nt to be a real goose," continued Spooner, "if I
could only thereby use my wings to fly away over the snowy wilderness
and alight in my old home."

"What a surprise you'd give them if you did!" said Lumley, "especially
if you came down with your ruffled feathers as clumsily as you tumbled
into the saw-pit the other day when--"

He stopped, for at that moment I said "Hush!" and held up a finger.

"Sleigh-bells!" exclaimed Spooner, with a catch of his breath.

"Nothing new in that," said Lumley: "we hear them every day."

"Nothing new," I retorted, "to your unmusical ear, but these bells are
not _our_ bells--listen!"

I started up as I spoke, flung open the outer door, and we all listened
intently.

Clear and pleasant they rang, like the music of a sweet new song. We
all gave a shout, clapped on our caps, and ran out to the fort gate.
There an almost new sensation thrilled us, for we beheld a team of dogs
coming up weary and worn out of the wilderness, preceded by a gaunt yet
majestic Indian, whose whole aspect--haggard expression of countenance,
soiled and somewhat tattered garments, and weary gait--betokened severe
exhaustion. On the sled, drawn by four lanky dogs, we could see the
figure of a man wrapped in blankets and strapped to the conveyance.

"Who _can_ it be?" exclaimed Lumley, as he hastened out to meet the new
arrivals.

"A sick man from somewhere," suggested Spooner.

"Perhaps the governor," said I, "on an unexpected tour of inspection."

As we drew near we could see that the recumbent figure waved a hand and
cheered.

"Macnab," said I, as the familiar voice struck my ear.

"Ill--dying!" gasped the anxious Spooner.

"No dying man ever cheered like that!" cried Lumley, "except a hero of
romance in the hour of death and victory!"

A few seconds more and the matter was put at rest, while we warmly shook
the hearty and genial Highlander by both hands.

"Help me out, boys," he said; "I'm tired o' this sled, and think I can
do the little remaining bit o' the journey on foot with your help."

We disentangled him from the sledge and set him on his feet.

"Hold on, Lumley," he said, with a smile on his haggard and unshaven
face, "I want to embrace you, like the Frenchmen. There--my arm round
your neck--so. Now, Max, I want to embrace you likewise wi' the other
arm. I've grown awful affectionate in my old age. You are rather
short, Max, for a good crutch, but you're better than nothing. You