XXXIII
A GREAT CATASTROPHE
During the next fortnight or so the association between Dunbar and the boys was intimate and constant. When it rained, so that outdoor expeditions were not inviting, he toiled diligently at his writing and drawing, keeping up an interesting conversation in the meanwhile on all manner of subjects. In the evenings especially the talk around the fire was entertaining to the boys and Dunbar seemed to enjoy it as much as they. He was fond of “drawing them out” and listening to such revelations of personal character and capacity as their unrestrained discussions gave.
On fine days he made himself one of them, joining heartily in every task and enthusiastically sharing every sport afloat or afield. He was a good, strong oarsman and he could sail a boat as well as even Dick could. In hunting, his woodcraft was wonderfully ingenious, and among other things he taught the boys a dozen ways of securing game by trapping and snaring.
“You see,” he explained, “one is liable sometimes to be caught in the woods without his gun or without ammunition, and when that happens it is handy to know how to get game enough to eat in other ways than by shooting.”
During all this time he had no more of his strange moods. He never once fell into the peculiar slumber the boys had observed before, and he never absented himself from the company. Indeed, his enjoyment of human association seemed to be more than ordinarily keen.
Little by little his comrades let the memory of his former eccentricity fade out of their minds, or if they thought of it at all they dismissed it as a thing of no significance, due, doubtless, to habitual living in solitude.