ed, "the folks round
here ain't going to stand for this rot, and I don't blame 'em. When they
think it over, they'll get drunker than ever, and they'll even up with
you later. You've got to learn more than you've learned already.
Feelings are private property and outsiders better keep off. Come home
to dinner. You look like a pricked bladder. This here gassing 'bout
things what ain't worthwhile don't pay. Here, lean on me. It's all
gol-durned nonsense using yourself up so."

He took Drew firmly by the arm, and led him away.

Drew was too weak to continue, even had he desired to do so, the
conversation Filmer had forced upon him, but when they were smoking in
the late afternoon Jock returned to the subject.

"I was just wondering," he said, through the haze; "ain't there never no
let up to that new-fangled idea of yours?"

"None. That's the beauty of it."

"Beauty? Huh! Well, we'll drop it. Feel like toddling down to Gaston's?"
Drew rose at once.

They passed down the pine-covered path slowly, and as they neared
Gaston's shack, Filmer paused.

"Wherever you be," he began slowly, "as occasion permits, you're going
to air them sentiments?"

"I'm going to live them. I may never have a chance to preach them. I'm a
bit discouraged about the weakness that followed my first attempt."

"Oh, thunderation! You're going to pick up flesh and strength fast
enough--it's that slush you've got on board that's getting my grouch.
I'd rather you had a natural death, kid. I've taken a liking to you; and
you don't know St. Ange."

CHAPTER VII

Joyce stopped her wild little song, and stood still to listen. Then she
stepped to the window, drew aside the white muslin curtain, and looked
out upon the white, white world.

She had thought she heard a step on the crisp snow, but probably it was
the crackling of the protesting trees, for the weight of ice was almost
more than they could bear.

The lights in the scattered houses shone red and steady in the still
glitter. A full moon dimmed the stars, but a keen glance showed that
every one was in its place and performing its duty in the glorious plan.

A white, holy night! Only such a night as comes to high, dry places
where the cold is so subtle that its power is disguised; where the
green-black pines stand motionless in the hard whiteness, and where the
silence is only broken by mysterious cracklings and groanings, when
Nature stirs in the heart of the seeming Death, while