"But I struck him with the little knife that springs out of a box."

Skenedonk assured me that Doctor Chantry thought nothing of it, and
there was no wound but a scratch. He looked on me as his pupil. He knew
all kinds of books.

Evidently Doctor Chantry liked me from the moment I showed fight. His
Anglo-Saxon blood was stirred. He received me from Skenedonk, who shook
my hand and wished me well, before paddling away.

De Chaumont's house was full as a hive around the three sides of its
flowered court. A ball was in preparation, and all the guests had
arrived. Avoiding these gentry we mounted stairs toward the roof, and
came into a burst of splendor. As far as the eye could see through
square east and west windows, unbroken forests stretched to the end of
the world, or Lake George wound, sown thick with islands, ranging in
size from mere rocks supporting a tree, to wooded acres.

The room which weaned me from aboriginal life was at the top of the
central building. Doctor Chantry shuffled over the clean oak floor and
introduced me to my appointments. There were curtains like frost work,
which could be pushed back from the square panes. At one end of the huge
apartment was my huge bed, formidable with hangings. Near it stood a
table for the toilet. He opened a closet door in the wall and showed a
spiral staircase going down to a tunnel which led to the lake. For when
De Chaumont first came into the wilderness and built the central house
without its wings, he thought it well to have a secret way out, as his
chateau in the old country had.

"The tunnel is damp," said Doctor Chantry. "I never venture into it,
though all the corner rooms below give upon this stairway, and mine is
just under yours."

It was like returning me the lake to use in my own accustomed way. For
the remainder of my furniture I had a study table, a cupboard for
clothes, some arm-chairs, a case of books, and a massive fireplace with
chimney seats at the end of the room opposite the bed.

I asked Doctor Chantry, "Was all this made ready for me before I was
sure of coming here?"

"When the count decides that a thing will be done it is usually done,"
said my schoolmaster. "And Madame de Ferrier was very active in
forwarding the preparations."

The joy of youth in the unknown was before me. My old camp life receded
behind me.

Madame de Ferrier's missal-book lay on the table, and when I stopped
before it tongue-tied, Doctor Chantry said I was t