ng had plunged to the bottom. How he had
lain there bruised and helpless with a broken leg, expecting at any time
to see the beast he had been tracking bear down upon him. How at last,
after hours of unspeakable agony, help had come in the shape of a tall,
strongly built young man, whose cabin was not far off and who had
carried Jean to it, then, after roughly setting the injured leg, and
making his patient as comfortable as might be expected under the
circumstances, he had ridden thirty miles for a doctor, then tended the
old hunter until his leg healed.

"Ten week I stay in bed an' this good frien' take care of me. He inten'
to go to Alaska for gold. He say he have wife once an' baby but they die
in railroad wreck. He never see their bodies. He very sad. The fire in
the train burn everybody, all t'ings." Jean waved his arms
comprehensively. "He stay by me until I am well. Then he say, 'Jean,
come along to Alaska.' But I say, 'No. I am too ol'. I wish live all my
days in Canada woods.' So he go on. After many years he write. Only last
summer I have receive his letter. He have found plenty gold, an' is
rich. He say when he come back, then he will buy for me a new rifle an'
give me much money. But what does Jean care for money? Rather I would
see my frien' whose letter I have always keep."

The old man ceased speaking and looked retrospectively into the fire.
Then, without speaking, he rose, shuffled to a small table in one corner
of the room, and opening the drawer took from it a well-thumbed
envelope. Returning to the group he handed it to Grace, saying proudly:
"This is the letter my frien' write. Will Mamselle Grace read?"

Grace obediently took the letter from the envelope.

"My dear Jean:" she read. "How can I ever forgive myself for neglecting
you so long? I can only say that though I have failed to make good my
promise to write, you have never been forgotten by me. Jean, I am sorry
you didn't come here with me. I found gold, more than I can spend in a
lifetime, and I have made you a stockholder in my mine. I am coming back
to the States next spring and will look you up first of all. I am
sending this to the old address, trusting that if you are not there it
will be forwarded to you. I used to think it would be glorious to be
rich, but now that I am alone in the world, money seems a poor
substitute for my lost happiness.

"Let me hear from you soon, Jean, and address your letter, Post Office
Box 462, Nome, Al