“Yes, I’ll go home with yer, Jim! I shore I’m sick fur a sight o’ my leetle gal. Lina’s baby too–I’d be ther biggest fool in all Maine, not ter give in, arter yer kim up hyar, riskin’ yer ears ter tell me thet! We’ll jest try an’ furgit what’s gone by, Jim, an’ start fresh. An’ yer kin help me raise my foxes fur ther company thet’s hired me fur five years ter run ther farm.”
That was what Old Cale was saying as he pumped the hand of the delighted and grinning Jim. And Thad was glad he was there to witness this joyous reconciliation.
The fire had passed, and left them safe. Jim, when he could do so, made his way back to the cabin; and on his return announced that it was only a blackened ruin. Whereupon Old Cale sighed, and then seemed to look forward to a new home, in which there would be an abundance of sunshine, because Little Lina, and Caleb, the boy who was named after him, would reign there.
They managed to spend the night somehow, and in the morning started back to the camp on the border of the lake; though after leaving the region where the fire had swept, they found the snow quite deep, and the going bad. But apparently the coming of the storm had extinguished the last lingering flames, so that the saving to the state of Maine was beyond computation.
Arriving at the camp, Thad found the boys getting uneasy about him, and Eli about to start out to see if he could get trace of the absent ones. They understood that the distant fire, which had not come near them, must have been in the neighborhood of Old Cale’s cabin, as described by Jim; and it was this that made them worry. But it was all right now, and they received the wanderers with hearty shouts.
The story, upon being told by Thad, evoked renewed cheering, especially for the old poacher who had reformed, and was now going to show what he could do in a line that appealed to him especially, since he knew all about the woods’ animals.
Just as Thad had said while Cale was feeling his burns, and the bump on his head, he declared that nothing serious was the matter with him; and that even if there had been, the glorious news that Jim had brought, at such risk to himself, would have cured him effectually.
“Well,” said Giraffe, as they gathered around the supper that evening; “This is our last camp in Maine, seems like; for to-morrow Thad says we start for the railroad station at Eagle Lake, through Lake Winthrop; and soon we’ll be booming along for home.”
“That sounds good to me, fellers,” spoke up Bumpus. “Always did like my home pretty well, and it never seems half so nice as when you’re away, trying to make out you’re having a bunkum time sleeping on the hard ground, with roots diggin’ holes in your sides; and all sorts of creepers crawlin’ over your face. Home, sweet, sweet home for me, just now!”
“But just remember that you owe us all a treat, Bumpus,” spoke up Davy Jones.