one sitting on a hot griddle.  To save me from such a fate my uncle had nearly blistered me with his slipper.  How was I to save him?  I stood still for a moment of confusion and anxiety, with my hand over my mouth, while a strange sickness came upon me.  A great cold wave had swept in off the uncharted seas and flooded my little beach, and covered it with wreckage.  What was I to do?  I knew that I couldn’t punish him.  I couldn’t bear to speak to him even, so I turned and walked slowly away.

My dear, careless old uncle was in great danger.  As I think of it now, what a whited sepulchre he had become in a moment!  Had I better consult Mr. Wright?  No.  My pride in my uncle and my love for him would not permit it.  I must bear my burden alone until I could tell Aunt Deel.  She would know what to do.  Mr. Wright came along and found me sitting in deep dejection on a bed of vivid, green moss by an old stump at the trail-side.

“What ye doing here?” he asked in surprise.

“Nothing,” I answered gravely.

The Comptroller must have observed the sorrow in my face, for he asked: 

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I lied, and then my conscience caught up with my tongue and I added:  “It’s a secret.”

Fearing that my uncle would disgrace himself in the hearing of Mr. Wright, I said something—­I do not remember what, save that it related to the weather—­in a loud voice by way of warning.

They noticed the downcast look of me when we entered camp.

“Why, Bub, you look tired,” said Uncle Peabody as he gave me that familiar hug of his.

I did not greet him with the cheerful warmth which had characterized our meetings, and seeing the disappointment in his look I kissed him rather flippantly.

“Lay down on this old sheep skin and take a nap,” said he.  “It’s warm in here.”

He spread the sheep skin on the balsam boughs back under the lean-to and I lay down upon it and felt the glow of the fire and heard the talk of the men but gave no heed to it.  I turned my face away from them and lay as if asleep, but with a mind suddenly estranged and very busy.

Now I know what I knew not then, that my soul was breaking camp on the edge of the world and getting ready to move over the line.  Still no suspicion of the truth reached me that since I came to live with him my uncle had been bitting and breaking his tongue.  It occurred to me that Bill Seaver, whom I secretly despised, had spoilt him and that I had done wrong in leaving him all the afternoon defenseless in bad company.

I wondered if he were beyond hope or if he would have to fry and smoke and yell forever.  But I had hope.  My faith in Aunt Deel as a corrector and punisher was very great.  She would know what to do.  I heard the men talking in low voices as they cooked the supper and the frying of the fish and bacon.  It had grown dark.  Uncle Peabody came and leaned over me with a lighted candle and touched my face with his hand.  I lay still with closed eyes.  He left me and I heard him say to the others: