s through a
funnel, but once past the angle of the cliff they found themselves
almost in a calm. He pushed the door open.

On the hearth--the hearth of his building--a pile of logs burned
cheerfully. Over these the kettle hissed; and the firelight fell on
their bed, with its linen oversheet turned back and neatly folded.

She entered and he closed the door behind her. She laughed as he pushed
its bolt. They were drenched to the skin, the pair.

"This is best," said she with another soft and happy laugh.

"This is best," he repeated after her. "Better even than in fair
weather."

Chapter VIII.

HOME-COMING.

A week later they broke camp and set forth to climb to the head of the
pass.

Behind it--so Sir Oliver had learnt from old Strongtharm--lay an almost
flat table-land, of pine-forest for the most part, through which for
maybe half a dozen miles their river ran roughly parallel with another
that came down from the north-west. At one point (the old fellow
declared) less than a mile divided their waters.

"Seems," he said, "as if Nature all along intended 'em to jine, and
then, at the last moment, changed her mind." He explained the cause of
their severance--an outcropping ridge of rock, not above a mile in
length; but it served, deflecting the one stream to the southward, the
other to north of east, so that they reached the ocean a good twenty
leagues apart.

He showed a map and told Sir Oliver further that at the narrowest point
between the two rivers there dwelt a couple of brothers, Dave and Andy
M'Lauchlin, with their households and long families, of whom all the
boys were expert log-drivers, like their fathers. They were likewise
expert boatmen, and for money, no doubt, if Sir Oliver desired, would
navigate the upper reaches of either stream for him. Of these reaches
the old man could tell little save that their currents ran moderately--
"nothing out of the way." The M'Lauchlins sent all their timber down to
sea by the more northerly stream. "Our river 'd be the better by far,
three-fourths of its way, but--" with a jerk of his thumb--"the Gap,
yonder, makes it foolishness."

Sir Oliver asked many questions, studying the map; and ended by
borrowing it.

He had it spread on his knee when Ruth came out of the cabin for the
last time, having said farewell to her household gods.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

"A map." He folded it away hastily.

"And I am not to see it?"