ng up into the sky. Nearer and nearer
it approached, and then the wheezy puffing could be faintly heard,
sounding like the sweetest of music to the weary, waiting ones.
Steadily she approached, bravely stemming the racing current, until at
length her smoke-stack and pilot-house appeared above the bank. She
was a jaunty little craft, and had made a noble struggle up that
northern stream, laden with supplies. Rocks had ripped and scarred her
hull; floating ice had damaged her small stern wheel, and for several
days she had been stranded upon a bar. But she had conquered every
obstacle, and now port was in sight.

Ere long the eager watchers were able to discern the steamer's name,
for the sun resting upon the pilot-house showed clearly "The Arctic" in
brightly gilded letters. The captain and the pilot were at their
posts; the deck-hands were sitting below, well forward, and the roaring
furnace, with doors wide open, was throwing out its ruddy glow. Then a
long, shrill blast ripped the air, followed by another, and yet
another. Far from the distance came back the echo, Nature's answer and
welcome to the little steamer.

For several hours Keith sat in the vestry of the church, which had been
his dwelling place since his return from the Quelchie camp. He was
surrounded by his mail. Papers and parcels of books strewed the floor,
while on the table was a liberal supply of letters. He had been busily
engaged upon the latter, and they brought him varied news; this of joy,
that of sorrow.

He rose from the table, when his eye caught sight of an unopened letter
lying on the floor which had fallen from the table. Quickly opening
it, he ran his eyes over the contents, and as he did so his face
flushed. He sat down again, re-read the letter, and then remained for
some time in deep thought.

At length he arose and wended his way to the Radhurst cabin. Constance
was not in. She had gone to Old Pete's grave, so her father told him.
Would he come in and wait for her return?

"No, thank you," Keith replied. "I shall stroll that way myself. I
want to visit the grave, too."

As he drew near the spot where the prospector was lying he beheld
Constance kneeling by the side of the mound, arranging some early wild
flowers she had gathered that morning. How pretty she looked, and as
Keith paused and watched her a pained feeling stole into his heart.
She would leave on the steamer to-morrow, and what would the place be
lik