“Now!  Now!” exclaimed the soft-hearted old trapper, “‘Tis nothin’ t’ be cryin’ about.  What un cryin’ for, now?”

“I’m—­not—­knowin’—­only you be so good—­an’ I were wantin’ so bad t’ have Emily go—­I were wantin’ so wonderful bad—­an’ ’twill save she—­’twill save she!”

“’Tis no kindness.  ’Tis no kindness.  ’Tis Bob’s fur pays for un—­no kindness o’ mine,” he insisted.

Emily took Douglas’ hand and drew him to her until she could reach his face.  Then with a palm on each cheek she kissed his lips, and with her arms about his neck buried her face for a moment in his white beard.

“There!  There!” he exclaimed when she had released him.  “Now what un makin’ love t’ me for?”

Richard returned that evening from his last trip over his trail for the season, and he was much pleased with the arrangement as to Emily.

“Your daddy’ll be lonesome wi’out un,” said he, “but ‘twill be fine t’ think o’ my maid comin’ back walkin’ again—­rare fine.”

“An’ ‘twill be rare hard t’ be goin’,” she said.  “I’m ‘most wishin’ I weren’t havin’ t’ go.”

“But when you comes back, maid, you’ll be well, an’ think, now, how happy that’ll make un,” Mrs. Gray encouraged.  “Th’ Lard’s good t’ be providin’ th’ way.  ‘Twill be hard for un an’ for us all, but th’ Lard always pays us for th’ hard times an’ th’ sorrow He brings us, wi’ good times an’ a rare lot o’ happiness after, if we only waits wi’ patience an’ faith for un.”

“Aye, mother, I knows, an’ I is glad—­oh, so glad t’ know I’s t’ be well again,” said Emily very earnestly.  “But,” she added, “I’m thinkin’ ‘twould be so fine if you or daddy were goin’ wi’ me.  Bob were countin’ on un so—­I minds how Bob were countin’ on my goin’—­an’ he’s not here t’ know about un—­an’ I feels wonderful bad when I thinks of un.”

Of course it was quite out of the question for either the father or the mother to go with her, for that would more than double the expense and could not be afforded.  There was no certainty as to how much would be coming to them after Bob’s share of the furs were sold.  This could not be estimated even approximately for they had not so much as seen the pelts yet.  Richard, grown somewhat pessimistic with the years of ill fortune, even doubted if, after Bob’s debt to Mr. MacDonald was paid, there would be sufficient left to reimburse Douglas for the money he had agreed to advance to meet Emily’s expenses.  “But then,” he said, “I suppose ’twill work out somehow.”

At last the great storm came that opened the rivers and smashed the bay ice into bits, and when the fury of the wind was spent and the rain ceased the sun came out with a new warmth that bespoke the summer close at hand.  The tide carried the splintered ice to the open sea, wild geese honked overhead in their northern flight, seals played in the open water, and the loon’s weird laugh broke the wilderness silence.  The world was awakening from its long slumber, and summer was at hand.