to
a habitable house and civilization.

But his position at Beetle Ring was not an enviable one. The men took
scant pains to conceal their dislike for the young fellow who
steadfastly refused to "chip in" when the camp jug was sent to the
Skylark, the nearest saloon, some miles down the river, and who
invariably declined to join in the camp's numerous sprees. But Bennett
worked on quietly.

And in the meantime to the old shack in the woods the baby had
come--in the bleak November weather.

Night was settling down over the woods. An old half-breed woman was
tending the fire in the one room of the shack, and on the wretched bed
lay a fair-faced woman, the young wife and mother, who looked
wistfully out at the bleak woods, white with the first snow, then
turned her wan, pale face toward the tiny bundle at her side.

"Your pappy will come to-night, baby," she said, softly. "It's
Saturday, and your pappy will come to-night, sure." She drew the
covers more closely, and tucked them carefully about the small figure.

"Mend the fire, Lisette, please. It's cold. And, Lisette, please watch
out down the road. Sometimes Joe comes early Saturdays."

The old woman shook her head and muttered over the little pile of
wood, but she fed the fire, and then turned and looked down the long
white trail.

"No Joe yet," she said, with a sympathetic glance toward the bed. She
looked at the thick gray clouds, and added, "Heap snow soon."

But the night came down and the evening passed, while the women waited
anxiously. It was near midnight when the wife's face lighted up
suddenly at a sound outside, and directly there was a pounding,
uncertain step on the threshold. The door opened and Bennett came in
clumsily.

The woman's little glad cry of welcome was changed to one of
apprehension at her husband's appearance. The resolute swing and
bearing of the lumberman--that had returned as he regained his
strength--were gone. He clumped across the room unsteadily on a pair
of rude crutches, his left foot swathed in bandages--a big, ungainly
bundle.

"What is it, Joe?" the wife asked anxiously.

"Just more of my precious luck, that's all, Nannie." He threw off the
old box coat and heavy cap, brushed the melting snow from his hair and
beard, and without waiting to warm his chilled hands at the fire,
hobbled to the bed and bent over the woman and the tiny bundle.

"Are you all right, Nan?" he asked anxiously.

"All right, Joe; but I've bee