d,
proceeded after us. We were greatly perplexed what course to pursue.
If we delayed our return much longer, we should not be able to reach the
cabin before night set in: the wilderness around seemed to contain
nothing that could serve as food, and we should have to fast as long as
we remained in it. Then, too, our waiting longer could be of no benefit
to the others, even if they had not yet returned to the islet. Upon
finding us gone, they would know at once that we had set out for home,
and there was no possibility of their mistaking their way thither.

We concluded, accordingly, to return without further delay. Browne cut
a stout stick, and planted it in the sand at the margin of the brook,
arranging a number of large pebbles at its foot, in the form of a hand,
with the index finger pointing homeward. We then set out at a brisk
pace, with some hope, but little actual expectation, of overtaking our
companions on the war.

We soon reached the thick wood with its matted undergrowth, and the old
and knotted vines twining like enormous reptiles around the trunks of
the trees; and so slow was our progress through it, that, when we
emerged into the open country, it was nearly sunset. The remaining
distance was more rapidly accomplished. As we drew nigh to the cabin, I
began to look anxiously for the appearance of the missing ones. Each
moment I expected to see Johnny rushing towards us with a laughing boast
of having "beaten us home." But no one came forth to meet us, and I
thought that the valley had never before looked so lonely.

It was not, however, entirely deserted. The parrot was perched in
solitary state upon the eaves of the cabin, and as we opened the gate,
he flapped his wings, and croaked forth in dismal tones a sentence which
Johnny, little dreaming of its present application, had been at much
pains to teach him:--"Poor Paul's lonesome!" he cried, "they're all
gone--all gone!"

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE SEARCH.

HOME SWEET HOME--MAX ON MOONLIGHT--FOLLOWING A TRAIL--THE CONCEALED
CANOE.

"Where'er thou wanderest, canst thou hope to go
Where skies are brighter, or the earth more fair?
Dost thou not love these aye-blue streams that flow,
These spicy forests, and this golden air?

"O yes! I love these woods, these streams so clear,
Yet from this fairy region I would roam,
Again to see my native hills--thrice dear!
And seek that country, of all countries,--Home."

Max ha