but the work-people declared that his was the hand that
fired the mill. Nothing would alter that in their stubborn minds, and
no one knew better than James Drinkwater that this was so.

Consequently, he nursed up his blind grudge against the little world in
which he dwelt, and became what Will called him--a regular wild man of
the woods.

But a change was coming. The autumn rains were setting in, the woods
were often dripping, the mosses holding the rain like so much sponge,
and the shelter of a roof becoming an absolute necessity for the one who
had sought it merely of a night.

"Yes," said Manners, one morning, "the cuckoo's gone long ago, the
swallows are taking flight, and it is getting time for me to pack up my
traps and toddle south."

"Oh, what a pity!" cried Will.

"Humph! Yes, for you. What will you chaps do? No one to play tricks
with then."

"Oh, I say, Mr Manners, play fair!" cried Josh. "Why, I'm sure that
we've behaved beautifully lately."

"Very," cried the artist. "Why, you young dogs, I've watched you!
You've both been sitting on mischief eggs for weeks. It isn't your
fault that they didn't hatch."

"Doing what?" cried Josh.

"Well, trying to scheme some new prank. Only you've used up all your
stuff, and couldn't think one out."

The boys exchanged glances, and there was a peculiar twinkle in their
eyes, a look that the artist interpreted, and knew that he had judged
aright.

"But you'll be down again in the spring, Mr Manners?" cried Will.

"I hope so, my lad. I've grown to look upon Beldale as my second home.
I say, you'll come and help me pack my canvases?"

"Of course! Are you going to stick up your toadstool to-day?"

"No; it's going to rain again. It has been raining in the night up in
the hills."

"Yes," said Josh; "the big fall is coming down with a regular roar."

"But what about the dam?" said the artist.

"Full, as it ought to be; they're going to open the upper sluice."

"When?" said Manners.

"This afternoon," cried Will.

"Ah, I'll come and see it done. And about my canvases: I must have some
pieces of wood to nail round and hold them together."

"As you did last time?" said Will. "Well, old Boil O did that. Won't
you let him do it again?"

"I've been after him twice, and whenever I spoke he turned away.
Suppose I come down to the mill workshop. We can cut some strong laths
there."

"Of course," said Will; "this afternoon, when we've seen the