ket over our carpet of pine-brush. A bundle of the same
under the blanket formed a pretty good pillow. Wrapping myself tightly
round in another blanket (for physical heat evaporates quickly in the
frozen regions) I lay down. My friend lay down beside me, our feet
being towards the fire.

After a silent interval, while lying thus, gazing up through the
overhanging branches at the stars that twinkled in the clear frosty sky,
our thoughts became more serious. The grandeur of creation led us to
think and speak of the Creator--for we were like-minded friends, and no
subject was tabooed. We conversed freely about whatever chanced to
enter our minds--of things past, present, and to come. We spoke of God
the Saviour, of redemption and of sin. Then, with that discursive
tendency to which most minds are prone, we diverged to home and
civilised lands, contrasting these with life in the wild-woods of the
Great Nor'-west. After that we became sleepy, and our converse was more
discursive--at times even incoherent--in the midst of which Lumley
reverted to his unfinished exposition of grossness, and, in the
enthusiasm of his nature, was slowly working himself back into a wakeful
condition, when I put an abrupt end to the discourse by drawing a
prolonged snore. It was a deceptive snore, unworthy of success, yet it
succeeded.

My friend turned round and, with a contented sigh, went to sleep. After
a brief space the snore which had been a fiction became a reality, and
thus, on our bed of snow, in the depths of an Arctic night, in the heart
of the frozen wilderness, and while the mighty fire burned slowly down,
we unitedly took our departure for the land of Nod.

CHAPTER TWO.

THE WINTER PACKET.

On returning next morning towards the outpost from our encampment in the
woods, Lumley and I made a discovery which excited us greatly. It was
nothing more than a track in the snow, but there was a revelation in the
track which sent the blood tingling through our veins.

It was not the track of a Polar bear. We should have been somewhat
surprised, no doubt, but not greatly excited by that. Neither was it
the track of a deer or an Arctic fox. It was only the track of a
sledge!

"Is that all?" exclaims the reader. No, that is not all. But, in order
that you may understand it better, let me explain.

Fort Dunregan, in which we dwelt, stood more than a thousand miles
distant from the utmost verge of civilised life in Cana