pitch-black shadows into the clearing, where a little daylight still
lingered. As he approached the group, Dol, who was in the background,
gave a startled, yearning cry; but it was drowned in a loud burst from
his host.

"Why, Cyrus Garst!" exclaimed the latter, peering into the new-comer's
face. "How goes it, man? I never expected to see you here. Surely you
haven't come to grief in the woods? You look scared to death!"

Cyrus--for it was he--grasped the welcoming hand which the owner of this
camp extended to him. But his dark eyes did not linger a moment meeting
the other's. They turned hither and thither, flashing in all directions
restlessly, like search-lights.

"I'm glad to see you, Doc," he said. "I didn't know you were anywhere
near. But I'm half distracted just now. A youngster belonging to our
camp is missing. I've been scouring the forest for hours, and firing
signals, hoping he might hear them. But"--

Here Cyrus caught sight of Dol, who with a cry which in its changing
inflections was longing, penitent, joyful, was making towards him. The
Harvard student strode forward, and gripped the boy by his elbows. In
the dusk their eyes were near together; Garst's were stern, Dol's
blinking and unsteady.

"Adolphus Farrar," began Cyrus in a voice as if he was making an arrest,
"have you been here in this camp, or where have you been, while your
brother and I were searching the woods like maniacs? What unheard-of
folly possessed you to go off by yourself?"