eeping-bag and retired to another cabin, warning
us that we must be up early. Our improvised beds were the most
comfortable things; I love the flicker of an open fire, the smell of
the pines, the pure, sweet air, and I went to sleep thinking how blest
I was to be able to enjoy the things I love most.

It seemed only a short time until some one knocked on our door and we
were all wide awake in a minute. The fire had burned down and only a
soft, indistinct glow from the embers lighted the room, while through a
hole in the roof I could see a star glimmering frostily. It was Gavotte
at the door and he called through a crack saying he had been hearing
queer noises for an hour and he was going to investigate. He had called
us so that we need not be alarmed should we hear the noise and not find
him. We scrambled into our clothes quickly and ran outdoors to listen.

I can never describe to you the weird beauty of a moonlight night among
the pines when the snow is sparkling and gleaming, the deep silence
unbroken even by the snapping of a twig. We stood shivering and
straining our ears and were about to go back to bed when we heard
faintly a long-drawn wail as if all the suffering and sorrow on earth
were bound up in that one sound. We couldn't tell which way it came
from; it seemed to vibrate through the air and chill our hearts. I had
heard that panthers cried that way, but Gavotte said it was not a
panther. He said the engine and saws had been moved from where we were
to another spring across the canon a mile away, where timber for sawing
was more plentiful, but he supposed every one had left the mill when
the water froze so they couldn't saw. He added that some one must have
remained and was, perhaps, in need of help, and if we were not afraid
he would leave us and go see what was wrong.

We went in, made up the fire, and sat in silence, wondering what we
should see or hear next. Once or twice that agonized cry came shivering
through the cold moonlight. After an age, we heard Gavotte crunching
through the snow, whistling cheerily to reassure us. He had crossed the
canon to the new mill camp, where he had found two women, loggers'
wives, and some children. One of the women, he said, was "so ver'
seek," 't was she who was wailing so, and it was the kind of "seek"
where we could be of every help and comfort.

Mrs. Louderer stayed and took care of the children while Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy and I followed after Gavotte, panting and