ght came to him. There was a dense strip of sloping wooded land
between the river and the nearest street, and in the midst of it stood a
tall oak. At the foot of this tree he would bury Binks's remains. The
oak would be a landmark that he could easily single out again. He found
some newspapers, and, wrapping up the body in them, he dug a grave and
put his pet into it.

The sun was going down above the New Jersey cliffs when the rite was
ended. The great disk was as red as living coals of fire. A tree with
shooting branches and stark trunk three miles away was clearly outlined
across its face. A big excursion-steamer bound for Albany was passing.
The surface of the river was sprinkled with sail-boats and varicolored
canoes. From somewhere on the water came the clear, joyous tones of a
cornet. Some player was putting his soul into his music. John walked
down to one of the boat-houses. Men were fishing from the float. At a
crude bar he bought a cigar and lighted it. He asked about the fishing
of one of the fishermen and apathetically listened while the man talked
of rods, reels, lines, sinkers, and bait. John did not want to go home.
The thought of the hot, close, and lonely house, in his present frame of
mind, was repellent. He wondered if he was giving way to sickly
sentimentality, for he had a desire to pass that night in the wood in
solitary vigil over the grave of his loved companion.

Presently he shrugged his shoulders and started homeward. "Be a man,
John Trott!" he said, with closed lips. "Why shouldn't Binks
die?--everybody has to die sooner or later. What does it matter? The
only thing that matters is to bear your burden like a soldier and a
man."

CHAPTER VI

Dear John [so ran the first letter from Cavanaugh after the
latter returned to Ridgeville]--I hardly know how to begin
this letter. Since I got home I declare everything here
seems awfully tame. That was a wonderful visit I had as I
look back on it. I wish it could have gone on forever. I am
glad I saw you, for a lot of reasons. You were lonely and
blue, my boy. Even your partner spoke to me about you. He
said since Dora left that you was really in danger of a
nervous breakdown. Mrs. McGwire and her oldest girl said the
same thing. They were all worried about you, and so am I.

I've got a confession to make, and the sooner it is made the
better I'll feel. John, you know how a town li