aby way.

Half the honors of receiving the groups and showing off the quaint
little Skeezucks were assumed by Keno, with a grace that might have
been easy had he not been obliged to pull down his shirt-sleeves with
such exasperating frequency.

But Jim was the hero of the hour, as he very well knew. Time after
time, and ever with thrilling new detail and added incident, he
recounted the story of his find, gradually robbing even Tintoretto, the
pup, of such of the glory as he really had earned.

The pup, however, was recklessly indifferent. He could pile up fresh
glories every minute by bowling the little pilgrim on his back and
walking on his chest to lap his ear. This he proceeded to do, in his
clumsy way of being friendly, with a regularity only possible to an
enthusiast. And every time he did it anew, either Keno or Jim or a
visitor would shy something at him and call him names. This, however,
only served to incite him to livelier antics of licking everybody's
face, wagging himself against the furniture, and dragging the various
bombarding missiles between the legs of all the company.

There were men, who apparently had nothing else to do, who returned to
the cabin on the hill with every new visiting deputation. A series of
ownership in and familiarity with the grave little chap and his story
came upon them rapidly. Field, the father of Borealis, was the most
assiduous guide the camp afforded. By afternoon he knew more about the
child than even Jim himself.

For his part, the lanky Jim sat on a stool, looking wiser than Solomon
and Moses rolled in one, and greeted his wondering acquaintances with a
calm and dignity that his oneness in the great event was magnifying
hourly. That such an achievement as finding a lost little pilgrim in
the wilderness might be expected of his genius every day was firmly
impressed upon himself, if not on all who came.

"Speakin' of catfish, Jim thinks he's hoein' some potatoes." said Field
to a group of his friends. "If one of us real live spirits of Borealis
had bin in his place, it's ten to one we'd 'a' found a pair of twins."

All the remainder of the day, and even after dinner, and up to eight
o'clock in the evening, the new arrivals, or the old ones over again,
made the cabin on the hill their Mecca.

"Shut the door, Keno, and sit outside, and tell any more that come
along, the show is over for the day," instructed Jim, at last. "The
boy is goin' to bed."

"Did