er great man. Besides, he
was equipped against anything the Northern winter could display.
Accident alone could hurt him. That was her creed. Marcel was different.
He was only equipped for summer, and he should have returned before that
first snowfall. How could his canoes make the waters of the river when
they were already frozen?

Thus it was she speculated as each dawn she sought the sign of his
return, and at the close of each day, with the last of the vanishing
light.

For a week she went on with her endless labours in that cheerful spirit
of confidence which never seemed to fail her. Then there came a change.
She sought the gates of the fort more often, and stood gazing out
longer, and with eyes that were not quite easy. Her unease was growing.
She spurned it, she refused to admit her fears. And, in her defence, she
redoubled her labours.

Thus ten days from the moment of Steve's going passed. It was the
evening of the tenth day.

With a desperate resolve she had refused to allow herself her last
evening vigil. Snow was in the air and had already begun to fall. So she
sat over the great stove in the store, and plied her needle, threaded
with gut, upon the shirt that was some day to cover Steve's body. Not
once did she look up. It was almost as if she dared not. She was
fighting a little battle with herself in which hope and confidence were
hard pressed.

It was in the midst of this that the door was thrust open wide, and,
with the opening, a flurry of snow swept in upon the warm atmosphere.
But that which caused her to start to her feet, and drop the treasured
garment perilously near to the stove, was the figure that appeared in
the white cloud that blew about it. It was Marcel, with snow and ice
about his mouth and chin, and upon his eye-lashes, and with his thick
pea-jacket changed from its faded hue to the virgin whiteness of the
elements through which he had succeeded in battling his way.

"An-ina!"

It was the glad cry of greeting she had yearned for in the big voice of
a man whose delight is unmeasured.

"Marcel!" The woman's reply was full of joy. Then, with a sigh that was
a deep expression of relief: "An-ina glad--so glad!"

Marcel turned and closed the outer storm door. Then he shut the inner
door securely. A moment later he was freeing himself from icicles and
snow at the stove.

"Say, I had to beat it like hell," he declared with a great laugh, while
An-ina gathered up her sewing and laid