He drew forth his small mariner’s compass and eagerly studied the dancing needle.
“That little finger ought to p’int to the north, but it don’t!” he added disgustedly, noting that the flickering bit of steel, instead of indicating the ornamented “N,” fixed upon the “SSW” almost opposite. He did not know that the needle is always “true to the Pole,” and that all he had to do was to shift the case around so as to make it correspond. It was beyond his comprehension.
His only recourse—if it should prove a recourse—was to call for help. Peering around among the shaggy columns of bark, without seeing the first sign of life, he shouted in the voice which, clear as the tone of a Stradivarius violin, penetrated farther than even he supposed among the forest arches:
“Hello!”
He was thrilled almost instantly by the welcome reply:
“Hello!”
CHAPTER III—The Hermit of the Woods
The reply to Mike’s hail was so prompt that he thought it was the echo of his own voice. He looked in the direction whence the answer came, and, seeing nothing to account for it, shouted:
“I obsarved ‘Hello!’ and I take it kindly that ye did the same,” and he added to himself: “Now, Mr. Echo, let me see what ye can do with them words.”
The response was unexpected and startling. Nothing was heard, but a man came into sight among the pines and walked with slow, steady step straight toward the astonished lad, his keen eyes fixed inquiringly upon the youth, as if uncertain of his nature.