wn and bringing
a glow to the frosted feet.

"I suppose you can manage some sort of a fit with them. Here!" Vance
tossed over the house-moccasins and woollen wrappings, which the two
women, with low laughs and confidential undertones, proceeded to
utilize.

"But what in the world were you doing on trail, alone, at this time of
night?" Vance asked. In his heart he was marvelling at the coolness
and pluck with which she was carrying off the situation.

"I know beforehand that you will censure me," she replied, helping
Blanche arrange the wet gear over the fire. "I was at Mrs. Stanton's;
but first, you must know, Miss Mortimer and I are staying at the
Pently's for a week. Now, to start fresh again. I intended to leave
Mrs. Stanton's before dark; but her baby got into the kerosene, her
husband had gone down to Dawson, and--well, we weren't sure of the baby
up to half an hour ago. She wouldn't hear of me returning alone; but
there was nothing to fear; only I had not expected soft ice in such a
snap."

"How'd you fix the kid?" Del asked, intent on keeping the talk going
now that it had started.

"Chewing tobacco." And when the laughter had subsided, she went on:
"There wasn't any mustard, and it was the best I could think of.
Besides, Matt McCarthy saved my life with it once, down at Dyea when I
had the croup. But you were singing when I came in," she suggested.
"Do go on."

Jake Cornell hawed prodigiously. "And I got done."

"Then you, Del. Sing 'Flying Cloud' as you used to coming down the
river."

"Oh, 'e 'as!" said the Virgin.

"Then you sing. I am sure you do."

She smiled into the Virgin's eyes, and that lady delivered herself of a
coster ballad with more art than she was aware. The chill of Frona's
advent was quickly dissipated, and song and toast and merriment went
round again. Nor was Frona above touching lips to the jelly glass in
fellowship; and she contributed her quota by singing "Annie Laurie" and
"Ben Bolt." Also, but privily, she watched the drink saturating the
besotted souls of Cornell and the Virgin. It was an experience, and
she was glad of it, though sorry in a way for Corliss, who played the
host lamely.

But he had little need of pity. "Any other woman--" he said to
himself a score of times, looking at Frona and trying to picture
numerous women he had known by his mother's teapot, knocking at the
door and coming in as Frona had done. Then, again, it was only
yesterday