t ran near he bathed his face and hands.
Peter wondered why there was no fire and no breakfast this morning.

The settlement was only a little way ahead and it was very early when
they reached it. People were still in their beds and out of only one
chimney was smoke rising into the clear calm of the breaking day. From
this cabin a young man came, and stood for a moment after he had closed
the door, yawning and stretching his arms and looking up to see what
sort of promise the sky held for the day. After that he went to a
stable of logs, and Jolly Roger followed him there.

He was unlike the bearded settler, and nodded with a youthful smile of
cheer.

"Good morning," he said. "You're traveling early, and--"

He looked more keenly as his eyes took in Jolly Roger's boots and
clothes, and the gray pallor in his face.

"Just get in?" he asked kindly. "And--from the burnt country?"

"Yes, from the burnt country. I've been away a long time, and I'm
trying to find out if my friends are among the living or the dead. Did
you ever hear of Father John, the Missioner at Cragg's Ridge?"

The young man's face brightened.

"I knew him," he said. "He helped me to bury my brother, three years
ago. And if it's him you seek, he is safe. He went up to Fort William a
week after the fire, and that was in September, eight months past."

"And was there with him a girl named Nada Hawkins?" asked Jolly Roger,
trying hard to speak calmly as he looked into the other's face.

The youth shook his head.

"No, he was alone. He slept in my cabin overnight, and he said nothing
of a girl named Nada Hawkins."

"Did he speak of others?"

"He was very tired, and I think he was half dead with grief at what had
happened. He spoke no names that I remember."

Then he saw the gray look in Jolly Roger's face grow deeper, and saw
the despair which could not hide itself in his eyes.

"But there were a number of girls who passed here, alone or with their
friends," he said hopefully. "What sort of looking girl was Nada
Hawkins?"

"A--kid. That's what I called her," said Jolly Roger, in a dead, cold
voice. "Eighteen, and beautiful, with blue eyes, and brown hair that
she couldn't keep from blowing in curls about her face. So like an
angel you wouldn't forget her if you'd seen her--just once."

Gently the youth placed a hand on Jolly Roger's arm.

"She didn't come this way," he said, "but maybe you'll find her
somewhere else. Won't you have breakfa