covered the water and land. When the flakes came down,
the villagers always knew that it was warmer, for when the clouds were
steel-bound, the snow could not fall.

"I think we shall have snow again to-morrow," said old Antoine in his
voyageur dialect. "Step forward, then, genteelly, Rene. Hast thou no
conscience, Lebeau?"

The two dogs, whose attention had been a little distracted by the
backward vision of Andre conveying something to his mouth, returned to
their duty with a jerk, and the other dogs behind all rang their little
bells suddenly as they felt the swerve of the leaders back into the
track. For there was a track over the ice toward Pere Michaux's island,
and another stretching off due eastward--the path of the carrier who
brought the mails from below; besides these there were no other
ice-roads; the Indians and hunters came and went as the bird flies. Pere
Michaux's island was not in sight from the village; it was, as the boys
said, round the corner. When they had turned this point, and no longer
saw the mission church, the little fort, and the ice-covered piers, when
there was nothing on the shore side save wild cliffs crowned with
evergreens, then before them rose a low island with its bare summer
trees, its one weather-beaten house, a straight line of smoke coming
from its chimney. It was still a mile distant, but the boys ran along
with new vigor. No one wished to ride; Andre, leaving his place, took
hold with the others, and the empty sled went on toward the hermitage at
a fine pace.

"You could repose yourself there, mademoiselle," said Antoine, who never
thoroughly approved the walking upon her own two feet kept up--nay, even
enjoyed--by this vigorous girl at his side. Tita's ideas were more to
his mind.

"But I like it," said Anne, smiling. "It makes me feel warm and strong,
all awake and joyous, as though I had just heard some delightful news."

"But the delightful news in reality, mademoiselle--one hears not much of
it up here, as I say to Jacqueline."

"Look at the sky, the ice-fields; that is news every day, newly
beautiful, if we will only look at it."

"Does mademoiselle think, then, that the ice is beautiful?"

"Very beautiful," replied the girl.

The cold air had brought the blood to her cheeks, a gleaming light to
her strong, fearless eyes that looked the sun in the face without
quailing. Old Antoine caught the idea for the first time that she might,
perhaps, be beautiful some da