ness and the thick woods had forced them to
abandon the ponies.

"I wonder what the poor things will do?" interjected Marjorie.

"They'll look after themselves, never fear," said Kalman.
"They live out all winter here."

Then through the drifts they had fought their way, till in the
moment of their despair the dogs came upon them.

"We thought they were wolves," cried Marjorie, "till one began to
bay, and I knew it was the fox-hound. And then I was sure that you
would not be far away. We followed the dogs for a while, and I kept
calling and calling,--poor Mr. Penny had lost his voice
entirely,--till you came and found us."

A sweet confusion checked her speech. The heat of the fire became
suddenly insupportable, and putting up her hand to protect her
face, she drew back into the shadow.

Mr. Penny, under the influence of a strong cup of boiling tea and
a moderate portion of the bannock and pork,--for Kalman would not
allow him full rations,--became more and more confident that they
"would have made it."

"Why, Mr. Penny," cried Marjorie, "you couldn't move a foot
further. Don't you remember how often you sat down, and I had
just to pull you up?"

"Oh," said Mr. Penny, "it was the beastly drift getting into my
eyes and mouth, don't you know. But I would have pulled up again in
a minute. I was just getting my second wind. By Jove! I'm strong on
my second wind, don't you know."

But Marjorie was quite unconvinced, while Kalman said nothing.
Over and over again they recounted the tale of their terrors and
their struggle, each time with some new incident; but ever and
anon there would flame up in Marjorie's cheek the flag of distress,
as if some memory smote her with a sudden blow, and her hand would
cover her cheek as if to ward off those other and too ardent kisses
of the dancing flames. But at such times about her lips a fitful
smile proclaimed her distress to be not quite unendurable.

At length Mr. Penny felt sleepy, and stretching himself upon the
dry earth before the fire, passed into unconsciousness, leaving the
others to themselves. Over the bed of spruce boughs in the corner
Kalman spread his blankets, moving about with painful difficulty
at his task, his groans growing more frequent as they called forth
from his companion exclamations of tender commiseration.

The story of those vigil hours could not be told. How they sat
now in long silences, gazing into the glowing coals, and again
conversing in