;" and taking his new friend by the arm, he hurried him
along to his quarters in the fort.

Just as they were passing under the fort gate, a large mass of snow
became detached from a housetop and fell heavily at their feet, passing
within an inch of Hamilton's nose. The young man started back with an
exclamation, and became very red in the face.

"Hollo!" cried Harry, laughing, "got a fright, Hammy! That went so
close to your chin that it almost saved you the trouble of shaving."

"Yes; I got a little fright from the suddenness of it," said Hamilton
quietly.

"What do you think of my friend there?" said Harry to Jacques in a low
voice, pointing to Hamilton, who walked on in advance.

"I've not seen much of him, master," replied the hunter. "Had I been
asked the same question about the same lad twenty years agone, I should
ha' said he was soft, and perhaps chicken-hearted. But I've learned
from experience to judge better than I used to do. I niver thinks o'
formin' an opinion o' any one till I've seen them called to sudden
action. It's astonishin' how some faint-hearted men will come to face a
danger and put on an awful look o' courage if they only get warnin'; but
take them by surprise--that's the way to try them."

"Well, Jacques, that is the very reason why I ask your opinion of
Hamilton. He was pretty well taken by surprise that time, I think."

"True, master; but _that_ kind o' start don't prove much. Hows'ever, I
don't think he's easy upset. He does look uncommon soft, and his face
grew red when the snow fell, but his eyebrow and his under lip showed
that it wasn't from fear."

During that afternoon and the greater part of that night the three
friends continued in close conversation--Harry sitting in front of the
stove, with his hands in his pockets, on a chair tilted as usual on its
hind legs, and pouring out volleys of questions, which were pithily
answered by the good-humoured, loquacious hunter, who sat behind the
stove, resting his elbows on his knees, and smoking his much-loved pipe;
while Hamilton reclined on Harry's bed, and listened with eager avidity
to anecdotes and stories, which seemed, like the narrator's pipe, to be
inexhaustible.

"Good-night, Jacques, good-night," said Harry, as the latter rose at
last to depart; "I'm delighted to have had a talk with you. You must
come back to-morrow. I want to hear more about your friend Redfeather.
Where did you say you left him?"

"In the