he brought to the river tilt
the fur that he had accumulated. There were twenty-eight martens, one
mink, two red foxes, one cross fox, a lynx and a wolf. These last two
animals he had shot. Bill was already in the tilt when he arrived, and
complimented him on his good showing.

Christmas fell on Wednesday that year, and Bill brought word that Dick
and Ed were coming up to spend the day with him and Bob. They would
reach the tilt on Tuesday night and use the remainder of the week in a
caribou hunt, as there were good signs of the animals a little way
back in the marshes and they were in need of fresh meat.

"An' I'll not try t' be gettin' here on Friday," said Bill. "I'll be
waitin' till Tuesday."

"I'll be doin' th' same, but I'll be here sure on a Tuesday, an' maybe
Monday," answered Bob.

So it was arranged that they should have a holiday, and all be
together again. It gave Bob a thrill of pleasure when he thought of
meeting Dick and Ed and proudly exhibiting his fur to have them
examine and criticise the skins and compliment him. It would make a
break in the monotonous life.

The day after Bob left the river tilt on his return round, the great
dream with which he had started out from Wolf Bight became a reality.
He caught a silver fox. It was almost evening when he turned into a
marsh where the trap was set. He had caught nothing in it before, and
he was thinking seriously of taking it up and placing it farther along
the trail. But now in the half dusk, as he approached, something
moved. "Sure 'tis a cross," said he. When he came closer and saw that
it was really a silver he could not for a moment believe his good
fortune. It was too good to be true. When he had killed it and taken
it out of the trap he hurried to the tilt hugging it closely to his
breast as though afraid it would get away.

In the tilt he lighted a candle and examined it. It was a beauty! It
was worth a lot of money! He patted it and turned it over. Then--there
was no one to see him and question his manhood or jibe at his
weakness--he cried--cried for pure joy. "Tis th' savin' o' Emily an'
makin' she well--an' makin' she well!" He had prayed that he would get
a silver, but his faith had been weak and he had never really believed
he should. Now he had it and his cup of joy was full. "Sure th' Lard
be good," he repeated to himself.

It was starlight two evenings later when he neared his last tilt.
Clear and beautiful and intensely cold was t