clumps of mullein that grew just beneath, for there were no steps,
and Towse bounded up and sat upright close beside him. And as he
sought to lean on Towse, the dog sought to lean on him.

They both looked out meditatively at the dense and sombre
wilderness, upon which this little clearing and humble log-cabin
were but meagre suggestions of that strong, full-pulsed humanity
that has elsewhere subdued nature, and achieved progress, and
preempted perfection.

Towse soon shut his eyes, and presently he was nodding. Presumably
he dreamed, for once he roused himself to snap at a fly, when there
was no fly. Rufe, however, was wide awake, and busily canvassing
how to account to Birt for the lack of a message from Nate Griggs,
for he would not confess how untrustworthy he had proved himself.
As he reflected upon this perplexity, he leaned his throbbing head
on his hand, and his attitude expressed a downcast spirit.

This chanced to strike his mother's attention as she came to the
door. She paused and looked keenly at him.

"Them hoss apples ag'in!" she exclaimed, with the voice of
accusation. She had no idea of youthful dejection disconnected with
the colic.

Rufe was roused to defend himself. "Hain't teched 'em, now!" he
cried, acrimoniously.

"Waal, sometimes ye air sorter loose-jointed in yer jaw, an' ain't
partic'lar what ye say," rejoined his mother, politely. "I'll waste