er mother
mused, while Free Trader Spear scratched his head once more, and three
house flies lazily sat on the sugar bowl and hummed a vulgar tune.

After dinner Mr. Spear invited me into the trading room to see some of
the furs he had secured. Among them were four silver fox skins as well
as the black one he had bought from Oo-koo-hoo. They were indeed fine
skins.

It was now time for me to take my departure, so I returned to the
living room, but found no one there. Presently, however, Mrs. Spear
entered, and though she sat down opposite me, she never once looked my
way. She seemed agitated about something. Clasping her fingers
together, she twirled her thumbs about one another, then she twirled
them back the other way; later she took to tapping her moccasined toe
upon the bare floor, I wondered what was coming. I couldn't make it
out. For all the while she was looking at a certain crack in the
floor. Once more she renewed the twirling action of her thumbs, and
even increased the action of her toe upon the floor.

What did it all mean? Had I done anything to displease her? No; I
could think of nothing of the sort, so I felt a little easier.
Suddenly, however, she glanced up and, looking straight at me, began:

"Mr. Heming . . . we have only one child . . . and we love her
dearly . . ."

But the pause that followed was so long drawn out that I began to lose
interest, especially as the flies were once more humming the same old
tune. A little later, however, I was almost startled when Mrs. Spear
exclaimed:

"But I'll lend you a photograph of Athabasca for six weeks!"

Thereupon Mrs. Spear left her chair and going upstairs presently
returned with a photograph wrapped in a silk handkerchief; and as at
that very moment the Free Trader and his daughter entered the room, I,
without comment, slipped the photograph into my inside pocket, and
wished them all good-bye; though they insisted upon walking down to the
landing to wave me farewell on my way to Fort Consolation.

MUSTERING THE FUR BRIGADE

Next morning, soon after dawn, the church bells were ringing and
everyone was up and astir; and presently all were on their way to one
or another of the little log chapels on the hill; where, a little
later, they saw the stalwart men of the Fur Brigade kneeling before the
altar as they partook of the holy sacrament before starting upon their
voyage to the frontier of civilization.

Strange, isn't it, that the