The difficult lessons on the use of snow-shoes took up day after day, until weary but at last eager he followed her tireless little figure far into the more remote woods.  “What’s that?” he said.

“I wanted you to see it, John.”  It was an old log cabin.  “That’s where the first James Penhallow lived.  Uncle Jim keeps it from tumbling to pieces, but it’s no use to anybody.”

“The first Penhallow,” said John.  “It must be very old.”

“Oh!  I suppose so—­I don’t know—­ask Uncle Jim.  They say the Indians attacked it once—­that first James Penhallow and his wife fought them till help came.  I thought you would like to see it.”

He went in, kicking off his snow-shoes.  She was getting used to his silences, and now with some surprise at his evident interest followed him.  He walked about making brief remarks or eagerly asking questions.

“They must have had loop-holes to shoot.  Did they kill any Indians?”

“Yes, five.  They are buried behind the cabin.  Uncle Jim set a stone to mark the place.”

He made no reply.  His thoughts were far away in time, realizing the beleaguered cabin, the night of fear, the flashing rifles of his ancestors.  The fear—­would he have been afraid?

“When I was little, I was afraid to come here alone,” said the girl.

“I should like to come here at night,” he returned.

“Why?  I wouldn’t.  Oh! not at night.  I don’t see what fun there would be in that.”

“Then I would know—­”

“Know what, John?  What would you know?”

“Oh! no matter.”  He had a deep desire to learn if he would be afraid.  “Some day,” he added, “I will tell you.  Let’s go home.”

“Are you tired?”

“I’m half dead,” he laughed as he slipped on his snow-shoes.

A long and heavy rain cleared away the snow, and the more usual softness of the end of November set in.  Their holiday sports were over for a time, to John’s relief.  On a Monday he went through the woods with Leila to the rectory.  Mark Rivers, who had only seen John twice, made him welcome.  The tall, thin, pale man, with the quiet smile and attentive grey eyes, made a ready capture of the boy.  There were only two other scholars, the sons of the doctor and the Baptist preacher, lads of sixteen, not very mannerly, rather rough country boys, who nudged one another and regarded John with amused interest.  In two or three days John knew that he was in the care of an unusually scholarly man, who became at once his friend and treated the lazy village boys and him with considerate kindliness.  John liked it.  To his surprise, no questions were asked at home about the school, and the afternoons were often free for lonely walks, when Leila went away on her mare and John was at liberty to read or to do as best pleased him.  At times Leila bored him, and although with his well-taught courteous ways he was careful not to show impatience, he had the imaginative boy’s