To the left of the fireplace was a rude cupboard of shelves, packed with boxes, cans, bags, and utensils.  Below the cupboard, hung upon pegs, were blackened pots and pans, a long-handled skillet, and a bucket.  Glenn’s table was a masterpiece.  There was no danger of knocking it over.  It consisted of four poles driven into the ground, upon which had been nailed two wide slabs.  This table showed considerable evidence of having been scrubbed scrupulously clean.  There were two low stools, made out of boughs, and the seats had been covered with woolly sheep hide.  In the right-hand corner stood a neat pile of firewood, cut with an ax, and beyond this hung saddle and saddle blanket, bridle and spurs.  An old sombrero was hooked upon the pommel of the saddle.  Upon the wall, higher up, hung a lantern, resting in a coil of rope that Carley took to be a lasso.  Under a shelf upon which lay a suitcase hung some rough wearing apparel.

Carley noted that her picture and the suit case were absolutely the only physical evidences of Glenn’s connection with his Eastern life.  That had an unaccountable effect upon Carley.  What had she expected?  Then, after another survey of the room, she began to pester Glenn with questions.  He had to show her the spring outside and the little bench with basin and soap.  Sight of his soiled towel made her throw up her hands.  She sat on the stools.  She lay on the couch.  She rummaged into the contents of the cupboard.  She threw wood on the fire.  Then, finally, having exhausted her search and inquiry, she flopped down on one of the stools to gaze at Glenn in awe and admiration and incredulity.

“Glenn—­you’ve actually lived here!” she ejaculated.

“Since last fall before the snow came,” he said, smiling.

“Snow!  Did it snow?” she inquired.

“Well, I guess.  I was snowed in for a week.”

“Why did you choose this lonely place—­way off from the Lodge?” she asked, slowly.

“I wanted to be by myself,” he replied, briefly.

“You mean this is a sort of camp-out place?”

“Carley, I call it my home,” he replied, and there was a low, strong sweetness in his voice she had never heard before.

That silenced her for a while.  She went to the door and gazed up at the towering wall, more wonderful than ever, and more fearful, too, in her sight.  Presently tears dimmed her eyes.  She did not understand her feeling; she was ashamed of it; she hid it from Glenn.  Indeed, there was something terribly wrong between her and Glenn, and it was not in him.  This cabin he called home gave her a shock which would take time to analyze.  At length she turned to him with gay utterance upon her lips.  She tried to put out of her mind a dawning sense that this close-to-the-earth habitation, this primitive dwelling, held strange inscrutable power over a self she had never divined she possessed.  The very stones in the hearth seemed to call out from some remote past, and the strong