'And do you think the pathless forest will be more lightsome than the open ice? No; we'd better kindle a fire, and camp out to-night. I'm pretty sure we must have passed Cedar Creek without knowing.'

Arthur was already so drowsy from the excessive cold that he was only glad of the pretext for remaining still, and yielding to the uncontrollable propensity. But Mr. Holt pulled him on his feet and commanded him to gather brushwood and sticks, while he went about himself picking birch-bark off the dead and living trees. This he spread under the brush and ignited with his tinder-box. The sight of the flame seemed to wake up Arthur with a shock from the lethargy that was stealing over his faculties. Mr. Holt had chosen a good site for his fire in the lee of a great body of pines, whose massive stems broke the wind; so the blaze quickened and prospered, till a great bed of scarlet coals and ends of fagots remained of the first relay of fuel, and another was heaped on. Now Arthur was glowing to his fingers' ends, thoroughly wide awake, and almost relishing the novelty of his lodgings for the night; with snow all around, curtaining overhead, carpeting under foot.

'Curious way they camp out in the Far West,' said Holt, with his arms round his knees, as he sat on their hemlock mattress and gazed into the fire, wherein all old memories seem ever to have a trysting-place with fancy. And so scenes of his roving years came back to him.

'You must know that out in the Hudson's Bay territory the snow is often ten or fourteen feet deep, not only in drifts, but in smooth even layers, obliterating the country inequalities wonderfully. That's the native land of snow-shoes and of furs, where your clothes must be mainly of both for half the year. But I was going to tell you how the voyageurs build a fire when they have to camp out on a winter's night, and there's twelve feet of snow between them and the solid ground.'

'Sheer impossibility,' said Arthur presumptuously; 'the fire would work a hole down.'

'You shall hear. First, they cut down a lot of trees—green timber—about twenty feet or more in length. These are laid closely parallel on the snow, which has previously been beaten to a little consistency by snow-shoes; on the platform thus made the fire is lit, and it burns away merrily.'

'Don't the trees ever burn through?' asked Arthur.

'Seldom; but the heat generally works a cavity in the snow underneath, sometimes quite a chasm, seven or eight feet deep—fire above, water below. Ha! I'm glad to see my old friend the Great Bear looking through over the pines yonder. Our storm has done its worst.'

'Holt, though I'm rather hungry and sleepy, I'm heartily glad of this night's outing, for one reason: you won't be able to leave us to-morrow, and so are booked for another week, old fellow.'

It seemed irrevocably the case; and under this conviction Arthur rolled himself in the blanket (cut from the spar of the ice-boat), and went into dreamland straight from his brushwood bed, Mr. Holt continuing to sit by the fire gazing into it as before; which sort of gazing, experienced people say, is very bad for the eyes. Perhaps it was that which caused a certain moisture to swell into most visible bright drops, filling the calm grey orbs with unspeakable sadness for a little while. The Great Bear climbed higher round the icy pole; the sky had ceased to snow before the absorbed thinker by the fire noticed the change of weather. Then he rose gently, laid further wood on the blazing pile, threw brush about Arthur's feet and body for additional warmth, and, skates in hand, went down to the lake to explore.