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t say nothin' about that till to-morrow!" "Yes!" murmured Lidey, "she'd be awful scairt!" They were then about halfway up the slope, when from the cabin came a frightened cry of "Lidey! Lidey!" The door was flung open, the lamplight streamed out in futile contest with the moonlight, and Mrs. Patton appeared. Her face was white with fear. As she saw Dave and the little one hurrying towards her, both hands went to her heart in the extremity of her relief, and she sank back into a chair before the door. Dave kicked off his snow-shoes with a dexterous twist, stepped inside, slammed the door, and with a laugh and a kiss deposited Lidey in her mother's lap. "She jest run down to meet me!" explained Dave, truthfully but deceptively. "Oh, girlie, how you frightened me!" cried the woman, divided between tears and smiles. "I woke up, Dave, an' found her gone; an' bein' kind o' bewildered, I couldn't understand it!" She clung to his hand, while he looked tenderly down into her face. "Poor little woman!" he murmured, "you've had a bad turn ag'in, Lidey tells me. Better now, eh?" "I'm plumb all right ag'in, Dave, now you're back," she answered, squeezing his hand hard. "But land's sakes, Dave, how ever did you git all that blood on your pants?" "Oh," said the man, lightly, "that's nothin.' Tell you about it bime-by. I'm jest starvin' now. Let's have supper quick, and then give old Mr. Sandy Claus a chance. Tomorrow we're going to have the greatest Christmas ever was, us three!" The Gentling of Red McWha I It was heavy sledding on the Upper Ottanoonsis trail. The two lumbermen were nearing the close of the third day of the hard four days' haul in from the Settlements to the camp. At the head of the first team, his broad jaw set and his small grey eyes angry with fatigue, trudged the big figure of Red McWha, choosing and breaking a way through the deep snow. With his fiery red head and his large red face, he was the only one of his colouring in a large family so dark that they were known as the "Black McWhas," and his temper seemed to have been chronically soured by the singularity of his type. But he was a good woodsman and a good teamster, and his horses followed confidently at his heels like dogs. The second team was led by a tall, gaunt-jawed, one-eyed lumberman named Jim Johnson, but invariably known as "Walley." From the fact that his blind eye was of a peculiar blankness, like whitish porc
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