ns had ceased; within less
than a month winter had vanished, and summer had swept through
Keewatin with a burst of gladness. The land was riotously green;
through the heart of it wandered the river, newly released, a streak
of azure, or of gilded splendour where smitten by the sun. Although
its waters were running freely, many memories of the frozen quiet
still remained in the shape of ice piled up along its banks, sometimes
to the height of fifteen feet, and of snow in the more shady hollows
of the forest, which glimmered distantly between leaves and branches
hinting at secret woodland lakes. Even the most backward among the
trees had commenced to unfold their buds. All day long, and through
the major portion of the night, the frogs continued to whistle in the
marshes and along the river's edges. Flock after flock of duck
arrived, flashing their wings against the sky, dropping from under a
cloud suddenly, and coming to rest in the water with a shower of
spray, where they rode at ease side by side, like painted, anchored
merchantmen returned in safety from the earth's end. Now the wild
swan, teal, or goose would go by with a whirr of wings, crying
hoarsely. To make the world seem yet more wide an occasional gull
would heave in sight, drifting without effort in silent flight
majestically. In the forest Granger was conscious of a commotion at
the cause of which he could only guess. Love was at work in the
shadows, or what among the dumb creation passes for love. There was a
continual stirring of leaves, the rustle of branches forced aside, the
scattering of birds, those spies and betrayers of the four-footed
animal, and the grievous low wail of the wolf. Sometimes a fish would
leap in the river, flash silvery and dripping in the sunlight, on its
bridal journey from the ocean. Was it an act of gallantry, he
wondered, which some deep-sea female witnessed from beneath the ripple
of the stream, or was it a terrified effort to escape from love. He
knew what that best of all passions could mean to the forest animal,
and how cruel it might become. Often in the fall of the year he had
watched a doe, seen her dash down the river bank, stand quivering,
leap in and swim, made fearless of man because she knew that her
lover, the stag, was not far behind.

This frenzy of passion set him thinking, and made him long for the
return of Peggy Ericsen. He knew that his love for her was not of the
highest, was little more than physical, not