Wilfred opened the door.
Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching sight of the dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It seems to me the old man's orders are to go for little. But whilst the life is in me I am master in this place. Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring that pie in here, and give this child something to eat."
"With pleasure," returned his visitor.
Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well at each other.
"What sort are you?" was the question in both minds. They trusted, as we all do more or less, to the expression. A good honest character writes itself on the face. They shook hands.
"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy," said Uncle Caleb.
"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly recapitulating the circumstances which led to Wilfred's sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he sent him to the hunters' camp. "Since then," he added, "your nephew has been wandering among the Indians. It was a Cree who guided him home—the same Cree who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."
"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this Indian said," interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look gathering on his wrinkled brow.
"Not one word, uncle. Maxica did not speak," answered Wilfred. "He brought me three queer bits of wood from the hearth and stuck them in the floor before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to explain the way in which the warning had been given to him.
Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with the excitement of Wilfred's return, and the effort of talking to a stranger, he did not quite understand all Wilfred was saying.