around the kitchen fire
at night, never wearying of the theme. There was Mrs.
McKitterick--everybody knew about her, of course. And there was
Arabella Winters, who was in bed and like to die, one day, and the
doctor had her sitting up and going around the next. And as for Jake
Sawyer's orphans--well, there was no knowing how often he had saved
their lives. Yes, the doctor certainly was a caution.

As he worked the days flew past, and Rosalie's New Year's celebration,
which was to bring him such happiness, was fast approaching. He had
all the arrangements made for his holidays several weeks before.
Harwood was coming to take his work for a week, and everything promised
to turn out exactly as he had hoped.

On the last night of December he drove down the Lake Simcoe road to pay
a farewell visit to Mrs. McKitterick. Harwood had arrived the day
before, and the next morning Gilbert was to take the early train for
Toronto. Lauchie had promised to wait at the back lane for him, and
Davy had shoveled a path down to the railroad track.

Gilbert wore his first-prize mittens under his fur gauntlets, and Mrs.
McKitterick praised him for the wonderful care he was taking of them.
She was better, quite herself again, but she warned him to be back in
less than a week, for how could she get on without him? He had not the
heart to tell her that he would not likely be with her much longer. He
had to wait for a cup of tea, and by the time he had made another call
it was getting late.

As he was hurrying homeward he bethought himself of a short road to the
village, a winter highway, that went up the ravine, past the Drowned
Lands, following the old abandoned corduroy track. It had been made by
Sandy McQuarry's teams hauling logs up to the mill, and being
sheltered, was comparatively free from drifts. The doctor turned into
it, and passed into the breathless silence of the cedar swamp. His
horse's bells sounded startlingly clear in the tense Stillness. To his
right lay the cold, drear stretches of the Drowned Lands; the gaunt
tree-trunks were but dimly discernible against the gray landscape, and
looked more ghostly than ever, standing there, stark and silent, like
an army of the dead. Not a light could be seen, nor a sign of human
habitation. Above stretched the illimitable blue of heaven, steely
cold, like the frozen earth, and spangled with glittering stars. For
several nights Gilbert had had very little sleep, and as h