“Lucky for me you came to-night, my boy,” Sinclair replied, and then he remembered how he had denounced the day but a short time before.  “But I can’t stay in this place all night.  Can’t you get somebody to help me?”

“Y’bet,” the boy responded.  “Buck and Bright’ll help y’outer this fix.  Jes’ wait a minute.”

At this he hurried away, and although he was gone not much over half an hour it seemed to Sinclair like an age before “Haw, Buck!  G’up, Bright!  Git up thar!” sounded upon his ears.

Presently he beheld the forms of two panting steers, plunging and wallowing through the snow, each crowding the other in an endeavour to maintain the firm footing on the narrow trail.  When they caught sight of the dark object lying before them, they stopped, sniffed the air, and bolted to the right.  But the boy with considerable skill, the result of long practice, wheeled them about, and after much shouting and exertion headed them homeward.

“Hi, thar!” he called to the prostrate man.  “Kin ye manage t’git to th’ sled?  These steers is mighty scart, and I must stan’ by an’ hold ’em.”

With a great effort Sinclair began to crawl slowly along the trail, and when about exhausted reached the sled.

“Hol’ on now,” the boy ordered, as he cracked his whip and the steers started forward.  It was a rough trip, over knolls, striking stumps here and there, and squeezing between trees, when the sled had to be freed by much twisting and manoeuvring; but Sinclair thought it the best ride he had ever taken.

“Mother’s lookin’ fer y’,” remarked the lad, when they had finally gained the good road.  “She’s got the best sofy out, an’ was warmin’ things up when I left.”

Sinclair made no reply.  He was cold, stiff, and too much exhausted to enter into conversation.  Not until he was stretched out on the big cosy sofa in front of the cheerful fire, after his sprained ankle had been bathed and well rubbed, did he become talkative.

“My good woman,” he began, “how can I ever repay you for your great kindness?”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” she returned with a cheerful smile.  “I’m so glad Stephen went to his snares to-night.  It’s Christmas Eve, you see, and though I’m sorry you’re hurt, yet it’s nice to have some one with me and the children.  It’s very lonely here sometimes, and,” she added after a pause, “he was here last Christmas.  But,” she quickly continued, afraid she had said too much to a stranger, “I hope you feel more comfortable now, sir.”

“Oh, yes,” Sinclair replied.  “My foot is quite easy:  But would you mind making me a cup of hot tea?  I feel so chilly, and the tea will do me a world of good.  It always helps me.”

As he uttered these words a change passed over the woman’s face, which Sinclair was not slow to observe.

“Never mind,” he hastened to remark.  “I don’t wish to trouble you.”