Brooke, who understood a little about Western journalism, waited until they stopped, for the thing was becoming comprehensible to him.
"Now," he said, "I know how the story got out. I didn't think the doctor would be guilty of anything of that kind, but no doubt he told the little schoolmaster at the settlement, who is a friend of his, and, I believe, addicted to misusing ink. Still, you see, the thing is evidently inaccurate. Do I look as if I could do without anything to eat for a week?"
One of the girls again favored him with a scrutinizing glance. "Well," she said, with a little twinkle in her eyes, "you certainly look as though square meals were scarce at the Dayspring."
Brooke laughed, and then glancing round saw Barbara approaching. He fancied that she could not well have avoided seeing him unless she wished to, but she passed so close that her skirt almost touched him, and then stopped, apparently smiling down on a matronly lady a few yards away. Brooke felt his face grow warm, and was glad that his companions' questions covered his confusion.
"Who'd you get to do the funeral? There wouldn't be any kind of clergyman up there."
"No," said Brooke, grimly. "We had to manage it ourselves—that is, the doctor did. I'm afraid it wasn't very ceremonious—and it was snowing hard at the time."
He sat silent a moment while a little shiver ran through him as he remembered the bitter blast that had whirled the white flakes about the two lonely men, and shaken a mournful wailing from the thrashing pines.
"How dreadful!" said one of his companions. "The story only mentioned the big glacier, and the forest lying black all round."
Brooke fancied he understood the narrator's reticence, for there were details the doctor was not likely to be communicative about.
"The big glacier was, at least, three miles away, and nobody could have seen it from where we stood," he said, evasively.