ween the ankle and
starvation, the ankle had won.

He did not give way to any unseemly elation. He even felt a momentary
sorrow that a life must perish to save his own, because all these wild
things were his kindred now. He returned by the path that he had broken,
kindled his fire anew, dexterously skinned and cleaned his rabbit,
then cooked it and ate half, although he ate slowly and with intervals
between each piece. How delicious it tasted, and how his physical being
longed to leap upon it and devour it, but the power of the mind was
still supreme. He knew what was good for himself, and he did it.
Everything was done in order and with sobriety. Then he put the rest of
the rabbit carefully in his food pouch, wrapped the blanket about his
body, leaned back, and stretched his feet to the coals.

What an extraordinary change had come over the world in an hour! He had
not noticed before the great beauty of the lake, the lofty cliffs on the
farther shore, and the forest clothed in white and hanging with icicles.

The winter sunshine was molten silver, pouring down in a flood.

It was not will now, but actuality, that made him feel the strength
returning to his frame. He knew that the blood in his veins had begun
to sparkle, and that his vitality was rising fast. He could have gone
to sleep peacefully, but instead he went forth and hunted again. He
knew that where the rabbit had been, others were likely to be near, and
before he returned he had secured two more. Both of these he cleaned and
cooked at once. When this was done night had come, but he ate again,
and then, securing all his treasures about him, fell into the best sleep
that he had enjoyed since his flight.

He felt very strong the next morning, and he might have started then,
but he was prudent. There was still a chance of meeting the Iroquois,
and the ankle might not stand so severe a test. He would rest in his
nest for another day, and then he would be equal to anything. Few could
lie a whole day in one place with but little to do and with nothing
passing before the eyes, but it was a part of Henry's wilderness
training, and he showed all the patience of the forester. He knew,
too, as the hours went by, that his strength was rising all the while.
To-morrow almost the last soreness would be gone from his ankle and
then he could glide swiftly over the snow, back to his comrades. He
was content. He had, in fact, a sense of great triumph because he had
overcom