GRAY streaks of dawn were spreading over the sky and making visible snow-clad land and, beyond, the frozen surface of the great lake. The train had passed the points of Green Bay and was running almost east along the upper shore of Lake Michigan and out upon the point of the peninsula with Superior barely two-score miles away to the north. The passengers who were getting on and off at the tiny, snow-covered towns were becoming more and more familiar looking to Ethel; they were little-town merchants making short business trips; lake fishermen; a group of men with guns evidently were farmers on a midwinter holiday, hunting for fox; there was a priest bound for St. Ignace and a couple of Indians neatly dressed in their black best, with white collars and with their hair barber-trimmed. Many of them evidently had had breakfast before taking the train; others brought papers of food which they opened. Ethel observed that two neighbors were sharing their packages with the young man who had asked about St. Florentin; and she took from her bag a box of sandwiches which she had brought from Chicago and also breakfasted.
Now the number of passengers in the car was diminishing; the stops were more widely separated; and the patches of cleared ground, where farming had been
