Mrs. Grenfell remained aboard the
_Strathcona_. It was to take her down the east coast to the railroad
at Lewisporte, when the ice released its hold on the ship. In time, if
all went well, she would join her husband in New York.

It was a hard and lonely journey for Grenfell for the next three days.
Thirty miles a day was as much as he could do over a beach piled high
with gnarled, weather-worn rocks and ice carved by the sea into
strange forms, and flung into rough sugar-bowl heaps. When night came,
for want of soft snow-banks into which he might dig for a snug bed, he
scraped himself a place in the wet sand and built a fire and dried his
clothes to the tune of a raving wind. He knew the mail boat was
expected at any time at Flower's Cove, and if he missed it he would
have to wait a fortnight, at least, for its next southward journey.
In spite of the discomfort of sleeping on the ground, and the fear
that he might reach the Cove just too late to catch the steamer, his
rest was sound and sweet, while it lasted. But he let himself have
very little of it, because of the need of forcing the pace, and we can
easily imagine that it was a man thoroughly ready for a night in bed
who rapped at Parson Richard's door at Flower Cove when the three
days' hike was over.

"Well, well, Doctor!" Parson Richard's face was a warm and beaming
lamp of welcome. "Come right in! Why didn't you telegraph? You know
there's nobody I'd rather see than you.--Mary!" he called. "Get the
Doctor a cup of tea--and let him have a piece of that caribou steak
we've been keeping. It sure is good to see you, Doctor! Now we'll have
a fine chance to talk, when you're rested. The mail-boat won't be
along till to-morrow morning. There are so many things I want to tell
you about and ask your advice."

Grenfell had tugged off his rubber boots and sat in a cushioned chair
with his feet luxuriously outstretched to the stove. Now that the hard
pull afoot from cove to cove was over, it would be comparatively
luxurious travel the rest of the way. He could probably have the full
length of the table to sleep on, in the dining-saloon of the _Ethie_
when the dishes were cleared away. Since it was the beginning of the
season, and southward-bound travel was slack, he might even get a
berth to himself.

But a frowsy-polled messenger just at that delicious moment of warmth
and reverie threw open the front door without the ceremony of
knocking, and a blast of wind swirle