ding river flowing into one of the
great blue lakes. And the name of his home, though built of wood, was
Castle Frank.

The castle was well-furnished, for Robin's father was a great man. The
best rooms had comfortable carpets and carved oak furniture, while on
the walls were interesting pictures, representing people of high rank,
and battles on sea and land. In one room there was a fine arrangement
of muskets, pistols and swords, together with Indian spears and bows
and arrows. In another room there was a library, containing books of
religion and science, histories and tales of adventure, and story-books
for children. With the weapons and stories the boy beguiled away many
a pleasant hour.

But there was something more pleasant than guns and spears and stories.
Outside the castle, in little houses built of wood, with doors and
windows of netted wire, were a number of pets, as foxes, rabbits and
squirrels. To these Robin was greatly devoted, he fed them regularly
with his own hand, and kept their dwellings sweet and clean. In a
grassy enclosure where their little cotes stood, he let them have
liberty every day, watching over them carefully, that no harm should
come from savage beasts or birds of prey. He had also other pets--a
white pony, big dogs and little ones, and beautiful birds--which he
loved much and tended faithfully. So that among all these companions
Robin passed much of his time very happily, even more so than when
accompanying friendly Indians shooting game in the wild woods miles
away, or fishing from a canoe in Lake Ontario.

A boy that is truly kind to animals will love men and, of course, boys.
This quality and what was brave and honest shone plainly in his clear,
blue eyes, as they shine in all kinds of eyes that have them.
Unspoiled by city dainties, and clad in the grey shooting suit which he
usually wore, he looked strong, active and healthy. Yet Robin had at
times a dreamy, meditative look. Away from the stir and hum and
engagement of city life, he dwelt in a kind of fairy-land, where
flowers and trees and solitary paths called forth quiet questionings
and aroused reflection, gilded by mystery and imagination. The tales
of Indian life, and the stories of mighty giants and magic-working
fairies, told and read in the quaint castle in the evenings, cultivated
the growth of his imaginative mind. So that, mingled with his natural
brightness and activity, there were moods that occasionally