eriously with Mr. and Mrs.
Duncan, and, when saying good-bye, would always shake his head solemnly,
and say, "I'll come no more until my Pony and Partridge come home." But
the following Sunday saw him back again, and the first day of vacation
was not hailed with greater delight by the boys than by their old friend
Peter. The nearest railway station was eleven miles distant, but rain or
shine, blood-heat or zero, Peter always hitched up his own team and set
out hours too early to meet the train. On arriving at the station, he
would tie up his horses and sit smoking his black stone pipe for a long
time. The distant whistle of the incoming train alone aroused him from
rapt thought, and presently his dark old face was beaming on his boys,
who always surprised him by having grown greatly during the term, and
who made as much fuss and hilarious welcome over him as if Mr. Duncan
himself had come to drive them home. So this delightful comradeship went
on, year in, year out. The boys spent every day of their holidays in the
woods or on the river with Peter. He taught them a thousand things few
white boys have the privilege of learning. They could hollow canoes,
shape paddles, make arrows and "feather" them, season bows, distinguish
poisonous plants from harmless ones, foretell the wind and the weather,
the various moons, and the habits of game and fish, and they knew every
tale and superstition on the reserve.

One day, just before the Christmas holidays old Peter appeared at the
parsonage. Mrs. Duncan herself opened the door, smiling, sweet and a
little younger-looking than when he had seen her the previous Sunday.

"Come in! Come in, Peter!" she cried, brightly. "We're all in a turmoil,
but happy as kittens! Tom and Jerry are coming to-morrow, and bringing
two friends with them, nice boys from Jamaica, who are too far away from
their home to return for Christmas. They've never seen snow in their
lives until this winter, and we must all try to give the little fellows
a good time, Peter. I'm busy already with extra cooking. Boys must eat,
mustn't they?"

"Yes, Mis' Duncan," answered the old man, slowly, "and these snow-seers
will eat double in the north country. Yes, I'll go and fetch them with
my big lumber sleigh, and take plenty of buffalo robes and wolf skins to
keep these children of the sun warm."

Mrs. Duncan smiled. She could already hear Peter nicknaming the little
chaps from Jamaica "The Snow-Seer" and "The Sun Chil