had steaming coffee, and we were all happy; even Baby clapped his hands and crowed at the unusual sight of an open fire.  After supper Gavotte took a little stroll and returned with a couple of grouse for our breakfast.  After dark we sat around the fire eating peanuts and listening to Gavotte and Mrs. Louderer telling stories of their different great forests.  But soon Gavotte took his big sleeping-bag and retired to another cabin, warning us that we must be up early.  Our improvised beds were the most comfortable things; I love the flicker of an open fire, the smell of the pines, the pure, sweet air, and I went to sleep thinking how blest I was to be able to enjoy the things I love most.

It seemed only a short time until some one knocked on our door and we were all wide awake in a minute.  The fire had burned down and only a soft, indistinct glow from the embers lighted the room, while through a hole in the roof I could see a star glimmering frostily.  It was Gavotte at the door and he called through a crack saying he had been hearing queer noises for an hour and he was going to investigate.  He had called us so that we need not be alarmed should we hear the noise and not find him.  We scrambled into our clothes quickly and ran outdoors to listen.

I can never describe to you the weird beauty of a moonlight night among the pines when the snow is sparkling and gleaming, the deep silence unbroken even by the snapping of a twig.  We stood shivering and straining our ears and were about to go back to bed when we heard faintly a long-drawn wail as if all the suffering and sorrow on earth were bound up in that one sound.  We couldn’t tell which way it came from; it seemed to vibrate through the air and chill our hearts.  I had heard that panthers cried that way, but Gavotte said it was not a panther.  He said the engine and saws had been moved from where we were to another spring across the canon a mile away, where timber for sawing was more plentiful, but he supposed every one had left the mill when the water froze so they couldn’t saw.  He added that some one must have remained and was, perhaps, in need of help, and if we were not afraid he would leave us and go see what was wrong.

We went in, made up the fire, and sat in silence, wondering what we should see or hear next.  Once or twice that agonized cry came shivering through the cold moonlight.  After an age, we heard Gavotte crunching through the snow, whistling cheerily to reassure us.  He had crossed the canon to the new mill camp, where he had found two women, loggers’ wives, and some children.  One of the women, he said, was “so ver’ seek,” ’t was she who was wailing so, and it was the kind of “seek” where we could be of every help and comfort.

Mrs. Louderer stayed and took care of the children while Mrs. O’Shaughnessy and I followed after Gavotte, panting and stumbling, through the snow.  Gavotte said he suspected they were short of “needfuls,” so he had filled his pockets with coffee and sugar, took in a bottle some of the milk I brought for Baby, and his own flask of whiskey, without which he never travels.