“Vivian will not send it until I say ‘Yes,’” she assured herself. “She is the kind of girl who can keep a secret—a really true friend. And yet, I wonder if I have the right to ask her to remain silent?”
As she closed her eyes, she saw again the wistful, almost mournful look on the face of June Travis. Then she fell asleep.
She did not sleep long. She was wakened by loud banging on the cabin door.
“Let us in!” a voice called huskily.
A light appeared, reflected on the roof above Jeanne’s head. She heard the fisherman say, “Who are you?”
She caught the answer clear and plain: “I am John Travis.”
Ten minutes later Jeanne was listening to the strange, all but unbelievable story of John Travis, who was, in very truth, the father of her friend June.
Relying upon the word of a dying veteran prospector, John Travis and a friend, who was an air pilot, had flown far into the north of Canada in quest of gold.
They had discovered gold, but had disabled their plane. The story of the years that followed was one of hardships, failure and final success.
“There we were,” the voice of John Travis went on, “with our plane wrecked in the heart of a frozen wilderness.” He stared at the glowing hearth as if he would see again that great white emptiness, hear again the wail of those rushing northern gales.