“Where did she find it, old boy?  Eh?  Where did she find it?  Was it the figure?  Was it the face?  Hang the swallow tails!  Must you, sir, come to such a humiliation?  How are the mighty fallen!  The lion of Sevenoaks in the skin of an ass!  But it must be.  Ah!  Mrs. Belcher—­Mrs. Belcher—­Mrs. Belcher!  You are good, but you are lumpy.  You were pretty once, but you are no Mrs. Dillingham.  By the gods!  Wouldn’t she swim around my house like a queen!  Far in azure depths of space, I behold a star!  Its light shines for me.  It doesn’t?  It must not?  Who says that?  Did you address that remark to me, sir?  By the way, how do you think you got along?  Did you make a fool of yourself, or did you make a fool of somebody?  Honors are easy.  Let Robert Belcher alone!  Is Toll making money a little too fast?  What do you think?  Perhaps you will settle that question by and by.  You will keep him while you can use him.  Then Toll, my boy, you can drift.  In the meantime, splendor! and in the meantime let Sevenoaks howl, and learn to let Robert Belcher alone.”

From these dizzy heights of elation Mr. Belcher descended to his bed and his heavy dreams, and the next morning found him whirling away at the rate of thirty miles an hour, but not northward.  Whither was he going?

CHAPTER X.

WHICH TELLS HOW A LAWYER SPENT HIS VACATION IN CAMP, AND TOOK HOME A SPECIMEN OF GAME THAT HE HAD NEVER BEFORE FOUND IN THE WOODS.

It was a bright moonlight night when Mike Conlin and Jim started off from Sevenoaks for home, leaving Mr. Balfour and his boy to follow.  The old horse had a heavy load, and it was not until an hour past midnight that Mike’s house was reached.  There Jim made the new clothes, comprising a complete outfit for his boarders at Number Ten, into a convenient package, and swinging it over his shoulders, started for his distant cabin on foot.  Mike, after resting himself and his horse, was to follow in the morning with the tools and stores, so as to arrive at the river at as early an hour as Mr. Balfour could complete the journey from Sevenoaks, with his lighter load and swifter horses.

Jim Fenton, who had lain still for several days, and was full of his schemes for Mr. Balfour and his proteges in camp, and warm with his memories of Miss Butterworth, simply gloried in his moonlight tramp.  The accumulated vitality of his days of idleness was quite enough to make all the fatigues before him light and pleasant.  At nine o’clock the next morning he stood by the side of his boat again.  The great stillness of the woods, responding in vivid color to the first kisses of the frost, half intoxicated him.  No world-wide wanderer, returning after many years to the home of his childhood, could have felt more exulting gladness than he, as he shoved his boat from the bank and pushed up the shining stream in the face of the sun.