“Well?”

“Well, my belief is that there ain’t no young lady, and that you’re gassing me.”

“Very well,” said Bates, and he turned away.  It was offensive to him to be accused of telling lies—­he was not a man to give any other name than “lie” to the trick attributed to him, or to perceive any humour in the idea of it—­but it was a thousand times more offensive that this youth should have presumed to search for Sissy and to tell him that the search had been vain.

Horrible as the information just given was, he did not more than half believe it, and something just said gave him a definite idea of hope—­the strange dogs had not found Sissy, but the house-dog, if encouraged to seek, would certainly find her.  He had felt a sort of grudge against the animal all day, because he must know which way she had gone and could not tell.  Now he resolved as soon as the strangers were gone to set the dog to seek her.  Upon this he stayed his mind.

The surveyors hoped to get a few days’ more work done before the winter put an end to their march; they determined when thus stopped to turn down the river valley and take the train for Quebec.  The way they now wished to take lay, not in the direction in which the ox-cart had gone, but over the hills directly across the lake.  The scow belonging to this clearing, on which they had counted, was called into requisition.

The day was still calm; Bates had no objection to take them across.  At any other time he would have had some one to leave in charge of the place, but especially as he would be in sight of the house all the time, he made no difficulty of leaving as it was.  He could produce four oars, such as they were, and the way across was traversed rapidly.

“And there ain’t really a female belonging to the place, except the old lady,” said the dentist, addressing the assembled party upon the scow.  “It was all a tale, and—­my eye;—­he took me in completely.”

Probably he did not give entire credence to his own words, and wished to provoke the others to question Bates further; but they were not now in the same idle mood that had enthralled them when, in the morning, they had listened to him indulgently.  Their loins were girded; they were intent upon what they were doing and what they were going to do.  No one but Bates paid heed to him.

Bates heard him clearly enough, but, so stubbornly had he set himself to rebuff this young man, and so closely was he wrapped in that pride of reserve that makes a merit of obstinate self-reliance, that it never even occurred to him to answer or to accept this last offer of a fellow-man’s interest in the search he was just about to undertake.