Part 27 (2/2)

Next morning we rose at daybreak, relighted the fire and had breakfast, after which we resumed our search, but still--without success.

”I fear that my surmise as to the state of poor Liston's mind is correct,” said Lumley. ”We have searched the whole valley, I believe.”

”Nay, not quite,” I returned, ”it is much varied in form, and full of out-o'-the-way nooks. Besides, we have not yet discovered the stunted pine, and you know the paper says the spot is difficult to find. As to Liston's mind I feel quite sure that it was all right, and that the man was a good and true one. The father of Waboose could not have been otherwise.”

I said this somewhat decidedly, for I felt sorely disappointed at our failure, and slightly annoyed at my friend's unbelief in one whose last writing proved him--at least to my mind--to be genuine and sincere.

”Well, Max,” returned Lumley, with his wonted pleasant look and tone, ”it may be that you are right. We will continue our search as long as there seems any chance of success.”

Accordingly, we ranged the valley round, high and low, until we had visited, as we thought, every nook and cranny in it and then, much dispirited, returned home.

One morning, about three months after these events, Lumley came into my bedroom where I was drawing a plan for a new store.

”Max,” said he, sitting down on the bed beside me, ”I mean to start this afternoon on a visit to the mountain fort. You know I promised Macnab that I would look him up about this time and fetch Waboose and her mother back.”

”Indeed. When do you start!”

”This afternoon.”

I was not surprised at the suddenness of this announcement. Our chief was eminently a man of action. He seldom talked much about plans, but thought them well out, and when his mind was made up acted without delay.

”You'll take my letter to the governor and tell Mac to forward it with his spring packet?” said I.

”Yes, that is just what I came to see you about. Is it ready--and are you quite decided about retiring?”

”Quite decided. See, here is the letter. And don't forget your promise to say nothing to Waboose or anyone else about Liston's packet.”

”Not a word, my boy.”

That afternoon my friend set off on snow-shoes accompanied by two men.

”Any message, Max?” he said, at parting.

”Of course. My kind regards to everybody.”

”Nothing warmer to _anybody_?”

”Oh, yes,” I returned quickly, ”I forgot you may, if you choose, say something a little more affectionate to Miss Macnab!”

”I will, Max, I will,” he replied, with a loud ringing laugh and a cheery good-bye.

Some time after that an Indian came to the fort bearing a letter from Lumley. It was written, he said, merely because the Indian chanced to be travelling towards Wichikagan, and contained nothing of importance.

To my surprise and disappointment it contained no reference whatever to Waboose. On turning over the last page, however, I found a postscript.

It ran thus:

”P.S.--By the way, I had almost omitted to mention Eve. My dear boy, I believe you are right. She is one of Nature's ladies. Jessie has prevailed on her to put on one of her dresses and be her companion, and when they are walking together with their backs towards me, upon my word I have difficulty in deciding which is the more ladylike of the two!

And that you will admit, is no small compliment from me. Jessie has been giving her lessons in English, and music and drawing too. Just think of that! She says she is doing it with an end in view. I wonder what that end can be! Jessie is sometimes difficult to understand. She is also remarkably wise and far-sighted. I expect to be home soon-- farewell.”

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