"H'm!" responded Charley in a long-drawn falsetto whine.

Yet somehow the men came to know each other better and better; and
each felt that in an emergency he could depend on the other to the
uttermost in spite of the difference in race.

As for Phil, he was like some strange, shy animal, retaining all
its wild instincts, but led by affection to become domestic. He
drew the water, cut the wood, none better. In the evening he
played atrociously his violin,--none worse--,bending his great white
brow forward with the wolf-glare in his eyes, swaying his shoulders
with a fierce delight in the subtle dissonances, the swaggering
exactitude of time, the vulgar rendition of the horrible tunes he
played. And often he went into the forest and gazed wondering
through his liquid poet's eyes at occult things. Above all, he
worshipped Thorpe. And in turn the lumberman accorded him a
good-natured affection. He was as indispensable to Camp One as
the beagles.

And the beagles were most indispensable. No one could have got
along without them. In the course of events and natural selection
they had increased to eleven. At night they slept in the men's camp
underneath or very near the stove. By daylight in the morning they
were clamoring at the door. Never had they caught a hare. Never
for a moment did their hopes sink. The men used sometimes to amuse
themselves by refusing the requested exit. The little dogs agonized.
They leaped and yelped, falling over each other like a tangle of
angleworms. Then finally, when the door at last flung wide, they
precipitated themselves eagerly and silently through the opening.
A few moments later a single yelp rose in the direction of the