in a voice so low that he had to
bend to catch the words, "if it is indeed my father, then this is the
last time you will help me thus."

"Yes," he answered steadily. "The last time."

They passed the rocks and came to where the ravine widened. The sound
that had perplexed them was now plainly audible; there was no mistaking
the quick, ringing strokes of the axe. They rounded a jutting cliff and
abruptly emerged from the chill darkness of the gorge upon a noble
landscape of hill and valley, autumn woods and flowing water, all bathed
in the golden light of the sinking sun and inestimably bright and
precious of aspect after the gloom through which they had been
traveling. But it was not the beauty of the scene which drew an
exclamation from them both. At a little distance rose a knoll, covered
with short grass and fading golden-rod, and with its base laved by a
crystal stream of some width, and upon the knoll, shaded by a couple of
magnificent maples, and covered with the pale and feathery bloom of the
wild clematis, stood a small, rude hut. Smoke rose from its crazy
chimney, and upon the strip of greensward before the door rolled a
little, half-naked child--a white child. As the travelers stared in
amazement, a woman's voice rang out, freshly and sweetly, in an English
ballad. The trees had been cleared away from around the knoll, and in
their place rose the yellowing stalks of Indian corn. The little mound,
feathered with the gold of the golden-rod and girt with the gold of the
maize, rose like a fairy isle from the limitless sea of forest, and the
apparition of a troop of veritable elves would have astonished the
wanderers less than did the tiny cabin, the romping child, and the clear
song of the woman.

The Indian glided to their side from behind the trunk of an oak. "Ugh,"
he said with emphasis. "He is mad and so he has his scalp still." As he
spoke he pointed to where, at a little distance, a man, with his back
turned to the forest, was busily felling a tree.

"He dares much," said Landless. "We did not think to see the face of a
white man--pioneer, ranger, trapper or trader--for many a league yet. He
has built his house in the jaws of the wolf."

Patricia gazed at the hut with wistful eyes. "There is a woman there,"
she said, and Landless heard her voice tremble for the first time in
their long, toilsome and painful journey. "There is no need to pass them
by, is there? It looks very fair and peaceful. May we n