leisurely train which would come hooting and pounding along, the following day, to pick him up at the bleak station and carry him back to the city. As he swung, with the long, loose shambling strides of the skilled snow-shoer, over the well-packed surface of the snow, his head was filled with visions of theatre and dance and smiling, white-armed girls. At this so long perspective, all women looked wonderful to him. In spite of the intense cold—unheeded degrees below zero—he was all aglow with vigour and anticipation, and the swift red blood raced in his veins under the stimulus of the keen and biting air.
He had started from the camp before dawn. The sunrise, pale and iridescent like mother-of-pearl, had found him at the foot of the long, gradual slope which led up to the Height of Land. All morning he had breasted the rise with gay resolution. Toward noon, assured that more than half of his journey lay well behind him, he halted in a little open space surrounded by dense, snow-sheathed fir-trees, and built himself a fire in the snow. Being a good woodsman, he built a small, handy, intimate fire that was convenient for the boiling of his tea-kettle and comfortable to sit by while he smoked and rested after his lunch. He allowed himself a full hour for this noon halt, and enjoyed every minute of it, outstretched luxuriously upon an armful of scattered
