o feed the
insatiable fires. The woodland decimated, and the devastation was going
on in every direction.

About the houses there were others engaged in homely chores. There were
men, and women, too, clad heavily in the thick sheepskin clothing which
alone could defeat the fierce breath of winter. Here again was silence
and gloom, and even the children refrained from their accustomed
pastimes.

A tall, fur-clad figure was moving through the settlement. His feet were
encased in moccasins, and thick felt leggings reached up just below his
knees. For the rest his nether garments were loose fur trousers, and his
body was covered by a tunic reaching just below his middle, with a
capacious hood attached to it almost completely enveloping his head.

He moved slowly and without any seeming object. He passed along, and
paused when he encountered either man, woman, or child. With the men he
spoke longest. But the women claimed him, too. And generally he left
behind him a change of expression for the better in those with whom he
talked.

He paused beside a small party of elderly men. They were at work upon a
prone tree trunk of vast girth. They were cutting and splitting it,
fresh feed for the fires which must never be permitted to die down.

The men had ceased work on his approach. But they went on almost
immediately, all except one. He was a grizzled veteran, a man just past
middle life. His face was deeply lined, and a scrub of whisker protected
it from the cold. He had been seated on the log, but he stood up as the
tall man addressed him by name.

"You'll be there, Michael," he said, brushing the frost from his darkly
whiskered face, and breaking the icicles hanging from his fur hood where
it almost closed over his mouth.

The man's grey eyes were smiling as they looked into the wide black eyes
so mildly encouraging.

"Sure, Father," came his prompt reply. "We got to be ther' anyway. That
don't matter. But we're for your lead, an' we'll stand by it, sure.
There's going to be no sort of damn fool mistake this time."

The tall man nodded.

"There must be no mistake this time," he said keenly. "Say, how many
years is it since I sent you along here with a promise of good work and
better wages, and a square deal?"

"Nigh five years, Father."

"And you got all--those things?"

"Sure. More."

Father Adam nodded.

"And those are the things a man's entitled to. Just those," he said. "If
a man wants more it's up to