ure. Evidently the canvas was many years old. It was the portrait
of a fine, self-reliant looking young man in early manhood. His blue eyes
gazed confidently out from the picture and a smile of seeming
satisfaction quivered about his lips.

"I'll bet that's a fellow who has got on in the world," thought Roy to
himself as he scanned the capable, strong features.

"Ah," said the old man, observing the lad's interest in the painting,
"that picture is a relic of old, old days. It is a portrait of my brother
James. He----But I must tell you how I came to be in the sad condition in
which you found me. Have you a comfortable chair, miss? Yes, very well,
then I will tell you what happened this afternoon in this hut, and will
then relate to you something of my own story for I was not always a
hermit and an outcast."

CHAPTER XV.

THE HERMIT OF THE WOODS.

"My name is Peter Bell," began the old man, "and many years ago I was
like any other happy, care-free young man, who is the son of well-to-do
parents. I had a brother named James Bell, who was much younger than me.
We were very fond of each other and inseparable.

"Our home was on the Long Island coast and we often went boating. One day
when we were out in my boat a storm came up and she capsized. I tried to
save my brother who was a poor swimmer. But in the midst of my efforts
the bulwark of the wave-tossed boat struck my head and rendered me
insensible. It seems, however, I must have clung to the boat, for when I
came to myself I had almost been blown ashore, and, striking out, I soon
reached it.

"But to my horror I soon saw that people shunned me. In some way the
story got about that I had saved myself at the expense of my brother's
life. Such stories are always readily credited among the majority of
people in a small town and the tale spread like wildfire with
exaggerations. Driven half wild by the general contempt which I met on
every side I left home one night, and having a sum of money in my own
right I decided to live the life of a recluse.

"I recollected this spot to which I had come on hunting expeditions in
brighter days. Not long after, grief over my brother's death resulted in
my mother's life coming to a close, and shortly afterward my father's
demise occurred.

"They left but little, but I managed to secure that portrait of my
brother you see hanging up there and a few bits of favorite furniture
associated with happier times.

"I have lived