e.

It was cold--beyond the reach of the great fire--bitterly cold. For all
April was near its close the signs of thaw had again given way to an
Arctic temperature. It was only another example of the freakishness of
the Northland seasons. His journey had been accomplished at a speed that
was an expression of his desire. He had taken risks, he had dared
chances amidst the rotting, melting snows, only to find at the river,
where the old moose head stood guard, that Nature's opening channels had
sealed again under a breath that carried with it a return to the depth
of winter.

He had not been unprepared. He knew the Northland moods all too well.
Besides, his practised eyes had sought in vain the real signs of the
passing of winter. The migratory creatures of the feathered world had
given no sign. The geese and ducks were still waiting in the shelter of
warmer climates. Those wonderful flights, moving like clouds across the
sky, had put in no appearance, while the furry world still hugged the
shelter and sparse feeding grounds of the aged woods.

His disappointment was none the less at the sight of the solid,
ice-bound river, lying in the depths of the earth's foundations. It was
impossible as yet for the girl with the smiling blue eyes, who had given
him that message of her love at the moment of her going, to approach the
tryst, and he was left with the negative consolation that when she
arrived she would find him awaiting her.

His purpose, however, was simple. He was at the appointed spot, and he
intended to remain there until Keeko came to him. It was a matter of no
significance at all if he had to wait till the summer came and passed,
or if he must set out to search the ends of the earth for her. His
persistent, dogged mood was an expression of the passionate youth in
him. He loved as only early youth knows how to love, and nothing else
mattered. He was there alone with Nature in her wildest mood, a fit
setting for the primal passions sweeping through his soul.

So, in the time of waiting, he had lit a great fire. It was a beacon
fire. And in his simple fancy it was sending out a message which the
voiceless old moose was powerless to convey. It was a message carrying
with it the story of the love burning deep in his heart. And he hoped
that distant, searching eyes might see and interpret his signs. The
thought of it all pleased him mightily.

For ten days he had carried on his giant's work of feeding the
insatia