some tea for a change," and she extracted a neat
little packet from one of her pockets. "May I do up the fire and make
some for you?"

"Why, it will make you so dirty; that stove is in an awful state,"
replied Annie, looking over the other's neat dress and figure dubiously.

"I don't mind that. Pick up the baby," Katrine answered, rolling up her
sleeves and displaying two rounded muscular arms white as the snow
outside. "You'd better move farther out of the dust," she added, going
down on her knees before the stove. Annie picked up the child and
retreated to a chair by the window, from where she watched the other
with a sort of helpless envy.

"Lord! I've grown that weak lately I can't do nothing," she said after a
minute. "You know how nice I used to keep the place for Will when we
first came."

Katrine nodded in silence, and two bright tears fell amongst the wood
ash she was taking from the stove. She did remember the bright, active
young wife, the united little family moving into the cabin next her only
a year ago; she remembered the interior that had always been so neat and
clean and cheerful to receive Will when he came home, the unceasing
devotion of his wife, and the mutual love and hope that had buoyed them
up and made them face all hardships smilingly. Then she had watched
sorrowfully the gradual deterioration of the man under the constant
disappointment; she had met him more and more frequently in the
saloons, less and less at his home. She had seen day by day the rapid
decline of the bright, beautiful young creature he had brought with him
into this poor faded wraith dragging herself about in the neglected,
cheerless cabin.

"You'll get stronger again in the warm weather," she said after a
minute, when her voice was steady.

"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen what I saw on the snow this morning
when I'd been coughing there back of the wood-shed," returned Annie,
drearily leaning her tired head against the dingy pane.

"What do you mean?" asked Katrine, looking up apprehensively. "Blood?"

The other nodded in silence, and there was quiet in the cabin except for
the crooning of the child. Then Katrine rose from the hearth impulsively
with a flushed, lovely face and the ash dust on her hair and dress. She
went over to Annie and drew her head on to her strong, warm bosom.

"Oh, you poor, poor thing! What can we do?" she said desperately.

"Nothing," murmured Annie, closing her eyes in the girl's soo