id of the stove, emptied the bucket
into it, and went out of the tent after more water. As his back
disappeared, Frona dived for her satchel, and when he returned a moment
later he found her with a dry skirt on and wringing the wet one out.
While he fished about in the grub-box for dishes and eating utensils,
she stretched a spare bit of rope between the tent-poles and hung the
skirt on it to dry. The dishes were dirty, and, as he bent over and
washed them, she turned her back and deftly changed her stockings. Her
childhood had taught her the value of well-cared feet for the trail.
She put her wet shoes on a pile of wood at the back of the stove,
substituting for them a pair of soft and dainty house-moccasins of
Indian make. The fire had now grown strong, and she was content to let
her under-garments dry on her body.

During all this time neither had spoken a word. Not only had the man
remained silent, but he went about his work in so preoccupied a way
that it seemed to Frona that he turned a deaf ear to the words of
explanation she would have liked to utter. His whole bearing conveyed
the impression that it was the most ordinary thing under the sun for a
young woman to come in out of the storm and night and partake of his
hospitality. In one way, she liked this; but in so far as she did not
comprehend it, she was troubled. She had a perception of a something
being taken for granted which she did not understand. Once or twice
she moistened her lips to speak, but he appeared so oblivious of her
presence that she withheld.

After opening a can of corned beef with the axe, he fried half a dozen
thick slices of bacon, set the frying-pan back, and boiled the coffee.
From the grub-box he resurrected the half of a cold heavy flapjack. He
looked at it dubiously, and shot a quick glance at her. Then he threw
the sodden thing out of doors and dumped the contents of a sea-biscuit
bag upon a camp cloth. The sea-biscuit had been crumbled into chips
and fragments and generously soaked by the rain till it had become a
mushy, pulpy mass of dirty white.

"It's all I have in the way of bread," he muttered; "but sit down and
we will make the best of it."

"One moment--" And before he could protest, Frona had poured the
sea-biscuit into the frying-pan on top of the grease and bacon. To
this she added a couple of cups of water and stirred briskly over the
fire. When it had sobbed and sighed with the heat for some few
min