in a
mood to admire the beauty of it all. Upon our return to Hubbard he
announced that we should have to camp where we were for the day, that
he might have time to recuperate. The delay affected him keenly. We
should eat nearly as much food in our idleness as we should in moving
onward, and the thought of drawing on our thirty-five pounds of dried
fish without making progress was anything but pleasant.

The wintry weather did not worry us; for we knew the snow then falling
would disappear before the ground became covered for good, and we felt
sure we should reach the Susan Valley before freezing-up time, in which
event ice would assist rather than retard our progress, as even with
the Susan River open it would be impossible to use the canoe in its
shoal, rapid waters. As for Hubbard's condition, I suppose it worried
me more than anyone else. George had failed to note the signs of
increasing weakness in our leader that I had, and Hubbard himself was
so under the influence of his indomitable spirit that for a long time
he apparently did not realise the possibility of an utter collapse.

By the campfire that night he was confident we should be able to make
up the next day for the delay caused by his weakness. For a long time
he sat silently gazing into the fire, but as he had just been
expressing a longing to see his wife, if only for a moment, I knew he
did not see the blaze before him. He was looking into another fire--a
big, wood fire in an old-fashioned fireplace in the cheerful
sitting-room of a far-away Congers home, and his wife was by his side.
He put out his arm to draw her closer to him. I could see it all and
understand--understand the look of perfect happiness that his fancy's
picture brought to his face. But when George arose to throw some more
logs on the fire, the shower of sparks that flew heavenward brought him
suddenly back to reality--to the snow-covered woods of Labrador.

"I hope we shall be able to find another house in Congers with a
fireplace such as our old one had," he said, turning to me as if he
knew I had been reading his thoughts. "In the evening we sit long
before the fire without lighting a lamp. Sometimes we make believe
we're camping, and make our tea and broil some bacon or melt some
cheese for our crackers over the coals, and have a jolly time. I want
you, b'y, to visit us often and join us in those teas, and see if you
don't find them as delightful as we do."

The next mo