, "when I reach the Happy
Hunting, let it be ever the Leaf-falling Moon, for that is the only
perfect time." And in that unmarred month of sunny sky and woodlands
purged of every plague, there is but one menace in the vales. For who
can bring the glowing coal to the dry-leafed woods without these two
begetting the dread red fury that devastates the hills?

Who can bring the fire in touch with tow and wonder at the blaze? Who,
indeed? And would any but a dreamer expect young manhood in its growing
strength, and girlhood just across the blush-line, to meet in daily
meals and talk and still keep up the brother and sister play? It needs
only a Virginia on the sea-girt island to turn the comrade into Paul.

"Marta, I tink dot Rolf an Annette don't quarrel bad, ain't it?"

"Hendrik, you vas von blind old bat-mole," said Marta, "I fink dat farm
next ours purty good, but Rolf he say 'No Lake George no good.' Better
he like all his folk move over on dat Hudson."

Chapter 86. The New Era of Prosperity

As November neared and his leave of absence ended, Rolf was himself
again; had been, indeed, for two weeks, and, swinging fork or axe, he
had helped with many an urgent job on the farm.

A fine log stable they had rolled up together, with corners dovetailed
like cabinet work, and roof of birch bark breadths above the hay.

But there was another building, too, that Rolf had worked at night and
day. It was no frontier shack, but a tall and towering castle, splendid
and roomy, filled with loved ones and love. Not by the lake near by,
not by the river of his choice, but higher up than the tops of the high
mountains it loomed, and he built and built until the month was nearly
gone. Then only did he venture to ask for aid, and Annette it was who
promised to help him finish the building.

Yes, the Lake George shore was a land of hungry farms. It was off the
line of travel, too. It was neither Champlain nor Hudson; and Hendrik,
after ten years' toil with barely a living to show, was easily
convinced. Next summer they must make a new choice of home. But now it
was back to Plattsburg.

On November 1