and refuse to work until they were put in boots, which
were little bags of deer-hide drawn over their feet and fastened with
buckskin thongs.

It was a journey of constant and painful struggle and of dreary
monotony, each day being only the same endless succession of ice-bound
river, snow-covered hills, and sombre forest. Especially depressing was
the night of the 24th of December, when, with an icy wind moaning
through the tree-tops of the subarctic forest, and the shivering dogs
edging toward the fire for a share of its grateful warmth, Phil and
Serge and Jalap Coombs reminded each other that this was Christmas eve.
Never before had Phil spent one away from home, nor had the others ever
been so utterly removed from the cheering influences of the joyous
season. So Phil described what he knew was taking place in far distant
New London at that very hour, and Serge told of merry times in quaint
old Sitka, while Jalap Coombs recalled many a noble plum duff that had
graced Christmas feasts far out at sea, until they all grew homesick,
and finally crawled into their sleeping-bags to dream of scenes as
remote from those surrounding them as could well be imagined.

As they always selected a camping-place, and prepared for the long night
by the last of the scanty daylight or in the middle of the afternoon, so
they always resumed their journey by the moonlight or starlight, or even
in the darkness of two or three o'clock the next morning. On Christmas
morning they started as usual many hours before daylight, and, either
owing to the vagueness of all outlines or because his thoughts were far
away, the young leader mistook a branch for the main river, and headed
for a portion of the mighty wilderness that no white man had ever yet
explored.

About noon they passed a forlorn native village of three or four
snow-covered huts, the occupants of which gazed at the unaccustomed
sight of white travellers in stolid amazement. They had gone nearly a
mile beyond this sole evidence of human occupation to be found in many a
weary league when Phil suddenly stopped.

"Look here!" he exclaimed, "what do you two say to going back, making a
camp near that village, and having some sort of a Christmas after all?
It doesn't seem right for white folks to let the day go by without
celebrating it somehow."

As the others promptly agreed to this proposition the sledges were faced
about, and a few minutes later the music of Musky's jingling bells ag