t looked mighty cheerful.

I knocked on the door and a big, good-natured Norwegian opened it. He is
one of the watchmen employed by the Water Commissioners to keep
trespassers off the lands reserved for water supply.

I briefly explained our predicament. He informed me that there was no
wagon road leading to the east or the west, and said, with a wide grin,
that our auto could not possibly get out until the road was cleared.
Miss Harding joined us and made a despairing gesture when told the
situation.

This man Peterson said that the tornado had missed his hut by a few
hundred yards. He was in Pine Top when it swept through the edge of that
village, killing several persons.

"Where is the nearest railway station?" asked Miss Harding.

"Pine Top."

"How far is it?" I asked.

Peterson scratched his head and said that to go around the fallen timber
meant a journey of fully five miles.

"Will you guide us?" I asked. "I will pay you," I added, naming a
liberal sum.

Peterson said he would when he had cooked and eaten his supper. It was
then after seven o'clock, and the thought occurred to us that we were
hungry. Peterson agreed to do the best he could for us in the way of a
meal, and he did very well.

We were lamentably shy on dishes and knives and forks. We had bacon and
eggs, fried potatoes, bread and butter and some really excellent coffee.
There was only a single room in the hut, but it was clean and fairly
tidy. Peterson explained that he never had company, and apologised for
his lack of tableware.

Miss Harding was given the only regulation knife and fork, and I had the
pleasure of beholding her eating from my plate. There was only one
plate, Peterson using the frying pan and a carving knife.

What fun we had over that humble but wholesome meal! Miss Harding
praised our host's cooking, and his honest blue eyes glistened at the
compliment. Miss Harding and I sat on a board which rested on two nail
kegs, while Peterson, against his protest, had the one chair in the
house.

It was growing dark ere the meal was ended. I ran the touring car into
the little yard and sheltered it as best I could under the projecting
ledge of a rock. Peterson produced a big strip of heavy canvas which I
put to good service by protecting the vital parts of the mechanism.
Peterson assured us that the car would be safe, and with a parting look
at it we entered the forest.

It was a long, tortuous and in places dangerous journe