thirty miles."

So Bessie bundled up nice and warm. Then Mary Matilda went out on the
porch and launched her two snow-shoes and got into them and harnessed
them to her tiny feet.

"Where are you going?" asked Eddie Martin, pausing in his work and
leaning his saw against a slab of green maple.

"I am going to take Bessie out for a short walk," replied Mary
Matilda.

"Are you not afraid to go alone?" said Eddie Martin. "You know the
musquashes are very thick, and this spell of winter weather has made
them very hungry and ferocious."

"No, I am not afraid of the musquashes," replied Mary Matilda. But
she _was_ afraid of them: only she did not want to tell Eddie
Martin so, for fear he would want to go with her. This was the first
and only wrong story Mary Matilda ever told.

Having grasped little Bessie by the hand, Mary Matilda stepped over
the fence and was soon lost to view. Scarcely had she gone when a
tall, thin, haggard looking young man came down the street and leaned
over the back gate.

"Can you tell me," he asked in weary tones, "whether the beautiful
Mary Matilda abides hereabouts?"

"She lives here," replied Eddie Martin, "but she has gone for a walk
with little Bessie."

"Whither did they drift?" queried the mysterious unknown.

"They started toward the Nashwaaksis," said Eddie Martin. "And I
sadly fear the deadly musquash will pursue them."

The stranger turned pale and trembled at the suggestion.

"Will you lend me your saw for a brief period?" he asked.

"Why?" inquired Eddie Martin.

"To rescue the fair Mary Matilda from the musquashes," replied the
stranger. Then he seized the saw, and with pale face started in the
direction Mary Matilda had gone.

Meanwhile Mary Matilda had crossed the Nashwaaksis and was speeding
in a southerly course toward the Nashwaak. The gentle breeze favored
her progress, and as she sailed along, the snow danced like frozen
feathers around her.

"Oh, how nice!" cried little Bessie.

"Yes, this clear, fresh, cold air gives one new life," said Mary
Matilda.

They now came to the Nashwaak, on the farther bank of which were
crouched a pack of hungry musquashes eagerly awaiting the approach of
Mary Matilda and little Bessie.

"Hush," whispered the old big musquash. "Make no noise or they will
hear us and make good their escape." But just then another musquash
carelessly trod