it
followed the configuration of the hills. Dead cornstalks, above the
snow, showed ploughed ground; beyond that, a little, black cabin
huddled in the further point of the crescent, and Constance gasped with
disappointment as she saw it. She had expected a farmhouse; but this
plainly was not even that. The framework was of logs or poles which
had been partly boarded over; and above the boards and where they were
lacking, black building paper had been nailed, secured by big tin
discs. The rude, weather-beaten door was closed; smoke, however, came
from a pipe stuck through the roof.

She struggled to the door and knocked upon it, and receiving no reply,
she beat upon it with both fists.

"Who's here?" she cried. "Who's here?"

The door opened then a very little, and the frightened face of an
Indian woman appeared in the crack. The woman evidently had
expected--and feared--some arrival, and was reassured when she saw only
a girl. She threw the door wider open, and bent to help unfasten
Constance's snowshoes; having done that, she led her in and closed the
door.

Constance looked swiftly around the single room of the cabin. There
was a cot on one side; there was a table, home carpentered; there were
a couple of boxes for clothing or utensils. The stove, a good range
once in the house of a prosperous farmer, had been bricked up by its
present owners so as to hold fire. Dried onions and yellow ears of
corn hung from the rafters; on the shelves were little birchbark
canoes, woven baskets, and porcupine quill boxes of the ordinary sort
made for the summer trade. Constance recognized the woman now as one
who had come sometimes to the Point to sell such things, and who could
speak fairly good English. The woman clearly had recognized Constance
at once.

"Where is your man?" Constance had caught the woman's arm.

"They sent for him to the beach. A ship has sunk."

"Are there houses near here? You must run to one of them at once.
Bring whoever you can get; or if you won't do that, tell me where to
go."

The woman stared at her stolidly and moved away. "None near," she
said. "Besides, you could not get somebody before some one will come."

"Who is that?"

"He is on the beach--Henry Spearman. He comes here to warm himself.
It is nearly time he comes again."

"How long has he been about here?"

"Since before noon. Sit down. I will make you tea."

Constance gazed at her; the woman was plainly glad