gn of Indian summer. The slight wind among
the leaves had a soothing note, and breathed of nothing but peace. Peace
Henry Ware devoutly hoped that it would be.

His task was easy. The forest all about was littered with the fallen and
dead wood of preceding years, and in a few moments he gathered up an
armful, with which he returned to the house. Then he brought in dry
leaves, and heaped leaves and wood together in the chimney-place. He
glanced at Paul and saw him trembling. As if by chance he touched his
comrade's hand, and it felt ice-cold. But he did not depart one jot from
his cheerful manner, all his words showing confidence.

"Now, Paul," he said, "In less than a minute you'll see burning before you
the finest, warmest, glowingest and most comfortable fire in all the
West."

Paul's eyes glistened.

Henry drew forth flint and steel, and with a few strokes sent out the
vivifying spark. The dry leaves caught, a light flame formed, the wood
caught in its turn, and then the blaze, leaping high, roared up the
chimney. In a moment the hearth was glowing, and presently a bed of deep
red coals began to grow.

Paul uttered a low laugh of joy, and spread out his hands to the flames.
The red light glowed across the delicately cut but strong face of the boy,
and Henry noticed now that all his color was gone, leaving his features
white and drawn.

"Sit a little closer, Paul, a little closer," he said, still in tones of
high, good cheer. "Isn't it the most beautiful fire you ever saw?"

"Yes," said Paul, "it is. It looks mighty good, but it's curious that it
doesn't warm me more."

Henry had closed the door, and it was already very hot in the cabin; but
he decided now on another step--one that would take more time, but it must
be taken.

"Paul," he said, "I'm going out in the woods to look for something, and I
may be gone at least half an hour. Take good care of our house while I'm
away."

"All right," said Paul. But as he spoke his teeth struck together.

Henry closed the door once more, with himself on the outside. Then he
walked to the edge of the clearing, and looked back at the cabin. He had
been careful to choose the kind of wood that would give out the least
smoke, and only a thin column rose from the chimney. The wind caught it
before it rose far, and it was lost among the great trees of the
wilderness. It seemed again to Henry Ware that Fortune was kind to them.

The single look sufficed, and then, drawing