It was with great reluctance that Dick left the house, with Nance standing in the doorway, and swung off down the trail, which ran along the shore of the lake. Several times he turned and waved his hand to the young woman, until a bend in the trail hid her from view.
"She's certainly a fine one," Tom remarked, as he trudged along by Dick's side. "It's a great mystery to me; it really is."
"What's a mystery, Tom?" and Dick glanced inquiringly at his companion.
"Why, you know, pard, as well as I do. I can't savvey why that man should be livin' here all of these years with that beautiful daughter of his. It isn't natural that any one should bury himself like that in sich a wilderness as this."
"You're right, Tom," Dick reflected. "He's an educated man, too, which makes it all the more mysterious. His books plainly show that. He speaks well, and he has taught Nance to play the violin splendidly."
"I felt like askin' him about his life when we were sittin' before the fire last night. But he acted so queer at times that I thought it best not to do so. Did ye notice how he left us so suddenly, an' when he came back he sat glum an' silent in the corner?"
"I did, Tom."
"Now, what would ye make out of that, eh?"
"Nothing. Perhaps it was only his manner. Living so long in the wild is enough to make any one odd, don't you think so?"
"It may be as ye say, pard, though it doesn't altogether fill the bill. Now, why should a man with a fine edication want to live in sich a place as this fer so many years? If it was gold he was after I could somewhat savvey it. But he doesn't seem to care anything about the strike. He hasn't even staked a claim. There's a mystery somewhere in the background, that's certain."