bed. Then he gathered his clothes on his arm, opened the window,
and lowered himself till his head only was above the sill, and
his foot found a resting place. Thus he awaited. The raucous
breathing of the revellers was loud on the stairs; then the door
was tried; there was some muttering; then the door was burst open
and in rushed two, or perhaps three, figures. Rolf could barely
see in the gloom, but he knew that his uncle was one of them.
The attack they made with whip and stick on that roll of rags in
the bed would have broken his bones and left him shapeless, had
he been in its place. The men were laughing and took it all as a
joke, but Rolf had seen enough; he slipped to the ground and
hurried away, realizing perfectly well now that this was
"good-bye."

Which way? How naturally his steps turned northward toward
Redding, the only other place he knew. But he had not gone a
mile before he stopped. The yapping of a coon dog came to him
from the near woods that lay to the westward along Asamuk. He
tramped toward it. To find the dog is one thing, to find the
owner another; but they drew near at last. Rolf gave the three
yelps and Quonab responded.

"I am done with that crowd," said the boy. "They tried to kill
me tonight. Have you got room for me in your wigwam for a couple
of days?"

"Ugh, come," said the Indian.

That night, for the first time, Rolf slept in the outdoor air of
a wigwam. He slept late, and knew nothing of the world about him