er chance, she continually daubed his
nose and cheeks with the yellow smear. Blanche had twisted about from
the stove to see the fun, and Del Bishop, with a mug at rest half-way
to his lips, was applauding the successive strokes. The faces of all
were flushed.

Vance leaned nervelessly against the door. The whole situation seemed
so unthinkably impossible. An insane desire to laugh came over him,
which resolved itself into a coughing fit. But Frona, realizing her
own pressing need by the growing absence of sensation in her feet,
stepped forward.

"Hello, Del!" she called.

The mirth froze on his face at the familiar sound and he slowly and
unwilling turned his head to meet her. She had slipped the hood of her
parka back, and her face, outlined against the dark fur, rosy with the
cold and bright, was like a shaft of the sun shot into the murk of a
boozing-ken. They all knew her, for who did not know Jacob Welse's
daughter? The Virgin dropped the mustard-spoon with a startled shriek,
while Cornell, passing a dazed hand across his yellow markings and
consummating the general smear, collapsed on the nearest stool.
Cariboo Blanche alone retained her self-possession, and laughed softly.

Bishop managed to articulate "Hello!" but was unable to stave off the
silence which settled down.

Frona waited a second, and then said, "Good-evening, all."

"This way." Vance had recovered himself, and seated her by the stove
opposite Blanche. "Better get your things off quickly, and be careful
of the heat. I'll see what I can find for you."

"Some cold water, please," she asked. "It will take the frost out.
Del will get it."

"I hope it is not serious?"

"No." She shook her head and smiled up to him, at the same time
working away at her ice-coated moccasins. "There hasn't been time for
more than surface-freezing. At the worst the skin will peel off."

An unearthly silence brooded in the cabin, broken only by Bishop
filling a basin from the water-bucket, and by Corliss seeking out his
smallest and daintiest house-moccasins and his warmest socks.

Frona, rubbing her feet vigorously, paused and looked up. "Don't let
me chill the festivities just because I'm cold," she laughed. "Please
go on."

Jake Cornell straightened up and cleared his throat inanely, and the
Virgin looked over-dignified; but Blanche came over and took the towel
out of Frona's hands.

"I wet my feet in the same place," she said, kneeling do