happiness--the happiness that comes
from fulfilment of longing.

She refolded the paper in its wrapping with trembling fingers, and then
stood, gazing with wide, unseeing eyes at the rustling trees. For the
first time she realised what Dick's struggle must have been, realised
also what was his passionate love of freedom. She felt the tears wet
on her cheeks--tender, forgiving tears--and her heart was full of
thankfulness to think she was not forgotten. But he had said nothing
of coming back, though in her great relief she scarcely noticed it.

She pictured his probable surroundings when that letter was written;
until she almost fancied she could see him sitting beside a little
fire, apart from Peter Many-Names, scrawling those hurried words of
affection and penitence and boyish delight; and then wrapping them in
birch-bark and consigning them to the care of the half-savage trapper,
who had thus, after many days, given them into her hands.

It was a very boyish note, and she smiled half sadly to think that he
who had written it was actually a little older than herself. He seemed
to realise so little the deeper meaning of his action, and evidently
regarded it as a child might regard a delightful but naughty escape
from school. For a time, she saw freedom and the forests held his
heart. "But he loves me, and he will come back, for we have no one but
each other."

She showed the letter to the good farmer and his wife, her joy shining
in her dark eyes. "It came to me from the woods," she cried almost
merrily; "a trapper came out of the woods and handed it to me like a
messenger in a fairy-story. Dick is safe and well, you see, and he
does not forget. I can think of nothing but that now!"

The farmer raised his eyes from the fragrant screed of birch-bark.
"No, lassie," he said tenderly, "he does not forget." Then he fell
silent, reading and re-reading the boyish scrawl, while Mrs. Collinson
watched him with secret uneasiness.

He was almost especially gentle to the girl that evening; but as soon
as possible he drew his wife aside, and spoke to her in his gruff
whisper. "We must keep up Steenie's heart," he said, "but it's my
opinion, Mrs. C., that the boy won't be back for many a long day."

"We must not let Stephanie think that," echoed his wife sadly.

But they need not have troubled. Stephanie was confident. Dick did
not forget her, and she could trust his welfare to a greater love than
her own.

S