se tales of things they could
not realize or understand, for they could make little out of them, since
the man was often hard pushed for words, using a good many from his own
tongue.

"Why don't you go back to your own country?" asked Miss Jelliffe, very
softly.

But he made no answer, pretending not to have heard her question. For an
instant she looked at him, then turned her head away. I also saw that a
strange moisture had gathered in the big man's eyes, lighted as they were
by the flames into which he peered, as if seeking in them lost things
that were past redeeming.

For some time we all remained very silent, as if oppressed by the awe of
these tales, and I had to take a desperate measure to change the trend of
thought. In a low voice I began to sing a lilting Irish melody with a
sweet refrain in which Miss Jelliffe joined, soon followed by Sammy's
deep tones and Susie's shrill ones, while Frenchy began to keep time with
a blackened pot-stick.

So it was only a few minutes before cheerful thoughts returned to us, as
the darkness deepened and the stars glittered, clear and close at hand.
Then we finally said good-night and Miss Jelliffe sought her tent,
attended by Susie.

We men went away to our lean-to, and talked a little longer before
stretching out for a sound night's sleep. And it seemed but a few
instants before we were up again, with the sunlight beginning to stream
over the distant hillocks towards the sea that was now hidden from us. I
took my rod to the outlet, where trout were rising, and returned soon to
find that coffee was being made while the men were cutting bacon and
chopping more wood.

Then Susie came to us, wanting some hot water and hurriedly returning to
the tent. Finally the flaps were turned aside and the young woman came
out, rosy of cheek and bright-eyed. Susie had a small fire before her
tent, and Miss Jelliffe held her hands before it for a moment. When she
came towards us I was kneeling on a small rock at the water's edge,
cleaning trout, while Frenchy was scraping away at the caribou head, the
scalp of which hung over a pole, to dry a little after a good salting.
Sammy was smiting away at an old pine log for more firewood.

"Good morning," she cried. "It is a perfect shame that you allowed me to
sleep so long. Oh! The beautiful trout! Where did you get them?"

I explained my capture, and told her that a few moments had been enough
to secure all that were needed for all hands