seemed to be little change in Jake, his pulse was a trifle weaker, perhaps, and his eyes stayed shut for longer and longer at a time. Hugh went into the storeroom to see what food would be best for him; he looked carefully through every box and canister to make certain what was there. So occupied was he that he did not hear the swishing of snowshoes over the frozen slopes outside nor even heed a quiet knock at the door. It was not until some one came into the room and laid a hand upon his arm that he turned quickly to see Oscar Dansk.
That their greeting was a joyful one need hardly be said, but the first words of Hugh’s eager welcome were broken off by his shout of delight when he saw what Oscar was pulling from his pocket, a great handful of letters addressed in his father’s handwriting.
“Miss Christina, at the postoffice, has been much worried about the way your mail was piling up,” said Oscar. “She said I was to give these to you before I said a word, for she was sure I would forget them if we once got to talking.”
