to his skiff.

"It's been a full day's work," he added; and even in this human crisis he
thought of the fish he had caught, of "the big trouble," he had been
thinking out as Osterhaut had said, as well as of the girl that he was
saving.

"I always have luck when I go fishing," he added presently. "I can take
her back to Lebanon," he continued with a quickening look. "She'll be
all right in a jiffy. I've got room for her in my buggy--and room for
her in any place that belongs to me," he hastened to reflect with a
curious, bashful smile.

"It's like a thing in a book," he murmured, as he neared the waiting
people on the banks of Carillon, and the ringing of the vesper bells came
out to him on the evening air.

"Is she dead?" some one whispered, as eager hands reached out to secure
his skiff to the bank.

"As dead as I am," he answered with a laugh, and drew Fleda's canoe up
alongside his skiff.

He had a strange sensation of new life, as, with delicacy and gentleness,
he lifted her up in his strong arms and stepped ashore.




CHAPTER II