drew a small table near to the stove, laid upon
it a very large desk made by himself of pine-wood, and, placing a sheet
of paper thereon, began to write.

The sheet of paper merits notice. Like the man who wrote, it was
extremely large, being several sizes bigger than foolscap, and very
loosely ruled. As I have said, communication with the outer world being
possible only twice in the year, our Highlander resolved, as usual, to
make the most of his opportunities. Hence he not only used the largest
paper which the company provided, but filled up several such sheets with
the smallest possible writing, so that Jessie might ultimately get
something worth having. It is but justice to add that Macnab wrote not
only a very small but a remarkably clear and legible hand--a virtue
which I earnestly commend to correspondents in general, to those of them
at least who wish their epistles to meet with thorough appreciation.

It was late when our solitaire completed that evening's addition to his
already voluminous letter, and he was thinking about going to bed when a
stamping in the porch outside announced that a visitor was clearing the
snow from his moccasins.

"One o' the men forgot something, I fancy," muttered Macnab to himself.

The latch was lifted, for locks were not deemed necessary in those
regions, and the door opening slowly disclosed the copper-hued visage
and tall bony figure of a very powerful and handsome native of the
soil--perhaps I should rather say--of the snow!

"Hallo! hey! come in," shouted Macnab, giving way to a gush of his
pent-up social feelings; "why it's good for sore eyes to see a new face,
even a red one. What cheer? what cheer? Where d'ye hail from? Come
in, come in, and welcome!"

The hearty Highlander spoke the Indian tongue fluently, but in the
excitement of his feelings mingled it with a good deal of English and an
occasional growl of expressive Gaelic.

The Indian, whose horned cap and person were well powdered with snow,
stepped slowly over the threshold, extending his hand to the
Highlander's grasp, and looking cautiously round with rolling black
eyes, as if he half expected a dynamite explosion to follow his
entrance. His garments bore evidence of rough usage. Holes in his
moccasins permitted portions of the duffle socks underneath to wander
out. Knots on his snow-shoe lines and netting told of a long rough
journey, and the soiled, greasy condition of his leathern capote spoke