As he approached the group, Dol, who was in the background,
gave a startled, yearning cry; but it was drowned in a loud burst from
his host.
"Why, Cyrus Garst!" exclaimed the latter, peering into the new-comer's
face. "How goes it, man? I never expected to see you here. Surely you
haven't come to grief in the woods? You look scared to death!"
Cyrus--for it was he--grasped the welcoming hand which the owner of this
camp extended to him. But his dark eyes did not linger a moment meeting
the other's. They turned hither and thither, flashing in all directions
restlessly, like search-lights.
"I'm glad to see you, Doc," he said. "I didn't know you were anywhere
near. But I'm half distracted just now. A youngster belonging to our
camp is missing. I've been scouring the forest for hours, and firing
signals, hoping he might hear them. But"--
Here Cyrus caught sight of Dol, who with a cry which in its changing
inflections was longing, penitent, joyful, was making towards him. The
Harvard student strode forward, and gripped the boy by his elbows.
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