“He’s asleep and his cheeks are wet.  Looks as if he’d been cryin’ all to himself there.  I guess he got too tired.”

Then Mr. Wright said:  “Something happened to the boy this afternoon.  I don’t know what.  I stopped at the brook to clean the fish and he ran on toward the camp to surprise you.  I came along soon and found him sitting alone by the trail out there.  He looked as if he hadn’t a friend in the world.  I asked him what was the matter and he said it was a secret.”

“Say, by—­” Uncle Peabody paused.  “He must a stole up here and heard me tellin’ that—­” he paused again and went on:  “Say, I wouldn’t ‘a’ had him hear that for a thousan’ dollars.  I don’t know how to behave myself when I get in the woods.  If you’re goin’ to travel with a boy like that you’ve got to be good all the time—­ye can’t take no rest or vacation at all whatever.”

“You’ve got to be sound through and through or they’ll find it out,” said the Comptroller.  “You can’t fool ’em long.”

“He’s got a purty keen edge on him,” said Bill Seaver.

“On the whole I think he’s the most interesting child I ever saw,” said Mr. Wright.

I knew that these words were compliments but their meaning was not quite clear to me.  The words, however, impressed and pleased me deeply and I recalled them often after that night.  I immediately regretted them, for I was hungry and wanted to get up and eat some supper but had to lie a while longer now so they would not know that my ears had been open.  Nothing more was said and I lay and listened to the wind in the tree-tops and the crackling of the fire, and suddenly the day ended.

I felt the gentle hand of Uncle Peabody on my face and I heard him speak my name very tenderly.  I opened my eyes.  The sun was shining.  It was a new day.  Bill Seaver had begun to cook the breakfast.  I felt better and ran down to the landing and washed.  My uncle’s face had a serious look in it.  So had Mr. Wright’s.  I was happy but dimly conscious of a change.

I remember how Bill beat the venison steak, which he had brought in his pack basket, with the head of his ax, adding a strip of bacon and a pinch of salt, now and then, until the whole was a thick mass of pulp which he broiled over the hot coals.  I remember, too, how delicious it was.

We ate and packed and got into the boats and fished along down the river.  At Seaver’s we hitched up our team and headed homeward.  When we drove into the dooryard Aunt Deel came and helped me out of the buggy and kissed my cheek and said she had been “terrible lonesome.”  Mr. Wright changed his clothes and hurried away across country with his share of the fish on his way to Canton.

“Well, I want to know!—­ayes! ain’t they beautiful! ayes!” Aunt Deel exclaimed as Uncle Peabody spread the trout in rows on the wash-stand by the back door.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” I said.

“What is it?” she asked.