keen eyes twinkling:

"Under such circumstances as these, pard, you're welcome to all the
hosses in Beetle Ring."

With steady, practiced hand Skid Thomson guided his powerful team
through the deep snow, over the rough forest road; and sometimes
brawny arms carried the sleigh bodily over the roughest places.

* * * * *

At the close of the day an anxious consultation took place in the big
main room of Beetle Ring, and presently two men appeared outside.

They walked slowly toward what had been the camp's storeroom, but
halted before the door hesitatingly.

"You go in ahead, Skid, and ask 'em," said Breem, earnestly, to his
companion.

"No, go ahead yourself, Pose. I'd be sure to calk a hoss or split a
runner, or somethin'. Go on!"

Breem knocked, and both went in.

"All right, pard?"

"Right as right, Pose," said Joe Bennett.

"Wife all right?" Breem turned toward the bed, and Mrs. Bennett smiled
up at him with happy eyes, and with a bit of colour already showing in
her pale face. Breem smiled back broadly. Then he asked, "_And_, pard,
the baby?"

"Peart as peart, Pose."

Breem waited a little, twirling his cap, but receiving a sharp thump
from Thomson, went on:

"The boys, pard, are anxious about the little critter. They're kind of
hankering, pard, and, mum, if you are willin', and ain't 'fraid to
trust her with us, why, we'd be mighty glad to tote her--just for a
few minutes--over to camp. The boys are stiddy, all of 'em, stiddy as
churches. They hain't soaked a mite to-day, mum, and they ain't goin'
to; they've hove the jug into a snowdrift, and they'd take it kind,
mum--if you are willin'."

The woman, still smiling happily, was already wrapping up the baby.

Breem held up a warning finger when he returned a little later, and
again smiled delightedly.

"Went to sleep a-totin'--if you'll believe it, the burned little
critter!" he said, softly. "And," he added, "the boys, pard, are
mighty pleased; and, mum, they thank you kindly. They say, the boys
do, there ain't such a mascot as theirs in five hundred miles; they
see luck comin', chunks of it, pard, already." And the big fellow went
out and closed the door gently.

MISTRESS ESTEEM ELLIOTT'S MOLASSES CAKE[3]

The Story of a Postponed Thanksgiving[4]

By Kate Upson Clark.

Older boys and girls who are familiar with "The Courtship of
Miles Standish" will enjoy the colonial flavour of this tale