Silas Strong once wrote in his old memorandum-book these words: "Strong says to himself seems so the world was goin' to be peeled an' hollered out an' weighed an' measured an' sold till it's all et up like an apple."

On the smooth shore of the river below Raquette Falls, and within twenty rods of his great mill, lived a man of the name of Gordon with two motherless children. Pity about him! Married a daughter of "Bill" Strong up in the woods—an excellent woman—made money and wasted it and went far to the bad. Good fellow, drink, poker, and so on down the hill! His wife died leaving two children—blue-eyed little people with curly, flaxen hair—a boy of four a girl of nearly three years. The boy's full name was John Socksmith Gordon—reduced in familiar parlance to Socky. The girl was baptized Susan Bradbury Gordon, but was called Sue.

Their Uncle Silas Strong came to the funeral of their mother. He had travelled more than eighty miles in twenty-four-hours, his boat now above and now beneath him. He brought his dog and rifle, and wore a great steel watch-chain and a pair of moccasins w with fringe on the sides, and a wolf-skin jacket. He carried the children on his shoulders and tossed them in the air, while his great size and odd attire seemed to lay hold of their spirits.

As time passed, a halo of romantic splendor gathered about this uncle's memory. One day Socky heard him referred to as the "Emperor of the Woods." He was not long finding out that an emperor was a very grand person who wore gold on his head and shoulders and rode a fine horse and was always ready for a fight. So their ideal gathered power and richness, one might say, the longer he lived in their fancy. They loved their father, but as a hero he had not been a great success. There was a time when both had entertained some hope for him, but as they saw how frequently he grew "tired" they gave their devotion more and more to this beloved memory. Their uncle's home was remote from theirs, and so his power over them had never been broken by familiarity.

Socky and Sue told their young friends all they had been able to learn of their Uncle Silas, and, being pressed for more knowledge, had recourse to invention. Stories which their father had told grew into wonder-tales of the riches, the strength, the splendor, and the general destructive power of this great man. Sue, the first day she went to Sunday-school, when the minister inquired who slew a lion by the strength of his hands, confidently answered, "Uncle Silas."

There was one girl in the village who had an Uncle Phil with a fine air of authority and a wonderful watch and chain; there was yet another with an Uncle Henry, who enjoyed the distinction of having had the small-pox; there was a boy, also, who had an Uncle Reuben with a wooden leg and a remarkable history, and a wen beside his nose with a wart on the same. But these were familiar figures, and while each had merits of no low degree, their advocates were soon put to shame by the charms of that mysterious and remote Uncle Silas.

There was a little nook in the lumber-yard where children used to meet every Saturday for play and free discussion. There, now and then, some new-comer entered an uncle in the competition. There, always, a primitive pride of blood asserted itself in the remote descendants, shall we say, of many an ancient lord and chieftain. One day—Sue was then five and Socky six years of age—Lizzie Cornell put a cousin on exhibit in this little theatre of childhood. He was a boy with red hair and superior invention from out of town. He stood near Lizzie—a deep and designing miss—and said not a word, until Sue began about her Uncle Silas.

It was a new tale of that remarkable hunter which her father had related the night before while she lay waiting for the sandman. She told how her uncle had seen a panther one day when he was travelling without a gun. His dog chased the panther and soon drove him up a tree. Now, it seemed, the only thing in the nature of a weapon the hunter had