ones.... But I must away to my
house-building or I shall have to spend another night under the stars."

She turned and walked abruptly away. In her eyes as she went was a
joyous light, and her heart was gay. As she swung the ax upon her
shoulder and moved towards the trees she broke into song, the words of
which reached Stane:

"It was a lover and his lass
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green cornfield did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding,
Sweet lovers love the Spring."

He lay there beating out the melody with his fingers. A musing look
came in his eyes that remained there when once more the sound of her ax
came through the forest stillness. Then it died away and his face grew
grim.

"It's nonsense, the merest madness!" he whispered to himself. "And even
if it were not--a man can't take advantage of such circumstances. It
would be too caddish for words----"

For a long time he lay there listening to the sound of her movements,
which told him when she was near and when further away, and presently
he heard her fixing the lean-to of her improvised hut. She worked
steadily, sometimes singing to herself, but she did not enter the tent
again until noon, when she came in to inquire if he were comfortable
and to say that a meal would be ready shortly.

"How does the hut go?" he asked.

"Oh, finely!" she cried with enthusiasm. "The framework is up, though
I've used all the pack-ropes over the job. I wish I had some nails. I'm
sure I could drive them straight."

"I'm sure you could," he replied laughingly.

"Girls are not nearly so incapable as they let men make them out to be.
I never built a house before, but I am sure this one of mine is going
to be a success. After we have eaten I am going to look for birch-bark
to make the covering, but there's one thing that is worrying me."

"What is that?" he asked.

"I am wondering how to fasten the bark together. I shall have to get it
in strips, I know, and the strips will have to be sewn together. I know
that, but the question is--how? If I had stout twine and a packing
needle it would be easy, but----"

"It is still easy," he interrupted. "You will have to get the roots of
the white spruce, and sew with that, as a cobbler sews, using a knife
for awl."

"Oh," she laughed, "I never thought of that, and it is so simple. I
shall manage all right now."

After