it
along the crest, mile after mile, to the South, the center of its soft
white whirl, its winged tutelary God. When he returned, that night, a
snow-carpet extended down from the top of the chain, down the slopes, to
the edge of the meadow. Dolly was inside of the cabin, close to the
fireplace. "Ooh, Goosie, but it's cold," she cried. "Yes," admitted
Charles-Norton; "it is cold." His wings were encased in ice, and he
sparkled rosily in the fire's glow.

The next day, though, was warmer; the carpet of snow gradually retreated
up the slopes. It remained on the crest, however, frozen and
scintillating. It was a world of increased beauty that now spread beneath
Charles-Norton. The crest glittered from horizon to horizon; here and
there little lakes gleamed like hard diamonds; and lower, the willows in
the hollows lay very light, like painted vapor.

The next morning Dolly said: "There's no sugar, Goosie."

"Coffee is better without sugar," said Charles-Norton, sententiously.

For a few days the young couple, with wry faces, drank unsweetened
coffee. Then this difficulty disappeared. Taking up the tin before
breakfast, Dolly discovered that there was no more coffee.

The last of the canned fruit followed, and the last slice of bacon.

"Thank the Lord we can live on trout," said Charles-Norton, piously.

As if in answer, the next morning, the trout refused to take his bait of
red flannel.

Alone there on the shore of the lake, while Dolly waited within the
cabin, Charles-Norton passed a bad quarter-of-an-hour. Then he went up
the slopes back of the meadow and captured a handful of grasshoppers
springing there in the rising sun. The trout took them with gratitude.
"Whee!" said Charles-Norton, when at last he had his catch.

And then, to a cold blast from the East, a few days later, the
grasshoppers all disappeared. Charles-Norton took his axe, went into the
woods, and chopping open mouldy logs, obtained a store of white grub. The
trout took them.

But Fatality now was dogging him close. When, with tingling skin, he
opened the cabin-door a few mornings later, a cry escaped him. A
snow-carpet spread from the crest over the face of the whole visible
world, clear down to the western plain. It covered deep the meadow, hung
in miniature mountain-chains on the boughs of the pines, filigreed the
lake. The lake was frozen.

Charles-Norton chopped a hole in the ice, then chopped logs and
replenished his supply of grubs. Th