e most good
women, she could not bring herself fully to exonerate one who had been
so compromised. Potentially, if not actually, Gregg Harlan was to her
a squaw-man, and most certainly he was a drunkard.

"Well, Lady, me and him's goin' down to the North end of the Island for
another load o' grub and camp gear," drawled Kayak Bill as he finished
scouring out a burned place in the frying pan. "You can't tell a speck
about how long this here weather's goin' to last and we want to get
under cover soon as possible. Besides--" the old man's eyes
twinkled--"Gregg here looks too durned lady-like in this la-de-dah
outfit." He pointed to the scarlet blanket. "What he needs is a pair
o' pants. Pants, I claim, has a powerful civilizin' and upliftin'
influence on the mind o' man. Take the heathen now. They don't wear
none, and see what----"

Kayak's threatened monologue was cut short by Boreland, who, having
attacked the dirt and debris in the cabin appeared now and began to
pile some of it on the fire.

After the old man and Harlan had gone, Boreland swept down the cobwebs
and made the cabin ready for scrubbing. That sense of satisfaction and
happiness which comes to those in the process of home-making in the
wilderness, found expression in his rollicking Irish melody.

The legless Yukon stove was set up after the fashion of the country--an
old packing box, found at the cabin, being filled with gravel and the
stove put on top of it. A few minutes later there was a crackling fire
of drift-wood and every pot and kettle brought from the camp that
morning was full of heating water.

The floor of smooth boards, was unbelievably dirty. The lack of soap
at first caused Ellen to despair of ever getting it clean, but Loll,
who had watched Senott at Katleean cleaning her house, solved the
problem by pouring sand on it while Boreland scrubbed with the broom.

Two hours later the clean bare floor was drying rapidly from the heat
of the stove before which Ellen stood stirring a savory pot of duck
mulligan for an early supper. . . .

It was late afternoon when Kayak and Harlan returned with their loads.
As they turned in from the beach to the little grass-grown trail, Kayak
stood a moment looking up at the silver smoke floating against the
green hill. Jean, more starry-eyed than usual, was singing as she
arranged the dishes on a canvas spread upon the floor of the porch, and
at her direction Lollie was painstakingly placing