With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath their feet there was roadway everywhere. Railings scarcely showed above it, and walls could be easily cleared with one long step. The door of the hut was fastened, but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica stole round to reconnoitre.
He returned quickly. It was not the bridal party, for there was not a single squaw among them. They were travellers in a horse-sledge, stopping at the farm to rest. He urged Wilfred to seize the chance and enter with them. The presence of the strangers would be a protection. They took their way through the orchard trees, and came out boldly on the well-worn tracks before the gate. It excited no surprise in the occupants of the sledge to see two dusky figures in their long, pointed snow-shoes gliding swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, no doubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm.
Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space.
There were two travellers and a sledge-driver. The dogs considered them, and did not bark. Then Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leap into the sledge. It drew up. The driver thundered on the gate.
"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge.
It was the usual traveller's inquiry, but it thrilled through Wilfred's ears, for it was—it could not be—yet it was the voice of Mr. De Brunier.
Kusky was already on Gaspé's knee devouring him with his doggie caresses.
"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as with one long slide he overtook the sledge, and grasped a hand of each.
"I didn't know you, coming after us in your seven-league boots," laughed Gaspé, pointing to the long, oval frame of Wilfred's snow-shoes, reaching a foot or more before and behind his boot.
But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering rapidly to Mr. De Brunier.