and Richard and Douglas followed.

When Bob stepped ashore his mother clasped him to her arms and wept
over him and fondled him, and he, taller by an inch than when he left
her, bronzed and weather-beaten and ragged, drew her close to him and
hugged her again and again, and stroked her hair, and cried too, while
Richard and Douglas stood by, blowing their noses on their red bandana
handkerchiefs and trying to took very self-composed.

When his mother let him go Bob greeted the others, forgetting himself
so far as to kiss Bessie, who blushed and did not resent his boldness.

Emily simply would not let him go. She held him tight to her, and
called him her "big, brave brother," and said many times:

"I were knowin' you'd come back to us, Bob. I were just _knowin'_
you'd come back."

An hour passed in a babble of talk and exchange of explanations almost
before they were aware, and then Mrs. Gray suddenly realized that Bob
had had no dinner.

"Now un must be rare hungry, Bob," she explained. "Richard, carry
Emily in with un now, an' we'll have a cup o' tea wi' Bob, while he
has his dinner."

"Let me carry un," said Bob, gathering Emily into his arms.

In the house they were all so busy talking and laughing, while Mrs.
Gray prepared the meal for Bob, that no one noticed a boat pull into
the bight and three men land upon the beach below the cabin; and so,
just as they were about to sit down to the table, they were taken
completely by surprise when the door opened and in walked Dick Blake,
Ed Matheson and Bill Campbell.

The three stopped short in open-mouthed astonishment.

"'Tis Bob's ghost!" finally exclaimed Ed.

They were soon convinced, however, that Bob's hand grasp was much more
real than that of any ghost, and the greetings that followed were
uproarious.

Nearly the whole afternoon they sat around the table while Bob told
the story of his adventures. A comparison of experiences made it
quite certain that the remains they had supposed to have been Bob's
were the remains of Micmac John and the mystery of the half-breed's
failure to return to the tilt for the pelts he had stolen was
therefore cleared up.

"An' th' Nascaupees," said Bob, "be not fearsome murderous folk as we
was thinkin' un, but like other folks, an' un took rare fine care o'
me. I'm thinkin' they'd not be hurtin' white folks an' white folk
don't hurt _they_."

Finally the men sat back from the table for a smoke and chat while the
dishes