of duffel, and over them a beaded shirt
of leather. They swathed their feet in duffel, covering them with high
moccasins, and encased their legs in several wrappings of duffel
leggins. Their caps were of fur, the hair of which reached down over
their foreheads, ears, and necks, giving them protection. Over all
they flung capotes, which extended to their knees and were caught in
at the waist with a scarlet sash.

Having fed the huskies, Granger returned to the shack, to run through
his belongings and destroy whatever he did not wish to be found. He
turned to Spurling, saying, "You'd better lie down now and get a
little rest."

Spurling blinked at him, and swallowed once or twice, hesitating. Then
he said, "It's a pleasant meeting that they'll have, with two of us
absent."

Granger was sorting out old letters, dated years back--things which
brought memories. He did not pay any attention; perhaps he had not
heard.

"It's a pleasant meeting that they'll have, I say, with two of us
absent," Spurling repeated.

"What meeting? I don't understand."

"Why, the meeting you promised them on Christmas Eve--the one you were
so pressing about."

Granger raised up his head and looked at him. "Don't you be so certain
of that," he said; "we may not be absent--we may be caught by Eyelids
and brought back."

Spurling cursed him under his breath.

Granger went on sorting out his papers, burning them or putting them
aside. Some were from his mother; one was from his father, faded with
age; and some were from girls whose very names had passed from his
remembrance. Presently he stopped, and turning round again, with a
different look in his eyes, handed a page to his companion, saying,
"Read that."

Spurling laughed harshly and took it. It was in his own handwriting.
"None of your softness," he said. "I've got long past sentiment."

Granger watched him as he scanned its contents, and saw his face grow
solemn. It had been written seven years back, before they had left
England, when both their sympathies were fresher, before their souls
had grown tarnished. It read: "John, I've just seen the unemployed,
about four battalions of 'em or from two to three thousand
men--unemployed, half-clothed, half-fed, and half-men. God! that such
a sight could be in this world, and here in London; our London,
wealthy London, the city of luxury and at our own doors. Four
battalions of men in real want; not a want such as you and I know when
we r