orts were in vain. He became thoroughly home-sick, and, while
admitting the fact to himself, he endeavoured to conceal it from his
comrades. He thought that he was successful in this attempt. Poor Dick
Varley! as yet he was sadly ignorant of human nature. Henri knew it,
and Joe Blunt knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong with
his master, although he could not exactly make out what it was. But
Crusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory. He jotted down
the peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care and minute
exactness of a physician; and, we doubt not, ultimately added the
knowledge of the symptoms of homesickness to his already well-filled
stores of erudition.

It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that Dick
Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the beautiful
prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and galloped over
the green sward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick ventured to tell
Joe Blunt what his feelings had been.

"D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steed
after a sharp gallop, "d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for some
time past."

"I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which there was a
dash of something that implied he knew more than he chose to express.

Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could have bin.
I never felt so before."

"'Twas homesickness, boy," returned Joe.

"How d'ye know that?"

"The same way as how I know most things, by experience an' obsarvation.
I've bin home-sick myself once--but it was long, long agone."

Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by such a bronzed
veteran, and, the chords of sympathy having been struck, he opened up
his heart at once, to the evident delight of Henri, who, among other
curious partialities, was extremely fond of listening to and taking part
in conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, and were hard to be
understood. Most conversations that were not connected with eating and
hunting were of this nature to Henri.

"Hom'-sik," he cried, "veech mean bein' sik of hom'! hah! dat is fat I
am always be, ven I goes hout on de expedition. Oui, vraiment."

"I always packs up," continued Joe, paying no attention to Henri's
remark,--"I always packs up an' sots off for home when I gits home-sick;
it's the best cure, an' when hunters are young like you, Dick, it's the
onl