. But there is no help for
it. The tote-road is drifted twenty feet deep. Hubert and Mr. Sheridan
are going to make the trip on snowshoes; they must get back to
business. The supplies will have to be brought in on dog-sleds, and we
have got to stay."

"I'll bet Ethel could think of a worse predicament," grinned Appleton.
"She'll be a regular sourdough before spring; won't want to come out."

"But I have nothing to wear!"

"Nothing to wear!" scoffed her uncle. "Tell me, please, what in time
you women have got packed in those half a dozen trunks, then? It's not
grub. I'll bet there's clothes enough in those trunks to last three
women fourteen years! Still, if you really get cold, you might ask Bill
to lend you a pair of his----"

"Hubert Appleton!" The lumberman glanced at his wife in surprise. "A
pair of his moccasins--they'll keep your toes warm."

The girl finished her belated dinner, and throwing a coat over her
shoulders stepped out into the clear, crisp air. Immediately in front
of the building the wind had swept the ground almost bare of snow, but
Ethel gasped with surprise as her eyes sought the other buildings of
the camp.

The blacksmith's shop was entirely buried under a huge drift; only one
half of the cook-shack roof was visible, and the bunk-house was buried
to the eaves. A twenty-foot drift cut off the view of the stables, and
the whole crew was busy digging paths and breaking out skidways.

The storm had ceased as suddenly as it had come, and the sun shone with
dazzling whiteness upon the mystic, snow-buried world.

In the office she found Bill fully dressed, propped against his
pillows, a villainous black pipe between his lips, reading. He laid
aside his book and pipe and stretched his arms toward her.

She crossed, blushing, to his side, and for a long time sat with her
head resting upon his shoulder, while his great arms held her close
against his beating heart.

And under the spell of his presence and his gently murmured words of
love, the disquieting fear vanished, and she knew that he was all hers.
And she laughed at her fear, and drove it from her in the foolish
belief that it could never return.

"Dear," she said later when their conversation assumed an intelligible
form, "you must send those bonds back by Uncle Appleton. Just
think--your father thinks you _stole_ them!"

The man smiled:

"Yes, poor old dad. It must be kind of rough on him to think his son is
a thief. He was sore t