“I have not seen Hopwood for three or four days myself,” Scott said. “Do you suppose he has disappeared again?”
“It is hard to tell what he is up to. The last time I saw him he was coming up the road there, but when he saw me he slipped into the woods. It was not like him. He never avoided me before.”
Scott saw that there was nothing to be learned from Mr. Sanders and he rose to go. “Maybe he was just in a hurry and did not want to be delayed. He seems to be very busy on some scheme of his own.”
“Poor fellow!” the old man sighed, “a lot of good his schemes will ever do anybody, but I suppose it gives him something to do.”
Scott turned back from the gate. “Just what do you think of Hopwood, Mr. Sanders?”
Mr. Sanders looked at him with a little surprise. “I thought I told you about him. He has never been right since Foster hit him in the head years ago.”
“Yes, I know,” Scott interrupted. “You told me about that, but I have been wondering a good deal lately whether he is really as crazy as people think.”
Mr. Sanders shook his head sadly. “I wish you were right but there is no chance. I have known him too long.”
“Well, I think I’ll take a look for him, anyway. I like him, whatever he is.”
Scott crossed the valley and took the road up the other slope towards Sewall Wait’s cabin. There were several other cabins along the road and as Scott approached one of them he saw a man come out of the gate, stand uncertainly for a minute and go back. The funny part of it was that he thought he recognized Dick, the man who had been fired from the camp that morning, but the distance was too great to be sure of it, and when he passed the cabin there was no one in sight. There seldom was any one in sight at any of these cabins. The children all ran away and hid at the approach of a stranger. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of some one, peeping out of the corner of a window, but that was all. It always made him feel uneasy to go by one of them.