k
we might all of us go out and face the wind for a quarter of an hour,
then let it blow us back to camp like three children. I have the skis
for us all."

"Great!" Claire clapped her hands in applause.

"It's a splendid idea," agreed Lawrence, and they set forth.

It was hard going against the wind; Philip was the only one who managed
his skis very satisfactorily, and Lawrence, of course, had to be
assisted, but the crust was smooth and clear, and they made great sport
of it. The two men placed Claire between them and crossed hands in front
of her, like skaters. The fresh snow-filled air blew into their lungs,
and they laughed like boys on a holiday. Claire glanced at the two and
thought: "What a pair to be between!" Then laughed again. All the
morbidity was gone, she was not thinking follies now, and neither of
them was more than a good friend. Philip was thinking that Claire was
good to see as she moved along between them, her graceful stroke
carrying her over the snow, her cheeks stung red in the wind. Lawrence
was not thinking at all. He was simply moving, deeply enjoying the wind
and the exercise and the soft, strong little hand upon his own, helping
to guide him through his darkness.

When they turned and stood close together, the wind caught them like a
sail and sent them skimming before it. The sense of tobogganing was
keenly exhilarating. Home, problems, worries, the future, all seemed
very simply, very easy, and not at all a matter for long conversations
before a hot fire.

CHAPTER IX.

CLAIRE'S ABASEMENT.

The following days and even weeks passed quickly, carried on the wave of
light-hearted play which Philip had so wisely started that Christmas
night. February came with clear sun that set the snow glittering like a
field of crystal under the dark pines, and they laughed with exuberance
of spirit as they swept over it on their skis. Even Lawrence became an
adept as long as he had one of their guiding hands to hold. All
speculation was gone for the time being. Lawrence and Claire gave
themselves up to a frank comradeship, in which Philip formed a splendid
third, so that they seemed a trio of happy, healthy animals whose lives
flowed without a break in the mere pleasure of living.

But one morning early in the month, Philip said after breakfast, over
his coffee and cigarette, "I'm going for the day to my farthest traps
across the river. Claire, would you care to go? We'll get back late this