t lay in the hollow of her arm. She never let go this
thought and only hesitated before voicing it to Truedale because she
feared he could not understand and might cruelly misunderstand. Life was
hard enough and difficult enough for them both just then, and often,
coming into the quiet home at the day's end, Lynda would say, to cheer
her faint heart:

"Oh, well, it's really like coming to a hearth upon which the fire is
not yet kindled. But, thank heaven! it is a clean hearth, not cluttered
with ashes--it is ready for the fire."

But was it? More and more as the time went on and Truedale kept his
faith and walked his way near hers--oh! they were thankful for that--but
still apart, Lynda wondered. It was all so futile, so utterly selfish
and childish--yet neither spoke. Then suddenly came the big thing that
drove them together and swept aside all the barrier of rubbish they had
erected. Like many great and portentous things it seemed very like the
still, small voice in the burning bush--the tiny star in the black
night.

Truedale had had an enlightening conversation with McPherson in the
afternoon. The old doctor was really a soft-hearted sentimentalist and
occasionally he laid himself bare to the eye of some trustworthy friend.
This time it was Truedale.

Up and down the plain, businesslike office McPherson was tramping when
Conning was announced.

"Oh! come in, come in!" called McPherson. "You can better understand
this than some. I've had a devil of a day. One confounded thing after
another to take the soul out of me. And now this letter from old Jim
White!"

Conning started. It had now been years since Pine Cone had touched his
thought sharply.

"What's the matter with White?" he asked.

"Look out of the window!"

Truedale did so, and into the wall-like snow which had been falling all
day.

"They've been having that in the mountains for weeks. Trails blotted
out, folk hiding like beasts, and that good old chap, White, took this
time to break his leg. There he lay for a whole week, damn it all! Two
of his dogs died--he, himself, almost starved. Managed to crawl to the
food while there was any, and then some one ploughed through to get Jim
to organize a hanging or some other trifling thing, and found him! Good
Lord, Truedale, what they need down there is roads! roads! Roads over
which folk can travel to one another and become human. That's all the
world needs anyway!" Here McPherson stopped in front of Tr