self too much--the sea with its burden of ice groaned and clashed.
His companions, so jolly but now (except Wangog, who was taciturn),
looked pityingly upon him and began to fade. They vanished. He was all
alone. A shrill wind was rising, dusk was descending. He stood and
stamped his feet, and two plans fought in his head for recognition and
acceptance.

He could board Lord Harrow's great black yacht and be welcomed into the
light and the warmth of the great satin-wood saloon with its open
fireplace and its Steinway grand. Lord Harrow's daughter, that lovely
girl, would minister to him, and Warinaru, the steward, would bring him
hot grog in cut crystal, upon a heavy silver tray of George the First's
time. They would give him the best state-room, the green and
white--white for winter, green for summer--and he would sleep--such a
long sleep--with no dreams in it, no worries, no memories--no awakening!

That was one plan--a delightful plan. So easy of accomplishment! He had
but to sit in the snow and wait; Lord Harrow would see him and send a
boat. No. Lord Harrow's daughter should be the first.... No ... No. How
foolish! Don, the spaniel, begins to whine and fret, to put his paws on
the bulwarks and bark toward a spot on the shore.

A boat is lowered; Don, the spaniel, leaps in--they row, following the
point of his nose, and the Poor Boy is found just in the nick of
time....

But the other plan, which was not delightful, was best.

"I told old Martha," the Poor Boy murmured, "to look for me at such a
time. Why break her heart for a pair of bright eyes and a glass of hot
grog? Why not keep my word? It's only two or three days of torture."

He turned from the river and ran upon his skis, stamping at each step,
until he found shelter from the wind. His feet began to tingle and he
knew that they were not frozen. But by the time he had a fire going they
were numb again.

Between the Poor Boy and his old Martha was not two or three days of
torture, but four. During part of the time snow fell, and wind flew into
his face from the north.

Late on the fourth day he climbed the cliff upon which his house stood,
not because it was the cliff upon which his house stood, but because it
was an obstacle in his way. His house might be a month's journey beyond,
for all he knew.

At the top of the cliff, among the pines was a young woman. She was by
no means the first he had seen that day. But her face was clearer than
the other