earch be undertaken, and there
was small chance of finding the body until later spring melted the snow.
It was to be an especially bad winter, all agreed, and no pleas, bribes
or threats of the men could move the natives from their decision.

Then, they debated, should they go home, or wait till spring?

The latter plan seemed foolish, for it was now nearly November and to
wait there idly for five or six months was appalling. Moreover, it
seemed their duty to go home and report Peter's loss to his father, even
if they returned in the spring to search for the body of their chum.

The last boat left for Newfoundland the middle of November, and they
concluded that if there was no news of Peter by that time they would
sail on it. "I feel cowardly to go," said Shelby, whose brain was weary,
working out the problem of duty. "Yet, why stay?"

"It's right to go," Blair said, gravely. "You see, Mr. Crane must be
_told_,--not written to."

"One of us might go,--and one stay," Shelby suggested.

"No use in that," Blair said, after a moment's consideration; "the
remaining one couldn't do anything."

"You men talk foolishness," said Joshua, gravely. "Mr. Peter Crane is by
this time buried under eight feet of snow. You can do nothing. You'd
both better go home."

So they went

CHAPTER IV

The Prophecy Recalled

The steamer from Newfoundland that brought Shelby and Blair to New York
arrived during Christmas week.

The two men, however, were far from feeling holiday cheer as they
reached the wharf and faced the hard trial of telling Mr. and Mrs. Crane
of their son's death.

But it had to be done, and they felt it their duty to lose no time in
performing the sad errand.

No one met them at the steamer, for its hour of arrival was uncertain
and they had discouraged their friends from the attempt.

Indeed only telegrams from Newfoundland had apprised any one of their
arrival, for letters would have come by the same boat they came
themselves.

"Let's go straight to the Cranes' and get it over," said Blair; with a
sigh. "I dread the ordeal."

"So do I," Shelby confessed. "I wish we could see Mr. Crane alone,
first."

"We must do that, of course. It's only eight o'clock, and we're ready to
start now. Come ahead."

They sent their luggage to their homes and took a taxi for the Crane
town house, on upper Park Avenue.

By good fortune, Mr. Crane was at home and received them in his library.
They had asked to