keep you, I do not want you here. But
you are running with the wrong crowd, Louie; you'll learn it
someday--but someday may be too late."

The big, dreamy-eyed man was hardly listening, but he gestured toward
the door. And Steve treated his departure kindly, as he had always
treated his presence. Outside where Shayne and Fallon had picked
themselves up, Big Louie hesitated and fumbled in his pocket with a
cold-cramped hand. He delivered the letter which had been entrusted to
him, before he went down the hill. There are many men like Big Louie
who are pitifully faithful until events outstrip their intellects.
Steve was sorry for him; and a half hour later, after he had read Miss
Sarah's prim note requesting his presence at dinner at seven-thirty,
Christmas eve, he grew sorrier still while he watched the ill-assorted
trio meet once more, blanket-packs upon their backs and snow-shoes on
their feet. Big Louie had joined the other two from the direction of
the stables. There were words between them, for Steve saw the huge
man's arm lift to strike Shayne to the ground, and then drop harmlessly
back to his side. And Steve knew what that bit of pantomime meant.
Big Louie had been to bid his team good-bye. There was a smudge of
brown sugar across his coat, though the watcher was too far away to see
that. But he knew that Big Louie had been crying, knew that Shayne had
smiled. It was the second time that Shayne had smiled that
evening--his second bad mistake. Long after they had disappeared into
the north toward the Reserve Company's camps, Steve wondered that it
had not cost him his life.

Miss Sarah's note which had been almost a week on the way was very
primly correct, but the inevitable postscript which under-ran it
sounded a more intimate note.

"We are not excessively formal as a rule, Stephen," she wrote, "so a
dinner jacket will be adequate. As I am expecting two other guests
besides your friends, Mr. Morgan and Garrett Devereau, I must ask you
to let no business matters interfere with your promptness."

Steve dared not let himself wonder who those other guests would prove
to be, Miriam Burrell, he knew, had already written Garry that this was
to be the saddest Christmas, and the merriest, that she had ever known,
giving as respective reasons her inability to be with him, and the fact
that she was so entirely his. Because he would not let himself hope
this time he was not disappointed, or at least so he