“An’ how’s my little maid been th’day?  Has she been lonesome without her daddy?”

And she would always answer, “I’s been fine, but dreadful lonesome without daddy.”

Then he would kiss her, and sit down for a little while by her couch, before he ate his supper, to tell her of the trivial happenings out of doors, while he caressed her by stroking her hair gently back from her forehead.  After the meal the three would chat for an hour or so while he smoked his pipe and Mrs. Gray washed the dishes.  Then before they went to their rest he would laboriously read a selection from the Bible, and afterwards, on his knees by Emily’s couch, thank God for His goodness to them and ask for His protection, always ending with the petition,

“An’, Lard, look after th’ lad an’ keep he safe from th’ Nascaupees an’ all harm; an’ heal th’ maid an’ make she well, for, Lard, you must be knowin’ what a good little maid she is.”

Emily never heard this prayer without feeling an absolute confidence that it would be answered literally, for God was very real to her, and she had the complete, unshattered faith of childhood.

Late in October the father went to his trapping trail, and after that was only home for a couple of days each fortnight.  There was no pleasant evening hour now for Emily and her mother to look forward to.  The men of the bay were all away at their hunting trails, and no callers ever came to break the monotony of their life, save once in a while Douglas Campbell would tramp over the ice the eight miles from Kenemish to spend an afternoon and cheer them up.

Emily missed Bob more than ever, since her father had gone, but she was usually very patient and cheerful.  For hours at a time she would think of his home-coming, and thrill with the joy of it.  In her fancy she would see him as he would look when he came in after his long absence, and in her imagination picture the days and days of happiness that would follow while he sat by her couch and told her of his adventures in the far off wilderness.  Once, late in November, she called her mother to her and asked: 

“Mother, how long will it be now an’ Bob comes home?”

“‘Tis many months till th’ open water, but I were hopin’, dear, that mayhap he’d be comin’ at th’ New Year.”

“An’ how long may it be to th’ New Year, mother?”

“A bit more than a month, but ‘tis not certain he’ll be comin’ then.”

“‘Tis a long while t’ wait—­a terrible long while t’ be waitin’—­t’ th’ New Year.”

“Not so long, Emily.  Th’ time’ll be slippin’ by before we knows.  But don’t be countin’ on his comin’ th’ New Year, for ’tis a rare long cruise t’ th’ Big Hill trail an’ he may be waitin’ till th’ break-up.  But I’m thinkin’ my lad’ll be wantin’ t’ see how th’ little maid is,—­an’ see his mother—­an’ mayhap be takin’ th’ cruise.”

“An Bob knew how lonesome we were—­how wonderful lonesome we were—­he’d be comin’ at th’ New Year sure.  An’ he’ll be gettin’ lonesome hisself.  He must be gettin’ dreadful lonesome away off in th’ bush this long time!  He’ll sure be comin’ at th’ New Year!”