Clown, I've seen him many a time doing odd jobs for some
poor fellow that couldn't help himself. I've seen him, too, after a
hard month's chopping in the lumber woods working for Pat Morrison,
come into Pat's hotel and pay the whole of his month's wages out in
treat to a lot of lumber jacks he'd meet maybe Saturday night, and
knew maybe he'd never see again by Monday morning."

"And yet you tell me they are both poor."

"Poor isn't the word for it. Why, I've seen Freme when he's been broke
so he didn't have the price of a glass of beer at Pat's, build a dog
house for some of the children, or help the hired girl by stacking a
pile of wood handy for her."

It was a new doctrine for the banker--one he had never been accustomed
to; and yet when he thought it over, and recalled the look in the old
trapper's face and the hearty humour and independence of the Clown, he
felt instantly that Holcomb was right. Something else must be done
for them--but not money. For some moments he sat gazing into the weird
stillness, then he asked in one of his restful tones:

"Billy--who owns this place?"

"You mean the shanty?"

"I mean as far as we can see."

"Well," answered Holcomb, "as far as we can see is a good ways.
Morrison owns part of it--that is from the South Branch down to
the State Road, and--let's see--after that there's a couple of lots
belonging to some parties in Albany; then, as soon as you get across
above the big falls it is all state land clear to Bear Brook--yes,
clear to the old military road, in fact."

"Are there any ponds?" asked Thayer.

"Yes--four," replied Holcomb. "Lily Pond, and little Moose and Still
Water and--"

"I see," interrupted Thayor.

"Why do you ask?" inquired Holcomb, wondering at the drift of Thayor's
inquiry.

"Oh, nothing. That is, nothing now. How many acres do you think it all
covers?"

"I should say about fifteen thousand," replied Holcomb.

"Only fifteen thousand, eh?"

For an instant he paused and looked out over the sweep of forest,
with the gaunt trees standing like sentinels. Then he raised his hands
above his head and in a half-audible voice murmured:

"My God, what freedom! I'll turn in now if you don't mind, Billy."

And so ended the banker's first day in the wilderness.

CHAPTER FIVE

All through the night that followed Sam Thayor slept soundly on his
spring bed of fragrant balsam, oblivious to the Clown's snoring or the
snapping logs burning briskly i