ght to the barracks and know why you are arrested,
or go, unknowing, as I bid you, and keep your word with the girl?"

Through Aleck's fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sang
before--

"Out from your vineland come
Into the prairies wild;
Here will we make our home,
Father, mother, and child."

He could have but one answer.

At the door of his home the Sergeant left him with the words, "Remember
you are on parole."

Aleck noticed as the Sergeant rode away that the face of the sky had
changed, and slight gusts of wind had come up. At any other time his
mind would have dwelt upon the fact. It did not do so now.

Christmas Day came. People said that the fiercest night, since the
blizzard day of 1863, had been passed. But the morning was clear and
beautiful. The sun came up like a great flower expanding. First the
yellow, then the purple, then the red, and then a mighty shield of
roses. The world was a blanket of drift, and down, and glistening
silver.

Mab Humphrey greeted her lover with such a smile as only springs to a
thankful woman's lips. He had given his word and had kept it; and the
path of the future seemed surer.

He was a prisoner on parole; still that did not depress him. Plans for
coming days were talked of, and the laughter of many voices filled
the house. The ne'er-do-weel was clothed and in his right mind. In the
Hunter's Room the noblest trophy was the heart of a repentant prodigal.

In the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing,
with such technical language as is the custom, that Sergeant Fones was
promoted to be a lieutenant in the Mounted Police Force of the North
West Territory. When the officer in command sent for him he could not be
found. But he was found that morning; and when Private Gellatly, with a
warm hand, touching the glove of "iron and ice" that, indeed, now said:
"Sergeant Fones, you are promoted, God help you!" he gave no sign.
Motionless, stern, erect, he sat there upon his horse, beside a stunted
larch tree. The broncho seemed to understand, for he did not stir, and
had not done so for hours;--they could tell that. The bridle rein was
still in the frigid fingers, and a smile was upon the face.

A smile upon the face of Sergeant Fones!

Perhaps he smiled that he was going to the Barracks of the Free--

"Free among the Dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the
grave, that are out of