His experience of forest fires had already taught him that this was
too often only the cold air rushing in to fill the vacuum made by
the conflagration, and it needed not his sensation of an acrid
smarting in his eyes, and an unaccountable dryness in the air which
he was now facing, to convince him that the fire was approaching
him. It had evidently traveled faster than he had expected, or had
diverged from its course. He was disappointed, not because it
would oblige him to take another route to Skinner's, as Collinson
had suggested, but for a very different reason. Ever since his
vision of the preceding night, he had resolved to revisit the
hollow and discover the mystery. He had kept his purpose a
secret,--partly because he wished to avoid the jesting remarks of
his companions, but particularly because he wished to go alone,
from a very singular impression that although they had witnessed
the incident he had really seen more than they did. To this was
also added the haunting fear he had felt during the night that this
mysterious habitation and its occupants were in the track of the
conflagration. He had not dared to dwell upon it openly on account
of Uncle Dick's evident responsibility for the origin of the fire;
he appeased his conscience with the reflection that the inmates of
the dwelling no doubt had ample warning in time to escape. But
still, he and his companions ought to have stopped to help them,
and then--but here he paused, conscious of another reason he could
scarcely voice then, or even now. Preble Key had not passed the
age of romance, but like other romancists he thought he had evaded
it by treating it practically.

Meantime he had reached the fork where the trail diverged to the
right, and he must take that direction if he wished to make a
detour of the burning woods to reach Skinner's. His momentary