opening the door, he filled the stove once more, piled up
spare billets close to the bedside, laid out what food was left,
placed his kettle full of water on the ground within reach of the sick
man, and, just whispering, "I'll be back soon, sir," disappeared into
the night.

How fast he sped only the stars and moon shall say. But joy lent him
wings which brought him home before daylight. His faithful dogs,
keeping their watch and ward out in the snow around his house, first
brought the news to Nancy that her man was back so soon.

A few minutes served to explain how matters stood, and in a few more
everything was ready. The coach-box was strapped on the komatik. The
bearskin rug and a feather bed were lashed inside it, with all the
restoratives loving care could think of, and with the music of the
wild barking of the dogs echoing from the mountain and valley, the
sledge went whirling back over the crisp snow--the team no less
excited than Malcolm himself at this unexpected call for their
services.

Everything was silent as once more they approached the scene of
trouble. The dogs, panting and tired, having had no spell since they
started, no longer broke the stillness with their barking. Malcolm
hitched them up a hundred yards or so from the tilt, preferring to
approach it on foot. He had long ago noticed that no smoke was coming
from the funnel and it made his heart sink, for even in the woods the
cold was intense.

Malcolm always says that he knew the meaning of it before he opened
the door. Roderick Norman had gone to spend his first Christmas in
happier hunting-grounds.

THE LEADING LIGHT

It was getting late in the year. The steep cliffs that everywhere
flank the sides of the great bay were already hoary with snow. The big
ponds were all "fast," and the fall deer hunt which follows the
fishery was over. Most of the boats were hauled up, well out of reach
of the "ballicater" ice. The stage fronts had been taken down till the
next spring, to save them from being torn to pieces by the rising and
falling floe. Everywhere "young slob," as we call the endless round
pans growing from the centre and covering the sea like the scales of a
salmon, was making. But the people at the head of the bay were still
waiting for those necessities of life, such as flour, molasses, and
pork, which have to be imported as they are unable to provide them for
themselves, and for which they must wait till the summer's voyage h