t say nothin' about that till to-morrow!"

"Yes!" murmured Lidey, "she'd be awful scairt!"

They were then about halfway up the slope, when from the cabin came a
frightened cry of "Lidey! Lidey!" The door was flung open, the
lamplight streamed out in futile contest with the moonlight, and Mrs.
Patton appeared. Her face was white with fear. As she saw Dave and the
little one hurrying towards her, both hands went to her heart in the
extremity of her relief, and she sank back into a chair before the
door.

Dave kicked off his snow-shoes with a dexterous twist, stepped inside,
slammed the door, and with a laugh and a kiss deposited Lidey in her
mother's lap.

"She jest run down to meet me!" explained Dave, truthfully but
deceptively.

"Oh, girlie, how you frightened me!" cried the woman, divided between
tears and smiles. "I woke up, Dave, an' found her gone; an' bein' kind
o' bewildered, I couldn't understand it!"

She clung to his hand, while he looked tenderly down into her face.

"Poor little woman!" he murmured, "you've had a bad turn ag'in, Lidey
tells me. Better now, eh?"

"I'm plumb all right ag'in, Dave, now you're back," she answered,
squeezing his hand hard. "But land's sakes, Dave, how ever did you git
all that blood on your pants?"

"Oh," said the man, lightly, "that's nothin.' Tell you about it
bime-by. I'm jest starvin' now. Let's have supper quick, and then give
old Mr. Sandy Claus a chance. Tomorrow we're going to have the
greatest Christmas ever was, us three!"

The Gentling of Red McWha

I

It was heavy sledding on the Upper Ottanoonsis trail. The two
lumbermen were nearing the close of the third day of the hard four
days' haul in from the Settlements to the camp. At the head of the
first team, his broad jaw set and his small grey eyes angry with
fatigue, trudged the big figure of Red McWha, choosing and breaking a
way through the deep snow. With his fiery red head and his large red
face, he was the only one of his colouring in a large family so dark
that they were known as the "Black McWhas," and his temper seemed to
have been chronically soured by the singularity of his type. But he
was a good woodsman and a good teamster, and his horses followed
confidently at his heels like dogs. The second team was led by a tall,
gaunt-jawed, one-eyed lumberman named Jim Johnson, but invariably
known as "Walley." From the fact that his blind eye was of a peculiar
blankness, like whitish porc