house, and told long and true tales
of their great wanderings and of danger and escape on land and water. He
and Paul had eaten hugely, there was no escape, and he felt that he must
sit quiet for a while. He was loth to talk of himself, but there was no
escape from that either, and his story was so vivid, so full that it
fairly told itself. As he spoke of the great journey and its myriad
events between New Orleans and the Great Lakes, the crowd in the big
room thickened. No one was willing to lose a word of the magic tale, and
it was past midnight when he lay down on the blankets and sought sleep.

The next day and the next were passed in further welcome, but when Henry
sought the blankets the third night he became conscious that the first
flush of the return was over. The weather had turned very hot--it was
now July--and the walls and ceiling of the room seemed to press upon him
and suffocate him. He drew deep and long breaths, but there was not air
enough to fill a chest that had long been used to the illimitable
outside. It was very still in the room. He longed to hear the boughs of
trees waving over him. He felt that only such a sound or the trickle of
running water could soothe him to sleep. Yet he would make another
effort. He closed his eyes and for a half hour lay motionless. Then,
angry, he opened them again, as wide awake as ever. He listened, but he
could hear no sound in either the house or the village.

Henry Ware rose to his feet, slipped on his clothing, and went to the
window. He looked forth upon a sleeping village. The houses, built of
solid logs, stood in ordered rows, gray and silent. Nothing stirred
anywhere. He took his rifle from the hooks, and leaped lightly out of
the window. Then he slipped cautiously among the houses, scaled the
palisade and darted into the forest.

He lay down by the side of a cold spring about a mile from the village.
The bank of turf was soft and cool, and the little stream ran over the
pebbles with a faint sighing sound. The thick leaves that hung overhead
rustled beneath the south wind, and played a pleasant tune. Henry felt
a great throb of joy. His chest expanded and the blood leaped in every
vein. He threw himself down upon the bank and grasped the turf with both
hands. It seemed to him that like Antaeus of old he felt strength flowing
back into his body through every finger tip. He could breathe here
easily and naturally. What a wonderful thing the forest was! How it