The company sat motionless, their gaze fastened on the Lad.  Not an eye was without its tear.  The cheeks of the old Trapper were wet; and Herbert, touched by some memory or overcome by the pathos of the music, was actually sobbing.  The old man, with a tread as light as a moccasined foot could make, stepped softly to the side of the Lad and taking him by the arm—­while the company rose as one man—­motioned to Henry with his hand, and then, without a word, the Trapper and Herbert and “The Man Who Didn’t Know Much” passed out of the room, and taking boat, shoved off and glided from sight in the blue darkness of the overhanging night, amid whose eastern gloom the great, luminous, mellow-hearted stars of the morning were already aflame.

[Illustration:  Tail piece]

Who Was He?

I

[Illustration:  Vignette Initial AT]

At the head of a stretch of swiftly running water the river widened into a broad and deep pool.  From the western bank a huge ledge of rock sloped downward and outward into the water.  On it stood the trapper, John Norton, with a look of both expectation and anxiety on his face.  For a moment he lifted his troubled eyes and gazed steadily through the tree-tops; and as his eyes fell to the level of the river, while the look of anxiety deepened on his countenance, he said: 

“Yis, the wind has changed and the fire be comin’ this way; and ef it gits into the balsam thickets this side of the mountain and the wind holds where it is, a buck in full jump could hardly outrun it.  Yis, the smoke thickens; ef I didn’t know that the boy would act with jedgment, and that he’s onusually sarcumspect, I would sartinly feel worried about him.  I hope he won’t do anything resky for the sake of the pups.  Ef he can’t git ’em, he can’t; and I trust he won’t resk the life of a man for a couple of dogs.”

With these words the trapper relapsed into silence.  But every minute added to his anxiety, for the smoke thickened in the air and even a few cinders began to pass him as they were blown onward with the smoke by the wind.

“The fire is comin’ down the river,” he said, “and the boy has it behind him.  Lord-a-massy! hear it roar!  I know the boy is comin’, for I never knowed him to do a foolish thing in the woods; and it would be downright madness for him to stay in the shanty, or even go to the shanty, ef the fire had struck the balsam thicket afore he made the landin’.  Lord, ef an oar-blade should break,—­but it won’t break.  The Lord of marcy won’t let an oar that the boy is handlin’ break, when the fire is racin’ behind him, and he’s comin’ back from an arrand of marcy.  I never seed a man desarted in a time like”—­

A report of a rifle rang out quick and sharp through the smoke.

“God be praised!” said the trapper, “it’s the boy’s own piece, and he let it off as he shot the rift the fourth bend above.  Yis, the boy knows his danger and he took the vantage of the rift to signal me with his piece, for oars couldn’t help him in the rift and the missin’ of a single stroke wouldn’t count.  I trust the boy got the pups, arter all,” added the old trapper, his mind instantly reverting to his loved companions the moment it was relieved from anxiety touching his comrade.