panting steers, plunging and
wallowing through the snow, each crowding the other in an endeavour to
maintain the firm footing on the narrow trail. When they caught sight
of the dark object lying before them, they stopped, sniffed the air,
and bolted to the right. But the boy with considerable skill, the
result of long practice, wheeled them about, and after much shouting
and exertion headed them homeward.

"Hi, thar!" he called to the prostrate man. "Kin ye manage t'git to
th' sled? These steers is mighty scart, and I must stan' by an' hold
'em."

With a great effort Sinclair began to crawl slowly along the trail, and
when about exhausted reached the sled.

"Hol' on now," the boy ordered, as he cracked his whip and the steers
started forward. It was a rough trip, over knolls, striking stumps
here and there, and squeezing between trees, when the sled had to be
freed by much twisting and manoeuvring; but Sinclair thought it the
best ride he had ever taken.

"Mother's lookin' fer y'," remarked the lad, when they had finally
gained the good road. "She's got the best sofy out, an' was warmin'
things up when I left."

Sinclair made no reply. He was cold, stiff, and too much exhausted to
enter into conversation. Not until he was stretched out on the big
cosy sofa in front of the cheerful fire, after his sprained ankle had
been bathed and well rubbed, did he become talkative.

"My good woman," he began, "how can I ever repay you for your great
kindness?"

"Oh, that's nothing," she returned with a cheerful smile. "I'm so glad
Stephen went to his snares to-night. It's Christmas Eve, you see, and
though I'm sorry you're hurt, yet it's nice to have some one with me
and the children. It's very lonely here sometimes, and," she added
after a pause, "he was here last Christmas. But," she quickly
continued, afraid she had said too much to a stranger, "I hope you feel
more comfortable now, sir."

"Oh, yes," Sinclair replied. "My foot is quite easy: But would you
mind making me a cup of hot tea? I feel so chilly, and the tea will do
me a world of good. It always helps me."

As he uttered these words a change passed over the woman's face, which
Sinclair was not slow to observe.

"Never mind," he hastened to remark. "I don't wish to trouble you."

"Dear me, sir, it's not that," the woman replied, somewhat confused, as
she sat down upon a splint-bottom chair, and plucked at her apron.
"It's not the trouble I m