e saw Kent.

"Why didn't you wait?" she remonstrated. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You have," he said. "And I couldn't wait. I had to come in and help."

He was inside the door and on his knees beside her. As he reached for
the two forks, his lips pressed against her hair. The pink deepened in
Marette's face, and the soft little note that was like laughter came
into her throat. Her hand caressed his cheek as she rose to her feet,
and Kent laughed back. And after that, as she arranged things on the
shelf table, her hand now and then touched his shoulder, or his hair,
and two or three times he heard that wonderful little throat-note that
sent through him a wild pulse of happiness. And then, he sitting in the
low chair and she on the stool, they drew close together before the
board that answered as a table, and ate their breakfast. Marette poured
his coffee and stirred sugar and condensed milk in it, and so happy was
Kent that he did not tell her he used neither milk nor sugar in his
coffee. The morning sun burst through the little window, and through
the open door Kent pointed to the glory of it on the river and in the
shimmering green of the forests slipping away behind. When they had
finished, Marette went outside with him.

For a space she stood silent and without movement, looking upon the
marvelous world that encompassed them. It seemed to Kent that for a few
moments she did not breathe. With her head thrown back and her white
throat bare to the soft, balsam-laden air she faced the forests. Her
eyes became suddenly filled with the luminous glow of stars. Her face
reflected the radiance of the rising sun, and Kent, looking at her,
knew that he had never seen her so beautiful as in these wonderful
moments. He held his own breath, for he also knew that Niska, his
goddess, was looking upon her own world again after a long time away.

Her world--and his. Different from all the other worlds God had ever
made; different, even, from the world only a few miles behind them at
the Landing. For here was no sound or whisper of destroying human life.
They were in the embrace of the Great North, and it was drawing them
closer, and with each minute nearer to the mighty, pulsing heart of it.

The forests hung heavy and green and glistening with the wet of storm;
out of them came the tremulous breath of life and the glory of living;
they hugged the shores like watchful hosts guarding the river from
civilization--and suddenly the