He stirred the fire to a brighter blaze as they entered, and the
leaping flames disclosed a dark-haired child of perhaps seven years
asleep on a bed in a corner of the small room. Without speaking,
without so much as a glance at the visitor, the old lady walked
swiftly to the bed and took the child in her arms.

The boy opened his eyes and started to cry, but she quieted him with
low words and sat down on the edge of the bed, swinging him back and
forth with a motion of her arms and shoulders. The man at the fire
glanced sharply at the woman and then turned his eyes to the boys,
now standing not far from the bed.

"The little dear!" the woman cried, mothering the child. "He's all
tired out with his long journey!"

"This is the man that brung the boy in," Buck said, pointing to the
figure by the fire. "A mess of a time he must have had of it, too."

"You are the grandmother?" asked the stranger. "Yes, I understand.
And are these boys your sons, too?" he added, nodding at Ned and
Frank, suspiciously.

"Only New York boys spending a vacation in the mountains," Ned said,
answering the question. "Mrs. Brady came to our camp tonight looking
for her son and we came home with her. We are looking for good
pictures," he added.

The stranger pointed to the old lady, sitting with the sleeping child
on her breast.