“Hey, Chief!  Look who’s here!”

O’Neil hastened forward with a greeting upon his lips, for Stanley was helping Eliza and Natalie down from the caboose which served as a passenger-coach.

The young women, becomingly clad in their warm winter furs, made a picture good to look upon.  Natalie had ripened wonderfully since her marriage, and added to her rich dark beauty there was now an elusive sweetness, a warmth and womanliness which had been lacking before.  As for Eliza, she had never appeared more sparkling, more freshly wholesome and saucy than on this morning.

“We came to take pictures,” she announced.  “We want to see if the bridge suits us.”

“Don’t you believe her, Mr. O’Neil,” said Natalie.  “Dan told us you were working too hard, so Eliza insisted on taking you in hand.  I’m here merely in the office of chaperon and common scold.  You have been overdoing.  You’re positively haggard.”

Gray nodded.  “He won’t mind me.  I hope you’ll abuse him well.  Go at him hammer and tongs.”

Ignoring Murray’s smiling assertion that he was the only man in camp who really suffered from idleness, the girls pulled him about and examined him critically, then fell to discussing him as if he were not present.

“He’s worn to the bone,” said Eliza.

“Did you ever see anything like his wrinkles?  He looks like a dried apple,” Natalie declared.

“Dan says he doesn’t eat.”

“Probably he’s too busy to chew his food.  We’ll make him Fletcherize—­”

“And eat soup.  Then we’ll mend his underclothes.  I’ll warrant he doesn’t dress properly.”

“How much sleep does he get?” Natalie queried of the physician.

“About half as much as he needs.”

“Leave him to us,” said Eliza, grimly.  “Now where does he live?  We’ll start in there.”

O’Neil protested faintly.  “Please don’t!  I hate soup, and I can’t allow anybody to pry into my wardrobe.  It won’t stand inspection.”

Miss Appleton pointed to his feet and asked, crisply: 

“How many pairs of socks do you wear?”

“One.”

“Any holes?”

“Sometimes.”

Natalie was shocked.  “One pair of socks in this cold!  It’s time we took a hand.  Now lead us to this rabbit-hole where you live.”

Reluctantly, yet with an unaccustomed warmth about his heart, O’Neil escorted them to his headquarters.  It was a sharp, clear morning; the sky was as empty and bright as an upturned saucepan; against it the soaring mountain peaks stood out as if carved from new ivory.  The glaciers to right and left were mute and motionless in the grip of that force which alone had power to check them; the turbulent river was hidden beneath a case-hardened armor; the lake, with its weird flotilla of revolving bergs, was matted with a broad expanse of white, across which meandered dim sled and snow-shoe trails.  Underfoot the paths gave out a crisp complaint, the sunlight slanting up the valley held no warmth whatever, and their breath hung about their heads like vapor, crystallizing upon the fur of their caps and hoods.