er needle passed to and fro under her skilful hands. There was almost
feverish haste in its movements. So, too, the pages of Jessie's book
seemed to be turned all too frequently.

At last the mother's voice broke the silence.

"It's storming," she said.

"Yes, mother." Jessie had glanced up. But her eyes fell to her book
at once.

"But it--won't stop them any." The mother's words lacked conviction.
Then, as if she realized that this was so, she went on more firmly.
"But Murray drives hard on the trail. And Allan--it would need a
bigger storm than this to stop him. If the river had kept open they'd
have made better time." She sighed her regret for the ice.

"Yes, mother." Jessie again glanced up. This time her pretty eyes
observed her mother more closely. She noted the drawn lines about the
soft mouth, the deep indentation between the usually serene brows. She
sighed, and the pain at her own heart grew sharper.

Quite suddenly the mother raised her head and dropped her sewing in her
lap.

"Oh, child, child, I--I could cry at this--waiting," she cried in
desperate distress. "I'm scared! Oh, I'm scared to death. Scared as
I've never been before. But things--things can't have happened. I
tell you I won't believe that way. No--no! I won't. I won't. Oh,
why don't they get around? Why doesn't he come?"

The girl laid her book aside. Her movement was markedly calm. Then
she steadily regarded her troubled mother.

"Don't, mother, dear," she cried. "You mustn't. 'Deed you mustn't."
Her tone was a gentle but decided reproof. "We've figured it clear
out. All of us together. Father Jose and Alec, too. They're men, and
cleverer at that sort of thing than we are. Father Jose reckons the
least time Murray needs to get back in is three weeks. It's only three
days over. There's no sort of need to get scared for a week yet."

The reproof was well calculated. It was needed. So Jessie understood.
Jessie possessed all her mother's strength of character, and had in
addition the advantage of her youth.

Her mother was abashed at her own display of weakness. She was abashed
that it should be necessary for her own child to reprove her. She
hastily picked up her work again.

But Jessie had abandoned her reading for good. She leaned forward in
her chair, gazing meditatively at a glowing, red-hot spot on the side
of the stove.

Suddenly she voiced the train of thought which had held her occupied