at
sleep of his that never seemed to capture his senses entirely.

At the small town, which was reached late the following day, Farwell
engaged two rooms at the ramshackle tavern and informed Pine that he was
to share the luxuries.

This was unusual. In the past a day at the station sufficed for business
transactions, and night found them in the woods again. Pine was confused
but alert. However, things progressed comfortably enough. The expected
mail was awaiting Farwell, and he greedily bought all the newspapers he
could get. His purchases at the store did not interest the Indian and he
was not even aware that several garments for a woman were included in
Farwell's list. A telegram sent, and another received, did perturb the
fellow a good deal, but when Farwell tore the one he got into shreds, the
simple mind of the guide concluded that the matter was unimportant, and
he forgot it before they reached Kenmore. He could not burden his poor
intellect with unnecessary rubbish, and the whole business was getting on
to what stood for nerves in the Indian's anatomy.

What really had occurred was this: Farwell had reached across the
desolate stretches that divided him from his one friend and got a
response. He had impressed upon John Boswell that he could not come in
person to Kenmore, but he could meet a certain needy young person and
convey her to safety in the States. And he had asked a question that for
months had never risen to the surface--he had been too crushed to give it
place.

"Is Joan Moss still alive?"

Boswell was ready to aid him in any way, would even deny himself the
longing of seeing his old friend face to face, since that seemed
desirable. He would meet the young woman at a place called Little Corners
and would do what he could for her.

"Joan Moss is still alive."

A strong light and a new hope came into Farwell's sad eyes. He had a hold
on the future! With the possibility of supplanting Ledyard in Pine's
ideas of loyalty and economics what might not happen?

And so they started back.

It was midnight, four days after Farwell had left home, that he entered
his own door again. The return trip had been rushed, much to Pine's
approbation. Priscilla was quietly sewing at the table when Farwell,
having loudly bidden the Indian good night, came into the living-room.

The girl's alarmed glance turned to one of relieved welcome when she saw
Farwell. She had some food ready for him--every night she had b