He thought that he was successful in this attempt.

Poor Dick Varley! as yet he was sadly ignorant of human nature.

Henri knew it, and Joe Blunt knew it.

Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong with his master, although he could not exactly make out what it was.
But Crusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory.

He jotted down the peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care and minute exactness of a physician, and, we doubt not, ultimately added the knowledge of the symptoms of home-sickness to his already well-filled stores of erudition.
It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that Dick Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the beautiful prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and galloped over the greensward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick ventured to tell Joe Blunt what his feelings had been.
"D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steed after a sharp gallop--"d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for some time past." "I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which there was a dash of something that implied he knew more than he chose to express.
Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could have bin.