in home been so tenderly cared for. Then Nick would come. His
brother's handiwork would drive him to a frenzy of anger, and he would
reset the place to his own liking, at which Ralph's exasperation would
break out in angry protest.

The metamorphosis of these men could not have been more complete. They
hated themselves, they grew to hate the home which was theirs, the wild
in which they lived. They set their traps and hunted because it was
their habit to do so, but always with only secondary thought for their
calling. The chief object of their lives was to find the woman who had
taught them the meaning of love.

Winter was waning. The soft snow in the forest was melting rapidly.
Every morning found their valley buried beneath a pall of white fog. The
sun's power was rapidly increasing, and already a slush of snow-water
was upon the ice-bound river. The overpowering heights of the valley
gleamed and sparkled in the cheery daylight; the clear mountain air drew
everything nearer, and the stifling sense, inspired by the crush of
towering hills, was exaggerated as the sun rose in the heavens and
revealed the obscurer recesses of the stupendous world. And now, too,
the forest grew dank and moist, and the steady dripping of the melting
snow upon the branches became like a heavy rainfall within the gloomy
depths.

One day Ralph returned home first. He was cooking the supper. The sun
was dipping behind the western mountain-tops, and the red gold
reflection swept in a rosy flush over the crystal summits. The winter
sky had given place to the deeper hue of spring, and, in place of the
heavy grey cloud-caps, fleecy puffs of white, little less dazzling than
the snowy hills themselves, dotted the azure vault above. The forest was
alive with the cries of the feathered world, as they sought their rest
in their newly-built nests. It was not the bright chatter of gay
song-birds such as belong to warmer climes, but the hoarse cries of
water-fowl, and the harsh screams of the preying lords of wing and air.
The grey eagle in his lofty eyrie; the gold-crested vulture-hawk;
creatures that live the strenuous life of the silent lands, fowl that
live by war. The air was very still; the prospect perfect with a wild
rugged beauty.

The train dogs were lying about lazily, but their attitude was
deceptive. Their fierce eyes were only partially closed, and they
watched the cook at his work, waiting for their share in the meal.

Presently a shar