ed to the
same man who had held her when she roused from the snow-chill.

"What is it?" he asked gently. He pointed to her hand.

"It is--my charm. It is to bring me good."

"May I see it?" The man's voice was so kind that it filled Timid Hare
with perfect trust.

"You will--help me?" The child's eyes were full of pleading.

"Yes, little one."

Slowly Timid Hare drew forth the sock. It was faded and soiled, yet
the pattern in which the silk had been woven into the worsted was quite
plain.

"How did--Why, tell me at once how you got this." The man's voice was
half stern, half pleading.

"It was--so." With this beginning Timid Hare repeated the story as
White Mink had told it to her. Many a time she had since told it to
herself during her hard life with The Stone. It was such a strange
story--so full of wonder to her still. The wonder of it was in her
voice even now.

The man listened with half-closed eyes, but saying never a word till
she finished. Then, as in a dream, he said in a low tone: "It is my
baby's sock--the pattern is one planned by my dear wife Alice who died
out on this lonely prairie. And then--the sudden attack of the
Dahcotas--and I made prisoner, while my baby Alice was left behind to
perish. Afterwards I was rescued, though I cared little to live."

"But child, child," he burst out, "though your eyes have the same
color, the same expression as those of my dear wife, your skin is that
of the red people."

"I stained it--The Stone made me--and when I saw Sweet Grass liked me
best so, I put on the color again and yet again."

"God be praised! I have found my darling who, I thought, was lost
forever." The man lifted Timid Hare and clasped her tenderly in his
arms. And she--well, the little girl rested there content and happy.

The next minute the rest of the party who had been out exploring,
entered the tent with word that the start must be made at once. The
clouds of the night before had lifted; the snow might not begin falling
for several hours, and the most must be made of the morning towards
reaching a larger camp where sledges would carry them a long ways
towards a fur station.

Great was the joy of the others when they learned the good fortune that
had come to their friend, and merry was the whole party as it made its
way onward. Yes, Timid Hare, or rather Alice, now more like the Swift
Fawn she had been, was merry too. But as she went on her way to the
new and be