le money to Helen, to help out with the
expenses. Now he postponed his three bi-weekly schools for one week and
made his first and only trip to New York--the journey of a lifetime.
Perhaps he had at first hoped that he might meet her and be welcomed. If
so, he changed his mind on reaching the metropolis. Aware of his
uncouthness, he resolved not to shame her by claiming recognition. But
he went three times to hear her sing, first in Aida, then in Faust, and
afterwards in Les Huguenots; heard her magic notes, saw her in all her
queenly beauty--but saw her from the shelter of a pillar in the rear of
the great opera house. On the fifth day he returned home as quietly as
he had gone.

Perhaps a month after he came back, while driving to one of his singing
schools on a bitter night in February, he took a severe cold. For lack
of any proper care at his little lonesome, chilly house, his cold a day
or two later turned into pneumonia, and from that he died.

The savings bank took the house and the musical instruments. The piano,
the organ, the old violin and other things were sold at auction. And
probably Helen Thomas, whose brilliant career he had made possible,
never heard anything about the circumstances of his death.

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN WE HUNTED THE STRIPED CATAMOUNT

The following week Tom Edwards and I had a somewhat exciting adventure
which, however, by no means covered us with glory. During the previous
winter and, indeed, for several winters before that, there had been
rumors current of a strange, fierce animal which came down, from the
"great woods" to devour dead lambs that were cast forth from the
farmers' barns in February and March.

At that time nearly every farmer in the vicinity kept a flock of from
fifty to a hundred sheep. During the warm season the animals got their
own living in the back pastures; in winter they were fed on nothing
better than hay. The animals usually came out in the spring thin and
weak, with the ewes in poor condition to raise their lambs. In
consequence, many of the lambs died soon after birth, and were thrown
out on the snow for the crows and wild animals to dispose of.

The old Squire had begun to feed corn to his flock during the latter
part of the winter, and urged his neighbors to do so; but many of them
did not have the corn and preferred to let nature take its course.

The mysterious animal that the boys were talking about seemed to have
formed the habit of visit