They all noticed her changed appearance.  Even Eddie Martin, the herculean wood-sawyer, observed the dejection with which the sorrow-stricken maiden emerged from the house and handed him his noontide rations of nutcakes and buttermilk.  But Mary Matilda spoke of the causes of her woe to none of them.  In silence she brooded over the mystery of Juan’s disappearance.

[Illustration:  THE PRINCE ASKING EDDIE MARTIN ABOUT THE FAIR MARY MATILD.]

When the winter came and the soft, fair snow lay ten or twelve feet deep on the level on the forest and stream, on wold and woodland, little Bessie once asked Mary Matilda if she would not take her out for a walk.  Now little Bessie was Mary Matilda’s niece, and she was such a sweet little girl that Mary Matilda could never say “no” to anything she asked.

  “Yes, Bessie,” said Mary Matilda, “if you will bundle up nice and warm
  I will take you out for a short walk of twenty or thirty miles.”

  So Bessie bundled up nice and warm.  Then Mary Matilda went out on the
  porch and launched her two snow-shoes and got into them and harnessed
  them to her tiny feet.

  “Where are you going?” asked Eddie Martin, pausing in his work and
  leaning his saw against a slab of green maple.

  “I am going to take Bessie out for a short walk,” replied Mary
  Matilda.

  “Are you not afraid to go alone?” said Eddie Martin.  “You know the
  musquashes are very thick, and this spell of winter weather has made
  them very hungry and ferocious.”

“No, I am not afraid of the musquashes,” replied Mary Matilda.  But she was afraid of them:  only she did not want to tell Eddie Martin so, for fear he would want to go with her.  This was the first and only wrong story Mary Matilda ever told.

Having grasped little Bessie by the hand, Mary Matilda stepped over the fence and was soon lost to view.  Scarcely had she gone when a tall, thin, haggard looking young man came down the street and leaned over the back gate.

  “Can you tell me,” he asked in weary tones, “whether the beautiful
  Mary Matilda abides hereabouts?”

  “She lives here,” replied Eddie Martin, “but she has gone for a walk
  with little Bessie.”

  “Whither did they drift?” queried the mysterious unknown.

  “They started toward the Nashwaaksis,” said Eddie Martin.  “And I
  sadly fear the deadly musquash will pursue them.”

  The stranger turned pale and trembled at the suggestion.

  “Will you lend me your saw for a brief period?” he asked.

  “Why?” inquired Eddie Martin.

  “To rescue the fair Mary Matilda from the musquashes,” replied the
  stranger.  Then he seized the saw, and with pale face started in the
  direction Mary Matilda had gone.

Meanwhile Mary Matilda had crossed the Nashwaaksis and was speeding in a southerly course toward the Nashwaak.  The gentle breeze favored her progress, and as she sailed along, the snow danced like frozen feathers around her.

  “Oh, how nice!” cried little Bessie.