ter his long
absence, and in her imagination picture the days and days of happiness
that would follow while he sat by her couch and told her of his
adventures in the far off wilderness. Once, late in November, she
called her mother to her and asked:

"Mother, how long will it be now an' Bob comes home?"

"'Tis many months till th' open water, but I were hopin', dear, that
mayhap he'd be comin' at th' New Year."

"An' how long may it be to th' New Year, mother?"

"A bit more than a month, but 'tis not certain he'll be comin' then."

"'Tis a long while t' wait--a _terrible_ long while t' be waitin'--t'
th' New Year."

"Not so long, Emily. Th' time'll be slippin' by before we knows. But
don't be countin' on his comin' th' New Year, for 'tis a rare long
cruise t' th' Big Hill trail an' he may be waitin' till th' break-up.
But I'm thinkin' my lad'll be wantin' t' see how th' little maid
is,--an' see his mother--an' mayhap be takin' th' cruise."

"An Bob knew how lonesome we were--how _wonderful_ lonesome we
were--he'd be comin' at th' New Year sure. An' he'll be gettin'
lonesome hisself. He must be gettin' _dreadful_ lonesome away off in
th' bush this long time! He'll _sure_ be comin' at th' New Year!"

After this Emily began to keep account of the days as they passed. She
had her mother reckon for her the actual number until New Year's Eve,
and each morning she would say, "only so many days now an' Bob'll be
comin' home." Her mother warned her that it was not at all certain he
would come then--only a hope. But it grew to be a settled fact for
Emily, and a part of her daily life, to expect and plan for the happy
time when she should see him.

Mrs. Gray had not been able to throw off entirely the foreboding of
calamity that she had voiced at the time Bob left home. Every morning
she awoke with a heavy heart, like one bearing a great weight of
sorrow. Before going about her daily duties she would pray for the
preservation of her son and the healing of her daughter, and it would
relieve her burden somewhat, but never wholly. The strange Presence
was always with her.

One day when Douglas Campbell came over he found her very despondent,
and he asked:

"Now what's troublin' you, Mary? There's some trouble on yer mind.
Don't be worryin' about th' lad. He's as safe as you be. He'll be
comin' home as fine an' hearty as ever you see him, an' with a fine
hunt."

"I knows the's no call for th' worry," she answered, "but