e lake lay. Again Berrie made
everything snug while her young woodsman toiled at bringing logs for the
fire.

In truth, he was more elated than he had been since leaving school, for
he was not only doing a man's work in the world, he was serving a woman
in the immemorial way of the hewer of wood and the carrier of water. His
fatigue and the chill of the morning wore away, and he took vast pride in
dragging long poles down the hillside, forcing Berrie to acknowledge that
he was astonishingly strong. "But don't overdo it," she warned.

At last fully provided for, they sat contentedly side by side under the
awning and watched the falling rain as it splashed and sizzled on the
sturdy fire. "It's a little like being shipwrecked on a desert island,
isn't it?" he said. "As if our boats had drifted away."

At noon she again prepared an elaborate meal. She served potatoes and
grouse, hot biscuit with sugar syrup, and canned peaches, and coffee done
to just the right color and aroma. He declared it wonderful, and they ate
with repeated wishes that the Supervisor might turn up in time to share
their feast; but he did not. Then Berrie said, firmly: "Now you must take
a snooze, you look tired."

He was, in truth, not only drowsy but lame and tired. Therefore, he
yielded to her suggestion.

She covered him with blankets and put him away like a child. "Now you
have a good sleep," she said, tenderly. "I'll call you when daddy
comes."

With a delicious sense of her protecting care he lay for a few moments
listening to the drip of the water on the tent, then drifted away into
peace and silence.

When he woke the ground was again covered with snow, and the girl was
feeding the fire with wood which her own hands had supplied.

Hearing him stir, she turned and fixed her eyes upon him with clear, soft
gaze. "How do you feel by now?" she asked.

"Quite made over," he replied, rising alertly.

His cheer, however, was only pretense. He was greatly worried. "Something
has happened to your father," he said. "His horse has thrown him, or he
has slipped and fallen." His peace and exultation were gone. "How far is
it down to the ranger station?"

"About twelve miles."

"Don't you think we'd better close camp and go down there? It is now
three o'clock; we can walk it in five hours."

She shook her head. "No, I think we'd better stay right here. It's a
long, hard walk, and the trail is muddy."

"But, dear girl," he began, desperately