m-mul," he said.

"What is that?" Jean asked.

"Snow-shoes for babby. Long trip bimeby."

"What! am I to use them?"

"A-ha-ha. When wast come."

"What is wast?"

"Snow. Plenty bimeby."

When Sam had finished the frames of the snow-shoes, Kitty set at once
to work to weave the web of strips of dried caribou skin. Jean was
even more interested in this than she had been in the making of her
travelling-suit, and she was never tired of watching the woman's
skilful fingers as she fashioned the warp and woof upon the frames
until the perfect webs were completed. What strong snow-shoes they
were, and how graceful! Jean was anxious to try them, and longed for
the snow to come.

But during this time of waiting Kitty began the training of the girl
for the hard march overland. Every day she would take her into the
woods for a walk. At first Jean was quite tired when she returned to
the lodge, but ere long she was able to travel much farther, and came
back fresh and unwearied. She understood the meaning of these trips,
and enjoyed them. The harder she trained the more fitted she would be
to contend with the difficulties which lay ahead. Her body thrilled
with excitement, and her cheeks glowed with animation whenever she
thought of the joy of going home. Seldom were her loved ones out of
her mind, and she pictured her father's delight when she opened the
door and walked in, clad in her caribou-suit. How the people of the
settlement would throng around her, and what a story she would have to
tell. She wondered what had become of Dane. She believed that he was
frantically searching for her, and the hope dwelt in her heart that he
might find her and they would go home together.

After a week of steady training Jean was anxious to begin the journey.
When she mentioned this to Sam he shook his head and looked up at the
moon which was shining above the tree-tops.

"Pu-sa-nuts se-pa-wun-ok," he said.

Seeing the puzzled expression upon the girl's face, he laughed.

"Beeg snow soon."

"How do you know?"

"Ni-pauk-set--moon-tell Sam."

"How does the moon tell you?"

"Ring round moon, see? Bimeby no moon. Beeg snow."

And in this the Indian was right. Toward morning a wind sprang up and
wailed through the forest. When Jean opened her eyes the next morning
the trees were swaying beneath a strong nor'easter. The sky was
leaden, and the air already flecked with fine snow. In another hour
the storm was