A CABIN 79

ties and beauties of nature, of solitude, and of sun-
sets more lovely every evening to old eyes.

A fly hummed on the window-pane. Or was it a
bluebottle? Or. . . The first silence for some hours
fell upon us. We listened to a low drone, faint and
wavering at first and becoming more insistent. The
dog barked and ran to the door. We grabbed our
hats and veils and rushed out into the rain just as
the Hudson’s Bay scow was swinging round the
bend toward us.

Our friend of the paint-brush stepped out on to
the sodden bank. Two others followed him and
tied up the boat.

“Well, here we are! Got a load for Liard, and a
bunch of grub for this here residence. And some
letters for you folks. They came over the portage
just as we was leaving the Head of the Lake. Can't
stop, sorry to say; we're going to make the Post
tonight. Guess you'll be along tomorrow, eh? See
our umbrella?”

The scow had a canvas cover which shed most of
the rain. She looked very trim as she sat there with
her new grey paint and her red lines. The crew re-
embarked, poled out, and set the motor running.
We turned back to the cabin.

That night we lay under dripping canvas and read
by torch-light the letters that had followed us. Rain