ght it could rain like this
after so beautiful a morning?"

"It storms when it storms--in the mountains," she responded, with the
sententious air of her father. "You never can tell what the sky is going
to do up here. It is probably snowing on the high divide. Looks now as
though those cayuses pulled out sometime in the night and have hit the
trail for home. That's the trouble with stall-fed stock. They'll quit you
any time they feel cold and hungry. Here comes the hail!" she shouted, as
a sharper, more spiteful roar sounded far away and approaching. "Now keep
from under!"

"What will your father do?" he called.

"Don't worry about him. He's at home any place there's a tree. He's
probably under a balsam somewhere, waiting for this ice to spill out. The
only point is, they may get over the divide, and if they do it will be
slippery coming back."

For the first time the thought that the Supervisor might not be able to
return entered Wayland's mind; but he said nothing of his fear.

The hail soon changed to snow, great, clinging, drowsy, soft, slow-moving
flakes, and with their coming the roar died away and the forest became as
silent as a grave of bronze. Nothing moved, save the thick-falling,
feathery, frozen vapor, and the world was again very beautiful and very
mysterious.

"We must keep the fire going," warned the girl. "It will be hard to start
after this soaking."

He threw upon the fire all of the wood which lay near, and Berrie, taking
the ax, went to the big fir and began to chop off the dry branches which
hung beneath, working almost as effectively as a man. Wayland insisted on
taking a turn with the tool; but his efforts were so awkward that she
laughed and took it away again. "You'll have to take lessons in swinging
an ax," she said. "That's part of the job."

Gradually the storm lightened, the snow changed back into rain, and
finally to mist; but up on the heights the clouds still rolled wildly,
and through their openings the white drifts bleakly shone.

"It's all in the trip," said Berrie. "You have to take the weather as it
comes on the trail." As the storm lessened she resumed the business of
cooking the midday meal, and at two o'clock they were able to eat in
comparative comfort, though the unmelted snow still covered the trees,
and water dripped from the branches.

"Isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Wayland, with glowing boyish face. "The
landscape is like a Christmas card. In its way it's quite